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she’ll find the checkout counter without any cues from me.”
    When Rosebud heard her handler say “find the checkout counter,” she nuzzled its edge again, prompting more laughter. Harrigan clicked and gave the mini a treat. “I was a little slow on the uptake that time,” he said with a chuckle.
    “I think she’s got it down already!” someone said.
    Zach Harrigan flashed a grin that made Mandy’s stomach feel as if it flipped and fluttered. Determinedly she returned her gaze to Rosebud. “She’s not bulletproof yet,” he said. “We’ll have to practice again and again before she’ll find the checkout counter without fail every single time. To an onlooker, it may appear that she’s already trained, but there are dozens of things she hasn’t learned yet. She barely has the basics down pat.”
    Harrigan glanced directly at the camera. Mandy got butterflies again. His brown eyes twinkled with warmth, yet had a sharp, perceptive edge that made her feel as if he were looking directly at her.
    Mandy noticed that the little horse had started to prance a bit, her tiny hooves making a tat-a-tat sound on the floor. At just that moment, Rosebud lifted her tail. Mandy watched in startled horror as the mini emptied her bowels on the pharmacy floor. The pile looked runny, as if the animal had loose stool, and as the camera zoomed in on it, Mandy could almost imagine the stench. Mr. Gliddon retreated precipitately.
    Someone cried, “Oh, my God !” The female reporter wrinkled her nose and stepped back. Zach Harrigan glanced down and said, “Oh, shit.” At least, Mandy felt fairly certain that was what he said. Over the air, the second word was bleeped out.
    Shoppers left the pharmacy rather quickly. Only the news team and proprietor remained. Mr. Gliddon produced a roll of paper towels and a plastic bag. Harrigan apologized profusely as he cleaned up the mess. “This is totally unprecedented. She’s completely housebroken and never does this. I heard her prancing. That’s how she signals when she has to go. But she waits until we find a place that’s appropriate.”
    “I saw a mini online that had a potty bag attached to her halter somehow,” the female reporter observed. “Could Rosebud wear something to prevent accidents?”
    “She doesn’t have accidents, and it’s called a relieving bag. It’s attached to a relieving harness, a belt just behind the working harness. A handler can take the horse to a Dumpster, attach the bag, tell the horse to go, and then the mess is simple for a blind person to clean up.”
    “Do you think she might be sick?” the reporter asked.
    “It’s possible.” Harrigan’s jaw muscle bunched. “She wouldn’t do this if something wasn’t wrong.” He knotted the plastic bag, and Mr. Gliddon disposed of it. Harrigan scratched behind the mini’s ears. “This is why I didn’t want her on camera yet. Now people may think all minis have accidents in public places, and that is absolutely, unequivocally not true.”
    The newswoman’s expression went taut with concern. “I’ve researched these horses online, and I can back you up on that. They’re wonderful little animals.”
    After the pharmacy debacle, Harrigan and the mini left the establishment and approached a silver SUV. Harrigan opened the rear passenger door and Rosebud loaded into the vehicle without hesitation. After lowering the car windows to give the mini fresh air, the rancher remained on the sidewalk for a few minutes to answer questions. Mandy was disappointed when the news segment ended.
    A guide horse . Glancing at Luke, who was still lost in his music, Mandy set aside her chocolate drink and pushed to her feet. Hurrying to the kitchen, she grabbed the phone book. When she located the Hs, she was disappointed to find no Zach Harrigan listed. She had to get in touch with him. Other people had already contacted him, wanting to buy Rosebud. Until a few minutes ago, Mandy hadn’t known guide horses existed,