by Terri Farley
Sam had barely finished reciting the numbers, when the woman said, “You have a nice day.”
“Wait, wait! Brynna?”
“Yes, Samantha,” Brynna’s patience sounded strained.
“I think one of Linc Slocum’s cowboys is working for you.”
In the moment of silence, Sam couldn’t tell if Brynna was perturbed with her or if she resented the possibility that she’d been used.
“We always have new hires in the summer—” Brynna began.
“His name’s Flick.”
“—but thank goodness, no one by that name.”
And then Brynna Olson hung up.
“I guess I am glad you’re back,” Sam admitted, after she’d shared the bad news with Jake. “Where were you, anyway?”
“My mom had to drive into Reno for a teachers’ conference. It’s to help rural teachers keep up with the rest of the state.”
Gram had mentioned Jake’s mother taught at Darton High School. Sam was eager to see her again and glad she’d know a teacher at her new school, even if her only memory of Maxine Ely was a small blond woman as vivacious as her Shosone husband was quiet.
“It’s about a four-hour trip, and Mom thought I could use the driving practice. In fact, I tested for my license while I was there. And passed.” Jake looked smug.
“Now, if you only had a car,” she teased.
“You sure know how to make a guy feel important, Sam. Someday you’ll ask me to take you someplace and I’ll remind you of that crack.
“Anyway, since Mom had a hotel room to herself and Dad won’t leave the ranch unless it’s for a wedding or funeral, I went and hung around.”
“Doing what?” Sam asked.
“The hotel had a gym and swimming pool, and a video arcade. Mainly, I watched a lot of TV.”
Sam didn’t feel a single twinge of jealousy, but she did feel relieved and her sigh escaped in a gust.
“Your eye hurt?” Jake guessed.
“No,” Sam said, though it was sore and she didn’t like being reminded of how it must look. “I thought Dad had fired you.”
“Fired me?” Jake laughed. “I guess he could, but that’s not really how we work. It’s more like, we both make a small profit and a big reputation for turning out good, gentle working horses.
“We go to auctions, buy raw horses, then school them.”
“Like Pocahontas,” Sam said. “Weren’t you sorry to see her go?”
“A little, but Dawn Archer’s a good rider, and her dad’s had his eye on that filly from the first. He’ll pay Wyatt top dollar, now that she’s gentled. And that’s how it works. When we sell, your dad deducts the horse’s price, the cost of feed, shots and shoes, and then we split the profit—sixty percent for him and forty percent for me.”
“It won’t be enough to buy a car, will it?” Sam asked.
“It all adds up,” Jake said, rubbing his hands together like a miser. “And it beats working at McDonald’s or Phil’s Fill-Up.”
The ringing phone startled them. It was too soon for Dad and Gram to be calling to check on them, and ranchers didn’t hang around the house talking on the phone in the middle of the morning.
“Hello?”
“Samantha, this is Brynna Olson. We have that stallion.”
“Now? But I thought you said—”
“Two of our new hires just brought him in crosstied and blindfolded. They said they got a complaint from a nearby rancher,” Brynna sounded doubtful. “What matters is this: the horse seemed pretty calm until they removed this black sweater they’d used to blindfold him. Once he saw where he was, that stallion started screaming. He went insane.”
“Oh, no.”
“Samantha, this is serious. He’s rammed a wooden fence. He’s bleeding and we can’t get close to him. He’s reared and gone over backward. Other horses are panicking. A foal may have broken her leg trying to escape. This is serious,” she repeated.
Sam didn’t allow her heart to break. The Phantom had been tricked and betrayed. She was his only hope.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised.
“I hope it’s soon enough.” Brynna’s no-nonsense voice was colder than ever. “Because if I can’t get him sedated, I’ll have to put him down.”
Jake grabbed Gram’s fluffy key chain before Sam could explain. He went out to start the Buick while Sam scrawled a note to Dad and Gram, grabbed her purple pages, then ran after him. She had to jump back on the porch, though, when the car careened too close.
