by Terri Farley
This is heaven, Sam thought.
Just then, two mustangs disagreed. Hooves thudded on hide and teeth snapped. Too close, she thought, crowding back against the valley wall. Then her view was blocked.
Soundless as a cloud, the stallion stood between Sam and the bickering mustangs. Intimidated by his presence, they moved off.
Sam felt along the rocks and found a safe spot. It was not really a cave, but a sort of grotto in the valley wall. She sat, drew her legs up, and curled into it.
She wanted to see the horses. At the first sign of daylight, she’d fill her eyes with this scene most people never witnessed, but she was suddenly exhausted.
It was hard to believe that it had been only this morning that Jen had hugged her and begged her not to be angry. Then there had been Rachel’s outburst and Caleb Sawyer, eyes filled with memories of her mother. Brynna looking betrayed. And Dad, sounding so disappointed she’d hidden from him.
If the tape of Caleb Sawyer didn’t convince them she’d been smart, not foolhardy, she’d probably be banished to San Francisco. She was already in bigger trouble than she’d ever been in before and if they found out she’d spent the night with the Phantom’s herd, she was dead.
Nearby, a coyote’s melancholy wail echoed her feelings.
Sam put her hands palm to palm, making a pillow for herself as she leaned against the sun-warmed rock. She’d work it all out in the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Daybreak showed Sam a valley full of foals.
“Three, four,” Sam counted aloud. From her niche in the cliff wall, she couldn’t see them all, so she stood. She spotted two bays, a sorrel, a leggy seal-brown colt that looked older than the others, and a creamy foal that might darken into buckskin. “Five!”
Unafraid but wary, the horses flowed away from her excited voice and movements.
The Phantom trotted toward her, snorting. This morning, he looked every inch a wild stallion. It was hard to believe she’d ridden him.
“Hey, boy,” she called.
The stallion didn’t greet her. In fact, she might have been a crack in the canyon wall for all the attention she got.
Hands on hips, Sam watched him go.
This was the horse she’d wanted to protect, Sam thought, shaking her head. Once in a while he needed her help, but this time, he’d done just fine without her.
The Phantom’s herd had returned to the valley where he was king.
What would happen if she stayed? The idea flared in Sam’s mind like a Fourth of July sparkler. Last night, she’d been part of the herd. Even now, the mares and foals weren’t afraid. Once they got used to her, they might accept her as one of them.
She’d disappointed her other family, but here she could have a fresh start. And Dad and Brynna couldn’t send her back to San Francisco if they couldn’t find her.
Sam stared after the Phantom. The early morning sun flowed over a coat wet from rolling in the dew. Along his flanks faint dapples shone like silver coins.
Just ahead of him, two yearlings cried out in defiance. One was a sturdy black youngster. The other was Pirate, the colt with the patch of white over one eye. Locked in mock battle, they fenced with their front legs and didn’t notice their sire until Pirate backed into him.
The stallion nipped both colts and gave them such a glare, they retreated across the valley. Heads lowered, they sneaked glances at the Phantom, asking forgiveness, but as long as he stared at them, they stayed away.
If she stayed, would she have to learn mustang rules? Could she?
Sam glanced around this mustang kingdom. She hadn’t done so well in her own world, where she knew the language. Even now, she might be in more trouble than she had been when the Phantom had come to meet her at the river.
At home, Dad and the others would have ridden out by now. If they hadn’t noticed she was gone, they wouldn’t know for hours. She might be able to make it back before they noticed.
How far had the herd galloped last night? Five miles? Ten?
Pirate took a hesitant step toward his father. The Phantom’s ears flicked back and his eyes narrowed. Even though he was yards away, Pirate once more lowered his head in disgrace.
Sam drew a breath. No matter how far she’d ridden the Phantom last night, his kingly attitude told her she was returning home afoot. The stallion was in no mood for nonsense.
