Luz struggled through the shin-deep snow to get to the newborn foal. Crusty ice covered the baby horse. The mare stood off to one side, pawing the frozen ground. Luz dropped to her knees and laid the foal's droopy head in her lap.

"Pobrecito," she said, watching its quick, shallow breaths hang like wisps of fog in the cold morning air.

Carlos caught up. He knelt beside her.

"Aii, chica, 'poor thing' is right," he said. He flicked his cigarette butt into a snowdrift. "I checked the mare yesterday afternoon. She musta dropped this filly during the night."

"How can a horse have a baby out in a field, in the middle of a Michigan winter? The baby would—" Luz stopped. She finally realized what Carlos had just said. "A filly? It's a girl horse? How cool! Why is she all frozen like that?"

"Because her mother didn't lick her off after she was born like she's supposed to. Stupid horse," Carlos said. Reaching up under the mare's flank, Carlos gently squeezed a teat. "No milk, neither. Call that a mother?"

"But how come the baby's not standing?" Luz asked.

"She's too weak from the cold and no food," Carlos said.

The foal stared at nothing, eyes dull, lids half closed. Luz ran her finger along the trembling lips. The newborn shivered, but didn't suck.

"Don't just stand there, Carlos!" Luz cried. "Let's get her into a warm place, now!"

Carlos shook his head. "That foal's half frozen, almost dead. The mother's got no milk. Better just let her die," he said. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. "Oye, chica. I told your ma I'd take you home. Vamanos, pues."

"Stop calling me 'chica.' I'm not a little girl. I'm eleven years old and I'm not going to let this baby die out here. I'll carry her to my house if I have to. It's just down the road," Luz said.

She slid her arms under the horse. She tried to stand with her burden, but couldn't. Something held the foal down.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help," Carlos said, stamping on the snow and ice around the foal.

Chunks of ice clung to the elbows and forelegs of the newborn horse. Luz lifted the floppy animal into her arms and staggered off.

"Put her in my pickup," Carlos called.

Luz smiled to herself. So far, so good, she thought.

Carlos helped lay the foal on the front seat. Then he climbed in the driver's side and turned the heater on full blast. Luz squeezed onto the floor on the passenger side, her eyes even with the filly's head as it drooped on the seat.

"You're so cold and so tired, you can't even hold your head up, can you?" Luz asked the half-frozen filly. "How could anyone do this to you?"

"Not anyone. My boss," Carlos said. "He lets his mares run with his stallion in the same pasture all year 'round. So who knows when she was bred? And even if he knew she was pregnant and ready to drop her foal, do you think he would put her in a barn? In a birthing stall? Not him."

"Well, don't worry," Luz said to the shivering newborn. "We're going to take care of you now, little one, even if your mother won't."

Carlos lit another cigarette. "What do you mean, 'we?' Do you know what it's gonna take to save that bundle of fur and bones?" he asked.

Luz stroked the baby's icy coat. The melting ice smelled bad, like the inside of a chicken right after it's killed. She grabbed a rag from under the seat and began wiping the stinking slime. The heater soon dried a patch of fur along the foal's neck.

"Look," Luz said, "she's a chestnut. I love that color. And I'm going to call her Holly, because its almost Christmas. Holly. Little Holly."

"Don't," Carlos warned. "Don't like her too much. She ain't gonna make it."

Luz kept wiping. "Don't listen to him, Holly," she said. "You're safe now."

"Who's gonna take care of her for a month?" Carlos asked. "It'd take at least that long, you know. And where would she stay all that time where it's warm and people can watch her around the clock? Huh? Not in some barn, I can tell you."

Carlos rolled down the window a crack and flicked out his cigarette butt.

Not daring to look at Carlos, Luz said, "We could put her in your trailer and—"

"No way," Carlos snapped. "Not in my place."

Luz looked at him, half grinning. "It's not like you'd notice a little more mess in there. Your trailer smells like the inside of a barn, anyhow," she said.

Carlos's lips curled up for a second, fighting a smile. Luz saw his hand gently stroke the newborn's rump.

"If you're so eager to help, why not take her to your house, chica— I mean, Luz?" he asked.

"My mother never pays any attention to me," Luz said. "Why would she care about a horse?"

"You might be surprised," Carlos said.

Luz stroked the filly's neck. "Look, we gotta do something. This poor baby needs lots of attention. Now," she said.

Carlos nodded and thought for a moment. "How about that vet for the Police Department, the one that helped Zan with his filly last winter?" he asked. "Came out to Corky's a couple of times. What's his name?"

"I heard about him, but never met him," Luz said. "Danell? You mean Danell?"

