by Terri Farley
Phantom Stallion 7
Desert Dancer
Terri Farley
Contents
Chapter One
Samantha Forster stood in the shower, listening to the wild…
Chapter Two
Ace fell to his knees. Sam pitched forward, then sideways,…
Chapter Three
Sam burst into the dressing room off the church sanctuary.
Chapter Four
“Callie?” Sam asked.
Chapter Five
Sam and Aunt Sue changed into cozy sweats and slippers.
Chapter Six
Sam woke to a stack of presents and pizza for…
Chapter Seven
Wind had swept the skies clear of all but the…
Chapter Eight
“Sam!” Callie’s voice soared with delight. “I knew Queen and…
Chapter Nine
It took three men and two hours to load the…
Chapter Ten
Jed Kenworthy’s truck sat in the River Bend ranch yard…
Chapter Eleven
Sam’s mind spun with envy.
Chapter Twelve
“Samantha, please don’t issue ominous warnings unless you’re going to…
Chapter Thirteen
Sam let out a squawk at the same time that…
Chapter Fourteen
“Wyatt’s first aid stuff in the tack room?” Jake asked.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam stood beside Dr. Scott, watching Callie stand just inside…
Chapter Sixteen
Sam hustled the horses into the barn.
Chapter Seventeen
Dusk wasn’t a good time to have a talk. As…
Chapter Eighteen
Early the next morning, Quinn called to tell Sam that…
Chapter Nineteen
Trembling with the need to do what she’d always done,…
About the Author
Other Books by Terri Farley
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Samantha Forster stood in the shower, listening to the wild neighs and galloping hooves of mustangs. She shook water out of her ears, parted the shower curtains, and stuck her head out.
Her kitten, Cougar, sat on the tile around the bathroom sink, cleaning a paw. His gold eyes met her blue ones.
“Mew?”
Sam knew they were alone in the white two-story house on River Bend Ranch. Gram and Brynna, her soon-to-be stepmother, were in town arranging altar flowers for the wedding and checking the decorations for the reception. Dad and Dallas, River Bend’s foreman and Dad’s reluctant best man, had driven in to Darton to pick up tuxedos.
Sam kept listening, but when she heard no more whinnies, she relaxed. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed.
“Nothing, Cougar,” Sam told the brown kitten. “Only my imagination.”
Sam closed the shower curtains and sang. Maybe she could drown her silly thoughts with music.
“Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh…”
No snow was predicted, but it was Christmas Eve and the carol suited her excited mood.
Six hours from now, bells would ring from the steeple of the white Methodist church in Darton. As maid of honor, she’d move down the aisle toward her smiling father. She’d wear a pine-green gown and carry a bouquet of roses. Minutes later, Brynna Olson, director of the Willow Springs Wild Horse Center, would be married to Wyatt Forster, cattle rancher. Sam would have a stepmother and, strange as she would have thought it just last summer, she liked the idea just fine.
“O’er the fields we go,” Sam kept singing. She loved the way her voice echoed in the shower, but it was time to get out. It was after ten A.M. Jake would be here to pick her up at two and there was lots to do before then.
Still, if she hurried, she’d have time to investigate. She had definitely heard something, and since it was December, it shouldn’t be wild horses. The mustangs should be tucked away in the Phantom’s secret valley. A quick ride would put her mind at rest.
Sam cranked the water off. She’d promised to do a few last-minute chores before leaving the house. She squeezed the water from her auburn hair, then pushed open the shower curtains, still singing.
“…laughing all the way—ha ha ha!”
Cougar didn’t like that last part. He jumped for the towel rack, clung to a blue terry cloth towel, and swayed there. Looking over his shoulder, he watched Sam for further signs of insanity.
When her dripping hand reached in his direction, he fell skittering to the floor. Sam opened the bathroom door so he could escape.
There it was again. Through the opening, she heard a confusion of high-pitched neighs that didn’t belong anywhere near River Bend.
Dressed in a towel, Sam sprinted to her bedroom window and let her eyes search the terrain below.
To her right lay the ten-acre pasture filled with five saddle horses and two mustangs-in-training for the Horse and Rider Protection program. Though their ears pricked forward, listening as if they’d heard the neighs, too, the River Bend horses weren’t eager to look into the disturbance. They clustered together, tails to the cold morning wind.
Around the house, the ranch yard was a pale sandy apron. Except for their Border collie, Blaze, sniffing around for breakfast, the yard was empty. She looked toward the bridge over the La Charla River. From there, the road led to Darton if you turned right, to Jake’s Three Ponies Ranch if you turned left. There wasn’t a car or truck in sight.
Far out over the range, nothing moved except a single crow, flapping across the blue-gray sky.
No matter which direction she stared, nothing looked out of place.
Sam knew what any outsider would say. Seven horses grazed in the big pasture. Two more were stabled in barn stalls. If she heard neighs, they had to come from these horses. But she knew that wasn’t so…
Sam recognized the voice of each horse on River Bend Ranch. She wasn’t hearing Ace’s high, soaring call, coaxing her to go for a ride, or Strawberry’s cranky snorting. The sounds resembled Dark Sunshine’s longing whinnies toward the Calico Mountains, but the buckskin mare couldn’t make all the overlapping sounds Sam had heard.
