The Renegade by Terri Farley

down from her collarbone, were twin rows of gold fringe that shimmered and swayed with her every movement.
    Sam knew that if she could run into the house and grab the glittering strand from her dresser, upstairs, she could prove the fringe on Karla Starr’s shirt matched the one she’d found at War Drum Flats.
    Karla Starr had been there, where the three bachelor stallions rolled in the mud, where Ace and Silly had shied with fear, but why?
    The address on her truck door said Mesa Verde, California, but Karla Starr had been spending a lot of time in this part of Nevada.
    “I see,” the woman said, then glanced at her watch. “But don’t rule me out. Even if you don’t have any now, I want to get dibs on any broomtails too ornery to use with children.”
    “Someone’s led you astray, Ms. Starr,” Dallas said. “We only have two horses for that program.”
    “Which would those be?” Karla Starr turned toSam as if she’d just recalled she was there. “And you’re the young woman who can talk to wild horses.”
    Karla’s smile was warm and friendly, as if she wanted to give Sam a girlfriends-only hug.
    “That’s an exaggeration,” Sam said, wondering where she’d heard it. She pointed to distract the woman. “The albino,” Sam said, “and the buckskin are mustangs.”
    “She’s a beauty.” Karla Starr’s eyes flicked over the horse. “Tiny for a bucking horse, though, and a little soft in the belly.”
    “She’s in foal,” Sam said.
    “Too bad.” Her, expression faded. She glanced at her watch again, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “In my business, there’s no such thing as a long-term investment.”
    “Aw now, do you mean to say you don’t breed bucking mares to bucking stallions?” Dallas asked.
    “Never. I buy rough stock, buck ’em out, and resell when they lose their edge. A mare might go through her entire rodeo career before that one’s ready for the arena.”
    Sam met Dallas’s eyes. Neither of them knew what to say.
    “And the albino?” Karla Starr raised one brow. “He’s tall enough, but he doesn’t have the look. Still, there’s no telling what he’d do in the arena, properly prepared.”
    “Properly prepared with drugs, shocks, burns--”Dallas used a casual tone for such horrors, but Karla Starr stopped him.
    “Of course not. Those are tricks from the old days.”
    “Not so old,” Dallas said. “When I worked for Slim Perkins, he was the only man raising stock instead of buying outlaws and terrifyin’ them into bucking.”
    “I thought Slim Perkins was dead.” Karla Starr laughed.
    “He is, ma’am.” Dallas looked hurt.
    Why didn’t Karla Starr go keep whatever appointment had her checking her watch every couple of minutes? There was nothing for her here.
    “I can guarantee you my animals love to buck,” the woman said, as if realizing she’d alienated them both. “It’s play for them. Who wouldn’t like a job where he only worked a couple of weekend afternoons a month?” She winked at Dallas. “Wouldn’t take too long to get the cricks out of your back that way, would it?”
    Dallas wasn’t taken in. “These are lifelong cricks, ma’am, and I love my life the way it is. Just like these ponies do.”
    Karla Starr smiled as if she were indulging Dallas, then she looked past Sam and raised her auburn penciled eyebrows in surprise. “Well, now, who’s this?”
    Sam heard hooves right behind her. They weredetermined, but not collected like a horse under saddle. Even before she saw him, she knew it was Ace.
    “Hey, runt,” Karla Starr said, pretending to joke with the gelding. “What’re you up to? Is he just an old pet?” She reached to touch Ace’s nose and he swung his head away.
    “He’s one of the best usin’ horses on the spread,” Dallas said. “He’s a little spoiled, but--”
    “Babying animals ruins them,” Karla interrupted, grabbing on to something she and Dallas had in common.
    How had Ace escaped his corral again?