Mountain Mare

by Terri Farley

  Sam could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Can I count on you to let me know if anything turns up?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “And before I ask Duke Fairchild to have someone bring over a scanner, I want a promise you won’t go charging off trying to fix things on your own.” Sheriff Ballard’s tone turned stern.

  “I won’t,” Sam said, and it was the truth.

  Dad wasn’t going to let her off the ranch, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use the phone and Internet to help Lynn solve the mystery—she imagined dramatic music—of the mountain mare.

  “I can see she’s in good hands,” Hal said after Sam had returned to the ranch yard and told him, Dad, and Gram what the sheriff had said.

  “My lands, Samantha,” Gram said, wide-eyed. “That was quick.”

  Sam was about to tell Gram that Lynn had said, that Sam had “a nose for news,” and it had led her directly to a good source. But she didn’t get a chance to brag.

  “Heck Ballard’s a good sheriff,” Dad said, but he must have seen Sam’s smile fade, because he squeezed the back of her neck. “You want to take care of that horse and tell Brynna—if she ever gets home—the whole story? I don’t have the patience, but I do have some danged irrigation pipes to fix.”

  “Sure, Dad,” Sam said.

  All buckaroos hated jobs they couldn’t do from the back of a horse, and for her father, equipment malfunctions were the worst.

  Hal had tied the mare to the hitching rail near the round pen. As he drove away, Gram and Sam went to pamper the horse.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” Sam said to the mare. “We’re going to find your family right away.”

  “She’s very gentle and sweet, isn’t she?” Gram said as the mare rested her chin on Sam’s shoulder. “I’d call that almost a hug.”

  Sam stood very still, letting the mare sniff and investigate her hair.

  “I’ll go look for some carrots,” Gram said. “That’ll pass the time ’til that scanner gets here. I do hope it’s nothing that will hurt her.”

  Duke Fairchild arrived as the mare took a second carrot from Gram then bobbed her head in crunching delight.

  “Good morning, Grace,” Duke Fairchild greeted Gram. “And Sam, good to see you, too. Sorry we didn’t get to talk on that rodeo cattle drive. Kind of fun, wasn’t it?”

  Duke Fairchild’s blue eyes seemed brighter because of his silver hair, and though no one would mistake him for a cowboy, his Western-styled shirt and polished boots suited him.

  “Thanks so much for coming out,” Gram said.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “I’m excited about using this new gadget of mine. It’s a universal chip reader. Supposed to pick up any brand of microchip.”

  Duke stood near the mare, letting her get used to him, before he slid his hand under her mane.

  “Are you feeling for the chip?” Sam asked.

  “No, it’s tiny, about the size of a grain of rice, and it’s injected someplace between her poll and withers, under this ligament.”

  The mare accepted Duke’s hands as easily as she had Sam and Gram’s, and when he took out the scanner, she just sniffed it.

  “Will it hurt her?” Gram asked.

  “Naw, it’s just like a store’s bar scanner, least that’s what I’ve been told, and if it’s anything like the older ones I’ve used, she’ll only react to the beeping that starts up when I find the chip.”

  “How can you be sure it’s still there?” Gram asked.

  “Once chips are in, they’re there for life,” Duke said, as he hovered the scanner over the mare’s neck. “They can migrate, but they don’t usually go very far.”

  “And when it beeps, what happens next?” Sam asked.

  “Depends on the registry, but most folks these days are registered so that we’ll get a read out of the owner’s name and phone number right here,” Duke said, tapping a little window on the scanner, “on the display.”

  “That sounds like magic,” Gram said, “when I think back on lost horses we’ve come across after floods and fires.”

  “We’ll have you back in your stall before you know it,” Sam told the mare. “I wish Brynna were here.”

  “She’d get a kick out of it, all right,” Gram said.

  “This all assumes the mare has a chip,” Duke cautioned. “I’m not picking anything up just yet.”

  “I’ll go get you a cup of coffee,” Gram offered, but just then Duke gave an exclamation.

  “Hey! We got it!”

