by Terri Farley
“Let’s call your dad on his emergency radio, then,” Sam said.
Jake’s father was chief of the volunteer fire department. He could always be reached by radio. Sam thought she had a great idea, but Jake’s smile, white in the darkness, told her the suggestion was a mistake.
Jake’s lazy tomcat smile was a challenge. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
“Do what?” Sam kept her tone casual. Jake couldn’t refuse a dare.
He yanked at the cuffs of his leather gloves, pulling them up to cover his wrists. He was probably looking at her, too, but his hat’s shade made his dark eyes invisible.
“Go get me a bridle,” he said. “I’ll get my rope from the truck, catch Tank, and ride him to rope your wild horse. Then, I’ll move her into a barn pen.”
Tank was a bald-faced Quarter horse. He was usually ridden by Ross, and Dallas often wondered how the quietest cowboy on the spread had talked everyone into letting him ride the biggest horse. The giant gelding acted like an anchor on any animal Ross roped.
Sam headed for the barn, thinking. She didn’t like the idea of Jake roping Queen. Sam grabbed Tank’s bridle from a hook in the tack room and started back.
“Want her in with Ace or with Sweetheart?” Jake asked as he took the bridle and headed toward the ten-acre pasture.
“I don’t want her moved,” Sam muttered, but she couldn’t tell him why.
What if the lead mare saw freedom as soon as she emerged from the corral? What if she escaped from Jake?
Jake stopped. He stood loose-limbed and waiting for her answer to his question.
Sam knew she had to go along with him. If she confided her fear to Jake, he’d think she had no faith in his skills.
“I can’t let her freeze,” Sam said, adjusting her sentence. She felt responsible to Callie, to the Phantom, and to Queen. “So put her in with Ace, I guess.”
It was easy to hear Jake’s boots moving over the frozen footing in the ten-acre pasture, and Tank protesting his separation from the other horses. When Jake returned, he rode Tank, but the gelding wasn’t happy about it.
Sam aimed the flashlight at them.
Catching Tank probably hadn’t been that easy.
Jake was hatless. His long hair had worked loose from its leather tie and hung behind his shoulders. He rode Tank bareback. One hand rested on his thigh, holding his coiled rope as he swayed with the gelding’s choppy gait.
He could have been a movie hero, until he yelled at her.
“Cut it out,” Jake said, squinting. “Point that light somewhere else.”
“I don’t think we should rope her,” Sam said, suddenly. “How about just snagging the lead that’s on her halter.”
“We shouldn’t rope her, huh? Care to slip in there and dodge her hooves and teeth? ’Cause I know I’m not gonna make a grab for that lead rope.”
Jake’s words conjured up a memory of Sam’s fall. She almost felt the tremble of earth under pounding hooves. She fought a wave of dizziness and wondered when she’d quit being such a coward.
“Didn’t figure you would,” Jake said before she answered. “So I guess you’d better get that gate open and keep it that way ’til I get her back through.”
Queen’s breathing turned noisy as soon as Sam swung the gate wide enough for Tank to walk through.
Sam watched through the fence rails. Her fingernails sunk into the wet wood, ready to slam the gate if Queen bolted before Jake roped her.
The mare stood still, nostrils flaring and closing, uttering a soft, agitated nicker. She might have been talking to herself.
“Hey there, lady horse,” Jake crooned to the dun as she walked away from Tank. “Feels better to move around, don’t it?”
Jake clucked to the mare. She glanced back over her shoulder, sizing up the intruders, and she kept moving around the pen.
“Wait,” Jake’s voice rose in surprise. “This is the Phantom’s lead mare.”
“Yeah,” Sam said.
“You mighta mentioned that.”
Only for a second did Sam wonder why he cared. Then she thought of how Queen had bossed and bullied the herd. Could she give Tank orders, too?
Queen’s head flew up. Her muscles bunched as she sighted the open gate.
“Go on. Get on through,” Jake urged her.
Sam got a good grip on the gate. She smelled sudden sweat on the dun, and felt her excitement. The mare was halfway through the gate when Jake’s rope sang out and settled over her head. She hit the end of the rope, then hopped and squealed.
