by Terri Farley
As she grabbed two horse cookies, Sam wondered if a fourteen-year-old should be fantasizing about hands covered with horse slobber. Right now, she wanted nothing more, because that would mean the Phantom trusted her enough to approach and eat from her hand.
A cricket hushed as she opened the front door. When she reached the end of the garden path, it resumed its chirping.
Both herds had moved much closer to the ranch buildings.
Although smoke lingered in the air, its bitter smell couldn’t hide the morning scent of wet grass.
Instead of saddling Ace, Sam slogged through the grass outside the pasture. A flock of dark birds rose in a cloud before her, then coasted out of sight.
The nearest horses raised their heads to watch her approach.
Sam longed to open the gate and walk inside. If only she could just go right up to the stallion and smooth her palm over his sleek shoulder. But she knew better.
Under the best of circumstances, the stallion might flee. And now that she could make him out, Sam knew these were not the best of circumstances.
The Phantom remained apart from the herd. He was ignoring a squealing, teeth-snapping spat between two half-grown colts. Normally the stallion would have reprimanded them. Now, even the lead mare stayed away, too cautious to get near the Phantom.
He’d turned his rippling silver tail to a section of fence. He kicked out one hind hoof, over and over again. He showed no interest in escape and he wasn’t kicking hard. The single hoof barely struck the lowest rail.
Sam walked on, hoping he’d notice her without being startled.
His peripheral vision caught Sam’s movement when she was still many yards away, and he wheeled away from the fence.
Weeds hung in his heavy mane and grass speckled his hide. His ears flicked forward. Had he heard her coming?
No, the stallion’s head tossed in frustration. Curved at the knees, his front legs lifted off the ground, and his anguished neigh put an end to hope.
Chapter Twelve
“Zanzibar,” Sam crooned, though the stallion turned and walked away. “Beautiful Zanzibar.”
She had to lift his spirits. She took one of the cookies and raised her arm to toss it after the stallion. He’d enjoy it, she thought. Eating was one thing hearing didn’t affect, but she’d better make it a hard throw, because he wouldn’t hear it fall and some other horse would trot over to gobble it up.
The stallion must have sensed her movement, because he shied right into the cookie. When it struck his flank, he exploded.
The Phantom whirled on the object. Then, like a movie horse attacking a rattlesnake, he trampled the cookie into crumbs and stood panting.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m glad you picked it to be mad at, instead of me,” Sam said aloud. The stallion must be full of rage if such a small irritation provoked him into fury.
Then, as if the thought of a small irritation had summoned her, Faith, the blind Medicine Hat filly, wandered into range of the stallion’s striking hooves.
“Faith! Get out of there!” Sam shouted. “Go on!”
She flapped her hands toward Faith, trying to spook her away from the stallion. But Faith couldn’t see her hands and she cared nothing for her shouts.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Sam called to the filly.
The Phantom seemed equally amazed. Flexing his neck so that his chin bumped his chest, he rumbled, warning her off. Though the other mustangs scattered, the filly kept coming.
Faith’s nostrils fluttered as her muzzle skimmed above the ground, searching out the delicious smells of carrots and molasses.
She couldn’t be hungry enough to risk injury, so Faith must be reading something in the Phantom’s sound or scent that overruled his threats. Sam hoped Faith was right, because what she couldn’t see was a rampaging stallion headed right for her.
Sam swallowed hard, remembering that day in the rodeo arena when she’d held her ground against the stallion’s charge. Then the Phantom had stopped short of running her down.
This time, the stallion halted so near Faith that the dirt skidding from his front hooves pelted the filly’s legs. As if she were offended, not frightened, Faith lifted her hooves—right, left, right—then shook the dust shower off her gold-and-white coat.
The Phantom flattened his ears and darted his head, teeth bared, in her direction. When the filly didn’t seem to notice, the Phantom appeared curious rather than upset. He cocked his head. His mane hung in one heavy swathe from the right side of his neck.
