Desert Dancer

by Terri Farley

  Callie sighed. “It’s frightening. She doesn’t know where she’s going and those other mustangs are just oozing despair.”

  “And if she doesn’t get adopted at the new place, because she’s too wild and wants to give orders to all the other horses, they’ll ship her off to one of those megapastures the government has in Ohio or”—Sam spun her hand in the air. She couldn’t remember where those pastures were, but Callie’s eyes were glazed with thought, so maybe it didn’t matter—“or somewhere. There, the horses just stand around and graze. They’re not wild anymore. They’re like cattle. So, if you’re Queen, how do you feel?”

  “Lost.” Callie was quiet for several minutes. In the silence, Sam heard Queen circling her pen. Her hoofbeats sounded impatient, but not painful. “Even though there’s plenty of grass, I’d wonder where my wide, white playas went, and how the mountains vanished and why I couldn’t go splash in the river.”

  Sam finished decorating Witch, while Callie stood thinking her own thoughts.

  Then, Sam stared at Witch’s mane. She’d been a lot more successful talking Callie out of quitting than she had been in beautifying this poor horse.

  Suddenly, Callie laid her hand on Witch’s rump, and crossed behind her, staying close enough that the mare couldn’t launch much of a kick if she decided to lash out.

  “Here, let me do this,” Callie said, in a no-nonsense manner. “Jake could pull the ribbons off those little tufts you made in thirty seconds flat.”

  Callie did just that, then stood back with a fistful of ribbons.

  “If you really want to make Jake nuts, let’s try this,” she said.

  Callie’s fingers flew, but Witch seemed to enjoy the attention. She quit shifting her weight from right to left.

  “There,” Callie said, hands on hips.

  “You mean, abracadabra,” Sam said. “That was magic.”

  Witch wore a row of tiny plaits. Starting at her crest, they looped along her neck like braided satin. Between each loop, tiny bows perched like pink butterflies.

  “You want to see magic?” Callie asked, digging her car keys out of her pocket. “I’m going to get in my car and vanish. There is no way in the world I want to be here when Jake sees you’ve made his monster mare into a lady.”

  Sam walked Callie out to her car. As soon as she saw the battered silver Jeep, Sam remembered Callie had said she’d been able to get a car and pay adoption fees on Queen, by spending a check from her grandmother carefully.

  “You see why it was such a bargain,” Callie said. “Remember that flash flood a few months ago?”

  Sam’s stomach clenched in memory. She recalled it well. She, Ace, and a small herd of cattle had been stranded on a sandspit in the middle of the raging La Charla River. She and Ace had almost drowned.

  “I remember,” Sam said.

  “Well, a guy in Darton drove this Jeep into a ditch full of water. It went in nose first, and stuck. The guy got out, but the engine compartment filled with water and you see how the body got banged up.” Callie touched a dented door with affection. “But it drives great and it’s only two years old.”

  Sam was admiring Callie’s determination when the other girl held up a finger.

  “Hey, I meant to ask you when I first got here,” Callie said. “What’s Mr. Slocum doing out by the highway?”

  Being a selfish, irresponsible creep, Sam thought, but she didn’t say it.

  “He’s feeding mustangs so they’ll come up to the road and look picturesque,” Sam said. “He has this idea that he’s going to make a resort or something. It’s a good thing most of his schemes fizzle out.”

  “Oh,” Callie stretched the word out and pushed her glasses up to the top of her nose. “That makes sense. You know Mrs. Martinez? She and her husband run the bank, I think.”

  “Sure,” Sam said. Mr. Martinez had boarded his curly Bashkir colt Teddy Bear at the ranch while Jake schooled him.

  “Mrs. Martinez said Mr. Slocum was looking for investors for a housing development surrounding a golf course. I wonder if that could be the same thing?”

  Sam’s pulse pounded faster. A housing development. And this time Slocum’s silly scheme had gotten as far as the bank.

  “Go ahead and meditate,” Callie whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sam didn’t protest that she wasn’t meditating. Maybe she was. All she knew, as she watched Callie drive away, was that Linc Slocum liked the worst sort of progress.