“Can you drive this thing? Or—”
“Or what?” Jake demanded.
“Or—” Sam climbed in and buckled her seat belt, then wrapped her arms around her ribs as they bumped toward the bridge. The big car didn’t look like it would fit. “Or should I see if I can get Dallas to drive me up there? I mean, you barely have your license.”
“No kidding?” Jake accelerated once they crossed the bridge. “And after you found Dallas, do you really think he’d figure this was enough of an emergency to quit working on the pump after he told Wyatt he’d handle it?” Jake filled the silence. “I don’t think so.”
Jake was right. He was also risking a lot by driving Gram’s car with a brand-new license. Sam wondered why he hadn’t hesitated to take her to the aid of a horse he feared would hurt her. He must be doing this for her.
“Thanks, Jake.”
He grunted and kept driving.
They drove ten minutes without passing another car and Sam stayed quiet so Jake could concentrate. They slipped through Alkali without slowing down.
Sam wondered if Slocum was in front of them or behind them. Only when they made the hard right turn off the asphalt and onto the dirt road that would take them uphill to Thread the Needle and the Willow Springs corral did she find out.
Jake sucked in a breath that made Sam worry.
She bit her lip as rocks crunched under the Buick’s tires. The big car wallowed a minute before holding upright on the dirt road.
“We doing okay?” she asked.
“Fine, but you’d better keep watch out the back window. I just caught a glimpse of Slocum’s car.”
The tan Cadillac was about a mile behind them.
“He’s an adult,” Sam blurted.
“So?”
“Neither of us can sign for the adoption.”
“Sam, we’re not going to adopt the Phantom. We’re driving up there to, uh, to try to—just why are we going?”
“To keep him from getting hurt.”
“Don’t tell me you think you can get close to him like you did last night.” He glanced away from the road and gave her a grim glare. “Do not tell me that.”
Sam stared out the windshield. That’s exactly what she planned to do. But Jake had said not to tell him, so she wouldn’t.
“Sam? Better answer me, or I’m pulling over right now and waving Slocum good luck as he goes past.”
“I’m just going because Brynna said I should,” Sam said and it was only a white lie. Brynna must have wanted her to come, or she wouldn’t have called.
Jake swerved around a refrigerator-sized rock. “She has to hold horses ’til they’ve been freeze-branded and vaccinated, anyway.”
Jake was trying to comfort her, but as Sam shrank back against the seat, she imagined the Phantom’s terror. And though the branding and vaccinating would hurt the stallion, it wouldn’t hurt as much as the betrayal. For the first time since she’d hung up the phone, Sam thought about the blindfold Brynna had described.
“You know that they used my sweater to blindfold him?”
“Yeah?” Jake sawed at the steering wheel as they began a series of switchbacks. “That was a dirty trick.”
“They used my scent to keep him calm. That flash I saw on the ridge last night was probably Slocum, smoking cigarettes and throwing matches like he always does.” Sam shivered. Like a stalker, Slocum had been watching her.
“It means Slocum started planning this a long time ag
o, during the cattle drive. That’s when my sweater disappeared. He’s a weird guy, Jake.”
“He’s also a fast guy,” Jake said, eyes on the rearview mirror.
Sam twisted to look over the seat back. Slocum was gaining on them. “Can Gram’s car go any faster?”
“Not much, but I have an idea.”
Jake punched the accelerator and the car wobbled too near the edge of the road, but they drew away, steadily. They’d almost reached Thread the Needle and the Cadillac was just slogging through the switchbacks.
As Gram’s car entered the single-lane road, Jake slammed on the brakes.
“What are you doing?” Sam shouted. Since last time, she’d had a creepy feeling about Thread the Needle. “You said there’s no way another car can pass here. You can’t stop.”
But Jake did stop. He switched off the ignition and left the car aslant the road. He climbed out, fiddled with the hood, and opened it.
Sam climbed out, too. The desert heat hit her as if she’d opened the world’s biggest oven door. For an instant she was glad to be dressed in shorts and tennis shoes instead of boots and jeans.