Overjoyed, Faith squealed as she found the cookie crumbs. She whuffled her lips over the ground and instinctively turned her tail to the other mustangs, hiding her prize.
“Greedy guts,” Sam whispered, and maybe the Phantom made the same comment, because he gave a final snort, then wandered away.
“So, what’s happening?”
The male voice at her elbow made Sam turn so fast, she nearly knocked Jake down. When she saw the satisfied grin on his face, she almost wished she had.
“Steady,” he said, as if calming a horse.
His hand reached to balance her and she shoved it away.
“Jake! Why do you do that?” Sam demanded.
“Do what?”
“You know what! Sneak up on me. And don’t give me that ‘aw, shucks, ma’am’ shrug,” she lectured him.
“Might be I’m just naturally stealthy. Are you insulting my heritage?”
“No,” Sam said. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of arguing over something so silly. Most of the time, she was more interested in Native American traditions than he was. “Just don’t expect me to like it when you scare the breath out of me.”
Hiding his half smile, Jake turned to watch the horses.
From the corner of her eye, Sam noticed Jake’s face was bright red. He never sunburned, so what could be wrong? A question had just reached the tip of her tongue when Sam realized Jake had been standing at the front end of the hose, supporting the nozzle during the fire yesterday. The fire had burned his bronze skin.
He’s a tough guy, Sam thought as she considered Jake in his well-washed white T-shirt, faded jeans, boots, and black Stetson. Even after yesterday, which had to have left him bone-tired, he looked ready for a day of work. And it couldn’t be six o’clock yet.
“Your horse doin’ okay?” he asked. Sam could tell from his tone that he’d heard about the Phantom’s deafness.
“No, he’s acting really strange. Remember when you broke your leg and spent a month being mad at everyone?”
Jake didn’t admit it, but Sam thought his expression showed sympathy for the Phantom.
“And then you ended up cutting off your own cast,” Sam reminded him. “I’m sort of worried what he’ll do when he reaches that stage.”
“Jump this wimpy fence,” Jake said, rocking it with both hands.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sam said.
As they watched, the stallion moved among the members of his herd, sniffing each one.
“He’s takin’ charge,” Jake said.
He’s trying to, Sam thought. The other horses were still uneasy, though. Their eyes showed white around the edges and their tails lashed nervously. They knew something was wrong.
Faith followed the stallion, but not too closely. She stood under the towering cottonwood, looking up at the creaky branch.
“Someone oughta go up and lop off that branch before it falls and brains somebody,” Jake said.
To Sam, the branch didn’t look dangerous. “This pasture’s huge,” she told him. “They’ll be okay, don’t you think?”
“It goes all the way to the river,” Jake acknowledged. “And Dad sprang for new boards so Mrs. Allen wouldn’t have to come home to that damage.” Jake nodded toward the broken fence.
“I thought you patched it yesterday,” Sam said.
“With scrap lumber. Now we’ve gotta take it all down and start over.”
“So that’s why you’re here,” Sam sa
id, feeling a little disappointed. “I thought maybe my dad sent you over to check on me.” When Jake stayed silent, she added, “Can you believe he hasn’t been over here once?”
“What’s it been, twenty-four hours?” Jake asked.
Sam gave an exasperated sigh. “A kind of important twenty-four hours.”
They watched the Phantom’s lead mare touch muzzles with Queen.
Had the red dun forgotten that this time last year she’d been the lead mare? Or maybe she didn’t hold a grudge, because the mustang mares seemed to be making friends.
Sam thought Jake had forgotten her question about Dad, but then he said, “When I got here yesterday, wasn’t Callie sayin’ she trusted Queen to take care of herself, even in the fire? Could be Wyatt trusts you, too.”
That’s what I’ve been begging Dad to do, Sam thought. Trust me. Treat me like an adult.
Sam scratched her head in confusion. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that now, because Dad was expecting another child, part of her wanted to be his baby.
“Better go. Quinn’s already sheddin’ tears big as my fist ’cause he has to help with the fence. He’s afraid his friends will leave for the lake without him.”
