Dark Sunshine

by Terri Farley

  If every other penny hadn’t gone into her college savings account, Sam knew she could have convinced Dark Sunshine’s owners to sell her.

  An afternoon breeze blew over the sagebrush by the time Sam rode out on Ace. She’d had to display all her finished homework and promise to return in time for dinner, but at last she was riding.

  Ace moved at a rocking chair lope across the high desert, and Sam thought maybe Brynna had been right. With the wind in her face, a spirited horse carrying her across starkly beautiful land and love waiting for her at home, she felt awfully lucky.

  They’d almost reached War Drum Flats when Sam leaned forward to pat Ace’s neck and saw the horse.

  At first, peering through the frame of Ace’s ears, Sam took the palomino for a lone mustang.

  The mustang had wings.

  Sam thought of her weird dream, then shook her head. Impossible. But something was flapping out from the horse’s body.

  Ace’s stride didn’t change, but Sam felt him grow tense beneath her. “What is it, boy?”

  Sam squinted. She wished for a camera to bring the scene into focus. Then, all at once, she recognized the movement.

  Stirrup leathers bounced out with each galloping step the palomino took, but the saddle above them was empty.

  Sam urged Ace into a run, planning a path that would intersect with the palomino’s. Out on the range, with darkness coming on, a riderless horse could only mean trouble.

  Chapter Six

  THE PALOMINO WAS ready to stop running. He slowed to a trot, a walk, and finally fell into step beside Ace, so that Sam could snag his reins.

  Even if Sam hadn’t recognized the palomino, she might have guessed his owner by the horse’s trappings. The silver conchos glittering on his noseband matched those decorating his black leather saddle. It was parade gear, and the only man in northern Nevada who’d tack up his horse this way for a Sunday afternoon ride was Linc Slocum.

  “What are you doing, horse, running away from home?”

  She wouldn’t blame him. Champ belonged to Slocum, and the man compensated for his mediocre riding skill by using harsh bits and spurs. The palomino wasn’t bleeding from spur gouges today, but his dark lips were smeared with foam.

  Sam scanned the range. Slocum was nowhere in sight, and she was glad. For the first time, she’d have a chance to help this horse.

  Crooning to keep the palomino calm, Sam dismounted and ground-tied Ace.

  Today, Slocum rode with a spade bit. From outside, it was a thing of beauty, silver mounted with fine engraving, but inside a horse’s mouth, it could be a torture device. The three-inch metal spade worked on the tenderest parts of the horse’s mouth.

  According to Dallas, the bit worked elegantly in the hands of an expert rider. But Slocum was no expert. Dallas said giving Slocum reins connected to a spade bit and expecting him to ride well was like giving a monkey a straight razor and expecting him to give you a nice, close shave.

  She’d have to return Champ to Slocum, but she had time to adjust the bridle so that the bit moved with less severity.

  Sam had just finished and remounted when Slocum appeared on the horizon, limping toward her in high-heeled cowboy boots.

  She held Ace’s reins in her left hand, Champ’s in her right, and the palomino followed along nicely.

  “You’re a good horse, Champ,” Sam said to the horse, “but it’s just like your boss to get himself stranded when I’m in a hurry.”

  The good news was that she was nearly to War Drum Flats and Slocum’s Gold Dust Ranch was only a couple of miles away. Once she got Slocum back in the saddle, she should have the area to herself. She just hoped he hadn’t created such a commotion that he’d frightened off all the wildlife in the area from horses to jackrabbits.

  “Well now,” Slocum bawled when he got within range, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  Sam might have said the same, but she would’ve dropped the last three words. Slocum’s plaid shirt and jeans weren’t extraordinary, but Sam couldn’t stop staring at his boots.

  Working cowboys wore their jeans over their boot tops, but Slocum tucked his in to show off the red and yellow cutouts and fancy green stitching. The boots matched the silver-mounted tack for flashiness.

  Though he had to have been walking for some time, balancing his barrel-shaped body atop his slant-heeled boots, Linc Slocum looked in good spirits. His slicked-back black hair lay in place and his white grin in his flushed face made him look like an advertisement for quick-tanning lotion.

