Gypsy Gold

by Terri Farley

  But he’s not a BLM horse, Sam thought. The colt was wild. His mother might have died in captivity, but the colt deserved his freedom.

  Sam stared toward Lace, Nicolas, and the colt and imagined she saw brush strokes of black branching over his coat. Those marks were the symbol of ancient horses, the kinds of horses painted on cave walls. His kind had survived in a hidden valley, just as the Phantom’s herd had.

  Would he have been accepted into the Phantom’s herd, instead of driven away, if the honey-colored horse were still the Phantom’s lead mare?

  That’s not even worth thinking about, Sam told herself.

  Phineas Preston, Mrs. Allen’s fiancé, a former police lieutenant, loved the mare. She might have been the Phantom’s lead mare, but before that she’d been Cha Cha Marengo, Mr. Preston’s police horse. If he had anything to say about it—and he’d be sure he did—she’d never run wild again.

  And in this one way, the Phantom was no different from other herd stallions. He needed a lead mare to keep order while he fought off challengers for his band. If his attention was divided between his herd and another stallion, he’d likely lose battles, then his family of mares and foals.

  “Thanks for sticking around,” Brynna told Sam, as Blaze trotted after the cowboys. Then, lowering her voice to a faint whisper, she said, “I know you don’t like him, either.”

  “Not a bit,” Sam agreed, and then, when Jen walked toward them from the barn, practically dragging her feet, Sam added, “Have you noticed it’s just us girls?”

  Her voice must have carried to Jen, because her best friend wound each of her braids into coils that looked like cinnamon rolls and said, “Have you noticed I smell like I spent the last two nights sleeping in the dirt? Oh yeah, that’s right. I did.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Jennifer,” Brynna said.

  “I only stayed for the mashed potatoes,” Jen joked, but she tilted her head to one side, watching Norman White approach.

  “I remember him from that day when we herded the horses back to Mrs. Allen’s ranch,” Jen said. “He struts like a little general, doesn’t he?”

  Norman White wore the same style of khaki uniform Brynna put on for work, but Brynna just looked pressed and pulled together. Norman White’s military air—with his shoulders back, chest out, and chin high—matched his short-cropped crew cut. Still, he was no taller than Sam.

  Humming something under his breath, Norman walked toward them.

  Sam wasn’t very good at “Name That Tune” games. Even though she’d heard the song—kind of a march—before, she turned to Jen and whispered, “What’s he humming?”

  Brynna raised her eyebrows in Jen’s direction, too.

  “Darth Vader’s theme?”

  Sam smothered her laugh into a snort, but Brynna broke into laughter. She tried to cover it by clearing her throat, then coughing.

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Forster,” Norman said. “It’s not a bad drive out here, though it’s clear excess horses are going to have to be gathered for public safety. I had to pull off the road to avoid those two I mentioned and some brush scraped the truck.”

  “It probably didn’t go through the paint to the metal,” Jen observed. “I bet you can just rub out the scratches.”

  “Have we met?” Norman asked.

  “Jennifer Kenworthy of the Gold Dust Ranch,” she said, reaching way past halfway to meet his handshake.

  Norman nodded, then glanced at Sam. “And you’re the stepdaughter.”

  Afraid anything she said would sound sarcastic, Sam just nodded and brushed off the front of her shirt, which was still dusty from lying on her belly to talk to Blaze when he was under the porch.

  “About the colt,” Norman said, turning back to Brynna. “I’m sure you’re right, there’s nothing to worry about, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Jen gave Sam a gentle elbow in the ribs, but Sam had already realized that both Norman White and Linc Slocum had used the same expression to cover another motive altogether.

  Linc hadn’t shot the coyote to be safe. Norman White hadn’t driven to River Bend Ranch to see if Nicolas, a twenty-year-old college student, was some kind of threat. Both men were busy showing everyone who was boss.

  Norman insisted on checking out the dun colt before he met Nicolas. Walking around with a printout attached to a clipboard, he studied the colt as it tried to hide behind Lace. Check marks were placed with such broad movements, no one doubted the man who’d be Brynna’s substitute had agreed with her assessment that this was the missing colt from the Good Thunder Meadows herd.