As Jake walked away, his black ponytail, tied with a leather strip, swayed against his white shirt. Sam watched him go.
She guessed there was no one she could discuss this Dad thing with. Not Jake, since he was one of six kids. Not Jen, since she was likely to remain an only child. Gram had said she was “just tickled” to have another chance at grandmothering. And asking Brynna for help just wouldn’t be fair. No, Sam decided, this was one thing she’d have to work out on her own.
By midmorning, Sam and Callie had distributed the hay delivered free from Phil’s Fill-Up and Feed to all the horses. The girls were pulling pieces of hay from their hair and clothes when a blue car drove into the yard.
Sam had just noticed it was Helen Coley when the phone began ringing inside the house.
“I’ll get it,” Callie said, so Sam walked out, brushing off her jeans, to greet their visitor.
Helen Coley’s short gray hair shone in the morning sun as she climbed out of the Mercedes-Benz, smiling. Mrs. Coley worked as chauffeur and housekeeper for the Slocums and she was a friend of Gram’s.
“Hi Samantha,” Mrs. Coley called as she walked around to the car’s trunk. “How’s that pretty filly of yours doing?”
Mrs. Coley had helped Sam though the crazy days that followed Tempest’s birth, while the rest of the Forsters were out on the range for the spring cattle drive.
“Just great,” Sam said. “In fact, you just reminded me I miss her.”
“Well, I know Trudy must’ve felt better knowing you were here during the fire,” Mrs. Coley said.
Sam buried her hands in her jeans pockets and shrugged her shoulders so high they almost grazed her earlobes.
“Unless Callie’s telling her right now,” Sam said, glancing toward the house, “she doesn’t know yet.” Mrs. Coley’s eyes widened and Sam made an excuse. “It’s just that she’s been so concerned about her grandson, I didn’t mention it when she called,” Sam said.
“Nothing she could do about it from Denver, anyway,” Mrs. Coley said, handing Sam a plate with a tall plastic-covered chocolate cake on it. “And it looks like, except for that field over there”—she nodded over the casseroles she was lifting from the trunk—“the ranch came through just fine.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, but her mouth was actually watering from the cake’s aroma, so she had to ask, “What’s all this?”
“Didn’t Grace call and tell you?” Mrs. Coley tsked her tongue. “Well, I guess she had her hands full over at River Bend, too.
“The church cooking club gets together once a month to bake bread, and we were just doing that when we heard about the fires, so we decided to make a little something for each of the families who got hit by them.”
“Great!” Sam said, and as they followed the walk up to Mrs. Allen’s front door, Mrs. Coley explained how yesterday’s lightning had started spot fires all over the county.
“Luckily no one was hurt,” Mrs. Coley said as they managed the door and brought the food inside. “But it does take a chunk out of your day to stop and fight a fire,” she chuckled, “so we thought a little help with meals would be welcomed.”
“Sorry,” Callie said as they walked into the kitchen. “Mrs. Allen called to ask if we had time to take the laundry out of the washing machine and hang it on the clothesline. She was hurrying so to get out of here, she forgot it. And I was just saying good-bye when I heard you trying to get the door open.”
“No problem,” Mrs. Coley said as she pointed out what she’d brought. “A macaroni-and-cheese casserole, a broccoli bake, some whole-wheat rolls that just came out of the oven, and a double-fudge layer cake.”
Callie’s appreciative smile turned brilliant. “You made a meatless dinner. How did you know I was a vegetarian?”
Mrs. Coley tapped her index finger against her lips.
“Where did I hear that?” she mused. “I can’t remember, but you know how small towns are. Gossip’s a prime form of entertainment.”
“Who cares, if I get a dinner like this?” Callie said.
“And this will give us some play time after we hang Mrs. Allen’s laundry on the line. The guys are still down there repairing the fence,” Sam said.
She and Callie had declared the rest of the day a holiday. They’d spend it outside, reading in the shade of the big cottonwood tree in the pasture, then serenading the horses with songs and Callie’s flute.
