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my hair,” he said, tugging his hat lower on his brow. “Though it was a kind offer.”
    â€œLet me take this,” Sam said, reaching for Callie’s suitcase and a brown paper bag. “And this—oof! What have you got in here?”
    The bag was really heavy.
    Callie’s eyes looked dreamy behind her glasses. “Cantaloupe,” she said, “and a big tub of vanilla yogurt. My favorite breakfast.”
    Dallas recoiled. Sam was pretty sure the most exotic things he’d ever had for breakfast were the fried apple rings Gram had served one Sunday near Thanksgiving, and he’d sniffed suspiciously at those.
    â€œAre you sure you can get it?” Callie said as she fished her Jeep keys from a pocket.
    â€œYeah, the weight just surprised me. I’ll put the bag in the kitchen and your suitcase in the downstairs guest room. It has twin beds.”
    â€œCool,” Callie said. “The flute can go on my bed, too, if you don’t mind.” Then she fidgeted with her keys. “I hate to leave you already.”
    â€œWait, do you think I invited you over here? I just wanted to see Queen. Go get her.” Sam used her head to gesture toward the Jeep as Callie laughed. “If youdon’t see me when you get back, I’ll be out painting the fence.”
    Â 
    It only took Sam a few minutes to arrange Callie’s stuff in the room they’d share. Next, she hurried out to check the mangers for Ginger, Judge, and Calico. She found Dallas had not only been there ahead of her, he’d already backed Ace out of the trailer.
    Sam imagined new responsibilities settling on her shoulders as she waved good-bye to Dallas and watched him drive away.
    â€œWe can do this,” she told Ace, then swung into the saddle and rode out to the spot she’d left off painting yesterday.
    She finished off one can of paint and was ready to move onto the next can, but it wasn’t easy.
    She tried to use the stir stick Mrs. Allen had given her to pop the top off the next can, but it didn’t work. Even when she tried to lever it off with the blade of the pocket knife she carried in her saddlebag, the lid stayed stuck.
    â€œSaving money doesn’t always save time,” Sam told Ace where he grazed, ground-tied. His ears flicked in her direction, but he didn’t seem to have an opinion.
    According to Mrs. Allen, the redwood-colored paint had been in her storage shed for at least ten years, probably longer. When Sam had noticed it waslead-based paint and asked if it was dangerous, Mrs. Allen had made a go-on gesture.
    â€œSure, it’s illegal now, but we’re not painting a baby’s cradle, Samantha.”
    â€œBut what if one of the horses cribs?” Sam asked.
    â€œMustangs don’t do that,” Mrs. Allen insisted.
    Right after Tempest had been born, the vet had noticed bare spots of wood in Dark Sunshine’s stall and pointed out that she had been cribbing, due to stress.
    â€œAt any rate, people used lead-based paint for a hundred years and you didn’t see horses and cows droppin’ down dead.” Mrs. Allen had stood with her hands perched on the hips of her black skirt, staring at Sam, until she’d given up the argument and started painting.
    But now, Sam couldn’t get the old lids off.
    Because her fingertips felt flat from working to loosen the lids, Sam stood shaking them and staring off toward the Calico Mountains. She didn’t see the Phantom or any member of his herd, but she was pretty sure she saw the old burn Dad had mentioned.
    While much of the nearby terrain was covered with sagebrush, a swathe of land with a single pine tree in its center looked smooth and green. It was carpeted with cheatgrass and Ace was making a meal of it.
    â€œThese cans are like, fossilized,” Sam told Ace. This time he just swished his tail and kept grazing.
    Frustrated because her day had just begun andshe was already thwarted,