  When Brynna introduced Nicolas to Norman White, the man inclined his head as if he were royalty and Nicolas was a peasant. Nicolas pushed his black hair away from his forehead, and the focused intensity in his expression reminded Sam that Nicolas planned to be a lawyer.

  “Norm,” Brynna said, interrupting their analysis of each other, “the colt mothered up with Nicolas’s mare, and clearly it’s the one that went missing from Good Thunder Meadows. Even at a glance, you can see he fits with the other grullas and duns from that area.”

  “Clearly,” Norman said.

  “Now we need to backtrack, find out what happened between the capture point at Good Thunder Meadows and the truck that took the horses to the adoption point.”

  “That’s pretty clear, too,” Norman said with a look at Nicolas that could only be called a leer.

  “No, it’s not,” Brynna said. “No one mentioned theft until a possible suspect appeared.”

  It took Sam a few seconds to understand Brynna’s response to Norman’s hint that Nicolas had stolen the colt from the capture site.

  “You must admit it’s pretty suspicious that this drifter just showed up with the most valuable—and portable—member of the herd,” Norman said.

  Sam couldn’t believe Norman White was talking this way in front of Nicolas. And how could Nicolas tolerate it in silence?

  “But if he stole the colt, why would he turn up here at my ranch?” Brynna asked.

  “Mrs. Forster,” Norman said in an embarrassed tone, “you’ll have to answer that.”

  Sam recoiled. She couldn’t believe he really thought they were trafficking in stolen horses. It made her angry, but Brynna refused to be baited into an argument.

  “Come on now, Norman, remind yourself of what we thought before Nicolas showed up. We were pretty sure that the BLM misplaced the horse, right?”

  “Well, yes,” Norman admitted. “Still, this issue deserves more study. Let’s load the colt into my truck and I’ll drive him up to Willow Springs where he can’t go missing again.”

  “Since this case is still mine to study and I haul horses all the time, how about if I bring the colt up to Willow Springs on Tuesday, after tomorrow’s Nevada Day holiday,” Brynna suggested.

  Norman looked dubious, but before he could accept Brynna’s suggestion, Nicolas interrupted.

  “Excuse me.” Nicolas’s smooth tone startled the bureaucrat.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Mr. White, what can I do to put your mind at rest before I get on my way?”

  Wow, Sam thought, when Nicolas became a lawyer, that voice would come in handy. It was not only charming, but soothing.

  “You can leave the colt behind.” He said it like a dare.

  “Fine,” Nicolas agreed.

  Norman White exhaled loudly. “But your departure isn’t imminent.”

  Norman must have seen the flash of defiance in Nicolas’s eyes, because he added, “I want you to stay here for a few days until we can establish how you came into possession of the colt.”

  Nicolas folded his arms and, for the first time, Sam noticed his shirt. White with billowing sleeves, it looked like something a pirate—or a traditional gypsy—would wear. Nicolas drew a patient breath, then explained, “The colt followed my mare, and tagged along with us for a few weeks. Even if I stayed, I could tell you no more than that.”

  Norman White set his
jaw in what was supposed to be a tough look. “You’ll need to stay.”

  Sam chewed her lip. She knew Brynna had some law-enforcement authority. Did Norman?

  Apparently Nicolas wasn’t about to ask.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me,” Nicolas said, moving back toward the barn, “but I’m on a tight schedule and I’d like to put a couple hours in on the road before dark.”

  He clapped his hands and Lace pulled the vardo around the corner of the barn. The gypsy cart glowed green, red, and gold in the afternoon sunlight. Jogging alongside was Witch, carrying Jake.

  Jake had said he was going to help Nicolas. It seemed they’d decided the best thing they could do was plan a confident departure. Sam wanted to ride along with them, but she’d already unsaddled Ace.

  She stifled her sigh of disappointment as Nicolas gave a small shrug and gestured toward his brightly painted vardo.

  “If we let him go, you’ll bring the colt to work with you on Tuesday. Is that right?” Norman asked Brynna. “You’ll stake your reputation and the reputation of this ranch on that?”

  “Of course,” Brynna said. With her hands on her hips, she gave a short-tempered nod.