“Keep an eye on the sky and your radio on, Samantha,” Mrs. Coley said as Sam walked her back out to her car.
Sam looked up. The sky had turned gray-blue where it wasn’t hidden by clumps of oatmeal-colored clouds.
“In fact, if I were you, I might put that laundry in the clothes dryer instead of on the line. There’s talk of another storm rolling in about sundown, and by the way, the hair on my arms is standing up—I bet it’ll be a doozy.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Sun dogs are what I’m watching for.”
Callie leaned back against the trunk of the old cottonwood tree and peered up through its branches to a patch of sky surrounding the sun.
“Sun dogs,” Sam said without glancing up from her book. It was a mystery novel, and she loved to discover clues before the detective.
“You know, those rainbow rings around the sun. Around the moon, too,” Callie said. “But those might be called moon dogs.”
“What?” Sam said, finally looking at Callie.
“Those hazy rings around the sun are supposed to show moisture and give you a hint that the air’s humid,” Callie explained. “It’s a sign a storm’s coming.”
Sam held her place in her book with her finger and scooched closer to Callie so that she could see through the same gap between the sand-colored leaves above them.
“If there’s lightning, we don’t want to be sitting under this tree,” Sam said.
She couldn’t help remembering the tragedy Gram had recounted from her girlhood. An entire brood mare herd, with their foals, had taken shelter under the only tree in their pasture during an electrical storm. A lightning bolt seeking the quickest path to the earth had struck the tree, then the mares and their foals. All of the horses had been electrocuted.
That was why, according to Gram, River Bend kept only a scattering of trees, none particularly tall, and the barn, fences, and run-in sheds were all made of wood, not metal.
Lightning storms don’t happen all that often, Gram had said, but it only takes one to wipe out an entire saddle herd.
Or wild herd, Sam thought, looking out at the horses grazing and lazily switching away flies.
Had yesterday’s lightning strike increased or decreased the chance that it could happen again today?
“I don’t see a sun dog,” Sam said when her eyes had gone bleary from squinting at the branch-framed s
un.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Callie said, but Sam noticed Callie’s eyes had drifted back to her own book. She wasn’t really paying attention.
“I guess,” Sam said, “but only if it’s a foolproof method. Is it?”
“I don’t know,” Callie said. “But I know this grass sure is prickly.”
The girls had put on shorts and sat with their heads and shoulders in the shade and legs extended to catch the sun’s warm rays.
“I wouldn’t worry so much about lightning if Mrs. Allen’s pasture had more trees. I mean, why is there only one tall tree in the entire pasture?”
“Sam!” Callie said in frustration.
“Sorry. Go ahead, I won’t interrupt your reading anymore. I hate it when someone does it to me.”
“It’s not that. It’s Mrs. Allen’s pasture. There are hundreds of fenced acres for the sanctuary. It runs down to the river and partway to the mountains. There are gullies and hills and scrub and trees of all sizes. We can only see this one tree, but when the storm blew in yesterday, you didn’t see the mustangs standing around going, ‘Yep, let’s go stand under that tree,’ did you?”
Sam searched her mind and decided the Phantom’s herd had probably been fleeing from high ground, down to a lower spot, yesterday. They just hadn’t figured on the low spot being damp and, probably, that had attracted the lightning.
“Yeah, I bet you’re right,” Sam said, nodding. “And wild horses, especially, would know what to do.”
“You’d think,” Callie said, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose.
They both leaned back against the tree, feeling more relaxed.
Sam had closed her eyes, thinking she might nap, when suddenly her knees felt cool. The sun must have gone behind a cloud, she thought drowsily.
“Sam.”
Had she really heard Callie’s voice?
“Don’t move.”
Was there a bumblebee crawling on her shirt or a butterfly perched on her book? Sam yawned and opened her eyes.
The first thing she noticed was that the coolness on her knees was caused by a shadow. The shadow was cast by a horse. She almost stopped breathing when she saw that horse was the Phantom.