Dark Sunshine

by Terri Farley

  “You don’t know whether they would or not,” Jake scolded. “They didn’t send her to another state because she was an angel.”

  Jake tugged the front of his hat even lower, so Sam couldn’t see his eyes. “Anyway, I want Wyatt watching her.”

  “Since when did you get to be northern Nevada’s leading psychologist for humans, too?” Sam was sick of Jake acting superior. Why did he think he was so smart? she wondered. Because he was older, or because he was a guy?

  Sam started walking toward the barn corral, and Dark Sunshine must have seen her. The mare’s high-pitched neigh split the late-afternoon quiet.

  “It doesn’t take an expert to diagnose that. Sam, look at her,” Jake’s voice softened.

  As they watched, the tiny mare moved down the fence and back again, not quite sidestepping, always keeping her face away from them and toward the darkened barn.

  “She’s—” Jake searched for a word but came up empty.

  “Tormented,” Sam said. “I’m going to sit with her now.”

  Jake shook his head. “Do what you want.”

  “She’ll get used to me. She’ll see I won’t hurt her.”

  Wordless, Jake gathered his reins, stabbed his boot into Witch’s stirrup, and swung aboard. The black danced in place, eager to head for home, but Jake didn’t go.

  “Sam? Give this some thought. If no one claims that horse and she keeps acting crazy, BLM’s going to put her down. I just—” Jake set his jaw as he always did when he’d talked too much, then added, “I don’t want you gettin’ your heart broke over it.”

  Sam sat in the shady barn as she had before and studied the mustang. It wasn’t easy, with Ace and Sweetheart jostling for Sam’s attention.

  Sweetheart gave up as soon as she saw Sam’s hands were empty, but Ace gave Sam a hooded look meant to make her feel guilty. It did.

  Dark Sunshine stayed still. She gazed into the darkness. Beneath her shaggy forelock, Dark Sunshine had a wide forehead and shining brown eyes that expected the worst. Her conformation reminded Sam of Kiger mustangs she’d seen in magazines. Descended from Spanish Barbs, they ran wild in the rugged country surrounding the Kiger River in Oregon.

  Brynna said the woman who’d adopted the mare was from Wyoming, but the freeze brand on her neck could say she’d been captured in Oregon.

  “You’re far from home, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

  The mare flinched as if Sam had tossed a handful of gravel her way, but she didn’t leave. One ear swiveled, listening for trouble, but the other black-edged ear cupped forward to catch Sam’s words.

  Amazed, Sam kept talking.

  “I’ve got another horse friend who likes it when I talk. His name used to be Blackie. He was my horse.” Sam took a breath, and the mare looked over her shoulder. “You saw him the other day, but you were busy having breakfast. You’re eating well now, aren’t you? And drinking, too. Except for all this crazy stuff, you’re doing good, Sunny.”

  She kept talking. Kigers were supposed to be friendly, but this mare had learned humans meant windowless stalls, whips, and blindfolds.

  Those symbols tied Sunshine to men as surely as kindness and his secret name tied the Phantom to Sam.

  Think. Sam knew she could turn this mare around. It was too late for a secret name. Nothing could make this horse her sister, but maybe they could be friends. Just as she’d won the Phantom’s heart after he’d been roped and dragged back to captivity, just as she’d waited in just the right place for Hammer, Sam knew she’d discover the magic to win Dark Sunshine’s trust.

  “If only horses could give references,” Sam said to Jen as they entered the crowded halls of Darton High School the next morning.

  “References?” Jen pushed her glasses up her nose and regarded Sam as if she’d lost her mind. “Like when you apply for a job?”

  “Sort of.” Sam stopped outside her history class. Jen’s classroom was right next door, so they could talk until the bell.

  “More like a personal reference. If I could get Ace or the Phantom to write Dark Sunshine a letter, she’d understand I’m not going to hurt her.”

  Jen pressed the back of her hand to Sam’s brow. “I think you’re coming down with something more serious than my cold, Samantha Anne.”

  “And I’ve got the cure,” Mrs. Ely said, appearing at the classroom door.

  “A healthy dose of history?” Jen asked.

  Mrs. Ely laughed, and Sam envied Jen’s easy way of balancing the fact that Mrs. Ely was not only a Darton High teacher but also Jake’s mom.