  If Nicolas had been paying attention to the BLM managers’ irritated exchange, he didn’t show it.

  “As you can see, Mr. White, if you need me, I’ll be quite easy to find,” Nicolas said as he hopped up into the driver’s seat and lifted the reins. Even that move seemed choreographed, as the leather strands draped like ribbons to Lace’s bit.

  Nicolas should be paying attention to Brynna, Sam thought. Without spelling out her trust in him, Brynna was still showing she believed Nicolas.

  Eyes wandering from Nicolas to the rider beside him, Norman White asked Jake, “You’re one of those Ely boys, aren’t you?”

  Jake just touched the brim of his hat.

  When it was clear his bluster had no effect on Nicolas or Jake, Norman said, “All right, then, as long as the colt stays behind.”

  “He’s staying,” Nicolas assured him.

  For the first time, Nicolas’s smooth manner faltered. He sounded sad.

  Maybe Lace understood that they were leaving the colt behind, too, because as she pulled the vardo rolling away, the mare’s head hung low and she didn’t neigh for the baby to follow.

  “I’m going to head home, too,” Jen said suddenly. She ran toward Silly and, with a few deft moves, she tightened her cinch and bounded into the saddle.

  “Okay?” Jen asked as she rode past.

  Who could blame Jen for wanting to ride along? The caravan looked as flashy and fun as a circus.

  “Sure. I’ll see you Tuesday,” Sam said, but she couldn’t help jogging after them. “I’ll be right back,” she called to Brynna, but her stepmother was still talking with Norman White.

  Witch flattened her ears at the sound of Sam’s footsteps coming up behind her. Jake looked over his shoulder at Sam, but he didn’t say a word before turning his eyes on Nicolas.

  What was Jake thinking? Sam wondered. That she had to say good-bye to Nicolas?

  That was true, Sam thought as she caught up with the vardo, but good-bye wasn’t what she said first.

  “Hey,” she puffed.

  Nicolas smiled. “Please, thank everyone else for their hospitality. In my rush to leave, I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

  “Sure,” Sam said. Fighting not to pant as she spoke, she asked, “What’s going on with Norman, do you think? All this fuss, and now he’s just letting you go.”

  Nicolas gave a wry smile. “You’re too trusting, Sam.”

  “Not about him,” Sam began.

  “Even though he’s got what he wants right there in your round pen, if my instincts are right, he’ll keep after me.”

  “You think so?” Sam said.

  Nicolas shrugged. “Just wait and see.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The small caravan moved on without her.

  Sam turned to walk back to the ranch yard. Her heart ached at each pleading neigh coming from the round pen. The orphan colt already missed Lace.

  That is too sad, Sam thought as she walked back toward Brynna and Norman. Dad had joined them, too, but Sam was wondering if Dark Sunshine would allow the little dun into her pasture to play with Tempest, and she wondered how much worse Tempest’s cries would be when she was separated from her mother.

  “I think we did the right thing,” Brynna was saying as Sam approached.

  When Norman didn’t answer or nod in agreement, Dad added, “Kid didn’t act like he was hiding anything.”

  “It’s the sheriff’s call,” Norman said.

  “The sheriff?” Brynna’s words were slow with disbelief, and they echoed Sam’s reaction.

  “When I spoke with him, Sheriff Ballard apparently had had several calls about a suspicious drifter in the area…”

  No way, Sam thought. Norman is making this up! They hadn’t encountered anyone except Linc Slocum on their ride to the River Bend Ranch. And, big as he was, the rich rancher didn’t constitute “several” people. Although, she guessed it was possible Linc had called the sheriff more than once.

  “He’s not a drifter,” Sam said, trying to stay polite for the sake of Brynna’s job. “He—”

  “Have a little crush on him, do you?” Norman gave an oily chuckle, and followed it with a knowing wink. “I’ve heard bad boys appeal to some girls, but the sheriff won’t be so taken in. He’ll stop the boy before he gets too far. Then we’ll see what offenses besides horse theft he’s hiding in his bag of tricks.”

  Leaving everyone speechless, Norman White nodded, then returned to his truck. As he drove past, Sam gathered up the courage to ask Brynna what would become of the Spanish Mustang colt.

