by Terri Farley
“And his mom died, you said,” Nicolas repeated. “So, sure, I can trot Lace around, he’ll follow, and his forelock will blow back. You can take a look, but what happens to him after you’re sure?”
“I have to think about that,” Brynna said.
Nicolas’s eyebrow quirked up skeptically and his lips flattened into a line.
Gram picked that moment to shove open the squeaky screen door.
“Dinner will be on the table in five min—” She must have been in a hurry, because the door slammed before they heard the rest, but no one doubted the meal was on its way.
If Nicolas had wanted to avoid giving Brynna time to identify the colt, he could have taken the chance right then, but he didn’t.
“We’ll hurry,” Nicolas said.
Without a halter or a lead, he began jogging next to Lace. Tossing her head up in high spirits, she walked beside him and Sam could tell Nicolas would have to pick up the pace if the huge mare was going to trot.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Nicolas teased the mare.
Lace dipped her head, then flung it high. Her mane tossed in variegated glory, and Lace lifted her knees to pursue her master.
“She’s his, that’s for sure,” Brynna said quietly, and then the dun colt kicked up his heels and ran after the big mare.
His black scrap of forelock lifted on the wind and there on his brow were the two black shapes, pointing upward like twin arrowheads.
“Yep,” Dad said finally.
“Thanks!” Brynna shouted, and Nicolas’s pace slowed immediately. “He looks a little muddled by all this.”
“Nicolas or the colt?” Sam asked.
“The boy, of course,” Brynna said.
“Now what?” Dad asked.
Brynna’s answer was to motion Nicolas toward the house, so Sam guessed Brynna wasn’t about to blame the colt’s disappearance on him.
“Now lunch,” Brynna said to Dad. “I’m starving, and if Norman White is much later, I might just eat his pie and mine, too.”
Then she strode toward the house, and only Sam saw her dip into her daisy-shaped pocket, pull out a candy bar, and finish it off before reaching the kitchen.
Six chairs were arranged around the oval mahogany table. As usual, for Sunday lunch—which Gram called dinner—Sam had been asked to set the table with candles and cloth napkins. It made a pretty setting, but Gram gave Nicolas less than a minute to express admiration and thank her before pointing out his seat and asking him to take it.
During the meal, Brynna kept everyone’s focus off Nicolas, as if his declaration that he wanted to leave the colt behind moved him beyond suspicion.
At least as far as Brynna was concerned, Sam thought, but would Norman White be so easily convinced? If he ever got here. It was rude that he hadn’t called to say he wasn’t coming, and it didn’t fit with his attention to detail.
Sam was glad he hadn’t shown up, but his absence put off the discussion between him and Brynna about the colt’s future. The little dun couldn’t be returned to Good Thunder Meadows alone.
“They must be awfully rare,” Gram said, snagging Sam’s attention back to the dinner-table conversation. “Brynna, what sort of natures do coydogs have?”
Brynna held up a finger, signaling she had to finish chewing before she could answer, but Jen stated an opinion to fill the gap.
“I’ve read that coyotes are raised by both parents,” Jen said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “And I don’t see how Blaze could have been doing his part.”
“Hey,” Sam jumped in to defend her dog. “How could he? Every time he wandered away, we went looking for him.”
“I’m not blaming him,” Jen said. “And he was treating the coydog like his puppy.”
“Jen’s right. The males usually have a big part in raising the pups,” Brynna said finally. “That’s probably one reason coydogs are unusual.” She broke off then, frowning. “Has anyone looked Blaze over? Made certain he wasn’t injured?”
“Sam did,” Jen said. “I saw her palpating him—” Jen flashed a condescending look at Jake. “That means examining him with her hands.”
“Thanks, doc,” Jake said. He winked before forking a bite of chicken-fried steak into his mouth and trading amused glances with Nicolas.
“Anyway,” Brynna went on, “there should have been more than the one pup.”
Dad shook his head slowly. “Still some around here who believe in denning.”
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“Never mind,” Gram said, casting a worried look at Brynna.