Then she watched Jake’s head disappear under the car hood.
“Jake?”
“Quit shrieking and start running, Brat.” His voice was muffled. “I’m pulling out the”—he stretched further into the engine compartment and tugged—“coil to the distributor. My buddy Darrell…” he began, then changed what he’d been about to say, “is someone you don’t need to meet, but he always has a trick up his sleeve and this is one he taught me.”
With a satisfied sound, Jake reappeared. He shoved a wire, curled like a spring, at her.
“Stick that in your pocket,” Jake ordered. “Gram’s Buick isn’t going anywhere until we put it back.”
The Cadillac roared closer. Sam hated to leave Jake to deal with an angry and frustrated Slocum.
“Run, Sam!” Jake gave Sam a shove between the shoulder blades, and she took off. “And don’t do anything stupid!”
Chapter Sixteen
SAM’S HEARTBEAT pounded in her throat, in her arms, and in her face. It wasn’t the blistering heat that made her run a choppy pace. Sam was afraid.
She slipped on a patch of gravel. Her feet shot out from under her body and only her hands kept her face from slamming into the dirt.
Sam stood, wiped the dirt and blood from her palms on her shorts, and glanced down the hillside to her left.
Hypnotized by the steep drop-off, Sam couldn’t help but look. Far away, River Bend was arranged like a toy ranch and the river glinted silver-blue.
If only the Phantom were down there, playing in the river, safe and sound. But he wasn’t, so Sam kept running.
If Slocum got her horse, there were ways to get him back. If Zanzibar died…
She quit thinking of the powerful stallion, slamming the door on those nightmare images. Instead, she thought of Jake. Slocum had probably reached him by now. Slocum would be furious. But Jake was younger, stronger, and faster. And hard in a way Slocum could never achieve, even if he spent hours in a gym. Jake worked. Slocum only pretended. Slocum had to buy the trappings of a cowboy. Jake was the real thing.
The rhythm of Sam’s steps turned regular. She caught her breath, kept her head level, and aimed her eyes straight ahead.
She heard the Phantom’s neigh, before she saw him. Raspy, as if he’d screamed his throat raw, his cry and galloping hooves lured Sam to his corral.
People. Sam caught a glimpse of Miss Olson in her khaki-colored uniform. She saw Flick and the men she’d identified as Bale Thrower and Clipboard when she’d visited the corrals before. She refused to let them see her. Or stop her.
Sam ducked and sneaked along the fence, keeping her head low. She couldn’t risk walking to the gate and opening it. If Phantom galloped through, he’d be lost in the maze of corrals and easily recaptured. She looked for another way in.
Down a few yards, a bottom rail was missing from the fence. She crept along, determined to reach that gap. Once there, she’d slip under and into the corral before she was spotted.
“The vet’s on her way.”
Sam recognized Miss Olson’s voice. Her tone was so unemotional, Sam couldn’t tell if the vet was coming to sedate the stallion or destroy him.
As if he understood, the stallion trumpeted a challenging neigh. Sam had to look. She crouched and peered through the fence rails.
The Phantom was transformed by fury. Dirt dulled his silver coat. His drifting mane lay clumped and matted with mud from dust mixed with his sweat, but he fought captivity with every weapon a wild horse possessed.
He tried speed, galloping around the corral. Stumbling and exhausted, he still tried to outrun the walls surrounding him.
He tried slashing hooves, battering the fence until he dropped back, all four legs spread wide to keep from falling.
He tried screaming with defiance. He was a king of stallions determined to scare his captor.
And then, once more, he ran.
“I want to see you two, now,” Miss Olson’s voice snapped with authority. She stood with one foot on the porch. From where Sam hid, it looked like there was a pile of rope on the porch. Sam hoped Miss Olson was calling in the two men who’d trapped the Phantom.
“Yeah?” The lazy voice was Flick’s. “Ed’s gone, but what do you want with me?”
He didn’t sound worried. Miss Olson’s voice was stern, but Sam didn’t have time to listen.
