Gypsy Gold

by Terri Farley

  Nicolas took the silent moment to play another song as background to the dreamy look in Gram’s eyes.

  “Of course, after the rock slide we didn’t go there anymore, but my how we missed that spot…”

  Sam smiled, thinking it would be cool to ride up there with Gram, if only to revive her happy memories. Since Gram had always lived on the ranch, the little valley must be nearby.

  Dark Sunshine hung her buckskin head over the fence of the small pasture she shared with Tempest. She’d probably been drawn by Nicolas’s violin, but maybe she was listening to Gram’s stories, too, thinking of the summer nights she’d spent in a small, happy valley.

  “Could you find it again, Gram?” Sam asked. “On one of Brynna’s maps?”

  “I can’t say, Samantha. I haven’t thought of that place for years. I remember what it looked like, but not how to get there.”

  It was dark when Gram stood up, put her hands to the small of her back, and stretched.

  “You make sure and tie up that colt tonight,” Gram told Nicolas. “See that he doesn’t go wandering.”

  “Oh, he’s stuck with us for over a hundred miles,” Nicolas said gently. “I don’t think anything will make him leave Lace.”

  Sam sighed. Soon enough, the colt would have no choice.

  Sam knew it was time to return to the house, but the rain had moved on and it wasn’t a bit cold.

  “I envy you your journey, Nicolas,” Gram said before she left. “I truly do, and we’ll do what we can to see that no one delays you anymore.”

  “I’ll be in in a few minutes,” Sam said.

  Her body was weary, but her mind spun with random thoughts and she knew she wouldn’t sleep right away, so she lingered a bit longer.

  Every horse on the ranch stood listening to Nicolas’s music, and suddenly Blaze joined in as Nicolas sang of gypsy gold.

  When his bow had eased over the strings for one last quivering note, Blaze added a mournful howl and an echo returned to him from the hills.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam couldn’t sleep, but she wouldn’t let herself look at the clock on her bedside table.

  She’d been fretting for hours over Nicolas’s departure, not because she’d miss him, but because she couldn’t stop thinking of the Phantom’s attention to each note floating from Nicolas’s voice and violin that night in the forest.

  Guilt gnawed at her. Nicolas had a long, dangerous trip ahead, and he was a nice guy, but she was far more worried about the silver stallion.

  She tossed onto her right side. Cougar yowled when she rolled against him.

  “Sorry, boy,” she apologized, but he just thumped his tail on her bed and left her wondering what Nicolas had meant when he said she was too trusting.

  Sam turned onto her left side, found a cool spot on her pillow, and closed her eyes, but Cougar hopped up on the side of her body as if he were walking a tightrope between her hip and shoulder. She pushed him off, but the cat padded back up to face her, then patted her cheek with sheathed claws, telling her to stay still.

  She blocked thoughts of the Phantom trailing behind Nicolas to Darton, pursuing him through the streets of Reno and beyond. She refused to listen to the whizzing of imaginary cars on freeways or the Phantom’s challenging neigh. Would he follow Nicolas anywhere just to hear his song, like the Pied Piper?

  That’s not going to happen, Sam thought. She flopped onto her back, arms loose at her sides, and tried to match her breaths to Cougar’s. It worked to relax her until her eyelids drooped and she saw, all over again, an image of the dead coyote.

  Knowing she couldn’t let Linc get away with that or injuring Blaze, Sam crept out of bed and went to her desk. She wrote six notes, then nodded in satisfaction. She tiptoed around the house. She didn’t exactly hide the notes. It was more like placing Easter eggs so really young children could find them. Still, she knew Dad, Gram, and Brynna would get the point, even though Sam would be long gone, with Jake and Blaze, when they came upon the notes in the morning.

  Satisfaction acted like a sleeping spell and Sam nodded off as soon as she crawled back into bed and laid her head on the pillow. Still, she would have slept better if her dreams hadn’t been haunted with images of Nicolas skipping across the playa in a red scarf and gold earring, sawing at his violin as he was followed by hundreds of prancing horses.

  The next time Sam’s eyes opened, the clock read 4:33 A.M.

  Before the sounds of more tossing and turning could carry down the hall and wake Brynna, Sam edged out of bed. The minute her bare toes touched the floor, she felt better.

  Sure, she was an hour and a half too early to meet Jake, but there was always something to do outside. She could check on Lace and the dun colt, kiss Tempest and Sunny on their velvet noses, or stare at the horizon until the first pink light of dawn outlined the Calico Mountains’ peaks.

  Sam dressed in a gray sweater and yesterday’s jeans. Dried jerky, left over from her camping trip with Jen, made a stiff lump in her pocket, but her chest of drawers squeaked, and she didn’t want to risk the noise of getting fresh clothes.