Sam worked the flattened muffin from her coat pocket. It smelled a little like leather and was vaguely football shaped, but she nibbled as she approached the stream that meandered through the valley.
Cool grass brushed her sweatpants and the sound of horses’ teeth ripping and grinding was all around her. At streamside she knelt, splashed water on her face, then cupped her hands to take a drink.
She was swallowing when she saw the tadpoles. Hundreds of the wiggly black things danced in the shadow of the stream bank. Her throat tightened, thinking what might have happened if she’d swallowed one, but then, as she studied the infant frogs, Sam caught her own image in the water.
The clouds overhead shifted. The stream’s surface reflected her face as clearly as a mirror and she gasped in surprise.
Arms braced on the bank, Sam lowered her face until it almost touched the water. Her auburn hair fell over each shoulder, giving the impression of pigtails. If she wove in a few daisies, she’d look just like Mom.
Why did that make her feel so weird?
She wanted to be like Mom, didn’t she?
Sam swallowed hard. Because no one could listen to her thoughts, she admitted it: not exactly.
Mom had taught her to draw stars and hearts and write her name. Mom had shown her she was loved, and taught her how to love back.
But Mom should have cared as much for herself as she did for wild animals. She’d followed her heart without listening to her head. She should have done both, balancing between the two.
Sam sighed. She often did the same thing—neglecting that tarp, for instance, because she was obsessed with finding Caleb. Going out to Caleb’s house when it could have been dangerous.
And now, running away. She hadn’t meant to do it, but she’d known when she vaulted onto the Phantom’s back that he’d take her far from home.
Sam sat back on her heels. At least Mom had had an excuse for her wayward heart. She’d been raised in the city and couldn’t get enough of wild Nevada. Too late, she’d learned that the wilderness didn’t forgive mistakes.
But she wasn’t all Mom.
Sam felt her lips lift in a smile as she imagined her heritage, described in equine terms. By dependable, common-sense Wyatt, out of wild, softhearted Louise. She had the bloodlines to be a real cowgirl; she just had to learn how.
She focused on the tadpoles again.
“I’m really glad I didn’t slurp up one of you guys,” she said. As she watched their watery, wiggly dance, a shadow fell over her.
Big and silent, the Phantom lowered his head to drink and her reflection wavered, mixing with his silver one.
“Hey, boy.”
The stallion drew his dripping lips from the water. He stamped and fixed her with accusing eyes.
“What?” she asked him. “You brought me here.”
His mane scattered in a hundred directions as he shook his head, then backed away.
Sam chuckled. It was time for her to go home.
The Phantom didn’t watch her leave, but Sam didn’t mind. When you’re friends with a mustang, she told herself, you’ve got to be forgiving and flexible.
It was just as well, really.
She didn’t want to go back to San Francisco. Besides missing all the horses and the ranch, there was her reputation at school. Rachel’s tantrum had taken the focus off of Sam, but if she was sent away for the summer, people might jump to the wrong conclusion.
A good night’s sleep had made her see it was possible that Brynna, Dad, and Gram would see things her way. Almost. She had the tape to prove she hadn’t just blundered onto the hermit’s proper
ty without a plan. And Brynna needed her help with the HARP program.
Besides, maybe no one knew she’d messed up again. She really might slip home before anyone missed her.
If she’d been riding a wild white stallion, that would have been impossible, but the Phantom had forced her to go alone.
An hour later, Sam had made it through the dark, spooky tunnel, over the shale-strewn hillside, and found her way onto a rough path choked with bitterbrush.
It was only May, and judging by the sun on the eastern horizon, only about eight o’clock. How could it be so hot? She shrugged out of her coat and tied it around her waist.
By the time she figured she was halfway home, her feet hurt. She wasn’t limping yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Barn boots weren’t designed for long hikes.
Sam forgot all about her aching feet when she heard the coyotes yipping.
She’d noticed them last night, but these sounds were different. High-pitched and excited, these were the calls of hunters. They were after something.
