Firehorse (9781442403352) by Diane Lee Wilson Page A

morning fog had our entire row of red brick houses packed in cotton. Everything was hushed, a balm after my sleepless night. Happy to be out of the house, I hurried around to the courtyard.
    Instantly I knew something was amiss. Voices were coming from the carriage shed, one of them spewing oaths. “Damn it all!Stop that!” A horse’s body thudded against a wall. There was an anxious squeal. I lifted my skirts and ran as if my life depended on it. Rushing into the shed, I found James and another man trying to corner the Girl. She was lashing out at them with both hind feet. Torn bandages dangled from her body.
    â€œIt’s no use,” James said. “We’d better wait.”
    â€œNo, let me try again.” The other man feinted one way, then rushed along the mare’s other side, grabbing for the rope that was hanging around her neck. But she was too quick for him. Dodging his hand, she spun and kicked, grazing his thigh. “Ow!” the man cried. He doubled over, pressing a hand to his leg.
    â€œYou’re on your own,” James said as he escaped under the bar. “Stand clear,” he told me. He spread his arms as a barrier.
    The man in the stall—I was sure now that I’d seen him at the fire station; he’d been the one arguing for the mare’s life—wouldn’t give up. Still hunched over, he eyed an opportunity and lunged for the rope again. The Girl pulled out of reach, screaming in pain or fury or both, and swung her huge head at him. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a good whack. But before he could recover, she was on top of him, attacking with bared teeth. I thought he was going to be killed for certain, but he nimbly dived under the bar, rolled once, and jumped to his feet. Grinning, he shook his fist at the infuriated horse. “You’re Satan’s own daughter, you are.”
    I was trembling with rage. “What are you doing to her?”
    â€œJust changing her bandages, miss, though she’s not of a mind to have it done.”
    James appeared equally shaken. “Rachel,” he said, by way of explanation and introduction, “this is Mr. Benton Lee. He came over to help me with the Governor’s Girl. Benton, this is my sister, Rachel.”
    â€œGood morning.” Mr. Lee’s greeting was accompanied by more than a hint of a leer. He boldly looked me up and down, full length. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity or cringe at the impropriety. His shock of black hair and the thick beard framing his olive-skinned face gave him a rather sinister, though certainly not an ugly, appearance. What truly caught my attention, though, were his eyes. They were so dark as to blend iris and pupil, and they wouldn’t fix on anything, but kept hunting, piercing each subject on which they landed. When they kept returning to me, I instinctively made an escape: into the Girl’s stall.
    â€œHere now,” Mr. Lee shouted. His lunge was too late and too short. “James, she shouldn’t—!”
    I paid them no mind. I couldn’t. I had to get to the Girl. She was heaving herself back and forth in a tormented—and dangerous—frenzy. Praying that she’d remember, I walked right up to her and slipped her a peppermint. To my relief, she took it, eyeing me with what I thought was new respect. I lifted the rope from her head and we stood unfettered, facing my brother and Mr. Lee.
    â€œSeems as though you’ve made a friend,” James said.
    Mr. Lee spluttered. He looked like a boiler ready to explode. “I still don’t think-”
    â€œSave your breath.” James laughed. “My sister is half horse and more at home in a barn than a parlor. I’ll be responsible for her. Besides, I think it’ll take Mr. Stead to change these bandages. You can go on back to the station for some sleep.”
    A foul word escaped Mr. Lee’s lips. “I won’t be sleeping there for a