Desert Dancer

by Terri Farley

  “Couldn’t you just call him?” Aunt Sue asked.

  “There’s a telephone extension in the bunkhouse, but not a separate line. It’s just across the yard.” Sam pulled on a slicker and turned back to Aunt Sue.

  “It’s dark,” Aunt Sue protested. “And the weather could be dangerous.”

  “I’ll run,” Sam promised, but when Blaze tried to follow, she ordered him back. “You stay here,” she said, then opened the kitchen door.

  She was met with a surge of cold. Icy rain hammered the porch. Chills ran down her neck and arms, but she knew she wouldn’t get any warmer while she stood there watching. She drew a deep breath and plunged into it. Her boots hit a patch of ground that was slick as a frozen pond, and she almost fell.

  “Running on ice isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Aunt Sue called after her. “Be careful!”

  “Good idea,” Sam muttered. Compared to sleet, hail was the pleasant texture of a snow cone. This stuff hurt.

  Blackness and ice blurred the bunkhouse before her eyes. A golden rectangle appeared as the bunkhouse door opened and Dallas motioned her onto the covered porch.

  The gray-haired foreman had the tanned and creased face of a career cowboy. In spite of his age, and the stiffness that flared up with each change in weather, he was unfailingly dependable and the best roper Sam had ever seen.

  Usually he had the help of two other cowboys, Pepper and Ross, but they were in Idaho, visiting Pepper’s family.

  Now he wore a Stetson and slicker and was clearly about to go out into the storm.

  “Why aren’t you inside?” Dallas shouted over the pounding ice. “Get back over there.” He started past her and Sam heard keys jingling. He must be driving out to check on the stock.

  “Wait! I’m supposed to be doing something, aren’t I?” she asked.

  “You’re supposed to be keeping your city-bred aunt out of my way.” Dallas nodded toward the house where Aunt Sue stood with crossed arms, squinting through the sleet. “Wave.”

  “What?”

  “Go on,” Dallas said, giving Sam’s shoulder a light push. “Wave to let her know everything’s okay. Then get back over there.”

  Sam waved, but she followed at Dallas’s heels, wincing and wondering how she could have forgotten her hat. “What should I be doing, really?”

  He started to get in the truck.

  “Not much to do right now,” he shouted over the pounding ice. “We’re pretty much set up for bad weather. You could double-check the henhouse door and make sure it’s closed tight, but the rest of the stock has the sense to stay under cover. I’m taking the truck out, to be sure none of ’em are in trouble.”

  “What about Queen?” Sam asked.

  Dallas frowned in confusion.

  “The new mustang,” she added.

  “That dun? She’ll be just fine. She’d face worse than this on her own if she was out on the range.”

  “But if she was on the range, she’d have the whole herd to cuddle up with, and they’d be searching for shelter.”

  Sam remembered the time she’d hidden among the Phantom’s herd. The horses had already been chased and nearly captured by a group of rustlers once. They’d been frightened enough to learn the sound and smell of the men and hide from them.

  Mounted, but just as afraid, Sam had followed the wild horses into a brushy gully above War Drum Flats. The horses had been warm and dusty, all pressed together, and they’d taught her why they always sought the safety of the herd.

  Queen didn’t have that now.

  “She’s tougher than she looks,” Dallas yelled, and then he was driving away.

  He’d be gone a long time, Sam thought. Maybe all night. Together, the Elys, Jed Kenworthy, and Dallas would sweep across the range, making sure the cattle were safe. She couldn’t question Dallas’s priorities. Lost cattle meant lost money. Without the cattle, there’d be no River Bend Ranch.

  She glanced right, at the ten-acre pasture, and saw the saddle horses crowded under their shelter. She looked to the left. Ace and Sweetheart had vanished inside the barn. Next, Sam hurried toward the round pen and peered through the fence rails. By the glow of the two porch lights, she could see Queen standing in the middle.

  Why didn’t Queen at least put her tail to the wind? Why did she stand there, facing the ice storm?

  “What are you thinking, girl?” Sam whispered. “This isn’t something you can stare down.”

  The dun’s ears didn’t even flick.

