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was probably the only way I could ever afford to own my own horse, but the other part of me wanted that horse just because. Because she was fast. Because she was beautiful. Because in that split second that our eyes had met, I felt a connection with her that I’d never felt with any other horse, not even Dublin.
    â€œLook! There they are,” I cried, pointing to a group of horses grazing in a small gully. Grandpa glanced in the direction I was pointing. I gripped the edge of my seat as we hit a rut in the road. The truck gave a tremendous clank, and Grandpa jerked the steering wheel to one side. The truck bucked like a farting bull, then wobbled to the side of the road.
    â€œUh-oh. Looks like we’ve got a flat,” Grandpa said. He guided the limping truck to a stop, then opened the door. “This couldtake a few minutes, Reese. I haven’t changed a tire on this old truck in years.”
    â€œThat’s okay.” I looked around. “Is it all right if I have a look for the horses?”
    â€œSure. Just stay away from the fences.” Grandpa pulled a toolbox from the back of the truck.
    I climbed up the embankment, taking care to stay away from the barbed wire that enclosed the military base. The land stretched away from me, a smooth, rolling surface. I glanced over my shoulder, but Grandpa was still wrestling with the lug nuts on the tire.
    â€œNeed some help?” I called back. Grandpa waved me off. “No, it’s all right. They’re just a little tight. I’ll get it.”
    I nodded and started walking along the fence line. The truck grew smaller in the distance as I walked farther. I felt entirely alone, even knowing Grandpa was there, with that vast prairie stillness surrounding me.
    The horses were much closer now. I could see them, but the barbed wire fence prevented me from getting near enough to really get a good look. I studied the fence.Grandpa had told me to stay away from it. He hadn’t specifically said I couldn’t go through it. I glanced back. Grandpa was still working on the truck—his back was to me. There were some bushes and tall grasses that helped hide me a little.
    I took a deep breath, lifted the bottom wire and wriggled underneath it. Facedown, I could smell the dusty, sunbaked grass and the earthy scent of the damp soil. My shirt was getting smudged with it. I dug my knees into the dirt and dragged myself under the fence.
    The horses were watching me, their eyes alert, ears pricked. I saw the red chestnut mare standing near a wild rose bush, munching some still-green grass that had been sheltered by the bush. She eyed me thoughtfully. I took careful, slow steps toward her.
    â€œHey, pretty girl,” I said softly. “You’re sure beautiful, aren’t you?”
    The mare gave a snort and ambled out of the rose bush, moving leisurely away from me as I came closer. I stood still and held out my hand. The rest of the horses were edgy. Theygradually backed into a nervous clump and watched the mare uneasily.
    The mare lifted her nose. Her nostrils widened as she caught my unfamiliar scent. Slowly, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the carrots I’d brought. I didn’t know if I could tempt her—wild horses would never come near a person, carrots or no carrots. But Grandpa had told me that some of these horses used to be tame. The mare didn’t really seem afraid of me, which made me wonder if she used to belong to someone.
    She stretched her neck out, but it was hard for her to investigate the carrots in my hand from twenty feet away. She took a cautious step forward. I held my breath.
    An angry squeal erupted from the far side of the band. A mighty head shot up, ears pricked, eyes fiery wild. My heart gave a great frightened thud. The stallion had apparently decided he didn’t like what we were up to and was not shy about letting me know.
    I backed away. He circled the band, drawing them into a