by Terri Farley
“Out of the truck, gentlemen.” Jim McDonald sounded casual.
“What’s wrong?” The voice rasped. Sam thought the voice might belong to the white-haired rustler with the bulgy eyes.
“Why’d you stop us?” said a second voice. “We ain’t breakin’ the speed limit.”
That one sounded too young to belong to the rustlers she’d seen. What if she had made a mistake?
“I’m wondering if you’ve got some papers on these horses,” Jim McDonald said, “and hoping you can show them to me.”
“Why would we want to do that?” the rusty voice demanded.
“Because he’s the state brand inspector,” Brynna said cheerfully. “Not only can he impound this truck and trailer, he can put you two in jail if he doesn’t like the look of the brands on your horses. They are branded, I suppose?”
“’Course,” said the young voice.
Sam heard Jim McDonald shuffle through papers. Dissatisfied, he asked the men to unload the horses.
Truck doors creaked open, boots hit the pavement, doors slammed. Sam saw the white-haired man first. He really did have the eyes of a startled rabbit.
The other one was a gangly guy with a long chin. He wore sneakers and couldn’t be over nineteen years old. Neither he nor Rabbit Eyes were eager to unload the horses. The men made aimless motions, each hoping the other would do it. Finally, Rabbit Eyes stepped forward and glared at Sam.
“Out of the way, girly.”
Girly? Surprise kept Sam quiet until she thought of a good way to let Rabbit Eyes know that she didn’t like being called girly. She looked past the men to Brynna and gave a firm nod.
Jim McDonald saw, but he didn’t say anything right away.
The roan launched a two-hooved kick at the trailer door and the white-haired man jumped back.
“You sure this is necessary?” Rabbit Eyes asked.
“You mean to tell me you can’t handle your own stock?” Jim McDonald looked startled.
“Shoot, these nags are wild as bobcats. They just came off the range.”
“Which range would that be?” Brynna asked.
The rustlers looked at each other. Neither had an answer. If they named a local ranch, their story could be checked. If they said the horses had been free on BLM land, they’d be fined. They didn’t know how to stay out of bigger trouble than they were already in.
“Gentlemen, I’ll tell you what,” said Jim McDonald. “Those documents are forged, and the way you’re so afraid of ’em, I’m thinking those horses just don’t belong to you.”
Neither man spoke. To Sam, their silence proved the brand inspector was right.
“I’m impounding your whole rig,” Jim McDonald continued. “A couple of rangers are on their way. One’ll give you a ride back to the Darton jail. The other will drive these ponies to the Willow Springs holding pens until we determine who owns them.”
“But they’re not stolen!” the younger man shouted.
“You shut up,” Rabbit Eyes grumbled.
Sam watched as Brynna and Jim zeroed in on the younger one. Even Sam saw he wasn’t as committed to the crime as the older man.
“Lucky it’s not the old days,” Jim said. “They used to hang horse thieves.”
“I tell ya, they don’t belong to nobody!”
“Of course they belong to someone.” Brynna laughed. “They’re wearing brands, aren’t they?”
“But they were wild! They just—”
Brynna grabbed Rabbit Eyes’s arm before he slugged the younger man. “He’s not telling us anything we didn’t already know,” she said. “So simmer down.”
“Things could go a little easier on you,” said Jim, “if you tell us where to find the other two gentlemen.”
Rabbit Eyes’s glare warned the younger man to keep quiet.
“I bet the other guys are worried sick that these two won’t do what they were supposed to do,” Brynna teased. “I bet they’re waiting at the auction yards right this minute.”
“Maybe they are, and maybe they’re not,” said Rabbit Eyes.
“Here come the rangers to take these tough guys off our hands.” Jim watched the approach of another car, but Sam noticed him give Brynna a wink. Without meaning to, Rabbit Eyes had confirmed that there were two other rustlers.
After the rangers and rustlers left, Sam and Brynna spent all morning at the auction yard. They strolled between corrals and trailers, looking for Flick and the freckled man. Sam’s eyes burned by the time she and Brynna decided to start for home.