  Even then, the mare didn’t startle. Sam thought she regarded the excited humans with amused patience.

  “Let me see!” Gram said, crowding past Sam. “Oh, let me get a pencil so we can write it down.”

  Gram hustled into the house and back while Duke showed Sam the electronic display. “Frank McKenzie is her owner, and here’s his phone number. This is a great little toy,” Duke muttered. “And I’ll put it to good use.”

  “I’ll call him!” Sam said. “Can I?”

  “Go ahead, dear,” Gram said. “After all, this was your idea.”

  Excitement over her good deed pushed Sam’s worries aside. She dialed the unfamiliar area code and waited as the phone rang.

  “McKenzie Farms,” said a businesslike male voice. “This is Jack.”

  “We found your horse!” Sam blurted.

  She waited for the voice to burst into celebration.

  “What horse would that be? And who’s calling?”

  It must be a huge farm if they didn’t know they’d lost a horse like that beautiful mare, Sam thought.

  Sam heard the kitchen door open, but she ignored it. Not only did she feel let down, but she wished someone who appreciated the horse had answered the phone.

  “My name is Samantha Forster and I’m calling from River Bend Ranch in northern Nevada. We just scanned a mare, probably a Rocky Mountain Horse, and the microchip came up with your name and number.”

  In the moment of silence that followed, Sam could hear stable sounds from somewhere far away. Water whooshed into a metal bucket. A horse neighed.

  “This is Frank McKenzie, isn’t it?” Sam asked. Could the microchip have given the scanner the wrong phone number?

  “Ms. Forster,” the voice said finally, “I’m Mr. McKenzie’s stable manager, and I do thank you for calling, but this must be a horse we sold after we had it chipped. We’re not missing any horses.”

  “I could describe her for you,” Sam offered.

  “Everything’s computerized here at McKenzie Farms, Ms. Forster. You’d be wasting your time. I can tell you without a doubt that the horse doesn’t belong here. Good luck.”

  “No, wait. Here’s a number. That might help.” She read it quickly, not giving him a chance to refuse.

  He didn’t.

  “Got it,” he said, “and I’m transferring you to someone who can look that up.” Annoyed, but hoping the mystery was about to be solved, Sam waited. She heard a click and the rapid tapping of computer keys.

  “Hello?” Sam asked.

  “I ran an inquiry on that number,” said a female voice that sounded busy, but a little friendlier. “It refers to McKenzie’s Blackstrap Molasses, a twelve-year-old broodmare, chocolate and white, put down last week because of retinal detachment.”

  “Put down,” Sam repeated. “Destroyed, you mean?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “But—” Sam stared at the kitchen wall as if she could see through it to the gentle mare tied outside.

  “I’ll call our chip supplier and remind them to update their records. Or maybe they’ve already reassigned the number. Who knows? Anyway, thanks for the heads up.”

  Sam was still listening to the dial tone when she looked over to see Brynna standing in the kitchen, face flushed with exertion.

  “Hi,” Sam said. She crossed her arms, trying to figure out where to begin her explanation. First, she’d have to unravel what had just happened.

  Instead of dancing
around in celebration because she’d found the mare’s grieving owner, she’d just heard the horse was dead. Except she obviously wasn’t.

  Brynna was studying the piece of paper bearing the useless phone number as if it were written in code. Maybe she was exhausted from her ride. She did smell pretty horsy, and Strawberry could be a handful.

  “Do you want some orange juice?” Sam asked. “Or ice water?”

  Was Brynna hypnotized? She shook her head slowly and tapped the piece of paper with her index finger.

  “No,” Brynna said. She pushed loosened strands of red hair back toward a disheveled braid as she met Sam’s eyes. “What I want is for you to make that same phone call to a different number and let me know what you hear.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brynna grabbed the telephone book, flipped through the flimsy pages, then turned it toward Sam.

  “Dial that, and ask for room 224.”

  “I’m calling the hospital?” Sam asked. Maybe Brynna really was losing it.

  “You’re calling Diana McKenzie.”

  Sam sucked in a deep breath.