  Sam needed a flashlight, a tarp, and a rope. With them, she could rig a shelter over one side of the corral and hope the mare took care of herself, as she always had before. The flashlight was number one on Sam’s list. For that, she’d have to go back inside.

  While she was in there, just to be absolutely sure she was doing what was right, she’d call the vet, Dr. Scott.

  The radio played staticky music and the phone was ringing as she stepped inside the house. Sam shrugged out of her wet yellow slicker and hung it on a front porch hook. She would have wrung the water out of her hair, too, except that Aunt Sue was beckoning her to answer the phone. The kitchen’s heat made her cheeks feel tight and hot, but she moved to pick up the telephone receiver.

  Maybe it was Dad. It seemed like a long time since yesterday when he’d called to wish her a merry Christmas, and she could sure use his advice now.

  “Hello?” Sam said, but then she felt her shoulders droop as she realized the caller was Callie.

  “How is she?” Callie asked. “Should I come back?”

  “No, Callie, I don’t think you need to—”

  “Come back?” Aunt Sue finished, as if she’d heard Callie’s question. “Absolutely not. I’ve been listening to the radio and they say roads everywhere are too slick. ‘Ice-skating rinks’ they’re calling them, and every few minutes they mention another car off the road. Some are upside down.”

  “Did you hear all that?” Sam asked Callie.

  “Yeah,” Callie’s voice turned stiff again and Sam felt picked on.

  Did anyone like her? Sam didn’t think so.

  Callie was mad. Dad was gone. Aunt Sue was disapproving. The Phantom had mock-charged her in a way that said he didn’t want her help.

  “So what’re you going to do?” Callie asked.

  “The minute I hang up, I’m going to call Dr. Scott and see if he thinks it’s a good idea to string up a tarp for cover.” Sam looked at Aunt Sue in time to see her lips press together in a cautioning line. “Of course I’ll do that from the outside of the pen.”

  “Yeah,” Callie agreed, as if Sam had a pea-sized brain. “Oh wait, is your aunt listening? Did you say that for her?”

  “Right,” Sam answered. “So, I’d better go.”

  They both said “bye” at the same time. Then, after an awkward moment of silence, they both hung up.

  Next, she called Dr. Scott, but only got his answering machine.

  “This is Glenn Scott. The vet. I’m over at Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary and likely to be here until the roads clear. If you’re calling about the litter of pups I posted at the feed store, I still have two of them. If you’re calling about how to handle the weather, here are some general recommendations: make sure all stock has shelter. If this ice storm lasts, they’ll want to stand still. Don’t let ’em or they’ll become Popsicles. This is especially important with poultry.” Beeep.

  The sound was so loud, Sam held the receiver away from her ear. Then the message resumed.

  “Sorry about that,” Dr. Scott chuckled. “Chickens’ eyes have been known to ice over, rendering them blind. Lock ’em in their coops. Range cattle should find their own shelter, but you’ll want to do heavy supplemental feeding for reasons you can probably figure out. Provide cover for penned animals, even if you just stake a tarp over one corner. If this is an emergency, call me on my cell….” Sam hung up.

  “I’m brilliant,” Sam told Aunt Sue. “The vet said to do exactly what I was planning to do.”
<
br />   Sam was reaching for the flashlight on top of the refrigerator when the phone rang again.

  “We’re not ever going to sit down and watch Casablanca, are we?” Aunt Sue sighed.

  This time it had to be Dad.

  It wasn’t.

  “Hi there, little lady, this is Linc Slocum, with a favor to ask.”

  Before Sam could even respond, Linc launched into a one-man discussion of Mrs. Allen, her land, his land, and his scheme for Home on the Range.

  Sam still didn’t know what it was and she didn’t care.

  She only realized she’d slapped her forehead in frustration when Aunt Sue peeled her hand back to look into her eyes.

  To calm her aunt’s concern, Sam smiled and made a “no big deal” gesture.

  “You still with me, little lady?” he asked.

  “Sure, Mr. Slocum, but I couldn’t convince Mrs. Allen to go along with your plan, even if I wanted to,” Sam said. When she saw Aunt Sue’s raised eyebrow, she added, “I’m not being rude, but I don’t even know what you mean by your ‘Home on the Range’ plan.”