"Yeah, that's him. Maybe he'll take a look at the foal and decide. You know, what to do next," Carlos said.

"Let's move it," Luz said. "We can call from the freeway, to be sure he's there."

"Hello. Detroit Mounted Police Training Center."

"Is Danell handy?" Luz asked.

"Naw, he's pretty clumsy. That's why they let me hang around."

"Zan!" Luz said.

"Hey, Lucy Goosey,"  Zan said. "I knew it was you."

"What are you doing there? Aren't you supposed to be working at Shamrock Stables?" Luz asked.

"Corky sent me here for the day," Zan said. "You know, like the Molly Maids that clean houses? 'Cept she's got me mucking out horse stalls. Whaddaya say, should I start my own business? Call it the Bun Butlers?"

"Zan! Stop! Just stop. Okay? We got an emergency and we need Danell. Is he there?" Luz asked.

"Yeah, the little brother's around here somewhere. What's up? Who's 'we?'" Zan asked.

"See you in about twenty minutes," Luz said.

"Come in, I was just straightening up the surgery," Danell said. "You're Carlos, right? We met at Corky's a while back."

"Right," Carlos said, bending to shake hands with the undersized horse trainer.

"And who's this little lady you brought along?" Danell asked.

Zan, just in from the stables, snapped, "Ha! That's no lady, that's Luz. Rhymes with goose, sounds like juice, looks like Bruce and his brother—"

"I don't need a whole rap, Zan," Danell cut in. "Just a name will do."

"Luz. I'm Luz. Hi," she said.

"Nice to meet you," Danell said.

Luz flashed a dazzling smile set off by her bronze skin. Quick as a snake, she poked her tongue out at Zan.

You may be two years older than me, she seemed to say, but this man knows how to treat a person.

"And that's my buddy, Carlos," Zan went on. "He goes down to Tennessee to round up cows. Lives down the road from Corky's."

"We've met," Danell broke in.

Clueless, Zan rambled on. "Me and my dog, Barkley, hang out at his place sometimes."

"How lucky can you get?" Danell asked Carlos.

Zan paused and studied both men. "Was that a shot? You guys bustin' on me?" he asked.

Honk! Honk-honk! Honk!

"Hey, Carlos, sounds like your truck," Zan called as he ran toward the door. "You got a little kid in there or something?"

"Or something," Carlos said.

Danell looked from Carlos to Luz, then back to Carlos. "What's with the honking?" he asked.

Carlos shrugged. "Beats me," he said.

Honk! Honk!

Zan burst into the clinic. "It's a foal! It's wiggling on the front seat and bumping the horn," he said.

"She's a filly. Holly. That's her name, Holly," Luz added.

Danell nodded. "Go on," he said.

Honk! Honk!

All in one breath, Luz blurted, "She was born in the pasture last night and her mother doesn't have milk and didn't lick her, and she was covered in frozen glop that I mostly wiped off, but she's so weak she can't stand and can't suck, and since Christmas is next week I want to call her Holly, only she's going to die if we don't help her."

Honk! Honk!

The police horses moved in their stalls, nickered, and stomped. Danell shrugged into his coat.

"Well, c'mon, then, let's go see this foal that's about to die but is healthy enough to honk a horn and rile my horses," he said.

Using his forearm to clear the frosty window, Danell studied the foal. Holly struggled to stand, flopped against the horn, fought to raise her head but couldn't.

"Get her inside," Danell said.

Danell cleared bottles of pills, a box of syringes, and a lead rope from a workbench in the middle of the room. Carlos laid the exhausted newborn on the table. Danell probed her chest with a stethoscope. He looked in her eyes and rolled back her lips. Six pairs of eyes watched anxiously, waiting for his verdict.

"Not good," Danell said, shaking his head. "She's dehydrated. She needs fluids and food, but is too weak to swallow. She never got the first feedings from her mother that are so important for her immune system."

"What's that mean?" Luz whispered to Zan.

"She could get sick real easy. Shhh," Zan said.

"She needs a naso-gastric feeding tube to get food through her nose into her belly," Danell went on. "And she's going to need an IV for plasma."

"Like on ER?" Luz asked.

Zan nodded.

"And she's going to have problems with the frostbite on her legs," Danell said. "Lots wrong. We could send her to Michigan State University. They have a top-flight equine facility."

"How much would that cost?" Carlos asked.

Danell studied the ceiling, calculating. "Maybe $5000. Maybe more. Depends," he said.

Carlos shook his head. "No way," he said.

"We could raise the money," Luz said hopefully. "Couldn't we, Zan? We could do it, right?"

