by Terri Farley
Brynna had mentioned that Sam and Jen might be teaching the girls to ride. She’d said nothing about Jake. It must be Dad’s idea, and that troubled Sam.
Sam tried to squash her jealousy. After all, Jake had taught her the patient Indian ways of working with horses. She couldn’t imagine a better technique for soothing the hurts of horses and humans. Still…
“Jake, huh? I guess you don’t agree with Brynna that I could handle it?”
Dad said nothing. His silence hurt.
“Just when I think you have faith in me, you expect me to fail.”
“I didn’t expect it.” Dad spoke slowly. “You surprised me, sayin’ BLM should send a ruined mustang and that child over to Slocum’s.”
“But when BLM offered you the job tracking wild horses, you didn’t do it.” Sam didn’t add, and we could have used the money. “Why did you say yes this time?”
Dad nodded toward the buckskin mare, and even that faint movement sent her sidling away from the fence. But Dad didn’t answer Sam’s question. He asked one, instead.
“Why didn’t you leave that mare up at Lost Canyon?”
Sam’s spirits fell. She’d been so sure Dad would understand.
“She was—they had her blindfolded. She was standing in the dark, alone. I couldn’t leave her there.”
“Neither could I,” Dad said.
“But, Dad—”
“That’s my answer, Samantha. Chew on it.”
Later that evening, Jen called to explain why she’d missed their early-morning ride.
Her cold had gotten worse.
“I didn’t oversleep,” Jen said, sniffing. “I was up getting dressed, but my mom heard me coughing and wouldn’t let me go.”
It took Sam a second to understand, but if she took the word that sounded like bomb and substituted mom, Jen’s sentence made sense.
“That’s what I figured,” Sam said. “But I’ve got so much to tell you. And part of it involves the Phantom.”
Jen gasped. “Talk fast. Mom only gave me ten minutes. Then, I have to go back to bed.”
“Okay, but—oops.” Sam lost her grip on the phone. She was juggling the receiver as she folded laundry. “Sorry I dropped you. I think Gram and Dad are giving me time to figure out how lucky I am,” Sam told Jen.
“Lucky?”
“Lucky that I have a decent home and people who care enough about me to make me fold a mountain of laundry taller than I am,” Sam said.
When Jen made a confused sound, Sam asked, “Have you heard of the HARP program?”
“Sure. They pair juvenile delinquents with problem horses, then step back and watch to see who kills who first.”
“Jen, you’re terrible.” Sam shook her head at her friend’s sarcasm.
Jen’s laughter provoked more coughing. When she finally stopped, she asked, “That’s the program, though, right? They have it in California and New Mexico.”
“Sort of,” Sam said. “Except Brynna Olson and Dad have worked it out so that the Nevada program’s first kid—”
“Just one delinquent in all of Nevada? I’m not buying that.”
“—will meet the horse here. Then Jake and I will work with the kid and the horse. The mustang is an albino named Popcorn.”
When Jen made a throat-clearing sound that sounded like envy, Sam told her Brynna’s plan.
“It’s a government program and there’s enough money set aside that if things work out with Popcorn and Mikki—that’s the first girl’s name—they might send more kids during the summer, and Brynna said they might need you as an instructor, too.”
“Wow.” Jen sighed. “How cool is that?”
Would Jen like the idea so much if she were sharing her own parents?
“But wait,” Jen said. “Do you really believe my mom, who home-schooled me because she didn’t want me corrupted by outside influences, is going to—”
Jen’s voice faded as her hand muffled the telephone mouthpiece. “Yes, Mom, I know it’s been…But I feel much—” Suddenly, Jen’s voice was clear. “Sam, I have to get off now.”
Disappointed that the conversation had ended so soon, Sam teased her friend.
“Oh, that’s fine. I didn’t really want to tell you about the wild horse rustlers.”
“What?” Jen’s squeak triggered her coughs all over again.
“And how the Phantom came to the rescue—” Sam stopped taunting Jen and bit her lip. She probably shouldn’t mention the beautiful buckskin, either.