One down and two to go.
Sam tried to celebrate, but she couldn’t. She stared out the car window, searching the range as she always did, watching for the Phantom and his band.
A swath of pale green grass covered a hillside, indicating there was water nearby. Water was life to the wild horses, but if she’d noticed it, so would Flick. No horses were safe while Flick was still out there, and Sam couldn’t stop worrying.
“I hope you feel good about saving those three mustangs,” Brynna said to Sam. “If you hadn’t recognized the truck and trailer…Well, Jim probably would have sorted out those brands, but who knows?”
Sam nodded, but she kept gazing from the window. She should probably praise Brynna’s smooth handling of the rustlers, but Sam didn’t want to. She couldn’t stop seeing Brynna in Dad’s arms the night of the fire. There were plenty of unattached men in Nevada. Let Brynna date one of them.
Apparently, Brynna didn’t get the message in Sam’s silence.
“By now,” Brynna said, “those horses are at Willow Springs with someone looking after them and tossing them flakes of hay.”
Sam pictured the horses gobbling hay. Would the mustangs be freed or held for adoption? Would the Phantom miss the two mares and that fine black yearling who reminded Sam of the Phantom at that age?
Would the black grow up to look like his sire? She’d probably never know, but at least now he’d have a chance to grow up.
The trail of grass swept down from the hillside and ended at a red rock wall that looked like crowded-together columns. Nearby, cottonwood trees shaded a dark spot that might be a brook.
Sam couldn’t see the water, but the movement of a half dozen mustangs slowly lifting their heads caught her eye.
After that first movement, the horses stood still as the tree trunks. A glint of sun sifted through the cottonwoods and dappled one horse with spots that shone like silver coins. Hidden in the shadows stood the Phantom.
“Stop! Oh, please, Brynna, stop.”
Sam didn’t want to share this moment, but she couldn’t resist. The Phantom and his herd were free, but were they unharmed?
Brynna pulled to the roadside. When Sam started to open the door, Brynna put a hand on her arm.
“Your dad will kill me if I let you approach that stallion.”
“I’ve done it before.” Sam heard her own impatience.
“But I didn’t give you permission.”
“So?” Sam’s anger flared. Brynna had no right to give permission or withhold it.
“I mean,” Brynna corrected herself, “when you got into the Phantom’s corral at Willow Springs, you sneaked.”
“And we got along fine.” Sam held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t flee from the strange truck.
Brynna removed her hand from Sam’s arm. “I’m not saying go ahead and I’m not watching,” she said, but Sam knew she would.
Sam took nothing with her, and she didn’t close the truck door. Slow and easy, she walked away from Brynna and the truck. The horses were watching.
In the shade, only one horse moved. Her coat was the color of melted butter. Sam wanted to cheer. Dark Sunshine had found a home with the Phantom.
The buckskin mare was the only horse spooked by Sam’s approach. Trying to trot, she split off from the others, but something was terribly wrong.
The mare moved as if her legs were jointless. One leg was so stiff, the buckskin faltered sideways. When she did, Sam saw a re
d gash marred the mare’s chest.
Sam thought of the fire, of Dark Sunshine’s screams as she flung herself against the round pen rails, trying to escape. The mare’s spirit had been damaged by the rustlers. Now her body was injured, too.
Dad’s rules said that every person and animal on the ranch had to earn its keep. She hoped she could get close enough to help Dark Sunshine. If she were lamed beyond help, Dad would write her off as a lost cause.
The Phantom chased after the mare. He charged into the sunlight. Metal-bright glints touched each muscle as he stormed past the buckskin, toward Sam. His legs moved like liquid silver, then blurred and thundered as he came. His head swung from side to side in savage warning.
He didn’t know her. Should she run back to the truck?
Sam took a step back, and the stallion slid to a stop. His neck lengthened until he stood taller than ever before. Head level, he drew a breath, and Sam saw his chest swell. His muzzle jerked upward.
Now he’ll know it’s me, she thought. But he didn’t.