"Not that much," Zan answered. "It's too much."

Danell stroked the filly's neck. He looked up. "You've got a choice," he said. "I could put her down. Or you could take a shot at saving her. No guarantees."

"Yeah, she could stay here and we could come to see—" Luz began.

"Not so fast," Danell interrupted. "Number one, she can't stay here. This is a municipal facility. I can't keep personal animals here. Well, maybe for tonight, but that's it. Number two, it's going to take at least three weeks, maybe more, to get this filly on her feet and growing if she makes it. During all that time, she's going to need constant attention, 24/7. Do you know what that means?"

Luz turned to Zan, eyes wide, then back to Danell. She nodded.

Danell shook his head. "I don't think you do," he said. "This foal needs to stay someplace warm. I mean, people warm. Not a barn. Not a garage. A house. And people are going to have to change the bandages on her legs and feed her every three hours. That's if we can even get her strong enough to stand and drink from a bottle."

Carlos turned to Luz. "What'd I tell you?" he asked.

Eyes tearing, Luz lifted her chin.

"Tell you what," Danell said. "I'll get her started on an IV and in the meantime, you can decide what you want to do next. You can let me know in the morning."

"You guys," Carlos said, "I gotta split."

"What about Holly?" Luz whined. "I don't want to leave her."

"I told your mother I'd get you home," Carlos reminded her.

"I'll call her to come get me here," Luz offered.

"Fine. I'm outta here," Carlos said.

Luz picked up the phone book in Danell's office.

"If Holly makes it, what are you gonna do then?" Zan asked.

"I don't know. Maybe Corky would keep her?" Luz said. She flipped through the yellow pages. "There's lots of room in her stables and she loves horses."

"You heard what Danell said," Zan said. "This critter needs to stay inside someone's house. And I don't think—"

"Hey, what's the worst she can do? Say no?" Luz asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she dialed Shamrock Stables and punched the speaker button.

"Hi, Corky, how are you?" Luz asked. "Zan and I—"

"Uh-oh, there's trouble. The two of you together," the Irish stable owner said. "Why do I get the feelin' you want me to do something I really won't want to do?"

Luz held up her crossed fingers to Zan. "There's this filly that was born yesterday in a field. But now it's like an orphan and Danell says it needs to stay in someone's house for a little while. How about yours?" she asked.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. In my house, you say? Horses belong in barns, not houses," Corky said.

"Barn's too cold," Zan said.

"Well, there's no room here, is there? I don't have a basement, do I? And the front room has a rug. And the bathroom's too small for a full-figured lady like me, not to mention a horse," Corky said.

"How about the kitchen?" Zan chimed in. "You're never in it, anyway."

"And who asked for your two cents?" Corky asked. "Cheeky lad."

"The kitchen would be good," Luz said. "It's just the right size."

"The right size for what? A nice, tall manure pile right in front of my stove?" Corky asked. "How about the mess she would make?"

Luz said, "We could put straw on the floor and change it every day. I live so close, I could be there all the time. And Christmas vacation starts in two days. And Zan could help, too."

Zan opened his mouth to argue. Luz pushed her hand at him like, Not now.

"We could do it, Corky. Please," she said.

There was a long pause.

"Sorry, lass," Corky said. "But I have to say no."

"Oh," Luz said in a small voice. She said goodbye and hung up.

Zan studied her face. It was pinched tight, close to tears.

Luz would make a great little sister for someone, he thought, not for the first time. He hated to see her sad.

"Call your mom," he said. "Then I'll show you Danell's horses."

At the door to the stables, Zan and Luz paused. They closed their eyes and inhaled familiar barn smells: dusty oats, sweaty saddle blankets, oiled tack, and the overwhelming, bittersweet odor of large-animal droppings. Passing open stalls, they walked down a dirt aisle that brought them to an outdoor arena.

"Remember, this is where Danell trains horses for police work," Zan said. "I came here once with my friends, Kyle and Tanesha, to help him. We had to pretend to be protesters, and shout and wave signs and throw nerf balls at the horses."

"Why would you do that?" Luz asked.

"So the new horses could get used to that kind of thing," Zan said.

"Sounds stupid to me," Luz said. "Just like throwing firecrackers at them. That's cruel."

Zan stared at Luz, smirking. "You're so dumb," he said. "Why do you think football coaches blast out crowd noise on huge speakers during practice? Huh? To get the players used to loud crowds, that's why. Same thing with horses."

Luz shook her head. "Nope. You might as well whap your head on the floor so you can get used to it when you fall off your skateboard," she said.

"That's not the way—" Zan started to say.

