Free Wild Honey by Terri Farley

was wearing odd-patterned jeans because of their light-dark patchiness. But the young vet walked stiffly and when he got closer, Sam noticed his jeans were coated in dry mud, some of which had flaked off, and his blue eyes looked red-rimmed and rabbity behind his glasses.
    â€œIt appears to me you’ve had a tough day already, Glen,” Mrs. Allen teased, but Dr. Scott wasn’t in a joking mood.
    â€œIrrigation system went haywire over in the pasture near Clara’s coffee shop. I noticed it last night on my way home because a blue roan colt had got himself stuck and half drowned. He was weak as a new-hatched chick. Each time I tried to let go of him and get back to my truck to radio for help, he’d fall flat down and his nostrils would fill up with mud. I knew he’d drown if I left him. So when the Slocum girl drove past at about two A.M . and her headlights hit us, I flagged her down.”
    Sam couldn’t imagine high-fashion Rachel picking her way across a boggy field to help the veterinarian and a colt. She guessed she should stop always thinking the worst of Rachel.
    â€œShe didn’t come too close,” Dr. Scott went on,“just pulled to the side of the road and listened to me shout, but she promised—absolutely swore—she’d send someone.”
    Held there by the vet’s story, even though he’d stretched his Achilles tendons in preparation for running home, Jake crossed his arms and grunted as if he knew what was coming next.
    â€œAnd she didn’t?” Sam asked.
    â€œSure she did,” the vet snarled, “just an hour ago, after the colt had already revived and I’d slogged back to my truck to hear a message from yesterday that I”—Dr. Scott’s voice grew louder with each word—“in my capacity as an inspector for the Humane Society—was supposed to pay a visit to Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary on an abuse complaint!”
    Jake had tried to slip away unnoticed, but they all turned at the sound of his running shoes hitting the sandy soil as he jogged toward home. He gave a vague wave. Sam could tell he was glad to escape what was coming next.
    â€œAn abuse complaint.” Mrs. Allen pronounced the syllables as if she could hardly stand them on her tongue. “Well, you needn’t have bothered.”
    â€œTrudy, I didn’t have a choice,” Dr. Scott said, flatly. “Even if I wanted to draw my own conclusions without driving out here, I couldn’t. A rural vet just starting out is glad for extra contracts like I have with BLM and the Humane Society. I take theextra training, do the extra work, and bank the salaries. That means I can take time to do a few things for free—like care for…” The vet snapped his fingers twice, as if the animal’s name would magically come to him. “What did your grandson name our favorite mustang?”
    â€œFirefly,” Mrs. Allen said, and her affection for the bay colt with the white patch over his eye showed in her smile.
    â€œRight,” he said. Dr. Scott looked satisfied and relaxed, then his jaw dropped and his eyes closed in a yawn.
    Dr. Scott had lavished weeks of care on the burned and traumatized colt and Firefly had responded to the kindness by bonding with Mrs. Allen’s grandson and helping him pass through the bitterness that followed his terrible injury.
    But Dr. Scott’s enjoyment of the memory lasted only a few seconds.
    â€œSo, I’ve got this complaint of abuse and neglect, and I need to take a quick walk around now. All your horses are in that pen and the pasture, right?” Dr. Scott asked.
    Mrs. Allen gave a wooden nod. Sam wondered if Mrs. Allen was insulted, or covering for the hidden horse which wasn’t, technically, hers.
    â€œAce is in with Judge, and—”
    The vet made a curt gesture to cut off her explanation.
    â€œI saw him. I noticed most of the wild horses areclose in, on this end of