Free Untamed by Terri Farley

forward to hear. “Some fella started shooting near you this afternoon, but you rode home, talked awhile real normal about Penny, had this”—he broke off, hand moving as if it could spin the right word—“private talk with me in the barn—then more talk at dinner—and you didn’t think it was important to tell me about a man shooting horses?”
    â€œThat’s just like lying, Sam,” Brynna said, summing up Dad’s words.
    â€œIt’s not! I was going to tell,” Sam insisted, but Dad was pacing, ignoring her.
    â€œI even kept the shell casing,” she told him.
    Dad stopped. Hands on hips, he stared toward the kitchen window. With only darkness outside, could he see anything besides his reflection?
    Gram sat silent, shaking her head in disappointment.
    â€œI wanted to tell the sheriff, and I already did,” Sam said. “He wants to talk with me tomorrow after school.”
    Dad still didn’t turn to listen.
    â€œThen why,” Brynna said, “didn’t you tell us?”
    â€œI was afraid you’d be, like, overly protective, and not let me do stuff….”
    â€œSam, every time you’ve given good reasons for things you wanted to do, we’ve worked it out with you,” Brynna said.
    Dad turned and his expression wasn’t angry, just cold.
    â€œNever would have believed it, but you were safer in San Francisco.”
    Sam felt as if her flesh clamped closer to her bones, as if she could make herself smaller and disappear.
    â€œDad, no,” she said, but he met her eyes, daring her to say she’d ever been within yards of a gunman when she lived in Aunt Sue’s city apartment. She hadn’t.
    â€œGet up to bed,” Dad ordered, and before he could say anything worse, Sam went.

Chapter Nine
    H ow could a horse make her so happy? Penny wasn’t even her horse, but she lifted Sam’s gloom just by being there.
    The blind mare crowded against the fence of the pipe panel pen assembled next to the ten-acre corral and neighed a greeting to Sam.
    She kicked up her heels and bolted in a run around her pen, delighted to have human company.
    â€œHi, Penny,” Sam crooned, and her smile widened when the sorrel slid to a stop, listening.
    Penny tossed her head, flinging aside her forelock as if it, and nothing else, kept her from seeing.
    â€œYou are a pretty girl, and I’d stay to pet you, but I’ve got to feed the chickens before I leave for school.”
    When the mare gave a disgusted snort, Sam checked the other horses. They pricked their ears in Penny’s direction, looking curious, but nothing more.
    Sam smiled. Putting the small pipe corral next to the ten-acre pasture would keep the new horse safe while the others got used to her. So far, it seemed to be working.
    Sam’s smile broke into a yawn.
    Dallas, Pepper, and Ross had ridden out to check for calves at about five thirty. Sam knew because Blaze had been so excited, he’d barked and yapped, awakening her.
    She must have dozed again, though, because, by the time she made it downstairs, everyone was up.
    Then, she’d discovered that even though she was in trouble, feeding the hens was her only morning chore. Gram and Brynna had offered to do everything else.
    Sam couldn’t figure it out. The previous night, Brynna had tapped on Sam’s door to say she was grounded until further notice. She’d refused to listen to Sam’s excuses and warned that Sam would be lucky if there weren’t other consequences for keeping such a serious incident secret.
    Right now, the Rhode Island Red hens were studying Sam suspiciously, as if they didn’t see her every morning of their lives. Each hen was the size of a feathered basketball. As soon as Sam began sprinkling their food on the ground, they forgot caution. They rebounded off her ankles, fighting for the cracked corn, grain, and crumbs of cherry muffins left from