by Terri Farley
“Sorry,” he shouted as he closed the dog inside.
Sam didn’t think Gram was going to enjoy Blaze’s company.
Jen slipped out of the truck, hands still covering her ears. Sam smiled as Jen reeled toward her, black-framed glasses askew.
Finally freed from the skirts and twin-set sweaters her mom had made her wear before freshman year, Jen’s clothes expressed her individuality. Today she looked like a walking harvest fair.
She wore an orange-and-yellow plaid sweater, red corduroy jeans, and black high-top tennis shoes. The ends of her white-blond braids were bound with some kind of fuzzy little pumpkins.
“Save me,” Jen croaked as she staggered closer to Sam.
“What’s with all the dogs?” Sam asked.
“Another one of Slocum’s grand ideas,” Jen moaned.
Linc Slocum was always dreaming up schemes to make him look like a real Westerner. His ideas weren’t always harmless. He’d had a rustler capture the Phantom, then tried to adopt him. He’d bought Brahma bulls and tried to show them off through Karla Starr’s illegal rodeo shows. Luckily, his ignorance often made him fail.
Over her friend’s shoulder, Sam saw Dad talking to Jed Kenworthy. Jed might be Linc Slocum’s foreman, but here at River Bend, he was his own man.
Jed and Dad looked alike. Both wore faded jeans and shirts with metal snaps. Tanned, scarred hands hung at their sides. Both looked down, and both seemed amused and disgusted by their conversation.
“What now?” Sam asked.
“Rented lion hounds,” Jen said.
Lion hounds. Sam felt uneasy as Jen rattled on. That had to mean Slocum planned to hunt down and kill the cougars.
“And that’s not all. We had to drive into Reno to pick up some gear that’s so high-tech even I don’t understand how it works. And you know how I love electronic stuff.”
Sam did. Jen was a math and science whiz. For fun she puzzled out bizarre equations and programmed her computer to do amazing things.
Together, the girls walked closer to listen to their fathers’ conversation.
“It was just bad luck this turned out to be lion season. Slocum’s got his hunting license. That cost him less than fifty bucks, but he’s in Reno buying a new truck to go huntin’ in. And this pack of hounds he’s renting didn’t come cheap. Their daily rate would make a normal man’s heart stop.” Jed Kenworthy rubbed his hand across his lips as if he wanted to erase what he’d just said.
“I didn’t know you could rent dogs,” Dad said, sounding as if he couldn’t imagine a bigger waste of money.
“They’re not just any dogs.” Jed’s response accompanied a lopsided smile. “They have electronic tracking collars, and we have to tote a black box full of computer gadgets, so that if the hounds take off after something we can figure out where they’ve gone.”
“I bet Linc won’t be the one toting that box,” Dad said sympathetically.
“Heck no, and it can do more than track the dogs, too. Did I mention it makes sounds like a dying rabbit or a deer in distress? These were his second choices, though. What he really wanted was to do an aircraft flyby, then get some night-vision goggles and—”
“Mr. Kenworthy,” Sam interrupted. She heard her voice quaver and she steadied it. “Have you talked to Jake Ely about the cougars?”
“No,” Jed said, eyebrows raised. “Should I have?”
“Jake says the tracks show the mother is limping and she’s just teaching her kitten how to hunt.”
“That so?” Jed shook his head. “Might be some point to this after all, then. An injured cougar is more likely to take down unusual prey. Instead of waiting for a deer or antelope, she’ll take whatever she can. Like a horse and rider.”
Both fathers looked at Jen and Sam. The girls rode together in desolate areas all the time.
Sam had the awful feeling she’d just made things worse, so she gave Dad a look that begged for help. She wasn’t sure he even noticed.
“You taking Sundance up there after a cat?” Dad jerked his head toward the ridge as if he couldn’t believe Jed would put his palomino Quarter horse in such danger.
“With those hounds drooling around his knees? Don’t think so.” Jed shook his head. “That’s a lot to ask of any horse, if he’s not trained to it. Especially if we get one.”
He was talking about shooting a cougar and bringing it out dead. Sam didn’t want to picture it, but the image filled her mind. To a horse, the cat would look and smell almost alive. Few would tolerate the limp weight of a cougar swaying over their withers.