  Mrs. Ely had known both of them since they were little kids. She was also Sam’s history teacher and a talented photographer who encouraged Sam’s work with a camera.

  “Almost as good as history,” Mrs. Ely said. “A photo contest. Jen, you’d better run.” She shooed Jen away as the bell rang. “And Sam, talk to me after class.”

  Sam moved toward her desk, but her way was blocked by Rachel Slocum. Darton High’s reigning princess and student body treasurer, Rachel was duly qualified. As Linc Slocum’s daughter, she was by far the richest girl in the school.

  And the most stylish. Right now, Rachel smoothed a wing of coffee-brown hair away from her eyes, negotiating a deal for last night’s homework with a bespectacled boy who could only swallow, hard, as she talked with him.

  “I’d be so grateful.” Rachel leaned toward him.

  One of the advantages of really expensive clothes was that they flowed over you like liquid. At least they did on Rachel. She was wearing some kind of beige outfit that would have looked like a feed sack on Sam, but Rachel looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.

  Sam sat and looked over her shoulder in time to see Rachel leave empty-handed. The guy hadn’t given in, and Sam almost applauded. Rachel caught her gloating expression, and Sam could see she was in for it. The last time Rachel had had it in for her, she’d broken the expensive camera signed out to Sam from journalism class. What would she do this time?

  Sam took a piece of lined paper from her binder and prepared to take notes. Before Mrs. Ely began talking, though, Sam wrote a note to herself. “Watch your back,” it said, and with everything else going on, she vowed to take her own advice.

  After class, Sam approached Mrs. Ely’s desk. The teacher was handing makeup work to one student and scolding another for gossiping in class, but she slipped Sam a flyer.

  The first thing Sam noticed was that the contest wasn’t limited to entrants under eighteen. It was open to professional photographers as well as amateurs. She must have looked dubious; because as soon as the others moved toward the door, Mrs. Ely said, “Samantha, that reward you won is as much as some photographers make in a year.”

  She didn’t want to contradict Mrs. Ely, but she sort of had to. “But I earned it under pretty unusual circumstances.”

  “You did, but your work was fine, and look at the name of the contest. It’s perfect for you.”

  Night Magic, the contest was called. The subject could be anything shot at night, and Sam had once confided to Mrs. Ely that her dream was to photograph wild horses running at night.

  “It is perfect,” Sam agreed. “But with the, uh, stuff that’s going on—” Sam glanced over her shoulder.

  Rachel gathered her things in slow motion, eaves-dropping. Mrs. Ely nodded that she knew what Sam was talking about. After all, Gram had called Three Ponies Ranch first when she’d been looking for Sam that night.

  “The deadline’s near Christmas,” Mrs. Ely said. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

  The warning bell rang in the hall, and Sam jumped like a racehorse in the starting gate.

  “I can’t be late,” she blurted to Mrs. Ely. “If I don’t earn all A’s in citizenship, I can’t ride.”

  “What a tragedy,” Rachel murmured.

  Even though Sam beat her to the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d given Rachel Slocum one more bit of ammunition to use against her.

  Looking
like he’d been to town on ranch business, Dad picked Sam up from the bus stop. By the time they reached home, Mikki was already there.

  Gram told her Mikki had not only decided to go along with the guidelines for the HARP program, which meant, among other things, keeping a journal about her experiences with the mustangs, but she’d finagled an extension to the time she could spend at River Bend each day.

  “Why, she just gobbled up the chocolate chip cookies I gave her, and as soon as Jake arrived, she followed him into the pen,” Gram said. “She couldn’t wait to see Popcorn.”

  Sam let her backpack fall to the floor and sat at the kitchen table to devour her own cookies and milk.

  “That’s great,” Sam said, but she didn’t exactly mean it. What was wrong with her? Just yesterday, she’d been telling Jake she liked Mikki.

  Whatever it was, Popcorn felt it, too.

  Out of her school clothes and in riding gear, Sam peered through the slats of the round pen. Yesterday, though he’d stayed far away from Mikki, Popcorn had kept his side turned to her. Today, he was showing her his tail.

  You couldn’t fool horses, Sam thought. Mikki would have to learn that.

