Dawn Runner

by Terri Farley

  Then, as Pam passed by Sam, she added, “Think that’s far enough away that I won’t be struck by any flying chunks of shattered ego?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam considered following Pam to the front porch. She could sit in the shade and sip lemonade. That would be more fun than standing here, watching Jen and Ryan have an argument that wouldn’t end well. But would Jen feel abandoned?

  Probably not, but loyalty kept Sam standing by Jen’s side just the same.

  “You need to ride a horse Hotspot can see as a buddy,” Jen said. “Sky is a competitor. She must feel hunted when he’s out there.”

  Ryan’s expressionless face didn’t move. He could tolerate her advice, it seemed, waiting for her to stop talking.

  “He’s a great horse,” Sam said, in case Ryan took Jen’s words as criticism of Sky Ranger. “But he’s kind of dominant. Jake and I used Chip instead of Witch, his bossy mare, when we were riding after that paint filly.”

  Ryan squinted toward the pasture, ignoring her.

  “Ryan, it’s the same thing,” Sam insisted.

  “You two can’t stand anyone to be more expert on horses than you are. I understand that,” Ryan said. “And Jen, I don’t blame you for being nervous about Sky after he threw you in the Superbowl of Horsemanship.”

  “I don’t hold grudges against horses.” Jen might have been stating a personal rule. Her tone said she didn’t blame Sky for his reaction to the once-in-a-lifetime appearance of stampeding buffalo.

  “And you, Samantha,” Ryan continued, “cannot accept that the Western way is not the only way to do things. That’s rather ironic since you’re a relative newcomer to this culture yourself.”

  “Except that she was born here,” Jen pointed out.

  “True, but when I was telling Pamela about you wearing leather chaps and a fancy fringed shirt for the talent show, she said this lifestyle was quite a switch for you. She claims you loved visiting museums and attending the symphony in San Francisco.”

  “So?” Sam demanded.

  Ryan didn’t answer. He didn’t try to explain why she shouldn’t like ranch life as well as city attractions.

  Sam tried to make an allowance for Ryan. He probably felt like they’d ganged up on him. And Pam was right. Their timing was bad. He’d already been a gracious loser once today.

  Still, he’d managed to make Jen feel jealous because he’d been chatting with Pam, and Sam feel sad because Pam was talking behind her back.

  Except, Sam realized, Pam hadn’t said anything bad. It was Ryan who’d put a sarcastic spin on Pam’s San Francisco memories.

  “Fine,” she said, sounding weary. “But what does any of this have to do with Hotspot?”

  “Just this,” Ryan said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay,” Jen said. “But could you take these three things into consideration? Hotspot is stable born and bred. The open range has always made her a little skittish. This is the second time she’s run loose with horses that are instantly responsive to sounds and smells.”

  “That’s right,” Sam said. “Diablo stole her before, so she’s developed some wild instincts.”

  As Sam remembered Diablo, she stared at his son. What had the hammerhead stallion contributed to Shy Boots? So far, the little Appaloosa looked and acted just like his mother.

  “I saw quite a flurry of hoofprints near Snake’s Head Peak and I happened to talk with Caleb,” Ryan said without acknowledging Jen’s information.

  “Great,” Sam said, bracing for disaster.

  Caleb Sawyer was a troublemaker. Yes, he was old and hard of hearing. Yes, he had an aged dog he loved and he still held a grudging admiration for Sam’s mother, but the former mustanger didn’t deserve much sympathy.

  Caleb Sawyer had tutored Linc Slocum in cruel and violent horse capture techniques. That’s why the Phantom’s neck was scarred. If Caleb Sawyer had given Ryan the same sort of advice, she’d march right into the Kenworthys’ kitchen, pick up the phone, and call Sheriff Ballard.

  Sam glanced over to see that Jen’s arms were crossed, too.

  “Caleb suggested using Shy Boots as—”

  His voice broke off, but Sam knew what he’d been about to say.

  “Bait?” Sam asked. She glanced over to see Shy Boots pick a shady spot for a nap. He lowered himself, folded his long legs, and closed his eyes.