“Why doesn’t he hire a guide and do it right, since he’s set on doing it?” Dad asked.
“Doesn’t want a guide taking credit for the kill.” Jed looked through the camper window. A swarm of speckled dog faces greeted him. One even licked the glass.
“He wants it for a trophy?” Dad glanced back at the house as Blaze renewed his barking.
“Sorta,” Jed said. “He wants a hide to tack up on the side of the barn.”
Sam gasped, then reminded herself she was not going to act like a kid anymore. She could hide her feelings, but right now it was hard. With a halfhearted wave, she jogged toward the barn.
That poor injured mother cougar. She was only teaching her baby to hunt so he could do it for himself. The cub would have to learn or starve. Why would Slocum want to make that cub an orphan?
Sam grabbed the barn doorway. Inside, she heard straw rustle. She walked toward the warmth of resting horses. Overhead, a pigeon cooed in the rafters. Outside, the men laughed. Sam bit the inside of her cheek. Once she was alone with Ace, she could cry if she had to. But she wasn’t alone. She heard Jen’s steps coming up behind her.
“Are you okay?” Jen asked.
“I can’t believe,” Sam said slowly, “your dad is going out there with Slocum.”
“He doesn’t want to,” Jen answered.
“But he’s going to do it anyway.”
“He’s been thinking about what’s the best thing to do. It’s not an easy choice, Sam.” Jen sounded reasonable, but Sam could tell she didn’t like defending her father. “He figures he can either let Linc go out alone, get mauled, and have the ranch sold off to someone who won’t let us live there,” Jen explained, “or he can go help him and get it over with.”
“But it’s wrong,” Sam insisted. “Those cats haven’t hurt anybody.”
Jen took her time retying the ends of her braids before she answered. “You’re probably right. So maybe my dad should just let Linc go out there alone, and maybe the cougars would get away. That’d be nice. But what if Linc wounds one of them? You know he’d just leave it out there, suffering. Then what?”
Sam didn’t know. Right and wrong shouldn’t be this complicated.
“I’ll tell you what.” Jen’s voice rose louder with each word. “Then my dad would have to go out and shoot it again.”
Wings flapped. A disturbed pigeon swooped down from the rafters and flew out the barn door.
Silence settled around them. Sam walked farther into the barn. Ace slung his head over the top of his corral and nickered.
“But he’s joking about it,” Sam said, letting Ace whuffle his lips across her palm.
“Well, your dad isn’t exactly horrified.”
Sam knew Jen was right. Standing together, the two ranchers had been twins in their looks and in their acceptance of the cougars’ death sentence.
“But my dad’s not going out with Slocum.”
“Do you think my dad likes it? Do you think I like it?”
“Then—”
“We both like it more than leaving the ranch!” Jen shouted, then she waved her hand at Sam, dismissing her. “Sometimes you really are a city girl. Maybe when you grow up, you’ll see not all decisions are easy. Not everything’s black and white.”
Jen stormed out of the barn.
Sam sat in the clean straw outside Ace’s pen and listened to the horse move around. She answered him each time hi
s nicker asked what she was doing.
“I’m still here, Ace. Still trying to learn to keep my mouth shut and my feelings to myself. I can’t even tell my best friend what I’m thinking.”
Sam pulled her legs up against her chest and clamped her arms around them. She rested her chin on the shelf they made and listened. She didn’t leave the safety of the barn until she heard the green camper bumping away, across the River Bend bridge, and dusk had fallen, turning everything a hazy shade of gray.
Chapter Seven
Sam’s guilty conscience woke her at four A.M.
It was stupid, and she knew it, but what else could it be? She’d mistreated her best friend. Not accidentally, but on purpose. That’s what had her staring toward her ceiling when it was still too dark to see.
She’d finished her homework last night, so school worries weren’t keeping her awake.
She hadn’t had a bad dream, though thoughts of Moon, injured and alone, and the about-to-be-orphaned cougar were nightmarish enough.
She wasn’t cold. She didn’t have sore muscles or a cough or a headache to keep her from sleeping until her alarm clicked on at six o’clock.