  “Hello,” Sam greeted him. “Going someplace special?”

  Slocum didn’t realize she was referring to his gaudy attire.

  “Just to get my horse,” he puffed, taking the reins from her hand. “Champ decided to give me an opportunity to see if the moon really is made of green cheese.”

  Sam managed a small laugh. Slocum loved using expressions he thought were Western. If they’d come out of Dallas’s mouth, they might have worked, but somehow Slocum didn’t get the timing right.

  “But seriously,” Slocum amended, “what’s goin’ on over at your place these days?”

  “Just the usual,” Sam said.

  Slocum loved gossip, but he rarely got stories even approximately straight. Sam couldn’t mention the HARP program, wild horse rustlers, or the buckskin mare she’d sort of stolen unless she wanted to hear a twisted version of each item as she climbed onto the school bus tomorrow morning.

  “Well, I’ve got some good news.”

  Sam braced. Slocum’s “good news” almost never was.

  “I’m going to start breeding Brahma bulls t’sell to rodeo contractors. Now, ain’t that fine?”

  Sam could force her lips to smile, but she couldn’t erase the pictures of disaster playing in her mind. A man who’d accidentally hired a criminal to help him capture the Phantom, who gave his daughter thousands of dollars for clothes, makeup, and anything else she wanted, who couldn’t stay on his own horse or dress for the rough country he lived in, should not get near two-ton animals bred for their vile tempers. She might be only thirteen, but even she knew better.

  Slocum didn’t wait for her opinion. “Ought to have them delivered and in their new pens about two weeks from now. I wanted to invite Wyatt and Grace—and you, of course—to a special little Brahma-que.”

  “You’re going to eat them?”

  “No, ’course not, honey. That’s just a little play on words. I’ll have my staff grill up lobster tails and T-bone steaks. Think you all would like to come?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam knew Dad mourned the loss of every minute spent in Slocum’s company, but he’d want to see the cattle. And Gram embraced any excuse for a party. She’d come carrying a chocolate layer cake or lemon meringue pie that would draw more compliments than Slocum’s gourmet fare.

  “Well, you saved me a trip,” Slocum said. “And if you would, tell Jake Ely’s dad—what’s his name? Luke?—that they’re invited, too.”

  Sam would have enjoyed seeing Slocum at Three Ponies Ranch. Jake’s parents might have maintained straight faces at Slocum’s getup, but Jake and his six older brothers would’ve had a good laugh.

  Slocum sawed at his reins. Though trying to signal the palomino to wheel into a turn, Slocum only succeeded in pulling the animal’s head from side to side. With role models like Linc Slocum at the Gold Dust Ranch, maybe it was better Brynna had chosen the River Bend to host HARP.

  Champ obeyed the reins, rolling his eyes and tossing his head. Sam thought the gelding’s moves were done from habit rather than pain, and she was glad she’d made the adjustments. Slocum would never notice. Already, he was kicking the palomino into a run.

  “Adios, muchacho!” Slocum yelled, then headed for home.

  Sam waved.

  Muchacho. Slocum’s Spanish was even worse than his English. He’d called her a little boy. On the other hand, Sam didn’t mind what he called her, as long as he left her alone to wait for the Phantom.
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  Five more minutes. Sam considered her watch, knowing she shouldn’t wait longer for her horse to appear. In only twenty-five minutes, she was supposed to be home. It would take her that long to ride to the River Bend bridge. Then she still had to cool Ace, strip off his tack, and brush him before releasing him into the corral. And who knew how long that would take if Dark Sunshine tried to escape?

  It started to rain. Drops pattered on the brim of Sam’s old brown Stetson. She couldn’t sit there any longer, waiting for the wild one who wouldn’t come.

  She missed him so much, her eyes were fooled by a curtain of rain wafting down the hill. For a minute, she thought it was the silver stallion.

  “C’mon, Ace. We’re just going to get soaked if we stay.” Sam lay the reins against the gelding’s neck, but he didn’t move. “Ace?”

