Free Rain Dance by Terri Farley

legs, then licked them again. Her head bobbed as she did, then her eyelids drooped, her head nodded, and she slept.
    Sam watched the foal survey her surroundings. Her tiny black head was about the size of Sam’s fisted hands placed end to end. Her eyelids drooped, but instead of sleeping, the foal’s head wobbled down, letting her lips touch the straw. Then her head tilted back, barely supported by her weak neck, to look at the rafters.
    Take a nap, Sam told her silently, but the filly didn’t. Like her father, she was on the alert.
    Wind lashed whips of rain through the barn door. Despite the shelter of her stall, the birth-damp filly shivered.
    â€œTime for a rubdown,” Sam whispered.
    She unfolded the white towel from her foal kit, careful not to allow a molecule of dirt to touch it.
    Dr. Scott had said that after mare and baby had bonded, it was safe to go in and rub the foal dry—if the mare allowed it.
    Straightening her knees so slowly she felt like an old woman, Sam stood and looked at Dark Sunshine. The mare’s eyes stayed closed.
    The foal shivered again and pulled her gangly legs a little closer to her body. If she were too cold, she might stay down, curled up for warmth, instead of standing to nurse. Drying her wet coat would be a good idea.
    Sam picked up the bran mash and slid back the bolt on the stall door. She’d use everything she knew about reading the expressions of horses, because she’d seen Sunny with ears pinned back and hatred in her eyes. Tired or not, the mare could wield her teeth and hooves with deadly accuracy.
    Sam opened the stall door and slipped inside. She set the bran mash just in front of Sunny. The mare opened her eyes. Though her nostrils quivered at the hearty cereal aroma, she was more interested in Sam.
    With weary exasperation, Sunny’s expression seemed to ask, “Don’t you think I knew you were hiding out there?”
    Sam didn’t answer, just moved carefully around the edge of the stall.
    Never get between a mare and her foal, Dad had told her.
    Sam didn’t. She kept the foal between them. Even then, Sunny’s ears flicked backward. They weren’t pinned and her eyes weren’t narrowed. Yet.
    â€œYou’re a good mom, aren’t you, Sunny,” she crooned to the mare.
    The buckskin lay just ahead of the foal nestled at her flank. If the mare stood or made a stronger threat, Sam was determined to run for it.
    Rubbing the foal dry was optional, and Sam knew no one would come to her aid if she was injured.
    â€œI promise not to hurt your baby,” she said, lowering to her knees, still watching the mare. “You trust me, don’t you, girl? I’ve got to look down to touch her. So, if I do anything you don’t like, warn me before I get trampled, okay?”
    Sam dabbed the soft terry cloth at the foal’s eyes and nostrils until they were clean.
    The black filly didn’t struggle and Sunny didn’t protest. After one quiet minute, Sam released the breath she’d been holding. Some books said gentle contact with a foal during its first hour could make it friendlier to humans its whole life long.
    â€œAnd that means you need to stay with me,” Sam whispered as she caressed one satiny ear. “Because if you decide to go hang out with your dad, you’ll discover that not all people are kind.”
    As she rubbed the filly’s inky neck, Sam wondered whether the Phantom had come this afternoon not to steal Dark Sunshine but because he knew his foal was about to be born.
    This was no time for wondering. She had to focus on Sunny and this tiny horse. No matter how gently she massaged, the foal’s little head wobbled. The filly was so delicate.
    As Sam stroked her short, smooth back, the foal watched with curiosity, but when Sam touched her flank, instinct reminded the filly she was a mustang.
    Twig-thin forelegs stiffened, her head ducked in protest, and she let out a