On this moonless night, she had only starshine to show the way along the gravel driveway, past the pasture and down to the river’s edge. Things grew quiet behind her. She heard the soft crunch of her tennis shoes, a whicker as Ace, alone as usual, followed along the fence line, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Since luck was sitting on her shoulder tonight, Sam had decided to test Brynna Olson’s blind-trust theory. After their picnic supper of spareribs, garlic bread, and salad, the family had enjoyed a long talk. No one mentioned her mistake with Buddy, but Dad seemed ready to believe she’d learned her lesson. Crickets hushed as Sam picked up rocks and plopped them into the river. She smoothed her sleeping bag on the ground she’d cleared, but she didn’t try to sleep. She sat, tugged the cuffs of her gray sweatpants to cover her ankles, and pushed only her bare feet into the sleeping bag’s cozy layers. Then she gazed into the high desert sky. Blind trust. She wasn’t sure what Brynna meant by it, and was less sure the stallion could feel such faith in her.