Just because she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary didn’t mean everything was fine. Jake had accused her of trying to be a horse psychic. That was ridiculous, but Sam and the magnificent stallion called the Phantom definitely shared a connection.
Since summer, his herd had been in turmoil. First, the Phantom had been accused of stealing domestic mares, and a reward had been posted for his capture. The wild bunch had been pursued by rustlers, then left without a leader when the Phantom had been used as a bucking bronc in a rodeo. Just a few weeks ago, an orphaned cougar had stalked the Phantom’s herd, hoping to make a meal of a spring foal.
But the young cougar had been captured and transplanted to another mountain range. What could have the horses stirred up now?
Just feet from Sam’s window, a second crow crossed the sky, cawing a warning.
“That’s it,” Sam muttered. She’d jet through her chores, saddle Ace, check things out, and still be back here in time to meet Jake.
Sam dressed as fast as she could, then set to work. She watered the herbs in Gram’s window garden, made up the bed for Aunt Sue, who was coming from San Francisco for the wedding, and cleaned up her breakfast dishes.
She dashed from the house, collected the hens’ eggs, and made sure all the stock had been fed and watered. She turned Sweetheart into the new round pen next to the barn, but left Ace in his stall.
“I’ll be back for you in a minute, good boy.” She kissed his muzzle, then ran to refill Blaze’s water
dish. The Border collie looked toward the front gate and whined.
Sam listened for the horses. Nothing. Blaze rarely fretted over horses, anyway, unless there was a new animal to inspect. Now, he was probably concerned by all the unusual comings and goings.
“Don’t worry, Blaze,” she said, as the dog licked her hand. “They’ll all be back.”
Eventually, she almost added, but Blaze wouldn’t understand.
After the wedding, Dad and Brynna were leaving for their honeymoon in San Francisco, where they’d stay in Aunt Sue’s apartment. Gram was riding with them to the Reno Airport, then flying out to spend Christmas with a friend in New Mexico. Aunt Sue would drive home with Sam and stay most of winter vacation. But that was too much to explain to a dog.
With her outdoor chores finished, Sam ran to the barn for Ace.
The bay gelding stretched his head over the rails of his corral and greeted her with a low rumbling sound. He tossed his black mane from his eyes, baring the white star on his forehead.
“Hey pretty boy,” Sam crooned as she saddled him. “Want to go for a quick ride?” As if he understood, the gelding bobbed his head. Sam smoothed her hand over the freeze brand on his neck. Ace was her friend, but he was also a mustang. If she had trouble finding the wild horses, he’d do it for her.
Sam ground-tied Ace just outside the front door, retrieved the basket of eggs she’d left on the porch, and ran inside.
“Eggs in the refrigerator,” she muttered to herself. What would Aunt Sue think if there were no eggs for Christmas breakfast?
Fidgeting, Sam found a pencil and made herself reread the list posted on the refrigerator door. She crossed off everything except for the reminder to return a phone call from their neighbor Linc Slocum.
Call Linc about Home on the Range, Gram had written. After that, she’d drawn three question marks.
Sam shook her head.
“No way,” she muttered.
Linc Slocum could wait by the phone until next Christmas. Twice, he’d conspired to capture the Phantom. Sam was polite to him in public, but if Home on the Range was another of Linc’s business schemes, she wanted no part of it.
She tried not to say “no” to people she loved, but she could stand firm against her enemies.
Time to go. Sam started to grab her old brown Stetson from the peg by the door. She touched her damp hair and decided against it. This was one day she’d go without her hat. Brynna was a horsewoman herself, and pretty good-natured, but she probably wouldn’t understand if her maid of honor showed up with hat hair.
It only took Sam half an hour to find two mares from the Phantom’s herd. Ace’s body vibrated with a low nicker as he caught their scent.
Sam drew rein, making Ace stay back as she searched the brush for wild horses. A flash of red caught her eye, but it wasn’t the tiger dun mare who always led the Phantom’s band. As her eyes separated the mustangs from the terrain, she recognized two blood bays who always ran and grazed together.
The pair glanced up. Their eyes rolled, showing white around the dark irises. They were only jumpy, not panicked. Because Sam approached without shouting or swinging a rope, the mustangs bumped shoulders and dismissed her as a threat. Then they went back to lipping the sparse winter grass.
This didn’t make sense. There had to be better forage elsewhere. And where was the rest of the band? Wild horses depended on their herd for safety.
“What are you guys doing out here alone?” Sam asked.
Although they’d accepted her before, Sam’s voice spooked the mares. Hooves crunched on rocky soil as they broke into a trot, glancing back at her. One mare started toward the highway, head high, mane blowing. Then she changed her mind and both bolted toward War Drum Flats.
Ace gathered himself to gallop, but Sam kept him at a lope. Given a little space, the mares might line out toward the rest of the herd.
They did. The Phantom’s mares were scattered all over War Drum Flats. Usually, they stuck together, in case danger made a quick escape necessary.