  He wanted to bring people here for Western beauty, then destroy it.

  Sam sighed and thought about going inside for a snack. She wasn’t ravenous, but she’d been pretty active. A cinnamon roll breakfast, followed by a chips and dip lunch wasn’t the kind of diet that kept her going. Besides, she was curious to see what kind of dinner Aunt Sue had planned for tonight.

  As she crossed the yard, a shower of rocks from the ridge trail made Sam glance back. And then there was a shout.

  “Oh no you don’t! Get back in that barn!”

  Mad as he was, Jake guided Chocolate Chip down the twisting trail as if the gelding were striding on satin. But Jake was mad.

  He hadn’t taken time to change when he’d gotten back from the mall.

  He wore jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and running shoes. Not boots. He hadn’t even pulled on his Stetson.

  Once, when she was a little girl, Sam had heard Dallas joshing with Dad. Dad had taken a spill off a new horse and Dallas had told him, “You look mad enough to eat the devil with his horns on.”

  Jake looked just that mad.

  “Are you talking to me?” Sam asked innocently.

  Jake shook the index finger of his right hand at her, but he was speechless.

  Chip shifted beneath him. Jake’s anger must be telegraphing through his knees into Quinn’s horse, because the big brown gelding swung from side to side, trying to understand what Jake wanted.

  Jake wanted to teach her a lesson, Sam knew, but the horse wouldn’t understand that.

  Sam stood with her hands on her hips, watching. It probably wasn’t a good sign that Jake was riding Quinn’s horse. Then again, Chip had been saddled and ready. And Witch had been missing.

  Jake swung down from the moving horse in one fluid movement. He didn’t look back for the ground, but he landed perfectly. Sam held her breath.

  She could almost imagine heat radiating from Jake’s face as he stared at her.

  Then, remembering why he was here, Jake turned toward the barn.

  Sam followed him, then stood in the doorway watching.

  Jake didn’t talk to Witch. She nickered, turning her head as far as the rope would allow, and blinked at him. Careful not to disturb his blameless horse, Jake smoothed his hand over her as he analyzed the intricate braiding and bows.

  “What’s this supposed to prove?” Jake’s voice was quiet.

  Suddenly, her joke didn’t seem funny. If Jen had been here, or Quinn, or one of Jake’s other brothers, it would have been a great joke. But just between the two of them, her prank stunk. And she didn’t know how to answer Jake’s question.

  “It’s payback,” she managed, finally. “For the dousing before the wedding, and the way you blamed me for letting Queen get loose, and a million other things. I’m thirteen. You’re sixteen. Big deal. You are not my boss.”

  Witch jerked back to the end of the rope. Her eyes rolled and her hooves hit the barn floor so many times it sounded as if she was trotting in place.

  “Let’s go sit on your porch.”

  “I don’t want a big discussion,” Sam said. “I just—”

  “Oh no,” Jake said. “You wouldn’t have done this if you hadn’t wanted a big discussion. Now you’re gonna get it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dusk wasn’t a good time to have a talk. As she and Jake walked across the ranch yard, Sam wished for noon or night.

  She felt stronger any other time. In this half light, when the sun dipped behind the far-off mountains on its
way to sink into the ocean, she thought of Mom.

  The twilight memory that made her most melancholy was all around her, now. One night—she must have been five or six—Mom had allowed her to stay up late. She’d get to watch a Halloween television special, if she took a long afternoon nap. She had, and awakened at dusk. Sam recalled padding down the stairs in stockinged feet to the kitchen. Though she’d been stooping to open the oven door, Mom had heard her right away. She’d turned, hands muffled in oven mitts, to show Sam a lattice-topped cherry pie.

  How could even sweet memories hurt so much?

  Sam glanced toward the ten-acre pasture. Popcorn and Dark Sunshine stood together under the cottonwood tree. At dusk, even in winter, the trees’ leaves were edged with fading gold sunlight and it almost looked like fall.

  Mom was gone, and so were Dad and Gram. For now. And the last time she’d been close to the Phantom, he’d charged. Shaking his forelock free of his fiery eyes, he’d looked as if he’d forgotten who she was, or didn’t care.

