Wild Hearts (37 page)

“Yes,” I said slowly. “He is.”

Trista's smile engulfed her entire face as the camera moved closer to us. “Then isn't it correct to say that your father drove these horses off the Lost Springs land?”

“No—”

Trista cut me off. “But Brie, we know he's a developer and he wanted these horses off his land. We had several anonymous people step forward and go on the record to say that your father threatened to quote ‘kill the horses' if they didn't leave his property. How do you explain this?”

I clenched my jaw and looked at Dad. I half expected Dad to shove aside the camera guy and defend himself.

“My father,” I started quickly, “would never hurt the horses. He was frustrated with them being on his land and he wanted to move them, but he'd never hurt them.”

Trista raised her eyebrows. “Then, Ms. Carter, how do you explain the anonymous witnesses? They all claim your father—”

Leaning forward, I looked Trista in the eyes. “Those witnesses don't like my father because he's a land developer. But that's not the issue we sat down to discuss, is it, Trista?” I asked, smiling. “We came to talk about the horses, and if you want to draw attention away from our cause and make up stories, then I'm done here.”

Pulling my eyes away from Trista, I flicked them to Dad. He just stared.
Love you
, he mouthed. Smiling, I glanced back at the reporter.

“So, um, tell our viewers again the date of the event,” Trista said, turning pink and shuffling through papers on her lap.

“It's this Saturday in Lost Springs. You can see the horses starting at eight and we hope to see you there.”

“Thank you, Brie, and on the bottom of your screen, we're flashing the website and phone number to call. Stay with us and we'll be right back.”

The cameraman signaled we were finished and I expelled a breath. Trista hopped out of the chair and stalked off toward her
Inside the Issue
van without saying a word.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Logan called after her. Trista stiffened at his words but kept walking toward her trailer. Mom, Dad, Logan, and I smothered our laughter.

One down. Three to go.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

“Two days until the fundraiser,” I said, bursting into the kitchen. Mom and Dad were seated at the counter and without looking at them, I grabbed two pieces of bread out of the fridge and started making a turkey sandwich. “Logan and I did three newspaper interviews today and we've got another one tomorrow. After that, we'll be at Pam's practically every minute.” They still hadn't said a word. Mom's chin was rested on her hand and Dad stirred his coffee without looking at the cup. “What's wrong?”

Mom reached over the counter and patted my hand. “Nothing's wrong. Can you sit for a minute?”

“Is it Kate? Is she okay?”

Dad shook his head. “Kate's fine. But we need to talk.”

Something had happened. Dad forehead was scrunched and Mom wouldn't look me in the eye. “Brody and the crew have been working hard,” Dad said. “The job is going to be finished soon. Last night, I got an offer from a big company that needs help rebuilding.”

“Where?” I asked.

“San Diego,” Mom said. “They need help from those wildfires a while back.” I nodded, but I felt a dozen emotions at once. Anger, sadness, hope, understanding—those were just some of the ones I could identify. My chest felt like it had been stabbed with a red-hot poker.

“I guess it's good you found out early for once,” I said slowly. “Now you have plenty of time to find a place in California.”

Mom looked down at the counter. “For this job, they're going to need us sooner, sweetie.”

“What? Like March?”

Dad stood and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Brie, I'm sorry. We're moving during the second week of August.”

“No! What? Mom!” I slammed my hands on the counter and stared at my parents. I'd never been this angry or shocked in my entire life. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not with the fundraiser and with Logan. I hadn't even prepared for moving in the spring. How could I deal with this in two weeks? “It's practically here already,” I yelled. “You totally sprang this on me. That wasn't a warning.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes. I wasn't the one who had outbursts—that was Dad. But how could they do this
now
? Two weeks. That was nothing. In fourteen days, I'd be in California. What was Logan going to do? He hadn't planned on caring for the horses by himself until at least the spring.

“We're so sorry, Brie,” Mom said. “We wish we could stay until the spring like we had planned, but this is a great opportunity for Dad. We couldn't risk missing it.”

Then it felt like all the air went out of me. I didn't scream, argue, or cry. I just sat there. This wasn't the first time we'd moved early. A couple of years ago, we had stayed in a rented house for two weeks before Dad had been called to another site.

