The Wildest Heart
Page 13
Tail swishing, Roman returned to grazing.
Celebration started in Sam’s heart, but she kept Ace walking toward the river.
The smell of the fire lingered, but it was different. The scent wasn’t a bitter reminder of destruction. It had grown faint, turning to an almost cozy smell, like a barbecue or campfire, and even that faded as they approached the river.
Ace pulled at the reins and his hooves danced impatiently. He wanted to swing into a jog or turn and mingle with the horses behind them.
Sam listened hard, trying to figure out how many horses followed, but the La Charla rushed with the chitchat sound that had earned the river its name, obscuring all but the loudest hoofbeats.
Sam didn’t turn to glance over her shoulder. Wasn’t there some story about a woman who looked back and then turned to stone? Her penalty for looking back would be harsh, too. If she made even one of them shy, it could ruin everything. Today, she could be patient.
When they reached the drop-off, the lush scent of water-loving willow trees crowded out the last wisp of smoke.
Sam could hear the sound of the river rolling over rocks even before she reached the edge. And then there was a swoop of wings above as a swallow slanted past her, dropping down through the air to hover over the silver rills.
A huff of breath told her the stallion followed closely, but she kept her legs tight against Ace’s sides, urging him to navigate the path before the stallion caught up.
When she’d ridden out here with Brynna, she’d noticed it was just wide enough for a single horse.
Bareback on Ace, there was no way she wanted to share that trail with the Phantom, especially if the stallion was in a hurry to reach the river.
“You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink,” Gram said sometimes, and though Sam wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, the saying came back to her now.
She could see the gate on the other side of the river. She’d led the Phantom to freedom. She couldn’t make him choose it, but she could sure open the gate.
As soon as they reached the sandy riverbank, Ace gave a sharp jerk against the bit. He might really be thirsty.
As soon as Sam slipped from his back, he lowered his head to drink.
Don’t look back, Sam told herself once more, then took a giant step into the river.
She managed not to screech at the slap of snowmelt on her knees and thighs.
It’s hot. It feels good, she thought as she kept walking.
She tried to see through the reflective surface of the water, but she couldn’t. Her sneakered feet would have to find a way between the rocks. She really didn’t want to fall. The splashing commotion could still send the horses running.
Almost there. She could see the gate was wide enough to drive a truck through. And the latch was just a loop of wire settled over a straight post. Piece of cake. It would take her about two seconds to open it.
Then it was up to the Phantom.
When a submerged branch snagged the hem of her cutoffs, she worked it loose and kept slogging, with cold-numbed legs, through the water.
At last! The shallows fell to her knees, her calves—her legs prickled with goose bumps that almost hurt—then the water was at her ankles, and she was out!
She lifted the loop of twisted wire and shoved the gate with her shoulder. It swung open.
“Good, good, good,” she muttered, and propped the gate open with a rock.
Only then did she look back.
The Phantom stood in the shallows, a few yards upstream from Ace, drinking. Blue shadows cast by the willows and water showed every curve of muscle below his silver hide. His lips touched the river, but his eyes stared across the surface of the water, watching her return.
Sam tried to keep her steps slow. Although the Phantom had come down the trail to the river, his herd stayed up above, milling and watching as they always did when their leader guided them to water.
Maybe the days she’d spent at the fence since the fire made her familiar to him, because the stallion met her while she was still knee-deep in the river.
Had he always seemed this big? A white wall of a horse, with his sweet leathery smell, he whuffled his lips over her shirt, then tickled her neck with his whiskers. He stood so near, she couldn’t see his ears when she whispered to him.
“Zanzibar,” Sam said, daring to curve one arm around his neck. “Are you all right, boy?”
The stallion lowered his head, rubbed his forelock against her chest and, before Sam could steady herself, rammed her into the river.
She hit the river bottom on the seat of her cutoffs. Her head went under and she came up sputtering.
She ducked as the stallion gave a buck of sheer high spirit. Those hooves could hurt, but…
“No, boy,” she cautioned him as his shoulder hit hers, sending her back into the river once more.
“Some game,” she sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of water. “This stuff is full of bact—”
The stallion stopped. He turned his left ear her way. Then he shook his thick mane. His hindquarters gathered and smooth muscles bunched beneath his silken hide to launch him back up the path to his herd.
An imperious neigh warned Sam to move, but the order wasn’t for her. It was for the honey-brown mare who jumped from the lip of the drop-off down to the middle of the path, followed by the nipping, kicking, bumping mustangs on her heels.
Sam splashed ashore, sprinted toward Ace, grabbed his reins, and flattened herself against a boulder. For a minute, it was raining horses and rocks and river water. Tons of hot hide and horseflesh surrounded her as they crashed into the water, making waves and waterfalls of white foam.
After days of captivity, they headed for the open gate on the wild side of the river.
Ace’s longing neigh rang out as the lead mare reached the far shore.
Now the Phantom scrabbled back down the trail and waded into the river.
All the commotion was on the other side now. The stallion found a deep place in the river and swam.
His mane floated on the river and long liquid ripples spread from his chest as he crossed.
Even when he’d reached the other side, he never looked back—not for her, not for Ace or for Faith, who stood neighing on the bank.
The Phantom had chosen freedom.
About the Author
Terri Farley has always loved horses. She left Los Angeles for the cowgirl state of Nevada after earning degrees in English and Journalism. Now she rides the range researching books and magazine articles on the West’s people and animals—especially Nevada’s controversial wild horses. She lives in a one-hundred-year-old house with her husband, children, and way too many pets.
Visit www.phantomstallion.com
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Read all the books about the
Phantom Stallion
1
THE WILD ONE
2
MUSTANG MOON
3
DARK SUNSHINE
4
THE RENEGADE
5
FREE AGAIN
6
THE CHALLENGER
7
DESERT DANCER
8
GOLDEN GHOST
9
GIFT HORSE
10
RED FEATHER FILLY
11
UNTAMED
12
RAIN DANCE
13
HEARTBREAK BRONCO
14
MOONRISE
15
THE KIDNAPPED COLT
16
THE WILDEST HEART
17
MOUNTAIN MARE
Credits
Cover art © 2005 by Greg Call
Cover © 2005 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
PHANTOM STALLION #16: THE WILDEST HEART. Copyright © 2005 by Terri Sprenger-Farley. All ri
ghts reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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