“Don’t forget anything,” Jen whispered. “I want details.”
That night, Gram served up a lecture along with dinner.
“As soon as Brynna mentioned this program, I started reading up on it,” Gram said.
And how long ago was that? Sam wondered. Gram had seemed surprised, but apparently only Sam had been kept out of the loop.
“There’s not a lot of data so far, but it’s working. In most other programs, seven out of ten kids are back in trouble inside of a year. With HARP, it’s three out of ten.”
“If they get back in trouble,” Sam mused, “can they come back to work with the mustangs?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I was just thinking,” Sam said, remembering the joy on Mikki’s face as she watched the horses gallop across their pasture. “If I were a bad kid, I might mess up again so that I could come back and work with the horses.”
“Samantha Anne, I don’t know why I try to treat you like an adult, when all you want to do is joke.” Gram whacked the wooden tongs back into the salad bowl.
She hadn’t been joking. Sam looked to her father for help. He balanced the lettuce on his fork for a minute, studying her.
“I think she’s serious,” he said.
“I am.”
“Well, all right,” Gram said. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
“You know what else I was wondering?” Sam asked. “Why we couldn’t use that buckskin mare instead of the albino Brynna was talking about.” Sam looked from Gram to Dad.
Sam tried to imagine Mikki giving the buckskin the gentle handling she needed. She couldn’t.
No, when she stared at the kitchen wall, imagining it was a movie screen, the girl she saw loving that frightened horse was herself.
Chapter Five
SAM DREAMED of the Phantom. In her dream, a giant swan floated down the river, gradually changing into the curve-necked, broad-chested stallion. But he didn’t lose his wings. The mighty stallion launched into flight, and Sam woke to the rustling of feathers.
As she dressed in boots and jeans, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that the Phantom had actually been near. She’d fallen asleep yearning to see him, wishing she could go to the river, even though she’d known he wouldn’t come to her.
The Phantom was the leader, the protector of his herd. After yesterday’s near disaster, she knew he wouldn’t leave the horses alone, even in their isolated valley in the Calico Mountains.
She couldn’t read the stallion’s mind, but Jake had tutored her in horse psychology. The Phantom wouldn’t lead his band back up the narrow trail to Lost Canyon, even though the water seeping from the rock walls was sweet. The narrow trail, funneling into that tight trap, would have frightened the horses, so the Phantom would take the mares to an open area.
They’d be more visible, but that drawback worked to the animals’ advantage. They’d see anything that could see them and have plenty of time to use their best weapon: speed.
War Drum Flats. That’s where they’d go. The pond was scooped from the level sagebrush—and piñon pine-dotted land that lay at the foot of the trail up to Lost Canyon. Best of all, a ridge overlooked the area, so the Phantom could keep watch and use his trumpeting neigh to warn his family of danger.
Dusk, Sam thought. She’d do all of her chores and homework and ride Ace to War Drum Flats just as the sun went down.
Sam avoided the mirror and finger-combed her hair as she trotted downstairs.
The ki
tchen was already warm and filled with the smell of frying ham and eggs.
Sam kissed Gram and kept moving toward the door.
“Biscuits will be done in about five minutes,” Gram said.
“I just want to check on the buckskin,” Sam announced.
“Go on, then,” Gram said, “But hurry back.”
She had to make sure the buckskin hadn’t escaped. Though the corral was too small to allow the running start needed to leap the fence, wings still fluttered in Sam’s imagination.
Sam started to open the door, then let it close without leaving the kitchen.
“What’s Brynna Olson doing here?” Sam asked.
Gram turned from the stove and stood just behind Sam, looking over her shoulder through the window.
“My, my, I don’t know. I wonder if she knows Wyatt’s already ridden out?” Gram pushed her glasses farther up her nose, but the white truck parked in the ranch yard was still there. “Well, dear, run on out and ask her in for breakfast.”
Sam might have protested if she hadn’t disappointed Gram yesterday. It would be a waste of time, anyway. Gram always got her way, sooner or later.
