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I don’t live in San Francisco.”
    Once astride Ace, Sam felt free.
    She kept her reins taut. Though Ace was a cow pony, used to working on loose reins, he felt tight beneath her. Sam had learned her lesson. When Ace felt restless and ready to run, she didn’t dare let her mind wander. Bucking was Ace’s favorite way to make her pay attention to him.
    After they’d crossed the bridge and headed north, she would let him run. When he’d settled down, they would check the blackberry bushes for cattle.
    Finally, Sam leaned forward, firmed her legs, and gave Ace’s ribs a tap of her heels. Even though she’d braced for Ace’s sudden lunge forward, Sam grabbed the saddle horn.
    No! Darn it. She only scolded herself for a second. Then, as Ace settled into a smooth run, she relaxed, swaying in the saddle as if she’d been born to it. Which she had.
    His pace lulled her. Sam breathed a summer wind scented with pine, sun-yellowed grass, and an edge of evening cold. The ground underfoot slanted down into a damp hollow thick with coarse grass. A few yellow flowers no bigger than raindrops clustered together. She’d bet an underground spring ranjust under the surface here.
    Wings fluttered and a sage hen burst from the grass, right beneath Ace’s nose. Hands steady on the reins, Sam didn’t panic. I trust you, Ace . Her thought matched the quick stutter step that interrupted Ace’s run. As Sam caught her breath, Ace swung back into a gallop. Head level, he watched the cattle that were now about a block away.
    Sam slowed Ace to a jog, then a walk, and finally reined him to a stop. As Sam praised Ace by rubbing his neck, a group of white-faced Hereford calves wearing the River Bend brand sighted them. They ran bawling, brown tails straight up, to their mothers.
    They were only pretending to be afraid. The calves bumped each other, detoured around a rock, then kicked their heels skyward. The calves had been around riders for weeks. They weren’t a bit scared. They were playing.
    Buddy would love to romp with these calves, but their fun might not last long. Some bull calves would be sold as soon as Dad found a buyer paying top price. This time next year, all the males would be on their way to market. Sam watched the calves scatter and rejoin a herd of about thirty cows.
    Buddy wasn’t unhappy at the ranch. Sam served as her mama, although now that she usually munched grass instead of taking a bottle, mothering mostly meant rubbing Buddy’s bony head. Buddy didn’t lack for playmates, either. She chased Blaze, the ranchdog, with the same zigzag silliness these calves were showing.
    Eyes on the vanishing sun, Sam hurried to the hedges. She dismounted, ground-tied Ace, and checked each tangle of blackberry bushes. No sign of Baby Huey.
    Angling her hand around the wicked thorns, Sam plucked one fat blue-black berry and popped it in her mouth. Oh, wow. Sam grabbed another one, closed her eyes and let the sweet juice fill her mouth. No wonder Baby Huey had been trapped so often.
    Sam had caught up her reins and started to mount when she spotted another possible hiding place.
    Ace hung back at the end of his reins as Sam peered into a cavelike opening in the hedges. No calf hid inside, but one might have fit. She couldn’t go in, but—
    All at once, Sam felt as if an icy finger had trailed down the nape of her neck. Shivering, she looked over her shoulder.
    No one was there, but someone was watching. Could it be Slocum? Not likely. And she’d seen all the cowhands ride in before she’d left the ranch. And neither Gram nor Dad would come after her. They knew she’d be home in time for dinner.
    Sam shrugged her shoulders so high, they nearly reached her ears. She felt cold. She studied Ace, but his eyes only scanned the terrain, showing no margin of white around the brown. He wasn’t frightened,then, but Ace wasn’t the most reliable watchdog. Sam