  “It’s only the most elegant destination resort on this half of the United States. It’ll be Western, all right, but no more like a dude ranch than a Thoroughbred is like a jackrabbit.” Slocum drew a deep breath. “Why, our guests will fly in from all over the country—all over the world!—and land on my private airstrip. While they’re here, they’ll dine on meals created by a French chef, swim in my tropically landscaped swimming pool, and play golf on greens as smooth as velvet. And all the while, mind you, they’ll be in the heart of mustang country and—” Slocum’s voice broke off. “What is that infernal racket?”

  Outside, the sleet came down with renewed force. It was typical, Sam thought, that Linc Slocum was oblivious to weather that could damage his ranch and harm his cattle.

  “It’s sleet, Mr. Slocum. I’m sure Jed is out checking on your stock and—”

  “Shoot, yes,” he said in a disgusted tone. “Came up here to my house and couldn’t stop babbling about it. Don’t know what he was fussin’ about, with cattle a dime a dozen. And that old ranch house shoulda been bulldozed long ago.”

  “That old ranch house” was Jen’s home. How could Slocum believe the cozy wood and river rock house should be knocked down?

  “What’s wrong with the Kenworthys’ house?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s sprung a leak, a couple leaks, or some such nonsense, but the important thing, now, is that you call Trudy Allen—”

  Sam pictured Jen and Lila darting around, putting cooking pots under streams of water that managed to slip past the roof shingles. But they couldn’t do that, because they were in Utah. And Jed couldn’t do it, either. He was out in the freezing rain, trying to save the red-and-white Herefords because it was his job to care for them.

  Listening to Linc Slocum talk about what was important was a waste of time. The man had no idea.

  “Mr. Slocum, I’m sure we’ll discuss this later.” Sam tried to talk over him. “But right now I’ve got a mustang to check on. This ice storm is dangerous.”

  “—symbol of the wild West,” he continued.

  “Gotta go,” Sam said, and hung up. She stared at Aunt Sue, waiting for a reprimand.

  “You did a lovely job of handling that insufferable man.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice,” Sam admitted.

  “Now,” Aunt Sue said, nodding toward the hammering sleet. “Do you want some help with that tarp thing you’re going to do out there?”

  “I think I can handle it, but could you run water? Here inside the house?”

  “Run water? Sam, you don’t have to give me a little task so that I’ll feel useful.”

  “It is useful. If we keep water running through the pipes, they won’t freeze and burst.” Sam stopped as she thought of Aunt Sue’s shower and the load of laundry. “Of course, we could run the well dry,” she mused, “but I guess we’d better face the problems we have right now.”

  “Sounds like a mature decision to me,” Aunt Sue congratulated her.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to make them all the time,” she said, thinking of Callie.

  Sam pulled on her heavy jacket, her hat, then slipped the wet slicker on over both. She felt as clumsy as a walking snowman, and Blaze wasn’t helping matters.

  “You stay, boy,” Sam ordered, but when the dog began whining, she took his brown-and-white face in her hands and scolded him more gently. “I know you want to help, but you’d scare Queen.” She kissed the white spot on top of his head. “You can meet Queen later. Now, stay in the house and help Aunt Sue.”

  “I heard that,” Aunt Sue said. Blaze wheeled to face her, wagging his tail. “And I do not need help from some uppity canine.”

  Blaze made a throaty, come-and-play sound and Aunt Sue rumpled his ears. Without stopping to wash her hands, she motioned for the Border collie to follow.

  “Remember,” she told him as he tagged along, “you can only watch.”

  Sam made her way through the storm to the round corral and found Queen standing in exactly the same spot where she’d left her before. Sam swept the flashlight’s beam over the mare. The light picked up a sheen of ice on Queen’s mane. Even worse, her eyelashes glinted with a glassy coating.

  Sam wasn’t sure she was up to another decision, but she didn’t have much choice. Part of her wanted to slip through the gate, grab the rope trailing from Queen’s halter, and lead her into the barn pen to cuddle with Ace. The other part of her was certain she couldn’t handle Queen alone.