"Hey! That's what's-his-name," Luz cried, running up behind a huge brown gelding.

"Boomer. Used to be out at Corky's,"  Zan said. Walking toward the Clydesdale/Quarter Horse mix, he called out, "Remember me, ol' buddy? I used to clean your stall. Manure big as bowling balls. How ya doin'?"

Luz began dividing Boomer's tail into three even strands.

Realizing what she was doing to Boomer's tail, Zan shouted, "Hey! Cut that out. Don't you dare braid that horse's tail. This is a working horse, not a pet."

Luz held onto the tail for a moment longer. "He would look so cute in a braided ponytail," she said.

Zan swung his arm in disgust. "Forget you," he said.

Back inside Danell's clinic, Holly lay on a pile of straw. A tube, taped to her muzzle, passed liquid food through her nose and down her throat. An IV tube ran a clear fluid into a site on her neck. There were blue stretch bandages on her elbows and knees. White gauze showed around the edges.

Danell held a finger up to his lips. "Shh, she's sleeping," he whispered.

Knock! Knock Knock!

Danell held up one finger. "Be right back," he said.

From the hallway, voices could be heard.

"Carmen. Carmen Garcia. I'm looking for my daughter, Luz."

A slender woman, no taller than Danell, burst through the door.

"I don't have time for this," she complained. "I got a gas station to run. People depend on me." She paused, her black eyes locked on Luz. "I can't be chasing after you every five minutes."

Luz glared back, eyes almost level with her mother's, chin out, lips squeezed tight.

Mother and daughter, all right, Zan thought. Like football players lined up across the scrimmage line.

Even Carmen's hair, pulled tight into a ponytail, was as sleek as a helmet. Gold earrings brushed the collar of her fireplug-yellow coat. A red, white, and blue patch over her heart read Liberty Gas. The smell of gasoline, French fries, and cigarette smoke filled the clinic.

Pointing a smudged finger at her daughter, Carmen was winding up for more scolding when she spotted Holly. Her finger drooped. She walked slowly toward the sleeping filly, dropped to her knees, and stroked the newborn's soft coat.

"Oooh, caballito, what happened, poor baby? Did you hurt your legs? Don't you worry, mommy's here," she said.

"Ha!" Luz barked. "Like you're going to take her home and take care of her. Just like you take care of me."

Carmen looked up slowly. She stared at her daughter for a long moment. "Mira, hija. What I'm doing... I'm teaching you to look after yourself," she said.

"Well, yeah. You leave a kid alone long enough, she'll figure out how to survive. Great plan, Carmen! But you can't do that with a horse," Luz said. She took deep breaths like a runner after a hard race. "And I know you. You get all pumped up at first. But watch, I'll be the one who ends up taking care of Holly."

Carmen looked up at Danell. "Can I do that? Can I can keep her?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, you could. I suppose," Danell said. "If she makes it through the night."

"That's what I wanna do," Carmen said, hugging the exhausted filly. "We're gonna take care of you, baby. You'll see."

"Carmen!" Luz wailed. "You don't understand. Someone has to watch this filly day and night, and feed her, and—"

Carmen, hugging and petting the horse, cut in. "How long we talking here, Danell? It's Danell, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah. Maybe three weeks," Danell said.

Zan could see a look in Carmen's eye. A look he'd seen in a basketball game when a player was driving at him, determined to score, not to be denied.

"Three weeks, you say? Piece of cake," Carmen said. "Bueno, here's what we're gonna do. Luz, you're home for Christmas vacation starting Monday, right? Can we keep the pony here 'til Monday, Danell? Gives us a chance to get set up."

"She's not a pony," Luz said disgustedly. "She's a regular horse. She's gonna be full-sized when she grows up."

Ignoring her daughter, Carmen stared at Danell, waiting for his answer.

"All right. I shouldn't. But all right," Danell answered. "'Til Monday afternoon."

"And where are we going to put her, Carmen? Huh?" Luz demanded. "In your bedroom?"

"No, Miss Know-It-All, we're going to keep this sweet little baby in our kitchen," Carmen said. Her laugh rattled like stones in a deep wooden box. "Hey, I'm never there, anyhow."

"That's the truth," Luz said. "And if we got a horse in the kitchen, how am I going get my cereal in the morning and make macaroni and cheese for lunch, and—"

Carmen ignored her daughter and began planning out loud.

"Okay, first we'll need some volunteers. How 'bout you?" she asked Zan.

"Me?" Zan asked.

"Yeah, you. I seen you at Corky's. You know something about horses," Carmen said.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Zan said.

