The Wildest Heart

by Terri Farley

  Racing and rearing, soundless as a spirit horse raging in a nightmare, the Phantom rose on his hind legs, hooves reaching for the sky, as if he were fighting back.

  Water splashed behind Sam. Tires splattered through puddles and Sam turned to see Dad’s truck driving toward her.

  She searched for one last glimpse of the stallion, but he was gone.

  Sam walked toward Dad’s truck, pushing her dripping bangs back from her eyes.

  “Hey there. I hear you’re the boss of this outfit,” Dad joked.

  Sam smiled. Someday, she would be the boss of an entire ranch.

  Dad’s eyes swept over her sodden hair and clothes, telling her she could have used a hat and slicker like he did, but he didn’t say it.

  Then Imp and Angel jumped from the truck cab, landed in the mud, gave their coats a quick shake, and ran in barking ecstasy for the house.

  “Guess they’re glad to be home,” Dad said. “Pesky little critters. They’re not fit to be in the house with a cat, that’s for sure. Truth is, though, I think Dallas was getting to like them.”

  “Dallas?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t help noticing that all the time he was calling them overgrown rats and saying they were good for nothing but fishin’ bait, he was feeding them dinner scraps and scratching behind their ears.”

  Sam laughed, then made a pretense of going out to check the bolts on the pasture gate. She hoped that would explain why she was standing out in the rain.

  “Good job,” Dad said. “We need to change some of our latches, or make sure they’re shut, because we’ve had too many loose horses over the last year or so.”

  Sam winced. It didn’t look like a coincidence that she’d been there both times Dark Sunshine had escaped.

  Dad shook his head at her guilty expression.

  “Not sayin’ any of it’s your fault. In fact, I’m darn proud of you, honey. Especially with what you’re doin’ over here. I’ve managed to stay away and let you run the show, but your Gram’s been askin’ around.”

  Maybe it had been Gram, Sam thought, but Dad was rubbing the back of his neck. He always did that when he was uncomfortable.

  Who had checked up on her? Mrs. Coley, when she brought dinner? Jake, when he came to mend the fence? Dr. Scott, when he gave her an update on Pirate?

  Dad wouldn’t have done the snooping himself, but she’d bet he’d urged Gram to get on the phone and talk with all of them.

  “You didn’t have to stay away,” Sam said.

  Dad bumped his Stetson back from eyes that widened in surprise.

  “No ma’am, I didn’t, but you’ve been asking me to trust you. Now seemed like a good time to stand up and do it.”

  Sam’s tongue wet her lips. She didn’t know what to say. Dad sounded like he’d had to fight himself not to run over here.

  Maybe he hadn’t stayed away because he didn’t care. Maybe he wasn’t preoccupied with the coming baby.

  “Thanks, I guess,” she said.

  “Here’s the thing, honey. Right now, I need to know where you are, every breathin’ minute, day and night. So, what am I gonna do when you go out on dates? And off to college? Shoot, I can hardly stand thinkin’ about the kind of fool trouble kids get in.”

  Dad rubbed the back of his neck again and Sam smiled. That speech had been world-class long for Dad, and there was nothing left to do but hug him for it.

  So she did.

  It was ten o’clock at night. Callie had gone to bed, but Sam had finished her mystery and was restlessly searching Mrs. Allen’s shelves for something else to read.

  She sat on the couch, flipping through an art history book. It sure didn’t have much of a plot. She closed it carefully.

  She’d already had two slices of chocolate cake, so a snack was out.

  She should go to bed, because she was determined to make major progress on painting the fence tomorrow.

  Suddenly the phone rang. It couldn’t be good news this late, but Sam snatched up the receiver before the phone could ring again and wake Callie.

  “Samantha? It doesn’t sound as if I’ve awakened you.”

  “No, you haven’t, Mrs. Allen. What time is it there?”

  “Midnight or thereabouts, but I have someone who wants to talk with you.”

  Sam reeled with misgivings. It could only be Mrs. Allen’s grandson, Gabe. She didn’t even know him.