  She knew what she had to do, and she could do it.

  The wind had died down to a whisper in the tops of the cottonwood trees, and the sleet felt more like rain. Now, before the storm rebounded, she’d grab a tarp, some metal stakes, and get busy.

  Then, if Queen still wouldn’t seek shelter, she might call Jake. Maybe.

  Not that it would matter if she did call him, Sam thought, hustling toward the barn. He’d be out on the range with his dad. With seven sons, Luke Ely didn’t need to hire ranch hands to help run the Three Ponies Ranch. He worked his boys as hard as if they were getting paid.

  As she snagged a large blue tarp from the tack room, Sam realized it was sort of cool, that even though she and Jake had had a disagreement, she knew she could still call on him for help.

  Cool, but there was no way she was going to do it.

  When Sam returned to the corral with her armload of stuff, Queen noticed. The sheet of blue plastic was already stiff with cold and it made a rattling sound as Sam threw it up over the top of the fence. She climbed up two fence rails, threaded clothesline through the brass grommets, then tied the tarp in place.

  The sleet started down again, rapping on Sam’s hat brim, but she worked quickly. Between the pounding sleet and the crackling plastic, she couldn’t hear anything else. By the time she squatted to tie the last knot, she was muttering to herself and even that was hard to hear.

  “Don’t know why I didn’t wear gloves. Stupid idiot fingers are going to freeze and crack right off if I don’t get into the house really soon and…”

  She heard something. It wasn’t loud, just distracting.

  At first she thought the sound was Queen’s hooves. Then, she thought Dallas had returned without her noticing. It didn’t matter which. As soon as she got this silly knot tied, she was going inside for a cup of tea. She wouldn’t drink it, either. She planned to soak her fingers.

  If she kept thinking of other things, this blasted tarp would flap her to death. She had to focus. At last, Sam blocked out the rest of the world and concentrated on the thin rope.

  “Got it.” She sighed, giving the last knot a tug.

  That was when a voice one foot behind her boomed, “Nice work, Brat.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam let out a squawk at the same time that her knees straightened. It happened so fast, Jake didn’t have time to get out of the way. Their hat brims bumped hard enough that ice chips
rained down. They each reeled back a step and almost slipped on the mud underfoot.

  “Why were you sneaking up on me?”

  “See if I ever compliment you again!”

  Both stood there, hands on hips, until Sam said, “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re shorthanded. I came to check on things. Dad asked Quinn to do it, but I beat him to the truck keys.” Jake smirked, pleased he’d bested his next youngest brother.

  “I’m doing just fine,” Sam shot back.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Okay,” Sam rubbed her hands together.

  Jake wore the same kind of yellow slicker she did, but his was open over a flannel shirt. The shirt must have come fresh from the laundry, because she smelled some kind of pine-scented soap.

  This was the Jake she knew, not the nervous dressed-for-a-wedding jerk who’d pumped water on her head. But he still hadn’t apologized and she didn’t think it was likely he ever would.

  Sam turned toward the corral, clicked the flashlight to “on” and played the beam over Queen again.

  “What if she doesn’t go under it?” Sam wondered.

  “She’ll go,” Jake said, but Sam noticed he kept his eyes fixed on the mare.

  Sam glanced at the glowing numerals on her watch. For ten full minutes they stood watching.

  Queen’s muscles tensed, but she didn’t look alert. Her ears drooped sideways and her eyes were nearly shut.

  “She’s light-bodied like an Arab,” Jake said. “Built for warm climates.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Give her time to quit bein’ hardheaded, and—” Jake’s shoulders jerked as if he’d heard a gunshot. “Aw, no.”

  “What?” Sam only heard a tiny tapping sound.

  “Her teeth are chattering.” Jake looked around the ranch yard as he closed the fasteners on his slicker.

  Sam didn’t know what Jake had in mind, but he was looking around for help. That made her nervous.

  “Let’s wait for Dallas to get back,” she suggested.

  Jake shook his head. “Can’t. Look at her. She’s forgotten all about us. She’s concentratin’ on what’s happening inside herself. Stubborn animal could freeze.”