Instead of joining Ms. Hendren and me, Mom and Nafka take another lap up the lane.

“How adorable!” exclaims Ms. Hendren.

I follow her gaze to our giant old plow horse, Chief, and Lucky, the shaggy Mustang grazing beside him. In spite of the cooler temperatures, they’ve obviously been rolling in mud again.

Great. Now she won’t think her Arabian is a good fit for the Willis Ranch.

“Those two won’t be training with Nafka,” I explain.

“Why not?”

“Chief, the big one, came with the ranch. He’s a great horse, probably my best friend. We just keep him around. He usually looks better than this.”

“And the little shaggy gray?”

Clumps of mud cling to Lucky’s furry coat and her mane sticks up like a rooster’s comb. “Lucky loves mud.”

“Where did you get her?” Ms. Hendren asks.

“Laramie’s Wild Horse Refuge,” I begin. “Sometimes Mom brings home a Mustang, gentles it, and sells it—if she can. Mustangs aren’t easy to train. But each sale helps the rescue.” I motion for her to follow me farther along the fence, closer to the showier horses, the ones Nafka will fit right in with. “The Thoroughbred on the end is Royal Princess. Mom can ride her great. But Austin, the boy who owns her, has a hard hand and forces her into gaits. He needs more training than his horse.”

I point out another horse. “The roan on the other end is a Paso Fino. Jazzabelle had never been ridden before. Mom gentled her in one day.”

“Seriously? One day?”

I nod. “Mom says God already taught Paso Finos the smoothest gait ever. The owners want to ride her in parades, so we’re getting her used to flags and noise.”

“And that one?” she asks, pointing to Mom’s horse.

“The Buckskin Quarter Horse, Buttermilk, is Mom’s favorite. Mom used to barrel race her, but she’s too busy now.” Our ranch is doing better than it was earlier this year, but Mom works as hard as if we were still deep in debt.

I glance up the lane, hoping this is Mom’s last lap with Nafka. Only one horse left to explain. “The bay will be gone by the time you get back. His registered name is Zandolph of Hanover, but Mom and I call him Zandy. Hanoverians pulled carriages of kings and queens. They win medals at every Olympics.”

Finally, Mom joins us at the pasture gate. She hands Nafka to me and walks Ms. Hendren to her trailer.

I scratch Nafka’s rump, the way Mom did. I’ve always wanted to work with an Arabian. I hope Mom will let me do more than help with grooming.

Ms. Hendren drives off, and Mom starts to take the lead rope from me. Then she stops. “Winnie, want to turn out Nafka?”

This is a big deal. Mom never lets me introduce a new horse to the pasture. I nod like crazy.

“Keep her on the lead until we know what the other horses are going to do.”

“I know, Mom. Not a problem.” But I’m afraid my excitement will travel up the lead rope to Nafka. “You can trust me.”

Mom looks to the pasture, then back at me. “You’re right. And I’ve been thinking. It’s time for you to take on more responsibility with the horses. Not just caring for them. Gentling them.”

“I’d love that!” This is what I’ve been waiting for.

“You’re always a big help,” Mom says. “But I’m talking about having you gentle a horse all by yourself. Start to finish.”

I stare at Mom and can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “Mom, that would be great!” I’m as close to crying as I am to laughing. Me. A real horse gentler. And I’ll be training the magnificent Nafka!

“Good.” The house phone rings, and Mom runs off, leaving me in charge of the most gorgeous horse in the world.

Note to self: If I had a “Winnie the Horse Gentler” T-shirt, I’d wear it to school tomorrow.