Ace’s nicker floated to Sam, but Brynna didn’t turn to look at her. She watched the barn corral and stayed still to keep from startling the buckskin. The golden brown mare shifted nervously, but she stood facing the barn.
Sam sighed. It was sad that the little mustang was happier staring into the darkness.
“Gram says—”
“I didn’t come for breakfast, Sam. I came to talk with you.” Brynna didn’t look away from the horses, but Sam stood beside her now, and she saw the dark circles under the redhead’s eyes. Brynna’s tone made Sam fear she was to blame for the woman’s sleepless night.
Brynna wasn’t wearing her uniform today. She wore gray cords and a teal pullover. Far from making her red hair and blue eyes more vivid, the teal emphasized the fact that Brynna’s eyes looked faded and tired.
“I haven’t been able to track down her owner yet,” Brynna said. “But she was adopted by Mrs. Rose Bloom of Caspar, Wyoming, who did enter a name for the mare.” Brynna paused for effect. “Dark Sunshine.”
“It’s perfect,” Sam said. “Not just her color, but—everything.”
“That may be all the woman did right,” Brynna said. “Mrs. Bloom’s phone is disconnected. There’s nothing in BLM records saying she didn’t gain title to her last May.” Brynna sighed. “Which means, she might have sold the horse legally since then.”
Brynna raised one eyebrow as she regarded Sam.
“So, one of those rustlers could own her?” Sam asked. “Maybe I really did steal her.” Sam thought of the mare, thirsty and bewildered in that mountain trap. “But I’m not sorry.”
“There are laws against mistreating animals, and they broke them. If they filed a complaint against you, I doubt a judge would take it seriously.”
Sam felt a flush of warmth at Brynna’s support, until the woman went on in her cold, official voice.
“The brand inspector at the auction yards in Mineral says no horses came in with fresh brands.”
Anyone would have spotted a fresh brand. Sam remembered Buddy’s. For days after her pet calf had been branded, Sam thought the mark looked exactly like what it was—a second-degree burn.
“That’s good, I guess,” Sam said. “But you’d have to be really dumb to brand a wild horse and try to sell him the same day, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Brynna said. “But I think the criminal genius is a myth.”
Sam laughed. If the three rustlers she’d seen were representative of crooks…well, only one of the three had seemed very smart.
“The brand inspector saw animals without brands,” Brynna said, “but none appeared to be range horses. There were only three—two packhorses from Elko and a very old Shetland pony.”
At that, Sam couldn’t repress a frown.
Neither could Brynna, though she worked at being tough. Sam didn’t know if she worked so hard at it because she had a responsible job, or because she was a woman in a mostly male profession, or because she was hiding a soft heart.
If Brynna hadn’t hated the thought of people selling horses for pet food once they outlived their usefulness, she wouldn’t have mentioned the Shetland pony.
Maybe I’m not in trouble after all, Sam thought. Maybe thoughts of pitiful horses kept Brynna awake last night. Suddenly, though, Brynna changed the subject.
“Mikki Small has had three stepfathers in the last four years. She’s lived in eight different apartments and gone to seven schools between fourth grade and sixth grade.”
Sam flinched at Brynna’s accusing tone.
“That would be really hard,” Sam said. She didn’t say anything to fill the silence swelling between them. Instead, she touched a splinter on the fence. She’d have to get some sandpaper and smooth it down before a horse got hurt.
“I don’t know why it happened, but Mikki was telling the truth when she said her mother sent her away.”
Sam kept trying to smooth the splinter down as she remembered how she’d felt the few times Dad had given Brynna extra-long looks. She’d hated it. Even though her reaction made no sense, she felt like he was choosing Brynna over her. The feeling cut like a knife, then kept aching each time she thought of it.
How much worse must it be for Mikki, whose mom had married three different guys and then sent her away? And Mikki was only twelve.
All at once, Sam realized her hand had reached up to touch her breastbone. She didn’t want to sympathize with Mikki, but her heart didn’t know that. Deliberately, she put her hand back on the fence.
“Couldn’t you get in trouble for telling me this?”
“Sure,” Brynna said. “I could probably get fired.”
