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Annie ducked down, desperate for it to be over. Listening. Wishing she could pray better.

    The second Frank slid into the saddle, he felt the horse collect himself, ready to explode with fury the moment the men holding him let go. Envisioning closing an iron vise about the horse’s midsection with his legs, Frank gathered the reins to keep the animal in check. He nodded. The men let go and dove out of the way.
    The shouts and sounds of the crowd faded. Frank was aware of nothing but the surging beast; its flying mane and flashing hooves; the tremendous power rippling beneath a gleaming black coat, all of it focused on freeing itself of the unwelcome weight on its back. When Outlaw arched his back and crow-hopped across the corral, Frank clenched his jaw and stayed put. The horse twisted and bounced, surged and fought. Every muscle in Frank’s body screamed, every joint protested. He choked on dust, but still he hung on. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a shot rang out, signaling the end of the longest three minutes of Frank’s life. He flung himself out of the saddle, keenly aware of Outlaw charging to the far side of the corral. Taking a hasty bow, Frank trotted to safety. Men pounded him on the back. Congratulations rang out.
    The redheaded kid who’d helped haul the injured rider away grabbed his hand and pumped it. “That was something! Best ride yet!”
    This was better than winning a race for old man Hillsdale. Today, no one else would try to take the credit.

    Annie hadn’t wanted to watch, but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist. She nearly cried with relief when Frank ducked out of the corral. Safe. Whole. The joy lasted onlyseconds, though, for Emmet would ride next—and Emmet wasn’t quite as good as Frank. When he mounted, she closed her eyes.
Please don’t let him get hurt. He talks to you all the time. Just—please.
She heard rather than saw what happened next. A loud crack, a collective
oh
, a thud, and horrible silence. With her hand clamped over her mouth to keep the scream in, she peered over the hay and down into the back lot. Emmet lay in the dust just outside the corral. Still.
    Her heart in her throat, Annie spun about and charged toward the ladder, but before she reached it, a collective cry went up from the crowd. “He’s okay!” She hurried back to the haymow door to see what was happening below. Frank was helping Emmet up. Talking. Nodding. Slapping him on the back.
    “He wants to go again,” Frank called out.
    Anger replaced fear and dread.
Go again? Had they both lost their minds?
The crowd was silent for a moment, and then a tall man wearing a knee-length black coat and a broad-brimmed hat stepped forward. Emmet strode to where the stranger was standing and argued his case. He must have argued well. The man raised one hand and drew a circle in the air, as if preparing to throw a lasso. The crowd cheered. Luther Mufsy and the others took the black horse in hand.
    Annie hunkered down again. Hiding. Closing her eyes, she waited, alternating between inwardly cursing the gol-durned horse and swearing at her dad-gummed brothers. And then she begged God to please forgive her bad thoughts and to keep Emmet from breaking his fool neck.
I’m not good at the words, but you know what I want. What we need. Please.
    It seemed to take an eternity, but when cheers finally rang out and Annie dared to look down, Emmet was—miraculously—safe. The black horse stood in the middle ofthe corral, head down. Four men moved in to subdue him, but the animal seemed done in. When he submitted to the removal of saddle and bridle without protest, someone shouted that the Paxton brothers had broken Outlaw. “Three cheers for the Paxtons! Three cheers for the Pony Express!”
    Annie stayed seated, trembling with fear. The black-and-white cat emerged from a corner of the loft and minced toward her. Inviting itself to curl up in her lap, it began to purr as Annie stroked the soft fur