Nothing was wrong except that she had only three hours to decide how she’d face Jen at the bus stop and apologize. The worst part was, Sam wasn’t sorry.
Sure, she regretted their quarrel, but she still thought Jen’s dad was wrong. The cougars shouldn’t have to die and Jed Kenworthy shouldn’t help Slocum kill them.
Sam rolled onto her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to kick free of the sheet wrapping her like a mummy. If she kept thrashing around, she’d wake Gram or Dad and then she’d have another set of problems.
She sat up carefully, hoping her mattress wouldn’t creak. She wiggled her feet free, then tiptoed across her room to pull on jeans, a flannel shirt, and heavy socks. She laced on her gym shoes and started downstairs, where she put on her coat.
The only one who’d welcome her at this time of the morning was Ace. And, she admitted to herself, even that was iffy.
As Sam left the house and closed the door quietly behind her, she decided to stop by the feed room and get a scoop of grain, just in case.
Ace nickered before she reached the barn, and though Sweetheart snorted and turned her tail toward Sam, the little bay gelding was happy to see her.
“Hey, pretty boy,” she whispered.
Ace nickered again as she entered his pen.
Long ago, Jake had told her it just made sense to pet horses in the same places they groomed each other, and he was right. As Sam rubbed Ace’s neck, the horse sighed with pleasure.
“So, Ace, do you think I’m a city girl?”
Ace stamped one hoof.
“I don’t think so, either. I only spent two years in San Francisco. Jen knows the numbers don’t support what she’s saying, so why would she say it?”
Ace shifted his weight toward Sam. She rubbed harder.
“And she told me to grow up.” Sam paused as Ace shook his mane. “Okay, something like that. And I’ll tell you the truth, Ace, I don’t want to ask her what she meant.”
Sam worked her fingers through the gelding’s coarse black mane. “Know what I think? That I should save those cougars myself before Linc has a chance to kill them.” Sam let her words hang for a moment. “I should do it myself,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself it was the right thing to do.
At the bus stop, she and Jen would make up. None of their squabbles lasted longer than overnight. After each of them apologized, she’d ask Jen to meet her after school. Together, they’d ride the ridgeline, looking for cougar tracks. When they found the mother and cub, they’d bother them a little. Not enough to terrify them, but just ride after them a little and hope the cats took off for the high country.
Slocum wasn’t likely to follow the cats into bleak, snowy terrain where the riding was cold and difficult.
All at once, Sam felt sleepy. It just figured. She’d only been out of bed about fifteen minutes and her body had decided it was nap time. If she hurried, maybe she could catch more sleep before her alarm rang.
“’Bye, boy.” Sam kissed Ace on the nose, slipped out of his pen, and jogged toward the house.
Before she was halfway there, a commotion of clucks and a flurry of feathers erupted inside the chicken house.
Sam stopped. What was that? She peered toward the coop. Had something moved?
No other animal was inside the chicken house now, or the hens would still be squawking, but she’d seen something like a wave of black near the fenced chicken yard.
Sam continued cautiously. If she were a horse, a dog, or almost anything but a human, she’d have better night vision. She opened her eyes as wide as possible, then squinted. Nothing was there.
Keeping a watch over her shoulder, Sam continued toward the house. As soon as she opened the door, the kitchen light came on. Sam jumped back. Of course, it was just Gram, wearing a red robe zipped up to her neck, looking at Sam in surprise.
“Good morning!” Gram said as she flicked on the oven. “You startled me.” She ran water into the coffeepot, set it to heat, then asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Sam said. There was no sense mentioning the turmoil in the chicken house. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Hmm,” Gram said. “I wonder why.”
Sam noticed Gram hadn’t really asked why. Still, Sam sagged into a chair instead of going upstairs. Her eyelids were heavy, but she couldn’t help but watch as Gram darted around.
Gram opened the refrigerator, removed two pans of bread dough that she’d left rising overnight, and slipped them into the oven. They’d be baked and ready for butter and honey at six-twenty, the time Sam usually came down for breakfast. Sam wished they were ready now.