Sam used the gate as a shield. Her pulse beat in her neck. She thought of riding Blackie through that gate before he was ready. But this was different. The angry mare was no more than two feet away, but the wooden gate stood between them.
Sam knew Jake’s plan was to follow the mare through, letting her lead him like a dog on a leash. With luck, they’d both be clear of the gate when Queen discovered she was still captive.
But their luck didn’t hold. The dun figured things out fast. She planted her feet, furious that the loop tightened as she fought it.
With a quick change of strategy, Jake ordered Tank to squeeze past the dun.
Sam blinked back the ice blurring her vision. Was Jake planning to tow Queen toward the barn?
“C’mon, baby. C’mon,” Jake coaxed, but the mare refused to be persuaded.
Eyes rolling white, the mare’s neck moved with the tugging rope, but her knees locked. Her hooves stayed planted until the drag on her neck grew too strong to resist.
Instead of bolting after Tank, the mare reared onto her hind legs.
Sam gasped. She tried to believe the fence rails crossing her vision kept her safe.
The mare stayed in a rear. She used every ounce of strength to pull Tank toward her, but the big gelding didn’t budge.
Jake did. First, she jerked him forward. Just as quickly, he hauled back on the rope, coaxing. The sound of his voice only made Queen fight harder. At the end of this long day, Queen had had enough.
Then Sam realized that with no saddle horn to dally around, Jake had dropped his reins. He held Tank with his knees, and used both hands to hang on to his rope while Queen fought.
Finally, she bowed her neck at the crest and flexed, trying to break the grip of whatever held her. She didn’t unseat Jake, but the extra exertion finally took a toll on her cracked hoof.
Queen groaned. Her off hoof faltered. For a heartbeat, a single hoof held her entire weight. Queen was about to fall backward.
Sam knew she wasn’t safe. She’d be crushed between the gate and the ground by the thrashing mustang.
“Jake!” she screamed.
Queen didn’t fall. Her forelegs came down, as if she’d quit resisting. The rope on her neck hung slack. Had Jake released her?
Queen tottered forward, gathered her feet beneath her, and swung away from the pen.
For a heartbeat, the mare stood statue-still. She’d never really seen the ranch yard. Bewildered by her surroundings, she moved toward the ten-acre pasture and the other horses. As soon as she spotted the fence, she veered left, toward the bridge.
Unsure and afraid, her hooves tapped in an anxious beat across the wooden planks, and then she was gone. Sam couldn’t see or hear her, but she knew Queen was headed for the open range, with two ropes streaming behind her.
“What happened?” Sam yelled, but Jake didn’t hear her. He galloped Tank toward the barn.
Sam ran after him.
“Jake.” Sam puffed, trying to get enough breath to make him hear. “How did she get away from you?”
Boots stomped and leather slapped. Tank snorted in surprise as the cinch yanked tight around him.
In seconds, Tank was saddled and Jake was swinging aboard.
“Tell me what happened!” Sam insisted.
She knew darn well he could hear her now, but Jake didn’t speak. Tank was lined out in a run before he reached the bridge.
Go after them! Sam knew sh
e should. Two riders make quick work of finding a lame horse trailing two ropes. But the mud around her boots was a slick slurry. Ace could fall. And maybe, just maybe, Queen would make it back to the herd.
They were a coward’s excuses.
Sam gave up listening. She’d go after them, now.
“No way, no way, no way!” Aunt Sue was shrieking, storming across the dark, muddy yard toward Sam. She pointed her finger like a weapon. “You are not leaving!”
Aunt Sue made it easy for Sam to stay behind.
“Now, spill it,” Aunt Sue demanded, toweling her wet blond hair when they got back inside.
Sam didn’t want to explain. Too much had happened in just a few minutes.
“Sit,” Aunt Sue ordered, pointing to the couch. “Not you,” she whispered to Blaze, who’d obeyed instantly. “Her.”
Sam sat, and ended up telling Aunt Sue everything.