Sam didn’t insist on an answer. She had heard of people putting dynamite or poison in coyote dens and she was afraid it was something like that. Her imagination didn’t need more awful details to process.
“Now, you boys,” Gram said, “let me get you seconds on mashed potatoes. You, too, Jennifer. Heaven knows you could use a little meat on your bones.”
“Isn’t she great, Nicolas?” Jen asked in a dreamy tone.
“Absolutely,” Nicolas said, then he leaned toward Sam. “She’s exactly like my grandmother.”
“How old was he?” Brynna asked. “The coydog?”
Sam, Jen, and Nicolas looked at each other, at a loss even to guess.
“Probably less than a year,” Sam said.
“That’s about right,” Brynna said, nodding. “Although, I’m going largely on what I know of coyotes. The parents start bringing the pups solid food at about a month, and they’re usually weaned around nine weeks. They leave their dens and run around with their parents, learning to hunt and hide, at about this time of year.”
Once more, Sam thought of all the nights they’d stood on the front porch, calling for Blaze. Had he felt torn between his ranch family and the one in the wild?
“How long do they stay together?” Jen asked.
“Until autumn,” Brynna said. “About now they kind of split up for the winter.”
“So,” Nicolas said sensibly, “sad as it is, having the young one on his own now isn’t”—he searched for a word—“unnatural?”
“Not at all,” Brynna said. “He’ll probably come through the winter all right.”
The conversation veered away from the coydog before anyone suggested a future for him, but Sam thought Jake looked far more thoughtful, moving his fork through the last of his gravy, than the task really warranted.
“Okay, I’m going to do it,” Brynna said after Gram had ordered her to sit quietly while Sam cleared the table.
Watching everyone else troop outside into the blue and gold afternoon to learn more about Gypsy Vanner horses might have made Sam cranky, if she hadn’t made a plan. She’d already figured out Dad’s feelings about bringing the coydog to civilization, but he’d deferred to Brynna’s expertise, before she’d gotten home.
Now, all Sam had to do was get Brynna on her side.
“See that you do,” Gram said to Brynna, as Sam handed her the neatly stacked plates, ready to slip into the sudsy dishwater.
“Actually, I was talking about Norman White, not sitting quietly.” She smiled at Gram as if she should have known. “If I don’t keep him in the loop, I can’t expect him to take appropriate actions. And by appropriate, I mean doing things the way I would,” Brynna admitted. She took a quick breath then, and winced in a way Sam had come to know as her reaction to the baby kicking. “It’s still early, but it’s possible I could go into labor any time, so I’ve got to make sure Norman and I agree on a few things, now.”
In the quiet that followed, Sam looked over to see Brynna leaning her chin into her palm, thinking.
“After all,” Brynna said, “I must have scared him off, somehow. Otherwise, he would’ve come for lunch.”
“I’d say his rudeness matches what you told me about his accommodations.” Gram turned both handles, hot and cold, on full blast into the sink.
“It wasn’t worth taking a stand over,” Brynna said.
“His accommodations? Where’s he stayi
ng?” Sam asked.
“In my office.”
Gram made a quietly disapproving noise.
“He’s staying there? Like sleeping there, too?” Sam demanded.
“That’s how it sounds,” Brynna said.
That was more than pushy, Sam thought. It was creepy. And Brynna had said he’d brought BLM papers and the wild horses with him to church. That had to mean he was going through Brynna’s files. He probably had a right to do that, but couldn’t he wait until he’d taken over Brynna’s job?
“I don’t like it, either,” Brynna said to Sam and Gram. “Just the same, I’ll phone him, so there’s no question about everything being aboveboard. Not that it isn’t,” Brynna hurried to add. “I believe every word Nicolas said about the colt, and the fact that he’s willing to leave him behind speaks for itself.” Brynna drained her glass of milk. “But Norman White is dedicated to the bureau above everything else.”
“Except maybe his own ambition,” Gram muttered.
Sam knew what that meant.
Over the last few months, Norman White had been a self-appointed campaigner for the federal government’s new program, which required the BLM to sell horses over ten years old—like Blue—or young horses that hadn’t been adopted after three tries—to the highest bidder.
