The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

She was in her forties, compact and practical, with silver beginning at her temples and a clipboard tucked under one arm. She shook Walt’s hand, then Jonah’s, then looked at Cinder with professional interest rather than wide-eyed awe.

“I’ve got to be honest,” she said. “A mustang is not usually what I bring into a high-need session.”

“He’s not usually continue reading …