  Sam picked up her waterproof boots. Just because it had barely drizzled last night didn’t mean the storm predicted for today would be mild.

  It was a good thing her slicker was hanging on the front porch instead of here in her room. Its rustle would have awakened Brynna for sure.

  Now she only had to worry about waking Blaze, Sam thought as she tiptoed down the stairs, carrying her boots. The Border collie would be alert to the opening of the kitchen door, even though he’d spent the night in the bunkhouse.

  Thoughts of the sad dog made Sam hope he did waken when she went outside. It was still dark. She’d like to have him frisking at her heels as she prowled alone around the ranch.

  But that would be selfish. The dog’s injured side would be tested today as they tracked his coydog son, even though she and Jake had decided to take the truck. She’d let Blaze rest among the cowboys, for now, and only summon him when Jake arrived.

  Standing in front of the coats hanging on the front porch, Sam’s hand hesitated between her old yellow slicker and the new poncho hanging beside it.

  Silver as starshine, the poncho reminded her of the Phantom. Though she hadn’t told a soul, that’s what had drawn her to the hooded garment in the store. Today she’d be driving out onto the range, into the Phantom’s territory. Could there be a better day to wear the silver poncho for the first time?

  She pulled it on, settled it over her shoulders, and arranged it to cover her arms. Looking down, Sam saw it was a perfect match to her braided horsehair bracelet. Then she raised the silver hood and stepped onto the front porch.

  Mist tossed through the darkness.

  I am a princess knight, wearing a chain mail cloak, Sam thought.

  Many people would say she was too old for make-believe, but they were the same people who’d tell her she was dreaming if she insisted she could bid a wild silver stallion to come to her—and sometimes he would.

  Sam smiled. Sure, the Phantom only came to her sometimes, but fairy-tale maidens didn’t have a 100 percent success record for summoning unicorns, either.

  Sam drew a breath of night air. When her bare feet had first touched her bedroom floor, she’d promised herself that she’d go looking for early chores. Now, though, dressed in her silvery poncho, she wanted to walk toward the river.

  The minute she stepped off the porch, she spotted Lace nosing the flap of cloth covering the back of Nicolas’s vardo. Was something wrong? Sam stared for a minute, waiting, and though she couldn’t see the dun colt in the shadows, she had the feeling the Gypsy Vanner mare was only checking on Nicolas as he slept, and the idea made her grin. Sam was glad Nicolas had stayed on an extra day.

  Instead of blowing from east to west or north to south, the wind skimmed along the ground, then jetted into sudden updrafts, climbing past her shoulders, past the rooftops, and into the cloud towers that would feed the storm.


  Topsy-turvy air currents made her sure the coming storm would be fierce. If Nicolas had been out on the range, he could have crawled into his vardo for shelter, but what about Lace? It would be far better for the big mare to be here at River Bend Ranch, tucked in next to the barn.

  Sam looked up into the sky. It seemed beige at first. As she walked past the chicken coop, she decided she was wrong. The sky glowed a pale aquarium green. Thunder rumbled and wind tugged at the hem of her poncho.

  Crossing the bridge with quiet footsteps, Sam stared toward the Calico Mountains. She shivered in awe as forked purple lightning stabbed through the clouds.

  Sam walked faster as a fine rain began falling.

  Squinting against the moisture beaded on her eyelashes, Sam saw the willow trees trailing branches in the La Charla River. A fish jumped, making a small splash. She couldn’t see it because of the fog hanging above the river.

  At least that’s what she thought at first.

  She heard another splash and stared so long, her eyes stopped trying to pierce the fog and lifted higher. There, moving like a shadow in the silver showers, was the Phantom.

  My mystical stallion, Sam thought. She celebrated the intuition that had drawn her here until she realized he was waiting for her, on this side of the river.

  Fear flashed through Sam, fueled by the lesson of the mother coyote who’d died for coming too close to civilization, but she couldn’t pick up a stone and throw it at him. She couldn’t shout and break this spell. Once more, the Phantom offered her friendship, and she couldn’t bear to scare him away.

  Her boots stepped from one patch of dirt to another, avoiding rocks that might crunch or roll, but she needn’t have been so careful.

  The Phantom trotted her way. He stopped when she did. They stood near enough to touch.

  She didn’t ask herself what had drawn him to this place at exactly the same time she’d come here. She just tilted her head to look up into the Phantom’s eyes and saw him staring down at her.

  Old magic, made between them on the day the stallion had been born, flickered from the brown eyes staring through long moonlit strands of his forelock. Sam’s veins burned cold-hot at her wrists and temples.

  The stallion watched her and love swirled around her heart.

  “Zanzibar,” she whispered.

  His gaze broke away as he circled her at a walk. Pewter dapples shone on his frost-colored coat.