Usually, the highest bidder was a slaughter-buyer like Baldy Harris of Dagdown Packing Company, which processed horses into meat.
So far, Brynna had managed to turn down every offer on technicalities, but Sam knew her refusal to go along with the new plan had been noticed. Brynna was running out of excuses, and Norman White wouldn’t bother.
He praised the sell-not-adopt program as an efficient way for the bureau to make back money it had spent protecting mustangs.
“Samantha, you look like you’re sucking a lemon,” Gram pointed out.
“Worse than that, huh, honey?” Brynna asked.
Sam nodded and released a deep sigh.
“Still, I’d better tell him what’s going on so that Nicolas doesn’t get implicated in something dirty. If I know Linc Slocum, he’s already found a way to turn this into something else.”
“He did say we were trespassing,” Sam said.
“That’s nonsense,” Gram muttered, but then Sam could tell she made an effort to rinse the dishes more quietly.
She and Gram listened while Brynna dialed her own office and talked to Norman White in a way that was downright pleasant. Reciting the alpha angle identification mark from Blue, she asked Norman to check her files for the detailed description of the missing colt.
“Um-hm,” Brynna said, and when she held a pen poised above a pad of yellow paper without writing anything down, Sam knew Brynna had gotten everything right, from memory. “Yes, I do. It is, a real coinci—” Brynna stopped and Sam turned in time to see alarm in her stepmother’s eyes. “Really. So my call was forwarded to your cell phone and—are you all right? Young stallions can be unpredictable and one of our local ranchers was feeding horses at the roadside not long ago, luring—” Brynna broke off her list of excuses, but Sam couldn’t figure out what else was going on. “Oh, Norm, that’s not necessary. Of course, you’re still welcome to stop by. The colt, however, isn’t a major issue for us.”
Brynna listened in silence for a while, then said, “If you insist. It sounds like you’re about ten min—Yes, right over the La Charla River. Sure. We’ll be watching for you.”
“Now, he’s decided to drive out here?” Gram guessed.
“Oh yeah,” Brynna said. “And his attitude hasn’t been improved by the fact that he had to swerve off the road to miss two wild horses.”
“What did they look like?” Sam asked.
“They were both brown,” Brynna repeated in a flat tone. Then, holding her head in her hands with both elbows resting on the mahogany table, she mimicked Norman White, “‘Says here that you adopted an animal from that exotic herd yourself. That’s a mighty interesting coincidence. I think I’ll come out there and see that everything’s as it should be.’”
“That creep,” Sam snapped.
“That’s not the best part,” Brynna said, looking up at Sam. “I’m to detain Nicolas until Norman gets here, or ‘he’ll know the reason why.’”
“He can’t tell you what to do!” Sam said, then put down the dish she was drying for fear her tight fists would shatter it.
Just then, there was a knock at the door and all three of them looked at each other. Unless Norman White had magical powers, it couldn’t be him.
“Come in,” Gram called. “Dallas? What’s wrong?” she asked as the old foreman opened the kitchen door.
Dallas whipped his battered hat off his silver hair, nodded toward Gram, then looked at Brynna.
“Ma’am, you might want to come out here and take a look at Blaze. That dog won’t let me check under his right foreleg. He’s pantin’ like a lizard on a hot rock, but when I fill up his water dish, he ignores it. Truth is, I’m afraid he got creased with one of Slocum’s bullets, after all.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sam hurried outside behind Brynna as a formation of geese flew honking over River Bend Ranch, not in their usual strict V but in tatters that looked more like part of a W. It seemed like a bad omen to Sam, and she wondered if she was just feeling guilty.
“Has Wyatt had a look at him?” Brynna asked as she followed Dallas.
“No, ma’am, everyone’s over admirin’ that Gypsy horse, and that’s fine with me. I don’t think this dog needs a lot of noise and hoopla.”
Dallas stopped next to the bunkhouse step. Sam heard Blaze panting in the dark, cool space beneath it.
“I really did check him over,” Sam told Brynna.