"Good," Carmen said. "You can stay at our place. Sleep on the couch."

"Him? Stay in our house?" Luz wailed. "No way."

"And hey," Carmen said, turning to Luz, "what about them girls you ride with? The four something?"

"4-H. It's 4-H, Carmen, geez," Luz said.

"Yeah, them. Well, since they love horses so much, you can call them and ask them to take turns during the day and at night. And their mothers, maybe they can bring casseroles," Carmen said.

"I don't want them coming to our Seven Dwarfs house," Luz said.

"What's wrong with a small house?" Carmen asked.

"Besides, it's purple," Luz said. "And the paint's all peeling."

"Oye, chica, I work hard to put a roof over your head," Carmen said. "I can't help what the landlord—"

"Stop. Stop right there," Danell ordered. "Take your argument outside. This filly needs to rest."

"Who's arguing?" Carmen muttered on the way out. "I was just getting her head straight about a few things."

Zan rolled over in bed to answer the ringing phone. "Yeah?" he growled.

"It's Luz."

"Girl, why you callin' me early on the first day of my Christmas vacation?" Zan asked.

"Holly made it through the weekend," Luz said. "Danell wants us to come and get her this afternoon."

"That's this afternoon. This is this morning. Besides, I thought you didn't want me in your cool purple house," Zan said.

"It's not so cool. It's a mess all the time. The only thing my Mom keeps clean is her gas station," Luz said.

"At least you got a mom to stay with," Zan said. "Mine shipped me out to my uncle's just 'cause I got in a little trouble. She thinks it's our neighborhood."

"Can he bring you here? Your uncle? This morning?" Luz asked. "We need to get the kitchen ready. I've never had a horse in my kitchen before."

"Well, you're asking just the right guy. I work in the kitchen section of a Western Tack store. Can I interest you in a hay rack to hang on your refrigerator? And maybe a blue feed bucket to go with the house?" Zan asked.

Click.

Later that morning, Zan leaned against the snack bar in Luz's kitchen. She leaned on the stove. The space between them was no bigger than a double bed.

"Not much room," Luz pointed out.

Zan nodded.

"What do we need to do to get ready?" Luz asked.

Zan shrugged, sliding his sneaker in a small puddle of melting snow dripping from his shoes. "This floor is slippery. When that sweet little thing takes a whiz, I don't plan to flip and land in it," he said.

"She could slip, too," Luz said, "and we need to be able to clean it up."

"We could try diapers," Zan suggested. "Do you think they make diapers for horses? Maybe call them Pony Pampers?"

"C'mon, Zan, get serious. Holly's going to be here in a couple of hours," Luz said.

"Okay. Serious," Zan said. "Once, at a Fourth of July parade, I saw a bag they hung under a horse's tail to catch the road apples. Maybe we could get one for Holly. Or," Zan grinned, spying Luz's school bag, "maybe we could rig up your ratty backpack."

"Zan!" Luz said. She stamped her foot. "What can we put on the floor to keep it clean and not slippery?"

"I saw a blue tarp on your woodpile out back," Zan said. "We can put that down so the floor doesn't get soaked and stained."

"Good. That's good," Luz said. "And then we have some indoor-outdoor carpet rolled up in the shed. You know, the kind that looks like grass? That should work, too."

Half an hour later, Zan and Luz finished cutting the carpet and tucking it under the counter. From their knees, they could see the kitchen from a foal's point of view: the snack bar, a phone cord, a jar filled with pencils and pens, a bag of chips, a salt shaker, a coffee maker.

Zan reached his arm across the counter. "When she's standing, her neck can probably reach this far. So we have to clear everything off the counters that she could mess with," he said.

Luz nodded. "And the towel hanging from the refrigerator door, and the magnets and pictures on the refrigerator," she added.

"What about the stove?" Zan asked. "What if she bumps the buttons or messes with knobs? We should probably put some tape over them."

"Okay," Luz said. Looking around the kitchen, she saw the space between the snack bar and the dining room. "How are going to keep her in here?" she asked.

"We could stack some bales of straw in the gap," Zan said. "You know, make a wall?"

Luz rolled her eyes.

"What? What's wrong with that?" Zan asked, slightly offended. "You ask for ideas, then you shoot me down. Besides, then the straw would be right there for the bedding."

"What about a board, like a piece of plywood or something?" Luz asked.

"How would you hold it up from both sides?" Zan asked.

Luz sighed. Then her eyes widened. "I know! Our neighbor down the road, I babysat for her once. She had one of those fences you put in doorways to keep kids in a room," she said.

"That would work," Zan said. "Now, we need to get her a bottle."