When she finished, she was exhausted. She wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over her head, but she had to wait up. Jake would be back, with or without Queen.
The television babbled to itself as Sam and Aunt Sue sat side by side on the couch.
“So, you think Jake released the horse to keep her from falling on you?” Aunt Sue said. She sounded calm, but her hands were in fists. She’d bet Aunt Sue regretted her decision to let Callie keep Queen at River Bend.
“Yes,” Sam said. “He’s been way too careful of me since the accident.”
Aunt Sue started to speak, stopped, then tried again. Finally she shook her head.
“I am trying, very hard, not to say something about what that knock on the head did to your judgment,” Aunt Sue said. “Releasing a horse to keep it from crushing someone is not being overly protective.”
Sam couldn’t argue. Besides, she was doing her best to keep a few things about Jake to herself. She didn’t tell Aunt Sue that if Jake had been riding with a saddle, this might not have happened. He’d acted like the worst kind of reckless, macho guy, instead of an experienced cowboy.
“I just hope he’s okay.” Sam’s words gusted out on a sigh. “He broke his leg once when a horse went out from under him in the rain.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Aunt Sue leaned her elbow on the couch arm and supported her temple with her index finger.
“Your father—” Aunt Sue shook her head. “Never mind,” she said, and Sam sure didn’t beg her to finish.
Blaze was first to hear hooves on the bridge. By his second bark, Sam had grabbed her slicker. By his third, she’d dashed from the house.
She needn’t have hurried. The two horses moved through the dark in slow motion.
Queen was in pain. She could barely walk. She touched her off rear hoof to the ground briefly and lightly. Her head hung to the right, low in spite of the rope around her neck, trying to keep her balance. As she crossed the yard, her head drooped even lower and her limp grew worse, until she almost moved on three legs.
Sam’s throat burned. She swallowed hard to keep from crying. It was an accident. No one was to blame. Not Callie for taking pity on a beautiful, lamed mare. Not Jake or herself for trying to keep the defiant mare from freezing. But she wanted to blame someone, even though she knew that Queen would probably be dead by now, if the BLM wrangler hadn’t found her.
Ace neighed with excitement as Jake led the mare to the barn. Sam could hear Ace turning from side to side along the rails of his pen.
Even when he dismounted, Sam didn’t try to make Jake talk. Inside the barn, the lights came on and Sam saw his jaw was set hard. His eyes were as cold and unresponsive as Queen’s.
The mare plodded into Ace’s pen. She didn’t shy when the gelding slid his barrel along hers. Instead, Queen stood still. The muscles bunched on her right side and she held her injured hoof just clear of the ground. When Ace sniffed her with great interest, she allowed it. She only flinched once or twice, when his attention grew too rough.
The lead mare made no protest when Ace stood beside her.
Queen slung her head over his withers and closed her eyes, glad to have a friend.
Chapter Fourteen
“Wyatt’s first aid stuff in the tack room?” Jake asked. “Yes,” Sam said. “What do you need?”
“Something for pain until we can get Dr. Scott here.”
Sam didn’t want to tell him, but she did. “He can’t come.” She almost flinched at the hard look Jake flashed her. “I called earlier tonight and his answering machine said he was stuck at Deerpath Ranch.”
With a quick shake of his head, Jake disappeared into the tack room.
Like it’s my fault, Sam thought. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t even stick her tongue out at Jake’s back, although she wanted to do it. Jake was like Dad. Both turned hard and silent when they felt powerless.
“I’ll go inside and call, anyway,” she told him. “He said he’d be checking his messages.”
Sam heard the muffled rattle of pills inside a plastic bottle, then Jake finally answered her.
“Instead of that, how ’bout rubbing Tank down? Check his legs. He slid bad a couple times. If you find any swelling, deal with it.”
Gee, what a genius suggestion, Sam thought. Yelling at Jake for being bossy wouldn’t help now, so she didn’t. But Sam really wished there was someone around to appreciate her maturity.
She took care of Tank. The Quarter horse seemed sound, only eager to get back to his friends. When she returned from turning him out with the other saddle horses, she found Jake squirting a pain-medicine paste into the corner of Queen’s mouth.