  Sam turned back and looked again. Pale and silent as a wisp of cloud, the Phantom led his herd down the cleft in the hillside, toward water.

  He was so perfect, she didn’t even feel disloyal to Ace. Ace was her friend. The Phantom was perfection, a king among horses. Tonight he moved with a deerlike caution she’d never seen before. With swift, head-swiveling movements, he tasted the wind and rain. He studied every bobbing bush to see if it hid a man. He sampled each scent for the stench of a human.

  The Phantom paused, one foreleg lifted in midstride, when he noticed Sam. She saw his nostrils distend, saw a shudder run through him as he decided she could be trusted.

  Behind him, the mares moved in an uneasy swirl. Then he came on, bolder and faster than before. With hammering hooves, he bolted into the water hole. The stallion dipped up a quick sip. He answered the mares’ questioning nickers with a shake of his head. For a second, his eyes were veiled with white mane. And then he cleared the way, racing toward the windswept ridge that was his lookout post.

  Sam watched him go. Each of the mustangs in the water hole was beautiful. The tiger dun, the blood bay mares who must be twins, the sorrel foal who’d nearly been lost to the herd just yesterday, but Sam spared them only a glance.

  The silver stallion, tail streaming like a waterfall as he navigated the path, was what she’d come for.

  The stallion knew her.

  Horses didn’t forget, so he must remember her mistakes, and she didn’t pretend to be nice, or polite or braver than she was, around horses. This one, least of all. And yet he trusted her.

  Before he reached the hill crest, the Phantom stopped. He pirouetted in a space that looked too narrow for his muscled quarters, and looked down, watching.

  The tiger dun leaped from knee-deep water to the shore and the others followed, but Sam couldn’t see a thing. What had frightened them? Were they overreacting to buck brush crackling under the big raindrops that continued to fall?

  The stallion forced his way against the tide of fleeing mares, but they kept on, and Sam realized Ace was jittering beneath her, grunting a troubled sound as his head angled toward the highway.

  Sam heard the hiss of tires on wet pavement.

  Ace had heard passing traffic hundreds of times, though, and so had the mustangs. And any vehicle would have to pull off the highway and navigate a bumpy dirt road to reach them.

  The wild horses would have plenty of time to run.

  But this wasn’t just any vehicle. A mud-yellow truck had left the highway. Its pinging engine labored and its tires spun as it roared onto the dirt road.

  And then Sam knew why the Phantom had turned. Once more, he was protecting her, herding her with his mares to safety.

  Before the stallion reached them, Sam clapped her heels to Ace’s sides.

  “Go!” Sam leaned low on the gelding’s neck and called to his backcast ears.

  In a flurry of churning hooves, the Phantom and Ace sideswiped each other, pinning Sam’s leg between them. She gasped, but kept Ace aimed after the wild mares. The tiger dun was leading the herd to safety, and Sam wanted to follow.

  By now the rustlers must know someone had rescued Dark Sunshine. They knew someone was onto their crime, and though there was little chance they knew it was her, Sam wasn’t going to stick around to make sure.

  Her Stetson blew off her head and only the stampede string kept it from flying away. The braided horsehair string sawed against Sam’s throat, and she blinked against the rain pelting her face. But running with the mustangs was glorious, uncontrolled. She grabbed handfuls of mane and clung low on Ace’s neck, filling her lungs with the smell of wet rocks and hot horsehide.

  The horses jostled, pressing tight together into a dark gorge thick with brush. Stickers ripped Sam’s jeans, scratched her hands. A dark horse built like a rhino jammed past, and Ace staggered.

  Then the mustangs stopped. Their breath hung in the moist air. Sam hadn’t been running, but her heart beat as if she had. Surrounded by the herd, she was the only one making a sound. She tried to muffle her panting.

  The Phantom stood nose-to-nose with Ace. Through strands of silvery forelock, he watched Sam. His head bobbed silently, as if in greeting, and their eyes held.

  The pinging of the truck engine echoed as it continued up the mountain, then braked to a stop.

  Were the rustlers looking for horses or for her? It didn’t matter. If the men found the mustangs, they’d find her. Sam stared into the Phantom’s dark eyes. This moment, she was one of the herd, in safety or in danger.