Next, Gram ground coffee beans in a hand mill and poured them into the old tin coffeepot. Finally, she made Sam’s lunch and slipped it into the backpack Sam left hanging by the door.
By then the coffee was ready. Gram poured herself a cup, sipped it, then tilted her head while she looked at Sam.
“I know it’s not your usual, but what about a cup of coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and maybe a piece of apple pie?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam practically growled the words. Last night, after her fight with Jen, she hadn’t been hungry for much dinner.
Smiling, Gram cut two triangles of pie. She gave Sam a pink pottery mug of pale coffee, then sat down across from her. Just then the heater came on, filling the kitchen with warmth.
“You didn’t have any pie last night,” Gram observed.
Sam sipped, giving herself time to think. Why shouldn’t she tell Gram what had happened? She couldn’t come up with a single reason.
“Jen called me a city girl and told me to grow up.”
“She did?” Gram’s eyebrows rose. “Now, I wonder what made her do that.”
“Am I?” Sam asked. “And aren’t I pretty mature for thirteen?”
“I think you’re a grown-up thirteen,” Gram said. “But Jen’s more adult than you.” Gram raised one hand to stifle Sam’s protest. “She’s had to be, dear. It was very hard for that family when they lost the ranch.” Gram stirred her coffee, though she’d already drunk half of it. “I don’t think I’d be telling tales if I said that living under Linc Slocum’s thumb has caused problems in Jed and Lila’s marriage. On the other hand, Wyatt and I have protected you from everything we could.”
“Like what?” Sam asked.
“Oh, money troubles, our little spats, conflicts between the cowboys…” Gram’s voice trailed off, then she met Sam’s eyes. “So, yes, I’d say Jen’s had to be more grown up.”
Gram was distracted by sudden clucking outside. “Is Blaze bothering those hens? He hasn’t been himself since Jed brought those hounds over.”
“I think Blaze is in the bunkhouse. I didn’t see him.” Sam wished she had. Something was sniffing around the chicken coop, and Blaze would have flushed it out of
hiding.
Sam’s fork cut through the lattice crust of her pie. The first bite tasted so good, she didn’t want to ask about Jen’s “city girl” remark, but Gram hadn’t forgotten.
“While I don’t think anyone’s justified in calling you a city girl, it’s not such a bad thing. I wish—” Gram gave a sigh, took off her wire-framed glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I do so wish you could have seen your mother the first day she came to this ranch.”
“She was a city girl,” Sam said. “I know that.”
“Oh, she was. Her makeup was perfect and her hair curved just so. She had manicured nails, too. Louise was as citified as they come, but it was love at first sight when she set eyes on River Bend.
“Your father met her in college, of course. He thought she just liked the idea of ranch life, so when he brought her out here, it was sort of a test.”
“That’s not very nice,” Sam said.
“Not very,” Gram agreed. “But Wyatt had a hard time believing she was real.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, you might have noticed that ranch folks hide their feelings some. Happy, sad, or mad, we don’t make a scene.” Gram let her words sink in, as if she knew Sam had been thinking of this very thing. “But Louise…” Gram tsked her tongue, smiling. “That girl always wore her heart on her sleeve, and Wyatt just didn’t know what to make of it.”
“But she passed Dad’s test.”
“Land, yes. They hadn’t even gotten out of his car when Wyatt’s old dog, Trixy, came streaking across the yard with a face full of porcupine quills.”
“Oh, no!” Sam couldn’t keep her hands from flying up to cover her nose and mouth. “Dogs have such tender noses, too.”
Gram nodded. “Your father didn’t bother calling the vet. Not because he was cruel, mind you, but because it was the third time Trixy had pulled that stunt.”
“And she got quills in her face every time?” Sam gasped in disbelief.
Gram grimaced and nodded. “Even inside her mouth.”
“Why didn’t she learn?”
“Who knows? But this was the last time she did it. In minutes, your mother, in her pretty blue dress and sandals, was helping Wyatt tend Trixy.” Gram stared at the kitchen wall as if it showed a film of that day. “Wyatt held that big brown dog between his knees, keeping her still. Louise used pliers to jerk those quills out, while tears ran down her cheeks. She was so softhearted, but she was tough, too. She pulled every one of those quills.