Pacing like a lion, the stallion moved alongside Dark Sunshine. He shielded her, keeping his body between her and the humans.
It’s me, Sam wanted to shout. Would anything relieve the ache beneath her breastbone? Only a sign of recognition. You know I won’t hurt her, don’t you?
The stallion caught Sam’s scent. His dished Arab head swung to face her and his nostrils quivered. But the Phantom didn’t nicker in greeting or come to meet her.
“Then I’ll come to you, you stubborn mule,” Sam tried to joke, but she heard the quiver in her own voice. The Phantom wasn’t acting like her horse.
Brynna sat within easy earshot, so Sam couldn’t call out his secret name. Worse, she didn’t think it would help.
Right now, he wasn’t Zanzibar. He was a wild horse defending his territory. He was a stallion protecting his mate.
Suddenly, he turned. Galloping as if he’d been away too long, the stallion returned to his herd. He stopped just before he reached the cottonwoods and Sam crossed her fingers so hard they hurt.
Now, he’d come back to her. He must. Now.
But the Phantom only stood next to Dark Sunshine, trembling with jealousy.
Chapter Seventeen
BECAUSE GRAM AND DAD had already left to pick up Brynna for Linc Slocum’s Brahma-que and Sam was waiting for a ride with Jake, Sam was alone at River Bend when Rachel called.
“Samantha, this is Rachel Slocum.”
Sam’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Rachel’s put-on British accent was thick this afternoon, and unless she’d called to practice it, Sam couldn’t imagine why she’d phoned.
They weren’t friends and it didn’t sound like an emergency. If Rachel hadn’t said Samantha, Sam would have thought the rich girl had the wrong number.
“Samantha, did we get cut off?” Rachel sounded bored by the possibility.
“Uh, no. I’m here.”
“Good, I’m in my bedroom spa and sometimes the telephone reception is not what it should be.”
“That’s a shame,” Sam said. Then another thought popped up. “Aren’t you going to your father’s party?”
“That’s the thing.” Rachel sighed. “My father requested that I ask your family to pick up ice on your way over. We’re already running short. The caterers are busy serving and the regular hands are doing—cow things.”
Sam might have laughed if she hadn’t resented taking up the slack for the Slocums’ hired help. Of course, there was a good way to view this. If she and Jake stopped in Alkali, they’d spend less time watching Slocum act important.
At the sound of tires crunching in the ranch yard, Sam pulled back the kitchen curtain and saw Jake arrive.
“Samantha, can you do it or not?” Rachel asked. “We’ll reimburse you for the expense, of course.”
“Sure, Rachel, we can do it,” Sam said. “I hope you’ll forgive us if we’re a little late.” She hung up and went to answer Jake’s knock.
When Sam opened the door for Jake, she was unprepared for his compliment.
“Hey, you look nice.”
“I do?” Sam considered her orange sleeveless top, white shorts, and tennis shoes. She touched her hair, then changed the subject. “How much do you want to go to this Brahma-que?”
Jake shuddered. “More than I want to pump out the septic tank. That was the choice my mom gave me.”
“But if your hostess asked you to do a favor on your way to the party,” Sam said, “how could you refuse?”
It turned out Jake couldn’t refuse, nor could he resist buying two chocolate ice cream cones to pass the time while Clara bagged the ice and loaded it into insulated boxes.
Jake had gobbled his cone and lifted the boxes when Sam’s ice cream dripped onto her shorts.
Sam gasped. It was a big blob, and there was no hiding it.
“It figures,” Jake said.
“I’ll run into Clara’s rest room and mop it off. Just go on to the truck. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The diner’s rest room was square and cramped. Because it smelled strongly of cleaning chemicals, a high window was open to the road running behind Clara’s and the gas station.
Sam heard a car stop, the crunch of boots on gravel, but she didn’t really listen. She didn’t have time to go home and change.
Some people shouldn’t wear white, Sam thought, blotting the spot with a wet paper towel. And I’m one of them.
She’d just decided it was looking better when she heard the voice.
“When d’ya think you’ll be back?”