  Sam folded her legs up on the couch beside her, wishing she could gather her thoughts so efficiently.

  Callie had sensed Mrs. Allen was building up to something. Was this it?

  Sam wished Callie had answered the phone. She could handle anything.

  Maybe Gabe was just bored, Sam thought as the sound of rustling, which might have been bedsheets, came over the line.

  Yeah, boredom. The confinement might be driving Gabe nuts. He had been an active kid….

  Had been. Oh good, Sam.

  And then he was talking.

  “Hi. This is Gabe. My grandmother said I should call.”

  The male voice sounded normal. Not as deep as Jake’s, but surprisingly—Sam searched for a word—breezy, she guessed, for a kid in his position. His grandmother had told him to call and, bored, he’d given in.

  She could handle small talk, couldn’t she?

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Not me,” he said with a bitter laugh.

  Sam curled in on herself as if he’d punched her in the stomach.

  How stupid could she be? What an idiot thing to say! But, wow, the kid had some guts, trying to joke when, unless something wonderful had happened, he couldn’t even move his legs.

  “So, what year are you in school?” Sam asked. That would be safe. If Mrs. Allen was counting on her to cheer Gabe up, she’d fall back on the most ordinary of questions.

  “I’ll be a junior.”

  “One year ahead of me,” Sam said.

  She drew a deep breath. Now what?

  “Look, this was a dumb idea,” Gabe said.

  “No! Are you kidding?” Sam said quickly. “I was sitting here bored out of my mind. When you come visit your grandma, bring something fun to read, will you?”

  “That might be a while,” he said.

  “That’s okay.” She stared at the ceiling. A faint crack zigzagged through the plaster. She was following it with her eyes when she said, “I got locked up in the hospital a couple of years ago.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I fell off my horse and managed to put my head where his hooves were.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Naw, I don’t remember a thing. About that part.”

  “I hate this place,” he said.

  Sam heard voices in the background. Was his mother there, as well as Mrs. Allen? Maybe none of them could sleep.

  “Yeah, I was unconscious for a while, so I wasn’t awake to hate it, much.”

  “Like a coma?” he asked, bluntly. “You’re supposed to be cheering me up.”

  “Hey, you called me,” Sam blurted.

  They both laughed, then, but she added, “Yeah, like a coma.”

  “You musta hated that horse.”

  “It wasn’t his fault, and besides…”

  All at once, Sam found herself telling Gabe about her time in San Francisco and Blackie’s flight into the wilderness. When Gabe prodded her for details, she explained the controversy over the West’s wild horses, told him about the Phantom’s herd, and finally told him about the explosion that had robbed him of his hearing.

  When she got to that part, she stopped. Gabe had been quiet for a long time. Had she babbled him to sleep?

  This was dumb.

  Gabe had been right twenty minutes ago when he’d said that. Why was she spilling her life story, and the Phantom’s, to a stranger?

  “So what are they gonna do with him?” he said finally.

  “I don’t know. My stepmother is the manager of the BLM’s wild horse program here, and she says—well, it’s really sappy—she says
since I’m the best friend he has, I get to make the decision.”

  “That is sappy,” Gabe agreed. “Why you? He’s the wild horse. Let him decide.”

  Irritation flashed through Sam.

  “Easy for you to say,” she told him.

  But then she wondered if Gabe was really talking about the Phantom. Maybe he felt like all his choices had been taken away from him.

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded a little fainter. Had he shifted positions, or was she tiring him out? Wasn’t Mrs. Allen there to tell him to get off the phone and go to sleep?

  At last, he said, “Tell me what the Phantom looks like.”

  “He’s the most beautiful horse in the world. He’s silver gray, but sometimes, like in moonlight or bright sun, he looks pure white. And…” Sam felt her throat close. “Most of all, he’s wild. And, even though he’s really confused right now, by not being able to hear…” Sam cleared her throat, trying not to cry. “I can still see it in his eyes. In racehorses, they call it ‘the look of eagles,’ have you ever heard that?” Sam heard something on the other end of the line. Maybe he’d transferred the receiver to his other ear, but she couldn’t stop talking. “Well, the Phantom’s got that look and that spirit and that’s why I won’t adopt him. I will never, ever take that away from him—”

  “Samantha?” It was Mrs. Allen’s voice, kind but impatient. “Thank you, so much,” she whispered. “He’s just been so nervous and didn’t want to talk with any of his friends here. You did a great job of making him get sleepy. Nighty-night.”