But this was so different. I had Logan, Amy, and the horses. Lost Springs felt more like home than anywhere we'd ever lived. But Mom would say wherever we were as a family was what made a home.

“What about Logan and the horses?” I said, my voice low.

“You'll still be here for the fundraiser,” Mom said in a forcibly brighter tone. “You and Logan can talk on the phone, e-mail, and when we drive through Wyoming again, you can stop in and see him.”

I couldn't listen anymore. It was too much. After coming here, finding Logan, and putting everything into rescuing the horses, I wasn't ready to let go. I'd made the mistake of falling in love with Logan and now the thought of moving was sickening. Would anything ever feel good again? No guy was like Logan. Leaving my sandwich on the counter, I stumbled out of the kitchen and shut myself in my room.

“Amy,” I said, the second she answered her phone. She was the best friend I'd had in a long time. I didn't want to leave her.

“What's wrong?” she said. “You sound weird.”

“I'm moving.”

“I know. In, like, next spring or summer.”

I paced around my room. “Two weeks.”

“Brie! Oh, my God, when did you find out?”

“Just now,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “My dad's job is going to be finished early. We're going to San Diego.”

“Oh, no. What did Logan say?”

Tears stung my eyes and I could barely breathe. “He doesn't know. I can't tell him now. Not with the event so close.”

“Brie, you need to tell him now. He's going to know something's wrong.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see. “No. I'm not telling him until after the fundraiser. That has to be perfect. I'll act like nothing's wrong.”

“Brie—”

“Promise you won't tell him.”

Amy sighed. “I don't like it, but I promise.”

We talked for a while and I hung up and crawled into bed. I cried until all the tears were gone. There was no way I would tell Logan now, not with our event so close. I wasn't going to ruin it for Logan or the horses. My sobs drowned out Mom and Dad's voices downstairs. This was the last time I'd cry until our SUV pulled away from Lost Springs. My remaining days here weren't going to be a waste.

 

CHAPTER FORTY

You can't tell a horse's gait until he's broken.

The fundraiser had been in full swing for an hour and, so far, not one of the eleven mustangs had kicked, bitten, or even shied. They proved even wild mustangs could be gentled to some degree in a short amount of time. Logan and I had held our breaths when the gates opened, but now we were like proud parents of our horses.

“So, Mr. Miller,” I said, taking the older man's arm and steering him toward a dun colt. “This colt is one of the first we gentled. He's halter broken, leads well, and lets you pick his hooves. Isn't that great for the short amount of time we've had him?”

“It is,” Mr. Miller said. He pushed back his tan cowboy hat. “Will he let me touch him?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I held my breath as Mr. Miller reached down to feel the colt's legs. Thanks to endless hours of training, the colt didn't flinch when the man's gloved hands ran up and down his legs.

“Good boy,” I whispered.

Mr. Miller nodded and smiled. “I'll write you a check for two grand and you put this guy under my name. I'm looking forward to seeing him next summer. He'll have grown up
more by then. My grandson's been looking for something to gentle and this colt will be a good project for him next summer. He's not ready to start with a foal, so a horse that's had some hands-on work will be just what he needs.”

Two grand. Two grand for a green mustang colt!

“Thank you, sir,” I said, offering him my hand—Dad would love that. “Amy will get you an adoption packet.”

A local attorney had offered to make a contract for our event that stated when someone adopted a horse next summer, the owner would properly care for the adopted horse, and wouldn't have the horse sent to a slaughter farm or subject it to any cruel treatment.

Mr. Miller followed me over to Amy, who was handling the paperwork area. It had been nonstop for her all morning, too. The press must have worked, since people were here when we opened Pam's gate.

Pam's pastures, driveway, and main barn were full with people walking around and looking at the horses. It looked as if all of Lost Springs had showed up just to see what Logan and I had put together.

The weather was cooperating, too. It wasn't dreadfully hot or too humid.

“All right,” Mr. Miller said a few minutes later. “There you go.” He signed the check and handed it to Amy. She put it in the lockbox Dad had loaned me.

“Thank you again,” I said. “He'll be in great shape next summer.”

After Mr. Miller left, I jogged over to Pam's round pen, where we had five of the youngest weanlings. A couple of people stood around the pen, looking into it, and pointing out horses. So far, I'd stayed away from Logan, without being obvious, and he hadn't noticed something was wrong.