  He looked almost peaceful and all the emotion Sam had tried to tamp down exploded. “Using him for bait is a terrible idea! When you talked me into leaving him in the canyon, nothing ate him, but what makes you think you’ll be that lucky twice?”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Ryan said. His hand covered an aristocratic yawn, but then he looked at Jen. His expression changed when he saw she looked almost ready to cry.

  “It’s been over a month,” Jen said. “What if he and Hotspot don’t—”

  “They’ll recognize each other, Jennifer,” Ryan assured her.

  “Maybe,” Jen said.

  Her friend’s weariness spurred Sam on.

  “What if they do recognize each other, but Hotspot still doesn’t come to him? Look how peaceful he is,” Sam said, pointing. “Do you want to break his heart all over again?”

  “That’s such rubbish,” Ryan said. “He’s a horse, not a human.”

  A sudden whirlwind chased through the ranch yard, blowing dust that pecked at Sam’s cheeks. Trying not to breathe in, she ducked away from it. The others did the same, and Sam used the moment to try to get a grip on her feelings.

  Attacking Ryan obviously wasn’t working, so she tried a different approach.

  “Okay, I’ll admit you know Hotspot better than I do,” Sam said. After Ryan’s nod, she went on. “Let’s say everything goes like you think it will. From curiosity or memory or whatever, Hotspot comes to Boots. She’s standing next to him out on the range somewhere. What do you do next?”

  “I’d rope her. I may not be skilled with a lariat, but I believe I could rope her and lead her home.”

  Jen held her hands protectively over her rib as she coughed from the dust, then asked, “And if she sees you coming?”

  “I’ll chase her down and then rope her.”

  Ryan’s plan would never work. Sam had practiced for long, frustrating hours, and she was still a barely passable roper. Her loops fell short or flew wide more often than they snared even a stationary target like a fencepost. Ryan could be a natural-born roper, and he’d still need hours of practice to rope a running horse from the saddle of the horse chasing her.

  And that wasn’t all. Hotspot was a sweet, gentle young mare. Through her pregnancy and Shy Boots’s birth, she’d trusted Ryan. After she’d been run to exhaustion and choked into submission with his beginner’s rope skills, how would she feel about him?

  “You know Hotspot’s temperament. How will she tolerate that aggressive stuff?” Sam asked.

  It happened so quickly, Sam almost missed it. Ryan’s forehead crinkled and his mouth drooped at the corners. He looked like a timid little boy, before his expression turned bland and he shrugged.

  “She’ll get over it.”

  Then Ryan left her and Jen, the corrals, and the barn. Without a wave or a good-bye, he walked back to his father’s pillared mansion.

  Pam must have watched him leave. Right away, she came striding from the porch and stopped beside Sam.

  “So how’d it go?” she asked.

  “Not so good,” Sam said, but Jen corrected her.

  “Terrible.”

  Pam sighed, but she didn’t say “I told you so.”

  Sam watched her two friends look at each other in a considering way. She craved a peek into their minds. What were they thinking?

  She didn’t ask. Instead, when she heard Ryan slam the mansion’s heavy front door, she thought of Mrs. Coley, who lived in that grand house with three rich but unhappy people.

  Mostly, she was talking to Jen when she said, “Mrs. Coley thinks this is all about Ryan proving
himself to his dad.”

  “Mrs. Coley’s their housekeeper,” Jen told Pam, “and I guess she’s right. But no matter what Ryan does, it’s not going to work.”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “If he catches Hotspot and brings her home, I think Linc would be totally impressed. After all, that’s the kind of Western…” Sam searched for a word. “Test that Linc’s been trying to pass since he got here. It’s why he wanted to capture the Phantom.”

  “Exactly,” Jen said. “He’s failed every time, but Ryan will probably succeed.”

  “I haven’t met his father—” Pam began.

  “Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Sam said sarcastically.

  “—but you can’t believe how many guys are in sports to please their dads. Next time you’re at a basketball or baseball game, watch when some guy makes a great play. You’d be surprised how many of them—before they even smile—glance up into the stands to make sure their dads are happy.”

  “I need to think about that,” Jen said, and her eyes lost focus for a moment.

  While her friend was lost in thought, Sam decided Jen could worry about Ryan, but Sam was more concerned for Shy Boots.