  Sam hung up the phone, but she didn’t go to bed for a long, lonely hour.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam yawned as she looked back over the sections of painted fence.

  She’d been feeling so lazy, she’d ridden out bareback this morning.

  Ace was ground-tied back where she’d started this morning, and the distance to him seemed to stretch for a mile. As if he felt her gaze, the gelding lifted his red-brown head and tossed his forelock back from his eyes. When he saw she had nothing interesting in mind, he dropped to his knees, then flopped to one side and rolled, enjoying the luxury of rubbing his hide on the short, damp grass.

  Beyond Ace, Sam could see Callie leading Queen.

  The red dun mare had been standing at the fence this morning, waiting as if her time with the wild ones was finished, so Callie had decided to lead her on a walk around Deerpath Ranch. Following Sam’s directions, they were going in search of the hot spring.

  Everyone was enjoying a peaceful and contented morning, except her. She was still working on the fence.

  Sam knew she was making progress, but the old weathered wood seemed to soak up the paint as soon as she brushed it on.

  She was lucky Mrs. Allen only wanted the part facing the road painted. It would take a professional with a sprayer, according to Brynna, to paint the whole thing.

  In a way, Sam was glad the fence ran on forever. If the pasture hadn’t looked like endless acres, the Phantom’s herd would have been frantic to escape. She’d seen horses fresh off the range come into the corrals at Willow Springs.

  They flung themselves at the fences, trying to jump metal rails they had no hope of clearing.

  Should the Phantom be captive or free?

  She tried not to think about her conversation with Gabe.

  Let him decide, he’d told her.

  Sure, and did he let his cat decide it wanted to go outside and run across the freeway? Did he let his dog decide when it wanted to go to the vet for vaccinations? What did some guy in Colorado know about mustangs?

  Sam slapped her paintbrush down so hard that reddish spots splattered her legs.

  The Phantom had had such spots after the explosion. They were gone now. He’d seen to that by rolling in the grass, or maybe he’d gone down to the river.

  The river. Maybe…

  Hotspot nickered for attention.

  Behind her, Ace’s hooves moved closer, but Hotspot seemed more interested in human companionship.

  “Hey, girl,” Sam said. “Are you lonesome?”

  All morning, the Appaloosa mare had followed along on the other side of the fence. Since Roman’s attack on the Phantom, the two herds had split, and Hotspot wandered between them, an outsider to both bands.

  “Do you want to go home, girl?” Sam asked.

  The mare watched with eyes that almost matched her chocolate-brown face.

  “Do you miss your baby?”

  Hotspot shook her head so hard that her mane flipped from one side of her neck to the other.

  “Well, that’s not very nice, so I’m going to assume a fly was buzzing around your head and I just couldn’t see it.”

  Sam didn’t tell Hotspot that her colt, Shy Boots, had been matched with a nursemaid burro in her absence, or that Brynna had said Hotspot would be going home.

  By law, Brynna had to notify Linc Slocum in a timely manner that his horse had been found running with a wild band.

  When Sam had asked how long a “timely manner” was, Brynna had mused a minute.

  “Well,” she’d said, at last. “It’s too late for Hotspot to resume nursing her foal. Her milk’s dried up and Shy Boots has bonded with the jenny. So I think a timely manner will be after things are resolved with the Phantom.

  “I don’t want Linc Slocum coming down here with a trailer while we have a wild herd all rounded up. The less that man is around mustangs, the better, as far as I’m concerned.” Then Brynna’s voice had taken on a dreamy tone. “And you know, I could charge him a trespass fee for letting her eat on the public lands. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “Do it!” Sam had cheered. When Brynna let herself be a friend instead of a stepmother, Sam loved it.