About a dozen mustangs moved aimlessly along the edge of the small lake on War Drum Flats. She’d bet this was the bunch she’d heard neighing. They were uncharacteristically noisy for a wild band, nickering and snorting as they jostled each other.
What’s going on? Sam wondered.
Mustangs were usually silent. Flicked ears might signal interest in an unfamiliar animal or tell a herd-mate to look at something interesting. Tossed heads could mean irritation or a change in direction. The most violent battle between stallions could be triggered by a hoof pawing the dust. So why were these wild horses so vocal?
Sam glanced up the hill, squinting toward the stair-step mesas. The Phantom was up there somewhere, watching from his lookout.
Even without him, Sam knew his herd. Besides the two blood bay mares, she recognized buckskin, sorrel, and honey chestnut mares. That old bay was one she’d noticed before, too, but where was the lead mare?
As her eyes searched for the red dun with slanting stripes on her forelegs, Sam noticed most of the mustangs were wet and muddy. A gang of five young horses, leggy and full of themselves, splashed knee-deep in the lake, ignoring the calls of their nervous mothers.
A bay colt with a patch of white over one eye seemed to be the ringleader.
“He looks like a little pirate, doesn’t he, Ace?” Sam asked the gelding.
Ace only stamped as the colt swooped after the other youngsters, churning the lake white.
Sam shaded her eyes against the winter sun and watched. They were having fun, but the frolicking colts and fillies were spring foals, the most vulnerable members of the herd. Sam understood their mothers’ worry.
There were no biting insects this time of year, so the horses couldn’t be rolling in mud to protect themselves from bites. And the lake was as full as it ever got, so the mares and foals wouldn’t have to wade out to drink. Why would the lead mare let them walk into the lake, where they were slowed by the mud and exposed to predators?
Shaggy with winter hair, the horses looked almost prehistoric. Beneath their wet coats, Sam could see their ribs. When Jake picked her up, she’d have to ask if that was normal for this time of year.
Jake. How long did she have before he showed up at River Bend? Sam glanced at her wrist. In her hurry to get dressed, she’d forgotten to strap on her watch, but she should have plenty of time.
Sam focused on each horse individually. At a rough count, there must be at least thirty animals, but the red dun had always been easy to spot. Although she was small and delicate, gliding over the desert like a doe, she had attitude.
The dun was always alert, always in the lead. Sam remembered how she’d backed down the hammer-head stallion who’d tried to steal the Phantom’s mares. When the Phantom had been captured and his son Moon had appointed himself leader of the band, the red dun had kept her distance. Sam always had the feeling the dun allowed the young black stallion to practice being boss, though she was really in charge.
There was a squeal from the lake as the colt with the white eye patch bit one of his playmates. Sam looked the bunch over again. They were all babies. No more than six months old.
She was sure she’d spotted every single horse except the Phantom and his lead mare.
“Where are they, Ace?” Sam leaned low, pressing her cheek against her gelding’s warm neck. If someone wanted to put the herd in even more turmoil, getting rid of the top-ranking horses would do it.
All at once, she felt Ace tighten. He flung his head high and his nostrils quivered in a silent greeting. The Phantom was coming down from the mountain.
Moving with such grace that he seemed to float, the stallion left the ridge, following the switchback trails that crisscrossed the mountainside.
The red dun mare might be missing, but the herd could depend on their leader.
Sam sighed. Everything would be okay. It was time to get back to River Bend, so that she wouldn’t have to hear Jake’s nagging.
&nb
sp; When the mares noticed the stallion, they surged toward him. Just as they did, a motorcycle passed on the highway and the herd panicked.
A dozen frantic neighs rose and the young horses in the lake responded by splashing toward shore.
“Oh no.” Sam sucked in a breath. Caught between the mares and their young, she wasn’t sure what to do. “Okay, Ace, it’s up to you.”
Sam loosened her reins. Ace didn’t want to be caught between the two bunches of horses any more than she did. He sprinted along the lakeshore, running for home.
She glanced over her shoulder. The mares were racing after their colts, not about to let their babies get away. Most of the young horses ran ahead of Ace, tails streaming. A few ran beside him, matching his strides, mindless of their mothers’ pursuit.
Breathless, Sam clung to Ace. She was surrounded by frightened horses. Her face was lashed by Ace’s flying mane. She felt his strong, short legs thrust forward and pull back. Forward, back. Two colts swerved around a boulder, collided with Ace’s shoulder, and kept galloping. They didn’t know how to escape what had scared them. In fact, Sam knew they’d already forgotten the sound. The young horses were simply running scared.
For one nightmare instant, Sam thought of her accident from years ago. She could fall again. First she’d lose her grip on the reins. Next, she’d bounce free of the saddle. Then, she’d be tumbling in slow motion, hit the ground, and lose consciousness. But this time she wouldn’t be struck by one hoof from one horse.
It had happened before. It could happen again.
Ace’s choppy gait told Sam the gelding felt her fear. She needed to knock that off. The little gelding was doing his best for her. She had to return his effort.
Sam firmed her legs against Ace. She kept her hands quiet on the reins and settled her boots deeper into her stirrups. She would not fall. Ace had to know she was in control. Everything would be all right. She could keep her seat if she wasn’t scared.