Time was running out. Sam edged closer to the gap beneath the fence.
The faltering stutter of the Phantom’s hooves made Sam wonder if the stallion scented her. His dread increased. He ran faster, streaking along the fence line and slamming into a corner. Only then did he turn, run, and ram into the next corner.
Blood ran between his churning forelegs. Twists of forelock hid his eyes, but that wasn’t why he kept running and slamming into each corner. The royal stallion ran blind with rage.
“He’s doing it again,” Miss Olson sounded close. “I’m afraid he’ll run himself to death.”
There were mumbles from Bale Thrower and Clipboard, but Sam heard Flick clearly.
“Hasn’t got a brain left in that puny mustang head,” Flick said.
“You’ve got your paycheck,” Miss Olson said. “I asked you to leave. Do it.”
“Oh yes, ma’am.” Flick laughed. “I guess I got what I came for.”
Sam knew he didn’t mean the money.
Face lowered to within a quarter inch of the dirt, Sam slid under the fence rails. The stallion’s hooves came to a halt.
Sam stood. If anyone saw her now, it would be too late. She walked slowly to the middle of the corral. The stallion watched, vibrating with an emotion Sam couldn’t read.
This wasn’t the river. None of the stallion’s movements would be slowed by water. Sam’s cheek still ached from last night’s accidental blow.
If this horse wanted to hurt her, she couldn’t stop him.
If he hurt her, Miss Olson would surely put him down.
With everything at stake, Sam stretched out her hand in a gesture the horse understood.
The stallion froze. His nostrils flared wide from exertion. Sam imagined the feel of velvet muzzle and prickly whiskers, but the stallion didn’t lower his head as he had last night.
He straightened to a commanding height, tossed his forelock back, and stared. He blinked once, as if he couldn’t believe she’d dare this.
He took two steps forward and as he did, Sam heard Miss Olson gasp. She said something, too, but Sam quit listening as the Phantom pinned back his ears and charged.
Sam didn’t move, couldn’t move, and the stallion passed by. Dust choked her, but she refused to cough. His hooves stamped behind her, and she turned to face him.
Sam reached into her memory, trying to recall the signs of horse language Jake had taught her.
The stallion reared, showing a vast underbelly spattered with mud and blood. He lowered t
o all four legs, gathered himself into a churning coil of muscle, and charged past again, head snaking out as if he’d bite; but he didn’t.
The stallion told her he was confused and angry. He said he wasn’t going to kill her, even if she deserved it.
He moved around the pen at a trot and as he turned gracefully at each corner, Sam sighed. The Phantom was acting like a normal, nervous horse.
Voices attracted her eyes.
Jake was there. “She knows what she’s doing. At least he thinks she does.”
The stallion curved away from the fence and walked toward her. He stopped and stared toward the mountains, with one ear turned her way.
Sam talked to him.
“Hey boy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry they hurt you.”
The horse shuddered, but his ear stayed turned to catch each word. She knew the sound he was waiting for and she uttered it so quietly, no one else could hear.
“Zanzibar,” Sam breathed the word, hoping it reached his ears.
Her scent had betrayed the stallion. The word was all she had left to offer him. The word held all her love. No one else must hear it. Ever.
The stallion’s head swung to face her. He took two steps, then pawed the dirt. His respiration was labored, raising his wide chest. Blood misted from his nostrils.
“Zanzibar,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’ll get you out of here, I will.”
When his lips fluttered, Sam felt his breath. His neck stretched past her hand, lifting. If he bolted now, she’d go down under his hooves to be trampled.
“Zanzibar, I love you, big horse.”
The stallion lowered his mighty head to Sam’s shoulder. His sigh rocked them both. She saw his muscles loosen, felt his head grow heavy as he calmed.
Neither horse nor girl moved, for a very long time.
Slocum’s high-heeled boots and broad belly kept him from reaching Willow Springs until after Sam left the Phantom resting in his corral.
As Sam came through the gate, Jake called her nine kinds of fool and ten kinds of idiot, then gave her a hug that nearly broke her ribs.