  “I’m thinking about it,” Brynna said. Then she cleared her throat. “I try to be a good neighbor, but that man tempts me to give him what he deserves.”

  Suddenly, Ace’s snort and the clack of a hoof on rock drew Sam’s eyes away from her painting.

  Faith and the Phantom came across the pasture together.

  The silver stallion and the half-grown filly had become buddies.

  At first Sam had been a little sad, thinking the Phantom gave the filly eyes and she acted as his ears. As she watched the two, though, she realized they were just friends. Faith constantly sniffed and snuffled the stallion, as if he were a fascinating addition to her world, and the Phantom tolerated the filly’s sassy refusal to be afraid of him.

  Just now, Faith moved away from the stallion. She left him to his skittish, watchful walk while she meandered over to eat a few shoots of grass growing beneath her favorite tree.

  Sam had been squatting to paint a bottom fence rail. Now she stood slowly to get a better look at her horse.

  The Phantom’s coat shone white in the summer sun. He must have given himself a dust bath, because not only were the red spots gone, but so was the mud on his coat and the clumps of dirt in his streaming silver tail.

  He jolted into a nervous trot as if something spurred him. He didn’t look confused and bewildered, but instead surprised.

  Sam held her breath, not daring to hope.

  The stallion burst into a lope. Long, fluid strides took him sweeping just yards away from the fence. Ace neighed and the stallion snorted, then snorted again as he kept moving.

  Sam recognized the snort. It wasn’t a greeting. It meant, “What’s this?” He didn’t slow, but his gait shifted to a speedy trot. Something had his attention, but what?

  He stopped, ears pricked after Faith.

  No big deal, Sam told herself. He’s been doing that all along. He’s never stopped trying to hear.

  Then, his left ear swiveled toward the tree and his chin lifted.

  That was different.

  Suddenly, in the same second, three things happened.

  Faith’s Medicine Hat head jerked up from grazing. The cottonwood branch gave a final snap. And the Phantom bolted toward the tree.

  Thick as Sam’s arm an
d covered with fluttering leaves, the branch fell to the ground. It didn’t hit Faith, or the stallion. After a minute of sniffing muzzles and circling, the horses moved away.

  Be calm, Sam told herself, but an argument ping-ponged back and forth inside her mind.

  The Phantom could have been reacting to Faith’s movement with his eyes, not his ears.

  But his left ear had already been listening to something up in that tree.

  It wasn’t like he’d rescued the blind filly. She’d rescued herself.

  But he had bolted toward the sound. Why? Horses assumed every strange movement was a threat, didn’t they? Except that herd stallions had a job to do, and that job included protecting younger, weaker members of their herds.

  Suddenly, Sam knew what she had to do.

  It was two miles to the La Charla drop-off and the gate on the other side of the river. Two miles was a long walk, but it wasn’t bad on horseback, and instinct told her the Phantom would be more likely to follow Ace than her alone.

  Sam remembered the time the Phantom and Ace had run side by side, taking her to the stallion’s valley, and the time he’d matched strides with Ace as the gelding galloped through the Thread the Needle pass above Willow Springs, leading the stallion home.

  “What do you think, boy?” Sam whispered to the gelding.

  Ace lifted his head and one of his split reins dangled within reach. Sam grabbed it. With slow, quiet steps, she led him back to a gate and through it.

  Holding her breath, Sam vaulted up onto Ace’s bare back. Her fingers fumbled with reins and mane. So much depended on this. She had to do everything right.

  With the faintest tightening of her legs, she urged Ace forward. Sam pretended to ignore the other horses as he began walking.

  Two miles was long enough to snag the Phantom’s attention. If she’d guessed right, he would be curious enough to follow. If he followed, and his honey-brown mare came after him, the rest of the band would fall into step.

  She hoped.

  Thudding hooves and a squeal made Ace tense beneath her. Sam looked back in time to see Roman and the Phantom confront each other again. In a single glance, the gelding took in the commanding lift of the Phantom’s head and the challenge ended.