Free Desert Dancer by Terri Farley

why. Brynna said there weren’t any gathers planned, so she didn’t think the mare would be there. But if she is, I’ll tell Brynna and she’ll help me figure some way for the mare to rejoin her band.”
    Sam noticed Aunt Sue’s inquiring look, but she didn’t try to interpret it. She was more worried about Mr. Norman White, Brynna’s substitute. She knew for a fact that Mr. White had no qualms about destroying horses.
    The van made a chugging sound as Aunt Sue downshifted.
    â€œThis would be a tricky bit of road if you weren’t expecting it,” she said as the road narrowed to barely accommodate the van. Aunt Sue drove on a bit, glanced to her left at a sidehill slanting like a slide into a maze of deer trails. “Looking at that too long could give a person vertigo. You know, that dizzy feeling of falling forward?”
    â€œI know,” Sam said. “Gram doesn’t like this place, either. And to tell the truth, when I get my license…”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Aunt Sue dismissed Sam’s anxiety. “The trick is to let your eyes rest where you want the car to go. That definitely wouldn’t call for peeking over the edge.”
    For the first time, Sam thought she might turn out to be a good driver.
    â€œThat’s what you do when you’re riding, too,” Sam said.
    â€œReally?” Aunt Sue shot a quick glance Sam’s way. “If that smirk is because you think you can get me up on some equine monster, you can just forget about it.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Sam said, but the idea made her grin.
    Even though Aunt Sue wasn’t an experienced mountain driver, she had more confidence than people who’d lived here all their lives.
    Once, when she’d driven up here with Mrs. Allen, owner of Deerpath Ranch and the new wild horse sanctuary, Sam was sure she’d seen the older lady jabher foot on the accelerator and close her eyes, just to get past this narrow spot.
    Just past the summit, the road dipped down toward dozens of corrals filled with hundreds of horses. A few horses fled the approach of the minivan, running to the other side of their enclosure, and kept their heads turned toward the new vehicle, but none of them looked very scared.
    Aunt Sue angled the van toward a small patch of asphalt where two white off-road vehicles belonging to BLM were parked near a rental truck with a huge horse trailer coupled on behind.
    Could Callie be taking her adopted mustang home today?
    As they climbed out of the van, Aunt Sue rubbed her hands up and down her blazer sleeves. The drop in temperature underlined the increase in altitude.
    As they walked toward the BLM office, Sam recognized Norman White. Dressed in a crisp tan uniform, he had a stiff little mustache that twitched as he talked to Callie Thurston.
    Since they were still yards away, Sam couldn’t tell what he was saying, but Mr. White was gesturing with a folder. Each time the wind gusted, he stepped back.
    Callie wore a moss-green cloak that swirled around her and threatened to wrap Mr. White in its folds as well. Sam knew the garment would frighten a horse fresh off the range, but Mr. White wasn’t a horse.
    As they drew closer, Sam thought he looked tense and muscular in a self-conscious way. His short hair stuck up like the bristles of her toothbrush. And there he went, hopping out of the way of the cloak, again. Mr. White was trying so hard not to look silly, that he did.
    He also broke off his conversation with Callie as he noticed her. He didn’t greet her like an acquaintance, didn’t mention Brynna had talked with him about the lead mare, or even needle her about coming to rescue more unadoptable horses. He gave a curt nod and kept talking.
    Fine, Sam thought. She’d begin a search for the tiger dun mare, until Mr. White made time for her.
    Aunt Sue followed Sam over to one of the pens. Through the fence rails, they saw about