Red Feather Filly Read Online Free

York,” Mrs. Allen explained, not looking nearly as embarrassed as Sam felt.
    Mrs. Allen still hadn’t spelled out how much prize money they’d be racing for, but Sam gave up. It would be rude to keep pressing her.
    In the moment of uneasy silence, Sam’s kitten, Cougar, now a leggy “adolescent,” padded into the kitchen.
    â€œMew?” he asked, walking away from his water bowl to sniff Blaze’s empty dog food dish beforevaulting into Sam’s lap and making himself comfortable.
    Mrs. Allen slid the typed sheet across the table, then put it back inside the leather folder. “You think it’s all right, then? Good enough to have flyers made?”
    â€œI think everyone in the county will want to do it,” Jen said. “I’m already wondering who I’ll get to ride with me.”
    â€œMe too,” Sam admitted, and for an instant her eyes met Jen’s.
    She looked away. She hated the feeling that flashed between them.
    She and Jen were best friends, not competitors. They couldn’t be. Jen was a much better rider. She didn’t fear going too fast, or jumping or falling. Once Jen mounted a horse, she belonged there.
    The Super Bowl of Horsemanship. Sam imagined a booming voice reading tall golden letters. If she rode in it, no one would think she was afraid. If she won, everyone would forget her accident. She might forget, too.
    â€œI’ll post the flyers at Clara’s Diner and the general store there in Alkali,” Mrs. Allen began.
    â€œWhat about Crane Crossing Mall?” Sam said. “There’s a bulletin board at the Western wear store—”
    â€œTully’s,” Jen put in.
    Mrs. Allen nodded, stood, and swooped the folder up from the table.
    â€œI’ll drop a copy at the Darton Review Journal ,” she said, walking toward the door. “Who knows? They might want to do a newspaper story on it.”
    The girls followed her outside, but they stopped when they saw a black horse tethered next to Silly.
    It was Witch, but Jake was nowhere in sight.
    â€œHey, Witchy,” Sam said.
    The black mare flattened her ears and glared in a way that indicated she didn’t appreciate the nickname.
    She’ll eat you alive, Jake had warned her once, so Sam kept her hands to herself and stared at Witch’s bridle.
    Witch wore a mushroom-brown split-ear headstall. Faint feathers were etched on the leather. Sam recognized it at once. She’d given it to Jake on his sixteenth birthday, months ago, and paid for it with her own money. That was the last time Dad had allowed her to spend more than a few dollars.
    That fact and the sudden creak of Mrs. Allen’s truck door made Sam think of something.
    â€œMrs. Allen?” she called after her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how much is the entry fee?”
    â€œUh-oh,” Jen said. She began shaking her head, amazed she’d forgotten to ask such an obvious question.
    â€œOh, did I forget to write that in there?” Mrs. Allen tsked her tongue. “Well, my goodness, I guess I’ll have to add one more teeny line at the bottom ofmy flyer.” Mrs. Allen watched the girls carefully as she announced, “It will be one hundred dollars per team.”
    Sam was too surprised to gasp. She heard Jen moan, but neither of them could think of what to say.
    Sam and Jen stared after the tangerine-colored truck as it bumped over the bridge, then hit the gravel and fishtailed like a bucking bronc.
    â€œThat’s a lot of money,” Jen said, finally.
    â€œYes, it is,” Sam said, but determination was gathering in her.
    If she won this race, she’d earn something more important than money. Sam braced both hands against the hitching rail. She gripped it so hard, her nails bit into the wood. If she won, she’d show Dad she was a good rider, one he didn’t need to watch over every minute.
    â€œIt’s a whole lot,” Sam admitted.