  Frank McKenzie owned the chocolate mare.

  Diana McKenzie was the girl who’d been hurt in the car accident with the empty horse trailer.

  Except maybe the trailer hadn’t been empty. Why had Diana insisted it was? Why wouldn’t she beg the sheriff to go after her escaped horse? And why did McKenzie Farms think the mare was dead?

  “Just dial,” Brynna said, fanning herself with her hand, and Sam did.

  The phone rang seven times. Sam was about to hang up when the receiver sounded as if it were being juggled up to someone’s ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Diana? This is Sam Forster—”

  “Miss McKenzie’s just checking out. I’m the nurse’s aide.”

  “Could you please catch her for me?” Sam asked. “It’s really important.”

  “She’s halfway down the hall—”

  Hurry up and think, Sam told her brain.

  “I, uh, found something she lost in the accident.” Sam grimaced at how lame she sounded, but it was all she could come up with, and she thought it was true.

  Judging by Brynna’s thumbs-up, it was okay.

  “I’ll get her,” said the nurse’s aide.

  “Hello?”

  When she heard Diana McKenzie’s concerned voice, Sam pictured the dark-haired girl with hazel eyes who’d looked so weak sitting in the rodeo first aid center.

  “Hi Diana, this is Samantha Forster, I met you—”

  “I remember,” Diana said cautiously. “You were with that reporter and…” She paused. “And your mother stayed with me while they admitted me to the hospital.”

  “I’m calling because we found your horse!” Sam tried to sound excited, just as she had before. “We just scanned a mare, probably a Rocky Mountain Horse, and the microchip came up with your name and number.”

  Just as before, when she’d called McKenzie Farms, there was silence. Then Sam heard whispers and a jumbling sound as the telephone receiver changed hands. This time it was broken by a male voice.

  “Can you give me directions to your ranch? We need to see the horse.”

  “Uh, sure,” Sam said. She’d expected a longer conversation leading up to this point. “Just a second.”

  Sam knew Brynna would do a better job of giving lefts and rights out of Darton to the freeway, so she handed her the phone and sat listening until Brynna hung up.

  “Now I’ll take that juice,” Brynna said, leaning back in her chair at the kitchen table.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked as she poured juice for them both.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but I think it’s a good thing the boyfriend—Diana said his name was Kevin, right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I think Kevin’s involved, too.”

  “In what, though?”

  “My guess is that Diana had the mare in the trailer during the accident, and then the horse either got loose or Diana turned her loose.

  “Why is the hard part,” Brynna said before Sam could ask.

  “Should we call the sheriff?” Sam asked instead.

  “I think we can wait on that, and on telling your dad,” Brynna said with a conspiratorial wink. “Because I think Kevin’s the one who locked you in the feed room.”

  “Kevin,” Sam said blankly, before another thought shoved that one aside. “How did you know about me being locked in the feed room?”

  “I rode into Alkali for one of Clara’s sweet rolls,” Brynna whispered, glancing toward the ranch yard. “Don’t tell your gram.”

  “I won’t, but—”

  “You were the talk of the diner,” Brynna told her.

  Her stepmother was watching to make sure she took the information with good humor, so Sam just smiled instead of groaning or letting her head sag into her hands in humiliation.

  “The timing’s right,” Brynna said. “Kevin arrived as Diana was being admitted to the hospital. When we’d gotten her settled in her room, he clicked on the television just as Lynn’s story about the mystery mare came on the six o’clock news.”

  Sam thought back to last night. At six o’clock, she and Jen would have been window-shopping or buying corn dogs and lemonade.

  “We all sat there watching,” Brynna recalled. “But then, come to think of it…Yeah,” Brynna said, nodding. “It was just after she saw the mare do that bowing trick that Diana was sick again. She went all pale and wobbly, but when I offered to call a nurse, she just said she wanted to rest.” Brynna shrugged. “And to tell you the truth, I was feeling a little tired myself, so I left, but now I’m remembering the kind of…,” Brynna paused, searching for a word, “intense looks she was flashing Kevin.”