  Before she could, Sam heard galloping hooves approaching.

  Sam didn’t see Jake touch his black mare, but Witch slid into a cow horse stop that showered Sam with dust from the hard-packed ranch yard.

  What was he doing back already? Why wasn’t he riding along with Nicolas and Jen toward Darton?

  Jake reined Witch around Sam and sent her at a rapid jog toward Dad and Brynna.

  “Somethin’s up,” Jake said.

  No kidding, Sam thought.

  “I left the wagon and was ridin’ home. Looked back and saw Nicolas gettin’ ambushed by Slocum and the sheriff. Looks like Jen is givin’ ’em, an earful, but…”

  “We’ll be right there,” Brynna said.

  “In the truck,” Dad insisted.

  Sam took a step after them, but Jake halted Witch in front of her, kicked his left boot free of his stirrup, and reached down a hand.

  “Sam,” Brynna said in a cautious tone.

  Riding double on Witch would be as scary as riding a roller-coaster. She’d be plunging headlong into the wind, as fast as she could go, with no control whatsoever.

  Sam reached high for the stirrup, set her boot down hard, and grabbed Jake’s hand.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said, then she let Jake pull her up.

  “Hang on,” he said, and Sam barely had time to sling her arms around Jake’s waist and suck in a breath before they were off.

  Sam closed her eyes against the scenery streaking by. She tried not to feel the sickening swoop as Witch jumped something and the rap against her forehead as Jake’s hard black hat brim rocked back to hit her. At last Witch slewed sideways and stopped.

  Dust corkscrewed up around them. Sam heard the movement of humans and horses and then her own voice said, “You’re a madman. Riding like that could’ve gotten us killed.”

  Jake turned in the saddle and looked down into her face.

  “Naw,” he said, but Sam still felt a little sick to her stomach.

  Next, she noticed the cottonwood leaves on the trees around them turning from yellow to orange, yellow to orange, in the glare of strobing red lights on a police car. Then Sam heard Sheriff Ballard talking to Nicolas.

  “Son, it would make things a lot easier f
or everyone if you’d give me permission to search your wagon.”

  What? Sam leaned to the right, finally releasing her hold on Jake’s waist to peer around him and see what was going on.

  Why would Sheriff Ballard want to search Nicolas’s vardo? The guy couldn’t be doing anything wrong. She and Jen had been with him since…wow, had it only been yesterday?

  Sitting astride Witch, Sam was high enough that she viewed the situation as if it were a play.

  Jen was across the clearing, face crimson with anger. Nicolas was beside her, in the driver’s seat of the vardo. Though he used the same silky voice he had with Norman White, Jen’s palomino was picking up the tension around her and Jen had to work to keep Silly from bolting.

  Beneath her, Sam felt Witch exhale hard. Whether from excitement or exertion, Sam couldn’t tell, but she knew Jake wouldn’t let the black Quarter Horse act up.

  “Of course you have my permission to search, Sheriff,” Nicolas said. “Just as soon as Mr. Slocum agrees to let you search his house.”

  Nicolas was being sarcastic, but Sheriff Ballard’s expression said a chance to search Linc Slocum’s house would be a dream come true.

  “I heard him mutterin’ in a foreign language,” Linc told the sheriff.

  Probably no one else heard Jake’s disgusted groan, but since Sam sat right behind him, she couldn’t miss it.

  “Speakin’ a different language is no crime,” Sheriff Ballard pointed out.

  Oh my gosh, Sam thought. Why would Linc try to get Nicolas arrested for being a gypsy? And why would Sheriff Ballard want to search Nicolas’s wagon?

  Norman White had boasted that the sheriff would stop Nicolas before he got too far, then check to see what offenses besides horse theft he was hiding in his “bag of tricks.” Sam guessed that included searching his vardo, but what for?

  Sam was leaning to the right, staring past Jake at Nicolas when he asked the same question.

  “What exactly is missing, Sheriff?” Nicolas asked, sorting the reins in his hands with such care, there might have been six of them instead of just two. “What would you be searching for? Stolen chickens, laundry off someone’s clothesline, missing wallets or crystal balls, perhaps?”