  Right now, before the Phantom moved his herd to his secret valley for the winter, Ryan needed to make his move.

  The Phantom’s herd had slipped away from BLM’s helicopters many times, and they might do it again. If Hotspot fled with them, Shy Boots would be without her until next year. Kitty might seem like a fine stand-in mother to the humans, but what if Shy Boots didn’t agree? Should they risk “failure to thrive” and a possible ulcer if Hotspot might cure him?

  “What do you think about using Mocha?” Sam asked suddenly.

  “Mocha? Like the espresso drink?” Pam asked, looking baffled. “For what?”

  “Not the drink,” Jen said, smiling. Then she pointed to a far pasture. “The horse.”

  Mocha was the show-quality Morgan that belonged to Rachel. The mare was even-tempered, strong, and levelheaded. As far as Sam knew, Rachel had never ridden her. She’d actually convinced her father to buy the expensive horse because they had the same coffee-brown hair.

  “Mocha would be perfect for going after Hotspot,” Jen agreed. “And she could use the work.” Jen glanced toward the mansion. Lights glowed from its upstairs windows, though the downstairs stood dark. “I’ll mention Mocha to Ryan.”

  “I’m telling you,” Pam put in. “You have to make him think he came up with the idea.”

  “That’s totally sexist,” Sam pointed out.

  “True, but based on the other competitive guys I know, it’s the only way,” Pam said.

  “He is supercompetitive,” Jen conceded.

  A fall breeze had rushed in after the dusty whirlwind. Sam smelled dry leaves and rabbit brush. She held back the hair blowing over her eyes and saw Jen shiver.

  Northern Nevada could change from summer to autumn in a single day.

  From hot to cold, just like some people. Just like Ryan. Sam wished he’d either grow up or quit making her friend as confused as he was.

  But Jen’s thoughts had turned back to horses, too.

  “One good thing about the nights getting colder,” Jen said, “is since horses have the best memories in the world, Hotspot might remember her cozy stall and decide it’s time to come in from the wild.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said, but her spirits were lower than they’d been all day.

  They’d stood quiet for a minute, watching the day end around them, when a coyote’s howl rose from the range.

  Pam jumped. Her mouth and eyes rounded with alarm and her arms jerked as if someone had shouted “Hands up!”

  “It’s just a—” Jen and Sam said together.

  “A coyote. I know,” Pam said, rubbing the goose bumps from her bare arms. “And I am such a city mouse, they terrify me.”

  All three girls laughed.

  A city mouse, Sam thought, smiling.

  She couldn’t remember the details of that fable about the country mouse and the city mouse, but she thought the rodent cousins learned they each had the skills to match their surroundings.

  Sam looked at her two friends. Cowgirl Jen knew almost everything there was to know about horses. As a San Francisco athlete, Pam knew what made competitive guys like Ryan tick.

  If those two teamed up, Ryan Slocum might realize he couldn’t take any shortcuts. He had to remind Hotspot she still loved him. Then he could bring her home to her baby.

  The next day at school Sam was called down to the office.

  On a bench in front of the counselors’ offices sat Pam. She jumped to her feet the minute she spotted Sam.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Pam muttered as they walked through the quiet halls back to Sam’s English class. “Am I dressed okay?”

  “Sure,” Sam said, because it wasn’t Pam’s clothes she’d noticed.

  As far as Sam was concerned, jeans and a polo shirt always looked about right, but Pam was carrying a basketball. Actually, carrying wasn’t exactly the right word. She was palming it, walking along holding it as if her long fingers had suction cups on the tips.

  “You look great,” Sam added.

  “But you’re wondering why I brought my basketball.” Pam took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Call it a security blanket, I guess. I take it everywhere, except restaurants. Mom makes me leave it in the truck.”

  “That’s why you won the city championship. You love basketball and it loves you,” Sam said.

  “You were really good, too,” Pam reminded her.

  “Were, is sort of the point,” Sam said. “I doubt I could even hit the rim anymore.”

  “Hey, I know,” Pam said. “Do they have open gym here during lunchtime? I’d love to throw the ball around with you a little bit.”