The mare shook her head in weary resistance, but she was done fighting.
Sam could hardly believe it when Jake finished tidying up and started toward his truck. He hadn’t said another word since ordering her to care for Tank.
Sam went after him, lengthening her strides to keep up. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew she had to say something.
“Jake, it’s not your fault.”
“You got that right,” he snapped, but he kept walking.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” she insisted. “It was all an accident.”
“An accident you didn’t tell me she was the Phantom’s lead mare, so she sure as heck wouldn’t go where she was led?”
“I didn’t think it mattered. You were only taking her a few yards!”
Jake brushed her words aside like a pesky bug.
“And I s’pose you just forgot to tell me she was already injured?”
“She has a sand crack,” Sam began, but Jake countered her soothing tone by yanking open the truck door and climbing inside.
“Please don’t insult me by sounding patient,” he said. Then he closed the door in Sam’s face.
“I could strangle you, Jake Ely!” she shouted. How dare he cut her off in mid-sentence?
Sam paced two steps away. She hadn’t done one thing to make him act this way. She’d been handling things just fine until he showed up!
Sam turned on her heel and came back, yelling, “BLM wasn’t too worried about that crack. Dr. Scott—”
Sam jumped back as she heard Jake put the truck into reverse.
“Some friend you are!” she hollered, then slapped the truck fender as he passed. “Ow, ow, ow!” Sam drew back her stinging hand and shook it.
As she stalked toward the porch light, cradling her hand against her chest, she saw the curtain on the kitchen window drop back into place.
Again, Sam dreamed of falling. Circus music played as she tumbled through a star-strewn sky. Wind whistled past her ears.
In the dream, it was both summer and winter. She cartwheeled toward Earth. Below her, Dad was shirtless and perspiring as he mowed a lawn. She spun round and round, light as a snowflake, sure she was about to hit the ground and melt, but Dad was deaf to her screams.
Sam sat up in the darkness. Heart pounding, she listened.
Cougar was asleep on the quilt covering her feet. He made a tiny mew of complaint, but he didn’t jump off th
e bed, just merely rearranged himself.
Sam stared at each corner of her room and saw nothing but the normal jumble of shelves and clothes and posters.
It was only a dream, she told herself, but the ugly sensation persisted. She reached around and touched the space between her shoulder blades. It wasn’t sore. In her dream, someone she loved had pushed her.
She hadn’t seen the person’s face, but as she was falling and begging Dad for help, she’d been choked with a feeling of loss.
She scooted to the end of her bed and polished an opening in the frost covering her window. She looked through. She stared until multicolored dots frenzied in front of her eyes, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No ghostly horses galloped on the wild side of the river. No Phantom waited for her in the shallows of La Charla. A pair of headlights appeared on the highway. They moved slowly until a second set of lights materialized. Then, the first pair sped on and the second set slowed and turned in.
The sound of the pickup truck bumping over the River Bend bridge told her Dallas had finally come home. But it was the dream, not Dallas, that had wakened her.
The dream had seemed so real, but maybe her mind was just recycling the feel of falling from Ace. Maybe she was sick of making adult decisions, and needed Dad’s help.
Sam sighed. She wasn’t a psychiatrist or a psychic, so she’d probably never know.
Just then, a high-pitched neigh of longing rang from the barn. Sam closed her eyes, trying to block the sound of Queen calling to her herd.
Sam heard the scuff of Aunt Sue’s slippers and smelled the scent of orange spice tea from the hall outside her room.
“She sounds lonely, doesn’t she?” Aunt Sue’s voice came from the darkness.
“Yes,” Sam answered, surprised the sound had woken Aunt Sue, who slept to the hooting of foghorns and the metallic rumble of cable cars. Or maybe she hadn’t been to bed yet.
“She’d be suffering even worse out in the, you know, terrain,” Aunt Sue said.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said. In spite of her melancholy, she smiled.
Aunt Sue had a long way to go to be a ranch woman, but she was trying.