Sam burst into a jog. A shower of sand shot from under her boots. She slipped and sat down hard on the desert floor.
Think, she told herself, then act.
Coyotes were rarely dangerous to humans, but did she really have any idea what she was running toward? She took a deep breath and held it while she thought.
As a matter of fact, she did know what she was about to run into.
Trouble.
Fighting her desire to rush, Sam scanned the terrain ahead.
There. A copse of cottonwood trees lay about a quarter mile away. Two coyotes, coats shining in shades of black and tan, bobbed around a boulder. One darted in, then the other. They had something.
“Hey! Get out of there!” Sam shouted.
The coyotes spun to face her. Both tails wagged low as if they were embarrassed. When Sam took one step closer, the coyotes bounded away.
They couldn’t have been too hungry, Sam thought.
And then she heard a calf bawl.
As she made her way toward it, Sam wondered what kind of mother cow left her baby alone. And neglected to teach it to be quiet. Coyotes weren’t the only predators that relished calves for breakfast, and humans were almost never around as guardians.
For that reason, Sam stayed watchful. If the cow was nearby, she could charge. Pointed hooves backed by a ton of angry mother wasn’t a challenge she wanted to face.
Almost there, she still hadn’t seen another living thing. In fact, there was no boulder or bush big enough to hide a cow.
The calf was alone, curled beside a rock, under a cottonwood tree.
The calf looked up. Wide trusting eyes stared out of a curly white face. It licked its pink nose as if searching for one last drop of milk. She was the tiniest calf Sam had ever seen: half the size Buddy had been as a baby.
Suddenly Sam noticed the calf’s unusual yellow coloring and her heart fell.
This was Buttercup’s calf—and Buttercup was dead.
“Poor little thing,” Sam said out loud.
The calf bawled again as if urging her to do something.
Dad had buried Buttercup yesterday. That meant the calf had been without nourishment for a full day, and that was far too long.
Gram kept a powdered formula for infant calves in the pantry. Dad had more of it on a shelf in the tack room. There were simple directions for mixing it with water, but first she had to get Buttercup’s baby home.
“Ready for a ride, cutie?” Sam asked the calf.
She decided to take its bleat for “yes.”
Gingerly, Sam worked her arms under the tiny calf. Weak as she was, the calf still struggled. Sam held her firmly, letting her delicate legs dangle free.
“Comfy?” Sam asked, realizing the little calf was much heavier than she looked.
With one last wiggle, she looked into Sam’s face, blinked her white eyelashes, and fell asleep.
As she trudged along carrying the calf, Sam realized that all week, she’d been trying to give her mother something for Mother’s Day.
Revenge was what she’d been hoping for, but now, she held the perfect gift. This little calf—not vengeance—was exactly what Mom would have wanted.
Sam paused to shift the calf into a more secure position. She let herself take a couple of normal breaths and waited for her pulse to quit pounding in her wrists and neck.
Come to think of it, Gram and Brynna would appreciate a little yellow calf a lot more than perfume or scarves, too.
Sam kept walking.
Chapter Eighteen
Sam’s feet in their sloppy-fitting barn boots told her she’d walked about a hundred miles, but her brain said it was probably only five or six.
Just as bad was the fact that the no-see-’ems were back. She didn’t know the scientific name for the little biting insects, but Gram fussed at them all through the spring and summer, saying they pestered her when she was gardening.
Once, when they were very young, Jake had told Sam that the itchy little bugs drank sweat. Yuck. She could almost believe it.
Now she felt them crawling through the roots of her hair. They must be working up an appetite playing safari, Sam thought, because they stopped every couple of minutes to take a bite of her scalp.
Why hadn’t she worn her Stetson?
Oh yeah, because she’d only been walking down to the river….
Sam sighed. That wild ride on the Phantom was worth any price, but she still wished she’d see a driver or rider, someone to help her carry this orphan calf back to the ranch.
She couldn’t even hear La Charla yet. She was hot, cranky, and ready to be home. So was Daisy.