  She knew too well how something you loved could turn on you.

  A discussion with Jake was doomed. She could either act tough, putting on an I-don’t-care mask, or she could cry like a little kid. Either way, she and Jake wouldn’t accomplish much.

  She sat on the step, closest to the porch rail. Jake sat against the house, as far away as he could get from her and not have to shout.

  Even in his city clothes, Jake sat like a cowboy. He hung his hands off knees that were bent and spraddled out. He cleared his throat, squinted toward the barn, then gritted his teeth so hard, a ridge of muscle popped up along his jaw.

  “I don’t know how t’talk to a kid your age.”

  Suddenly, Sam wanted to laugh. Jake didn’t know how to talk, period. He understood horses and cattle. Flicking ears and rolling eyes told him all he needed to know. But when it came to people, he was hopeless. If this talk lasted ten minutes, it would set a world record for Jake Ely.

  Sam decided to rescue him. “I fancied up Witch to remind you not to take yourself so seriously. I’ve got Dad to boss me around and worry over me.”

  Jake didn’t seem to hear what she’d said.

  “You won’t stop bein’ crazy with horses, will you?” he demanded.

  He couldn’t know about her nightmares, about her fear of galloping and falling, and she wasn’t about to admit her cowardice.

  “If you’d been paying attention,” Sam told him patiently, “you’d know I have stopped. I haven’t run Ace in—”

  “Three days? Four? Since you took that spill?” Jake looked disgusted, as if she’d offered him a lie.

  “I told you I had to do a sudden dismount. Not that I ‘took a spill,’” she corrected.

  Again, he followed his own thoughts and ignored what she’d said.

  “There’s a natural order of things,” Jake said solemnly, “and when people interfere, there’s a price to be paid.”

  Sam’s mind echoed the phrase. When people interfere with the natural order of things, there’s a price to be paid. Had Jake read that? Was it a bit of Native American philosophy he’d learned from his shaman grandfather?

  “I don’t interfere,” she began.

  “’Course you do. Take Buddy. That calf was an orphan. You saved her. Later, you put yourself in the way of coyotes trying to eat her. That’s the price. There’s Blackie, of course, and those mustangs.” He gestured in the direction of Popcorn and Dark Sunshine. “And this wild dun.”

  “You can’t count Queen,” Sam rushed to put in. “I’d be a lot happier if she was still out on the range.”

  “With that hoof? As cougar bait?” he asked. “I don’t believe you. Not that you’re the only one. BLM’s just as guilty.”

  “Then they should assign the Phantom another lead mare,” Sam said. “His herd’s in chaos without one.”

  “That’s just what I’m talkin’ about! He’ll pick his own lead mare, Sam. Just give him a chance.”

  Sam took a deep breath. Jake was right. Blackie was now the Phantom, a wild thing. He didn’t play by human rules.

  “Is that all?” Sam moved to stand up. “We’re starting to talk in circles. That seems like a good time to stop.”

  “Thing is, uh, in the natural order of things, I’m afraid you might turn out like your mom.”

  Sam stiffened. Vertebrae from the base of her skull to the seat of her jeans lined up like a metal rod.

  Jake noticed. He made a soothing motion with his hands, but he kept talking.

  “When she died, she was doin’ the same thing you do. You think about animals instead of yourself.”

  Hot blood must’ve rushed to her face, because it felt like someone had thrown a pan of scalding water at her. For a second, Sam couldn’t speak.

  Then, she couldn’t stop.

  “Are you trying to make me mad? Because if you are, it’s working really well and I think you should get the heck out of here, Jake Ely, before I hurt you.”

  She shoved him against the side of the house.

  “Sam—”

  “I don’t want to hear it! All in one punch, you tell me my mom was stupid, I’m stupid, and—”

  “That’s not it.” Jake puffed his cheeks full of air and the gesture was so childish, Sam stopped. Jake opened his mouth three times before words came out. “Just forget it,” he said finally.

  “What were you saying then?” Sam dared him to finish.