“Your dad told me there was a lot going on, with Linc killing things and accusing people of who knows what,” Brynna said.
“Still, I did,” Sam insisted. She bit her lip hard enough that she felt a jolt of pain to match Blaze’s.
“Let’s just see what we can do to help him,” Brynna said. “Here, boy.”
Brynna squatted in front of the step, using both hands to keep her balance while she crooned to the dog.
“Come here, sweet dog,” Sam joined in, and she heard Blaze’s tail thump in pleasure.
“That’s about all he does,” Dallas said. “He was out here, and then when I noticed he was limping and tried to take a look at him, he slipped loose and hid.”
“It’s probably nothing major,” Brynna said. “I’m sure Wyatt would have noticed if it were.”
“I know what to do,” Sam said. She flopped full-length in front of the step and dragged her palms over the dirt in front of her. “Crawl, Blaze, crawl!” Sam looked aside at Brynna for a second. “Dad hates him knowing tricks, but I taught him some.”
Blaze whimpered, but he slowly obeyed.
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Sam said.
“It will probably hurt him less than dragging him out by his front paws,” Brynna said. Then, as the dog emerged and rolled onto one side, she said, “Excellent dog. Let’s have a look.”
Sam held Blaze’s head and Dallas steadied his body while Brynna examined the Border collie. Gram brought a first-aid kit from the barn and when Dad saw her, he strode after her.
“I’ve by golly had enough of Linc Slocum,” Dad said. He watched Brynna use first aid scissors to snip away Blaze’s shiny fur so she could study the wound. “How bad is it?”
“Just a nick.” Brynna’s voice was muffled as she bent to her work.
“From a bullet,” Sam said.
“Maybe,” Brynna said.
“Linc admitted he was shooting at them as they ran. That’s why I think we should call the sheriff,” Sam said.
Brynna’s concentration broke. Her eyes lifted to look at Sam, then Dad, before she kept working.
“It’s not illegal, honey,” Dad said.
“Shooting dogs?” Sam demanded.
“Shooting coyotes,” Dad clarified.
“How
can that not be illegal?” Sam asked, but when neither Brynna nor Dad spoke up, she had a feeling she was the one who was wrong.
But she’d sworn not to let Linc Slocum get away with this. What should she do next?
“I’m guessing this is from a bullet,” Brynna said, “but we won’t know for sure unless there’s a little piece of metal the bullet left behind.”
“I’m giving that man a piece of my mind,” Gram said. “What was he thinking? Shooting where there were kids and horses.”
“He didn’t see us until we broke out of the woods,” Sam admitted.
“And right there,” Dad insisted, “is where Ballard’s gonna get ’im. You’ve got to know who and what’s around you before you go firing your weapon.”
Drawn by the sight of Sam, Dallas, Brynna, and Dad crouched over the Border collie, everyone but Nicolas left Lace and the dun colt to come see what was going on.
No sooner had they gathered around the worried dog, though, than the BLM truck driven by Norman White bumped across the bridge.
“I’m outta here,” Dallas said.
“Can you finish up alone?” Dad asked Brynna as he, too, began to walk away.
“Brock, brock,” Brynna said, imitating a chicken, but Dad and Dallas didn’t laugh or slow down.
“I’ll go help Nicolas,” Jake said.
“Well, don’t help him too far away from here,” Brynna said, placing a small pad over Blaze’s wound, then unrolling a bandage to wrap around his body and hold it in place. “Mr. White’s come to talk to him.”
Jake went still. He stood, thinking, then asked, “Slocum call him about trespassin’?”
“Maybe,” Brynna said. She wobbled as she tried to stand up, and Jake cupped his hand under her elbow.
There was something so considerate about the gesture, it made Sam blink. She’d have to stop thinking about Jake as a kid, because he was acting like a man.
“Thanks, Jake,” Brynna said, and Jake looked away as if she’d swatted him.
A shy man, Sam thought, grinning until Brynna continued talking.
“Mr. White is mainly here because I told him I thought the little dun was a BLM horse that went astray. And Norman had to come see for himself.”