  Sam wanted to ride Ace. They both needed the exercise. But how could she get Ace out of the barn pen without giving Dark Sunshine a chance to bolt? She’d need to ask Dad for help.

  That settled, she left the barn. Blaze met her with a wagging tail. Even he was keeping his distance from Dark Sunshine.

  “What’s going on with Mikki, huh, Blaze?” Sam rumpled the dog’s ears and he whined with pleasure.

  Had Mikki made gentling Popcorn a contest against Jake? Had she taken his standards as a challenge? Maybe she was trying to prove something to herself. Or, maybe she thought that if she did a quick job of riding Popcorn, she could take on Dark Sunshine.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sam muttered to Blaze as the dog walked along with her. “No way.”

  Blaze wagged his tail and looked up at Sam with openmouthed adoration, believing every word.

  Chapter Nine

  IN SAN FRANCISCO, Sam had gone riding twice on rented horses. After the second time, she hadn’t wanted to go again. Aunt Sue had worried that Sam was afraid of horses after the accident. Aunt Sue always worried, but she wasn’t pushy about it.

  “Tell me what you don’t like about it,” Aunt Sue had said as they drove away from the San Francisco stable for the last time.

  Sam had tried. Although she was still a little afraid of falling, Sam could push the fear aside and she told Aunt Sue so. The other part was harder to explain.

  Her heart always sank at the end of a ride. Sam hated giving the horse back. She couldn’t think of a word to describe the feeling.

  “Greed?” Aunt Sue suggested, joking. “Disappointment?”

  Together they’d tried, but couldn’t come up with it.

  Now, Sam didn’t have to worry about that feeling.

  She rode at a rocking chair lope across the range. With mustang sureness, Ace threaded between clumps of sagebrush. Over his hoofbeats, songbirds sang to the fading afternoon and Sam rode with a joy she’d longed for during those two long years in San Francisco.

  To her right lay War Drum Flats and Lost Canyon. To her left, three miles past the blackberry bushes hedging the river, she’d find Three Ponies Ranch, home to Jake’s family. Dead ahead, but hours away, the Calico Mountains soared purple against the blue Nevada sky.

  Sam knew just where she was, and it was exactly where she wanted to be. She’d do whatever it took to keep the River Bend Ranch. If that meant working with Mikki and doing a good job so they’d win the contract for HARP, she’d cooperate.

  Sam had drawn rein to watch a covey of quail rush for cover when she thought she heard someone call her name. She turned, scanned the range, and saw Dad riding Banjo toward her at a walk. Worry swept Sam, until she realized why Dad rode so slowly. Beside him on Gram’s pinto, Sweetheart, rode Mikki.

  With both hands clamped to the saddle horn, Mikki leaned forward until her forehead almost brushed Sweetheart’s mane. Mikki might love horses—the wide smile on her face said as much—but Sam guessed this was the first time she’d ridden one. Why wasn’t Mikki in the round pen with Popcorn? Why wasn’t Dad ponying Sweetheart on a lead line? Wasn’t he risking a lawsuit or something by letting Mikki leave the ranch yard on horseback?

  Dad knew horses better than anyone. If he thought Mikki was safe, Sam wouldn’t ask. All the same, she was relieved when Dad explained.

  “Jake’s been called in to observe the tracking of those rustlers.”

  “Wow,” Sam said. The BLM had federal experts, so this must have been Brynna’s idea.

  “Kind of an honor for him,” Dad said, “but it left Mikki here high and dry. I could’ve gone in and sat with her, but introducin’ a new human to Popcorn so soon isn’t fair. I decided to let her try horses from a different angle.”

  Mikki glanced up. Her expression said she wanted to make a smart-mouth remark, but she was just too happy to think of one. Besides, she sat on Sweetheart as if the pinto were made of eggshell. Mikki must be worried Sweetheart would interpret any move as a command to run.

  They rode together, three abreast, until Dad trotted off a short distance to check a water windmill. That’s what he said, but Sam knew Dad hoped Mikki would like riding with another kid.

  “This is a big deal for Jake, otherwise he wouldn’t have left,” Sam said.

  “I don’t care.”

  Sam’s teeth gritted together. So, they were back to that.

  “You don’t care that he left?” Sam asked her. “Or that it’s a big deal for him?”