  “I’m saying that—they’re animals. Just animals. You can love them, but you’re more…” Jake fought to go on. “To your aunt, Wyatt, your gram…” Jake made a growling sound, then rubbed the back of his neck. “And, I’d rather not see you hurt again.”

  In the sudden silence, Sam noticed it was awfully quiet inside the house. It was almost full dark now. Shouldn’t she hear the television or Aunt Sue heating something?

  “Well,” she told Jake, finally, “you don’t have to worry about me getting hurt again. I’m done doing stupid things with horses. I’m afraid to ride now.”

  Jake laughed out loud, as if she’d released him from his solemn trance.

  “That’s great, Jake. Really, it’s just fantastic.” She shoved his shoulder. Then, because he kept laughing, she socked him. Hard.

  “Ow.” He held his hand over his bicep, but he was still laughing.

  “I spill my guts. You laugh. What a rotten way to get people to confide in you.”

  “Lucky for me,” Jake said. “Can’t think of anything I’d hate more.”

  Frustration made Sam close her eyes and clench her fists. She tried to explain. “This changes everything, don’t you see? I can’t go riding with Jen. I won’t be able to go on the spring cattle drive.”

  “You are the biggest fake,” Jake said, sighing.

  “Jake, you know something? If you weren’t a large guy, you’d get beaten up all the time. Weekly,” she speculated, “maybe daily. Your body would be covered with bruises.” She took a deep breath, then put sincerity in every word. “I am not faking. I’m scared. I’m even having bad dreams.”

  Heavy footsteps approached the door from inside. They sounded as if Aunt Sue were warning them she was coming, and that almost certainly meant she’d been eavesdropping.

  Jake scrambled to his feet as Aunt Sue opened the door. She didn’t come out on the plank porch, just leaned against the doorframe, holding her mug of tea.

  She’d exchanged her sweats for khaki pants and a tangerine-colored pullover. She wore bright lipstick and she’d brushed her silver-blond hair. Sam wondered if Aunt Sue wanted to go out for dinner.

  Aunt Sue tapped her painted fingernails against her mug, then looked up with teary eyes. “One of the saddest things in life is to take something that gives you joy and let it get ruined. Your mother and I spent two years not speaking because I thought she was insane to live out here and she thought I was a fool for not understanding.”

  Aunt Sue shielded her eyes a minute before going on. “What a waste of two years we could h
ave had together.”

  Sam and Jake met each other’s eyes. Adults never made confessions like this. Neither of them knew what Aunt Sue expected them to do.

  “Does that mean you don’t think the ranch is so bad?” Sam asked. This might not be the right time to tease Aunt Sue, but the words just hopped from her tongue.

  “It means,” Aunt Sue said, with a sarcastic lilt, “I’m about to make a big pasta dinner and I’m wondering if young Mr. Ely would like to stay and eat.”

  Jake’s face lit at the mention of food, but he hesitated.

  “Then I could drive you home while your horses have—” Aunt Sue broke off, and her free hand spun in the air. “An equine slumber party.”

  For a minute, Sam thought he’d resist out of pure stubbornness, but Aunt Sue’s next words did the trick. “Do you think one loaf of garlic bread will be enough?”

  “I’ll stay,” Jake said. “Thanks for askin’.”

  Sam stood, planning to follow Aunt Sue, but Jake touched her arm and she stopped. “What?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “You’re not afraid of falling. You’re afraid of being afraid.”

  “Whatever that means,” Sam said.

  “This is what it means.” Jake lowered his voice until she could barely hear it. “I don’t know another soul who’s ridden a wild stallion—on the range. Not in a corral, not in a rodeo arena, but out in his own territory where he could run off with you, forever.”

  Jake’s whisper gave her the shivers.

  No one had seen her riding the Phantom. She’d been alone in Arroyo Azul and the dark tunnel that snaked through the Calico Mountains. Jake had to be guessing.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, brushing the porch dust from her jeans.

  “Right,” Jake said, then kept quiet.

  Jake was a world-class competitor when it came to keeping silent, but this time Sam knew she’d win. She and the Phantom shared a secret she’d never tell.