  A tremor ran through the herd as a truck door slammed and footsteps crunched on dirt. Sam closed her eyes, wishing the darkness behind her own lids could cover her.

  On her first day back in Nevada, she and Dad had seen a helicopter herding mustangs toward a trap. In a blink, they’d scattered over the range, then vanished.

  “Mustangs have secret getaway trails,” Dad had told her, trails humans couldn’t find. That’s where she was, hiding like a prey animal, waiting for predators to lose patience and leave.

  Finally, they did. The truck’s door slammed and its engine started. The sound of spinning tires and spattering mud grew fainter and fainter.

  The Phantom backed out of the thicket. The mares followed, and Sam kept Ace reined in, making him wait for last.

  As they emerged, Sam discovered the rain had stopped, but dusk had turned into darkness.

  She glanced at her watch. The blue-green numbers glowed. She was a full half hour late for dinner right now, and she still had to ride home.

  The lead mare clattered up the hillside with her family close behind. A pale shadow against the darkness, the Phantom followed after.

  Good-bye, Zanzibar. Sam sent the message with her mind. Though she was probably the only human on this rain-slick hillside, she didn’t call the stallion by his secret name.

  Sam tried to look away, then she was glad she couldn’t. Halfway up the windswept ridge, he paused and looked back.

  Once he went on, Sam started toward home. This time, it wasn’t her fault she was late. Gram and Dad would be worried, and she’d tell them the truth. All of it.

  She’d felt scared hiding with the herd. Those rustlers were more trouble than she could handle on her own.

  Chapter Seven

  THE RANCH YARD was flooded with light. Brightness glowed from inside the barn and the kitchen door stood open. The headlights from the Elys’ idling truck lit the path from the River Bend bridge to the two-story white house, which looked more welcoming than ever before.

  Jake was there. Who else had Gram and Dad called?

  From the bridge, Sam saw Dad, Gram, and Dallas talking on the front porch. Blaze barked at her approach, and they all looked up. Dallas gave a salute from the brim of his hat to Dad, then walked across the yard toward the bunkhouse.

  “You okay?” Dallas asked as he passed through the beams of Jake’s headlights. When Sam nodded, he added, “Horse okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s a great horse. We just ran into some trouble.” Sam tried to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Let me take him,” Dallas said, moving to Ace’s head. “You’d bes
t tell the rest of it to the boss. Pronto. He hasn’t called out the whole county yet, but he needs to know.”

  Sam had managed to keep her voice steady, but now, as Dallas led Ace away, her knees felt watery and weak.

  Jake still sat inside the truck. She couldn’t see his expression, but Sam knew he’d be mad. More like furious. He hated worrying about her, but whenever she told him to stop, he always went ballistic.

  Gram had gone back into the kitchen, probably to get on the phone and call off the search. Arms folded, Dad leaned against a porch post, waiting.

  This was a Western thing. Ranch life demanded she be self-sufficient and not cause trouble for anyone else.

  All I have to do is walk across the yard and explain. Sam took a few steps, though she wanted to sit down right there in the dirt, pull her knees up, let her forehead rest on them and wait for Dad to come to her. But Sam kept walking. Blaze licked her hand, whining as he bounced along beside her.

  “You caught Slocum’s horse for him, but that was more than an hour ago,” Dad said.

  “Yeah,” Sam answered. If Slocum knew she’d been missing, Rachel would know. The drama would be all over school by the end of first period, but it didn’t matter. She’d almost made it to the porch.

  “You look a little pale.” Dad uncrossed his arms as he studied her. “How ‘bout sittin’ down to tell me what went wrong.”

  Sam lowered herself to the top step and pulled her coat close against the wet wind.

  Dad leaned down to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Want to go inside?”

  Sam shook her head no.

  “The rustlers came back. I don’t know if they were looking for horses or for me—” Sam heard Dad suck in a breath as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “But I had to hide until they went away.”

  “It’s all right, honey.” Dad settled on the step beside her. Sam leaned into the circle of his arm and began to tell him everything.