  Sam and Brynna were still talking, working through “what ifs,” an hour later, when Blaze began barking.

  “It could be them,” Sam said.

  She looked out the front window in time to see Blaze rush toward the bridge as he increased the volume of his barking.

  “It is,” Brynna said as a yellow Scout pulling a horse trailer edged past Dad’s dead truck and into the ranch yard.

  Gram stood up from pulling weeds in her garden, and for the first time Sam saw the chocolate mare become agitated.

  Diana climbed carefully from the passenger’s side of the yellow vehicle. She scanned the ranch buildings. Then she spotted the horse. She took one cautious step, as if she were balancing her head on her shoulders.

  She must still hurt, Sam thought, but when the mare released a longing neigh, Diana went running.

  The mare pulled as far from the hitching rail as her rope would allow. She stretched her nose toward the girl, closing the distance between them every inch she could until Diana wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck.

  “Careful, Di,” said the guy striding from the truck.

  Instantly, Sam recognized him. He was the one who’d been crooning to the mare yesterday, calling her his lass.

  McKenzie’s Blackstrap Molasses, Sam thought, suddenly.

  Molasses. Her stable name could be Lass.

  The mare’s excited, bobbing head bumped and loosened a bandage from over Diana’s ear. The girl bent and retrieved it, then shoved it into her pocket as the mare nibbled her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Diana said to the horse.

  Or was it to them? Sam wondered, as she and Brynna joined Gram.

  Kevin stood in front of Sam. He blushed and swallowed so hard, she heard it.

  “And I’m really sorry about last night. I’d come to get Lass and I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. I mean, Lass does tricks and she was used to that war bridle, but I wasn’t. When you came back, I didn’t expect you and I kind of panicked. I hope you’re okay.”

  “I am,” Sam said. “My arms are sore, though.”

  “No kidding,” he said with a short laugh. “You hit that door like a linebacker.”

  Sam couldn’t help smiling. It was just the so
rt of compliment Jake would give.

  “We need to talk,” Brynna interrupted.

  It was her official voice, and no one mistook it for friendly. Kevin’s smile melted and Diana’s arms dropped from her horse’s neck.

  “Let’s do it inside,” Gram said, and Sam noticed she didn’t mention anything about food.

  “It’s all my fault,” Diana said once they were seated around the kitchen table. “And I don’t blame you if you want to press charges. I know I broke some laws, but more than that, I—” Diana’s voice cracked and she began to cry. “Deserted my horse. She almost died because of me.”

  Sam remembered her dream. Ace and the Phantom had radiated feelings of betrayal at her. Sam wet her lips, ready to sympathize with Diana, when Brynna touched Sam’s arm and shook her head.

  “I went away to school and just forgot about her,” Diana said. “Not really. I could never forget Lass, but I don’t think I’ve ridden her since my senior year in high school. And Dad started using her as a broodmare, which is fine, but I went home and I heard that they were going to have her destroyed because of some hereditary eye problem.”

  Brynna stirred beside her and Sam knew this time it was her stepmother who wanted to interrupt. Brynna’s blind mare meant the world to her, and she’d have a lot to say about someone destroying a horse because of eye problems.

  “But here’s the thing,” Kevin cut in. “The retinal detachment problem that Jack was blabbing about doesn’t cause blindness. I’ve done some research and it is more common in Rocky Mountain Horses, Morgans, and some miniature horses, but it might not even be hereditary.”

  “So why was he putting her down?” Gram asked.

  “He called her a hay burner,” Diana sneered. “He actually said that to my face. That’s when I just snapped. Jack, our stable manager, is really good at what he does and he’s made my dad lots of money, but he just said it was time to take her out of the breeding program.” Diana looked at each of them. “I understand that, but why kill her?”

  Just like Linc Slocum, Sam thought. He’d wanted to “cull” Shy Boots, Ryan’s colt, because he couldn’t be registered.

  Sam drew a breath then. The more Diana talked, the less it looked like Slocum was involved. How could she have been wrong?