  “Yeah, like that thought just popped into your brain this very instant,” Sam teased.

  “Maybe it crossed my mind before,” Pam said. She danced a few steps down the corridor, dribbling the ball, then pivoted and shot it right at Sam’s hands.

  Sam caught it.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said as she launched the ball back at Pam.

  But even as she uttered the words, she knew she’d give in. It sounded like fun.

  It was, and any qualms Sam had about people thinking she looked lame evaporated when she discovered no one was watching her. All eyes tracked Pam.

  In fact, Pam almost made Sam late to Journalism because the coach supervising open gym wouldn’t let Pam go.

  Sam had stood in the gym doorway, shifting from foot to foot as the first bell rang and Pam stood spinning the ball on one finger until it wobbled and she caught it with her other hand, then doing it again and again while the coach kept talking.

  Finally, with just seconds to go, Pam sprinted toward Sam.

  “He wouldn’t let me leave,” Pam gasped. “He thought I was lying to him about being from out of town. He thought I was just shy or something. I finally had to show him my visitor’s pass.”

  They barely made it to Journalism. As Sam worked on her assignment, Pam pulled a desk up beside her. Together, they schemed about how to help Ryan catch Hotspot.

  “You should know how it’s done,” Pam whispered. “Since you get your stallion to come to you and he’s totally wild.”

  Sam was nodding before Pam finished. She’d been thinking about that subject half the night.

  “He can’t chase her, trap her, or tear her away from her herd,” Sam said. “He has to make Hotspot want to come to him.”

  The sudden rasp of Mr. Blair clearing his throat made Sam freeze. She tightened her grip on her pencil, wiggled the eraser end, and frowned as if she were perplexed over her work.

  When she sneaked a glance at her teacher, though, Sam could see he wasn’t fooled. Mr. Blair pointed down at the paperwork on his desk, then returned to reading it as if he expected her to do the same.

  “He’s not going to kick me out, is he?” Pam asked.

  “No,�
� Sam said. “He won’t cut me any slack on my deadline, but he knows I’ll do what I have to do to get it in.”

  By the time class ended and Sam and Pam were walking toward the school parking lot, Sam had warned Pam about the ride to Gold Dust Ranch.

  “We’ll be sharing that baby-blue Mercedes,” Sam said, pointing at the car, “with Ryan’s evil twin, Rachel.”

  Pam was braced and ready to be either scorned or ignored by the rich girl, but then a weird thing happened. Rachel was nicer to Pam than Sam had ever seen her be to another girl. She was so nice, Sam could hardly believe this person in the front seat beside Mrs. Coley was really Rachel.

  She smelled like Rachel, wearing a musky perfume that filled the car. She sounded like Rachel, her musical voice lilting with an American accent on the high notes and British on the low ones. She certainly looked like Rachel, totally chic in black slacks and an inappropriate-for-school silver top that would have looked like layers of fraying duct tape on anyone else.

  But this person didn’t act like Rachel. When Pam leaned forward to ask about the unusual blouse, she didn’t sigh condescendingly.

  “This?” Rachel said, pulling a piece of the fabric clear of her seat belt and looking down at it as if she’d forgotten what she’d put on that morning. “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if maybe it was a little too trendy, but I got it in a little shop somewhere this summer.”

  Too trendy? Got it “somewhere”? The Rachel Sam knew would have rattled off the address of a charming little boutique that most mortals didn’t know existed, on Rue de whatever in Paris.

  I don’t get it, Sam thought.

  And now Rachel was twisting in her seat to ask Pam about San Francisco’s weather and music scene, about her school and classes, her travel with her basketball team, and even how she’d met Sam.

  Guilt was making Sam regret what she’d told Pam, until Sam looked up and caught the reflection of Mrs. Coley’s eyes in the rearview mirror. The housekeeper was astonished as well.

  What is she playing at? Sam wondered, but she sat back in her seat to wait.

  The real Rachel didn’t show up until the Mercedes passed Jake, once more jogging at the roadside. Today, he wore Darton High’s green-and-gold uniform and ran toward the front of a group of cross-country team members. Sam had wanted to introduce Pam to Jake, but she hadn’t spotted him in the halls even once.