Sam stopped. The male voice was so near, it surprised her. It almost sounded familiar.
“Twenty minutes out to Arroyo Azul, maybe an extra five minutes driving back with a load…”
Sam recognized the second man. It was Flick.
“That stud’s been bringing his herd in at dusk since we scared him out of Lost Canyon.”
Flick’s voice was low and secretive. She just knew he was talking about the Phantom.
“It doesn’t look like I’ll get my buckskin back from that kid, but I’ve got a standing ten-thousand dollar promise for the stallion. Before I leave town, I’m gonna get that dude to make good on it.”
Sam’s hands were already shaking, but when he added “from that kid,” the wet paper towel fell from her fingers to the bathroom floor with a splat.
Did Flick know she’d seen him, or only that she had his horse? No matter, she decided. Arroyo Azul sliced into the mountains next to Lost Canyon. If Flick could get there in twenty minutes, Jake could make it in ten. Nothing mattered except saving the Phantom.
“Go on into Clara’s,” Flick said, “and have yourself a steak dinner. Meet me here in an hour, and we’ll swap the trailer onto the other truck, in case anybody sees me drive from the arroyo.
“And one more thing,” Flick added. “She should be at Slocum’s, but if that BLM woman shows up, tell her what you’re supposed to.”
How could Flick know where Brynna was right now? The fact that he did gave Sam chills.
“I’ll tell her you’ve been out of the state for weeks, but I don’t think she’ll buy it.”
“She’ll have to,” Flick said. “By the time she picks up my trail, it’ll be true.”
Flick’s footsteps had started away when the other man called him back.
“But if something else happens—”
“Lester, there’s no trouble Dr. Winchester can’t handle.”
Lester and Dr. Winchester. Sam had more names to give Brynna. If the rangers matched the names with her descriptions, they’d come up with something. But not soon enough.
It was up to her and Jake to save the Phantom.
Sam listened as a truck door slammed, an engine started, tires grated on gravel, and then grew distant. Sam’s patience almost snapped as she waited for the second set of boots to walk away. At last, they did.
Sam burst from the rest room and glanced around. She saw no one she knew,
except Clara.
“Did you get that ice cream cleaned up, honey?” Clara asked.
Sam had almost forgotten, but her shorts looked pretty good. “Yes, thank you—”
“Big doin’s out at the Gold Dust, I hear.” Clara paused in wiping down the counter.
“Right,” Sam said, shrugging. “Linc Slocum got some new cattle.”
Clara chuckled, but Sam didn’t stay to joke about Slocum, no matter how much fun she’d have.
“I’d better hurry and catch Jake before that ice melts.”
Sam burst through the door and ran into Jake. He staggered back a step, but she ignored his grunt of surprise.
“You’ll never guess what I heard—” Sam stopped, gasping.
“And what might that be?” The man who spoke stood right behind Jake. He had a broad, freckled face she recognized.
It was Lester.
Jake gave him an irritated glance, but Sam thought fast. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around Jake’s waist.
“Well, it’s sort of private,” she whispered, “but I heard you only have to be sixteen to get married in Reno. Isn’t that great news, honey?”
Sam hugged Jake with what she hoped was a lovesick expression. Would Lester think she looked sixteen? Would Jake understand her eyes’ message: Don’t blow it, Jake?
“I don’t know if that’s true.” Lester shook his head. “But good luck to you.”
Jake nodded his thanks, then swept Sam toward the truck. Sam couldn’t walk fast enough to keep up. If Lester had looked back to see what a cute couple they made, he would have seen Jake shoving her along until they reached the truck.
Once inside, Jake began roaring, “What in the—?”
Sam clapped her hand over his mouth, in case Lester was still nearby, but Jake pushed her hand away and kept talking.
“Have you gone completely nuts? Do you want to start the kind of rumors that small town gossips live for?”
“Oh, Jake.” Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. That guy”—she stabbed her finger toward Clara’s diner—“is one of the rustlers. I heard him talking to Flick.”
Sam drew a deep breath as Jake settled down, frowning.