The Reluctant Wrangler Read Free Page A

the one who was half Native American.
    “Hi, Billy,” she answered with a smile, which he returned with a friendly one. He was slim, with straight dark hair and dark eyes, and she guessed he wasn’t shy in any way.
    When none of the others spoke, he jabbed the boy next to him with an elbow. “Your turn,” she heard him whisper.
    “Ray Stewart,” said the second boy, giving Billy a quelling glance.
    “How old are you, Ray?” she asked.
    “Eleven last week.”
    “We had a party,” one of the other boys added.
    “Then happy birthday a little late, Ray.” He seemedmore like the quiet type than Billy, but didn’t have a problem being a little younger.
    She looked at the next boy, one of the two who had waved at Mac. “And what’s your name?”
    “Shamar Jackson,” he answered, pride in his dark eyes.
    “How old are you, Shamar?”
    “Thirteen.”
    There was the hint of a swagger, and she smiled to herself. “Officially a teenager, then. Is that cool?”
    He ducked his head and then raised it to grin at her. “Yeah. It’s cool.”
    “And you?” she asked the one who had spoken to Mac first.
    “Benito Martinez. Fifteen.” His chin went up as he met her gaze full-on. “And I don’t like horses.”
    “That’s all right,” she told him. “Not everyone does. What do you like?”
    “Basketball.”
    “I’m Leon Jones,” the boy next to him said, claiming her attention before she could comment on Benito’s choice of sport. “And I’m fifteen, too.”
    There was no lift to his chin as there had been with Benito, but she noted a spark of defiance in his dark eyes. She didn’t blame him or any of the boys for hard feelings they might have toward adults. She’d known several who’d experienced some of the same things that had led these boys into the court system. For some, it wasn’t a pretty world out there. She’d been lucky, even though she’d come from a broken family and hadn’t known her father. But she’d never had to fend for herself on the streets, as some of these boys might have.
    “And what about you?” she asked the smallest of theboys, who stood with his head lowered. “What’s your name?”
    “Kirby,” he said without looking up.
    “Kirby Miller. He’s eight,” Ray offered. “He’s the youngest.”
    Kirby stood a little apart from the others, and she wondered if it was his choice or if the others kept their distance. “Do you like horses?” she asked.
    He nodded, but still kept his head down. When he finally lifted it, she saw a two-inch horizontal scar across his left cheekbone. “But Mac said no riding yet.”
    She looked up at Mac standing beside her. He must have read the question in her eyes, because his answer was a shrug. “We’re two horses short. As soon as Tanner and Dusty return, we’ll have enough so everyone can ride.”
    “Of course,” she answered, and quickly turned away. Looking at him too closely wasn’t a good idea. His steely stare felt as if he could see inside her to her secrets. She couldn’t risk that. Instead, she flashed the boys a friendly smile, making sure to include Kirby. “Whatever Mac says. He’s the boss with the horses. But it’s great meeting all of you. I still have to learn the schedule here, but I hope we’ll all become good friends.”
    Mac indicated it was time to leave, and she followed him away from the outdoor dining hall. They hadn’t gone far when she felt him touch her arm.
    “Don’t expect to become friends with all of them,” he said, keeping his voice low, “and be careful how much and what kind of friend you become.”
    She spun around, facing him, angry that he thought she was completely without common sense. “Let’s get something straight,” she said, more than ready to get this over with. “I’ve worked with all kinds of children. Littleones, teenagers, boys, girls. Some had similar problems to those these boys have, and I’ve never had a bit of trouble. I know how to handle them. Maybe you