Sam took a deep breath and glanced back toward the house. Gram would be waiting.
“But, how about the way she refused to shake Gram’s hand? And the way she squared off with Jake? And…” Sam hesitated as a blush crawled up her cheeks. “I know it’s no big deal, but she looks at me like I’m a…a hick.”
“I’ll tell you what you look like to her, Samantha. You look like the luckiest girl in the world. You have people who love you, and horses, and a future.”
Sam didn’t cry, but when Ace ambled to the fence and whuffled his soft lips over her fingers, she came close.
She didn’t admit she felt like a spoiled brat. She didn’t tell Brynna she’d make a great psychologist, either. But both were true.
After she’d finished her homework, Sam worked with Dallas. One reason the River Bend foreman was well liked was his willingness to work. Although the gray-haired buckaroo let it be known his only talent was work done from horseback, he’d dirty his hands with most any chore.
The chore of the day was repairing the chicken coop.
For weeks, Gram had suspected her Rhode Island Red hens were laying more eggs than she was getting. Something, she insisted, was slipping into the coop at night and stealing eggs.
By the time the hailstorm came and the hens resumed laying, Gram had also noticed the coop could use tightening up. Sam was awarded the job, but Dallas had offered to help.
Now, he grunted as he settled his saddle-weary bones into a squat next to the coop.
“Snakes, weasels, ground squirrels could all get through something that size,” Dallas said as he examined an opening in the wire. He measured it with his middle and index fingers. “There’s no room for a raccoon, though they do like eggs.”
Sam liked working with Dallas. As long as she did her share, he never criticized. And maybe because he’d known her since she was a toddler, Dallas never thought her questions were dumb.
“Would any of those animals hurt the chickens?” Sam asked.
“Probably not,” Dallas said. “If a critter ate one of these big fluffies”—he gestured at the fat hens, whose feathers puffed up at the disturbance caused by the two humans—“it likely couldn’t get out again.
Plus, they’d set up a ruckus that would wake us, or Blaze.
“Come spring, though, if we have any chicks, they’ll gobble them down for sure.”
Sam felt a little queasy, thinking of a chick-size lump in the gliding length of a snake. She didn’t say anything, but Dallas must have noticed her expression.
“What we need to do is take off this old chicken wire.” Dallas gestured to the screening within the wooden frame of the enclosure. “Then we’ll replace it with new. After that, we’ll put out the word we need a rooster. A mean one. Anything comes sneaking along after that is in trouble. All it needs to do is stick its head in, and the rooster will grab on and flog it till you can fold it up like your Gram’s hanky.”
Sam worked quickly, lulled by the low clucking of the hens.
The chickens were set free daily to peck at table scraps and bugs. Dark Sunshine acted as if she’d never seen such creatures. The buckskin slung her head over the top rail of the fence. Ears pricked forward, eyes tracking every movement, she watched the hens, trembling with fascination.
“Look.” Sam nudged Dallas and nodded toward the mare.
“She’s showing you that she can be smart and interested,” Dallas said. “Now, you just got to figure how to get her to look at you like she does those chickens.”
“I wish I could.” Sam sighed. “I’m worried about BLM returning her to her owner.”
“Oh, I think she’ll be sticking around River Bend for a good long time,” Dallas said.
“I hope so. Whoever owns her doesn’t deserve her,” Sam grumbled. “I’d buy her from them if Dad hadn’t forced me to put my reward money in savings.”
Just a few weeks ago, Linc Slocum had offered a huge reward for the return of his Appaloosa mare, Apache Hotspot. Using horse sense and her talent with a camera, Sam earned the reward by unmasking the renegade stallion who’d stolen mares right out of their home pastures.
But Dad didn’t believe in shopping sprees. He’d allowed her to buy a camera of her own, small gifts for him and Gram, a soft leather headstall for Jake’s upcoming birthday, and a new well pump.
She’d had to fight him on that purchase. Sam and Dad had stood toe-to-toe, each with arms crossed. Sam figured Dad finally realized she was every bit as stubborn as he was and the time they were wasting made him give in.