She wasn’t sure when she’d started calling the yellow calf Daisy, but she knew why. It was partly because she came from a long line of flower-named cows, starting with Petunia; partly for the daisies mom had worn in her braids; and partly because cows with names were less likely to become hamburgers.
Not that Daisy appreciated the favor.
A couple of miles back, Sam had stopped to catch her breath and the little calf had drawn back a dangling hind hoof and kicked her in the stomach. Since then, every time Sam stopped, Daisy kicked her again.
Hoping to soothe Daisy into napping again, Sam began singing. She sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
Daisy seemed to like it, so Sam kept adding verses.
“I have had it little cow.
Every step makes me say ‘ow.’
Icky bugs are eating me,
Like I was a ripe green pea.
I have had it little cow.
Every step makes me say ‘ow.’”
Sam sang it again, this time like opera. Daisy didn’t care if she listened to it as a tango or country-western, as long as she didn’t hear silence.
Daisy’s ears fluttered and Sam decided the calf was partial to the verse with a forced rhyme between Rachel and space shuttle. She was concocting a story about the rich girl orbiting an undiscovered planet, when a different verse popped into her head.
“Stupid Jake, you low-down snake,
Always eating my gram’s cake.
You could drive by any time,
But you act like that’s a crime.
Stupid Jake you low-down snake,
Always eating my gram’s cake.”
Really, where was Jake when you needed him? He didn’t even have to be driving. She’d seen him carry a foal across his saddle. He could carry a calf. And she’d ridden double with him two weeks ago when he was tracking Star, so why couldn’t he return the favor?
Sam looked left and right. Nothing. Jake had five brothers, for crying out loud! Didn’t they ever go anywhere?
Or Ryan. Ryan was a good sport. Even if he was driving Linc’s Cadillac, he’d let her and Daisy ride in air-conditioned comfort all the way home.
At this point she’d even settle for Mrs. Allen’s tangerine-colored truck, though Mrs. Allen was the worst driver in northern Nevada, maybe in the whole state, and possibl
y in the entire country.
I’ll take my chances, Sam thought, but just then she saw the highway and heard the La Charla River.
She stopped, took a deep breath, and then—oof!
“I’m walking, Daisy,” she told the calf, once she could talk again. “And I’ve come up with a plan to make a bad guy just as uncomfortable as I am.
“Ow, okay,” she groaned as the calf struck again. “We’re almost home, baby, almost home.”
Buddy stood at the fence of the ten-acre pasture, sniffing. Her nostrils flared and her eyes rolled as if Daisy’s scent was the most wonderful smell in the world.
Maybe Buddy really did miss living with cows.
Quietly, Sam clucked her tongue at Buddy and she gave a lonely moo.
“Shh,” Sam told Buddy. “You can play with her later. Just don’t wake her up, now.”
Buddy ran along the fence, bucking in delight.
Sam felt a little guilty. If only the range didn’t have predators and mean old cows to kick a newcomer just to teach her who was boss.
As Sam turned toward the house, Buddy bawled pitifully.
Daisy’s eyes opened wide. She began kicking, twisting, and struggling to put her feet on the ground.
Sam shouldered open the screen door. It almost slammed closed, striking her elbow. Using her fingers from beneath Daisy’s body, she got the front door open, though, and kicked it closed behind her.
She was barely inside the cool, welcoming kitchen when she noticed the tape of her talk with Caleb Sawyer had been taken out of the tape player. A note sat beside it.
Sam shifted Daisy to one side and peered past her head, to read.
“Sam—Monday A.M. I’ll get a copy of this to Sheriff Ballard. Just in case. B.”
They must have listened to it and thought it really was worth something. She didn’t dare dance while holding Daisy, but she wanted to.
But what if the sheriff just held onto the tape? Caleb knew she had it, so he probably wouldn’t do anything stupid. But Linc Slocum didn’t know. What if he did something else to endanger the horses?