  “Whatever.” Mikki stared down at the reins she’d wrapped around the saddle horn. “I don’t care.”

  “He’s a really good tracker. His grandfather—”

  “Or he just thinks he is,” Mikki said.

  “No, he’s good,” Sam insisted. “And he doesn’t just do it for pay. Once a local man tried to pay him to track a horse he’d hurt, and he offered Jake a lot of money, but Jake wouldn’t do it.”

  “You leave so many holes in your story, I can tell you’re making it up. ‘A local man, a horse, a lot of money,’” Mikki said. “It’s like a commercial on TV: ‘many doctors recommend.’ Yeah, so who are they?”

  Sam didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated. “Well, I’m not making it up, and I’m not going to tell you who the man is, though he deserves it, but the horse is the Phantom.”

  “Yeah, right.” Mikki sat back with such emphasis, Sweetheart thought she meant “Whoa,” and stopped. “Miss Olson told me that whopper, too. I may not be from around here, but I don’t believe in ghost horses.”

  “He’s no ghost.” Sam’s legs asked Ace to move at a faster walk.

  Sweetheart followed without Mikki’s urging. When the pinto and her wobbly rider caught up, Sam glanced at the girl. Mikki bobbed in the saddle, blond hair blowing every which way, but Sam noticed her expression most. Mikki’s pointy fox face shone with curiosity. She wanted to know more about the Phantom.

  Well, Sam decided, Mikki would just have to wait.

  “Jake’s tracking those rustlers because they’re evil. They hurt Dark Sunshine and trapped those other mustangs to sell for dog food. Right now, they probably have them hidden away, fattening them up so they’ll bring more pennies per pound, but they’ll kill them soon. And that trap”—Sam gestured toward Lost Canyon—“has been there a while. These are not the first horses they’ve slaughtered for money.”

  Mikki attempted to sit straighter in the saddle and hold the saddle horn with only one hand, but she didn’t sway with Sweetheart’s movements. She lurched.

  Putting both hands back on the horn for balance, she asked, “And you don’t think Jake’s tracking them to get a big reputation?”

  Clearly, Mikki had already made up her mind. Sam didn’t want to defend Jake. She wanted Mikki to find out for herself, but Sam wasn’t that patient.


  “Look,” she said, “Jake has his faults. For instance, he’s obsessed with being my big brother. But he’s shy, not a glory hound. He wants to lock up the bad guys. That’s all.”

  Mikki’s face turned red. Her hands fidgeted on the reins and Sweetheart’s gait turned choppy with confusion.

  For the good of the horse, Sam tried to calm Mikki.

  “You know, you’re trying to teach Popcorn to trust you. Maybe you should learn a little something about it yourself, and admit Jake’s a good guy.”

  “Men are scum!” Mikki shouted, drawing Dad’s attention from where he rode ahead of them.

  “Not all of them,” Sam said, glad the entrance to River Bend had come into view.

  “Well, my mom’s married three and they were all scum. When Miss Olson told me HARP had men teachers, I almost didn’t do it. Then, your Dad seemed sort of okay, and you weren’t scared—” Mikki cut off the words. “So, isn’t that enough trust for you?”

  Sam swallowed. This conversation was too much for her to handle. Mikki should be talking to someone who knew what she was doing, like a counselor. Or Brynna.

  But Sam had no choice, so she did what she’d do if Mikki was a horse. She rewarded this tiny bit of progress.

  “You’re right. It’s trust.” She smiled and nodded toward River Bend bridge. “Speaking of trust, I think Sweetheart is starting to like you: Why don’t you ride across first. The sound of their hooves on the wood spooks horses sometimes, but I think she’ll do it for you.”

  Mikki crossed alone, not knowing she was more spooked by the sound than Sweetheart, who’d walked over the bridge hundreds of times.

  Although Dad rode in behind them and offered to help, Mikki dismounted alone, then walked with wobbly knees to the round pen.

  “Is it okay if I open the gate to check Popcorn?” she asked.

  Sam glanced at Dad. He nodded.

  “Go ahead,” Sam said. “And watch him when he first sees you.”

  Dad stayed on Banjo. He pretended to adjust the gelding’s headstall. But Sam wasn’t fooled. If Popcorn made a break past Mikki, Dad and Banjo would cut him off.