  “Did you come to take me across the river?” Sam whispered.

  He’d come to meet her, that was for sure, but if they galloped toward the valley as they had before, they’d move into the heart of the storm.

  The warning voice in her brain was drowned out by the stallion’s nicker, and the soft tread of their footfalls as Sam walked along the riverbank with one hand resting on the stallion’s mane.

  Before, she’d tried mounting him from a river rock and the sudden change in her height had made him shy away. Vaulting onto his back was dangerous, but everything about a wild stallion was dangerous.

  Besides, their friendship had never been based on safety. When she and Jake had first schooled him as a shiny black colt, Jake had told her, “If he wants to strike you, you’ve had it. He’s that fast. It’s your job to make sure he never wants to hurt you.”

  Sam was pretty sure she’d done that part of her job. She’d never hurt the Phantom and he’d always come back to her.

  The stallion moved a step past her, so that she was staring at his side. Sam held her breath and picked the places she’d touch.

  Softly, she lay her left hand on his withers. When his skin didn’t shiver, she knew he understood what came next.

  “Take me for a ride, beauty.”

  Sam vaulted up, landing belly down across his back. Quickly, she swung her right leg over, just above his tail, and then she was astride.

  The stallion tossed his head, snorting and prancing.

  Don’t get too far forward. Don’t dangle your feet too close to his flank, she warned herself. Suddenly she was centered. The Phantom felt it the instant she did and he pivoted toward the river.

  Cold! Autumn river water splashed up. It didn’t feel like the La Charla in the summer, but she didn’t have time to think about it. With no stirrups or reins, the only security she had was trust.

  Once they reached the other side of the river, she tangled both hands into his mane, then braced herself for the stallion to shake the water from his coat. He did, and she stayed on, and then he moved into a flowing trot.

  She should have heard his hooves striking the earth. She should have smelled wet horsehair and felt the sudden fear of cold and darkness and being all alone far from her family and her bed, but she didn’t.

  She rode in a dream and her thoughts came in far from sensible snatches.

  Only along for the ride. Sam had heard that expression before, but when she was astride the Phantom, it was completely true. She didn’t guide the great horse. She went where he wanted to take her.

  All at once it was too cold to ignore. It wasn’t just the breeze blowing past her wet jeans. The wind hitting her face was freezing and the sky had turned sulphur yellow.

  To the south, she saw turkey vultures riding the updrafts, and then something hit her cheek. A big raindrop? Another one struck her nose. She dared to take one hand from the stallion’s mane and feel for whatever it had been, but she felt only moisture.

  Before she could puzzle out what had hit her, more came. The Phantom lifted his knees, prancing over something like snow—no, it was hail.

  No big deal, Sam told herself, as popcorn-sized hailstones pelted her hands so fast she couldn’t count them.

  It happened all the time. It would let up in a minute.

  But the vultures that had just been over there were gone.

  Hail pounded all around her, bouncing off the back of her poncho even as they bent sagebrush down to the ground.

  The hailstones got bigger and the Phantom’s trot broke into a lope.

  Ow. They were actually starting to hurt now, and she could only hope the stallion didn’t try to outrun them.

  All at once she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding hail. They galloped past a pinion pine tree just as an onslaught of hail stripped a branch loose. As big as her fist and round as softballs, they could kill small birds or animals.

  The hail kept hammering down. Sam searched her mind for a place to take shelter, then abandoned the idea. The stallion would know better than she did. And then, as if proving her right, the Phantom bolted into a gait faster than a gallop, faster than a run, and she could do nothing but hide her face against his mane and hope her cold-numbed hands kept their grip.

  When the ground tilted up and the stallion deliberately took a meandering path, Sam knew where they were going. The stallion was taking her to the tunnel. Sheltered by stone walls, they’d be safe.

  Sam raised her head and opened her eyes just as they entered the tunnel. The stallion only walked a few paces before stopping.

  Swathed in darkness, Sam blinked, but she saw nothing.

  Outside, the hail sounds turned from pounding, to pinging, to plops. At last, her ears ached in the sudden silence.

  Without trying, her breaths matched the Phantom’s. Finally they slowed to a normal pace, and Sam realized her hands had stopped holding the silver mane and now clung around the stallion’s neck. Although the Phantom’s heated body was keeping her warm and she felt incredibly peaceful, Sam worked her interlocked fingers apart, and pushed herself up until she sat straight.

  She wanted to thank the Phantom for his friendship, for the ride of her life, for finding shelter and safety, but instinct kept her quiet. Suddenly, she knew why.

  Sitting still on the stallion’s back in the stone tunnel, she heard something move nearby. Then the growling began.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Get off. Contented and dazed from her gallop through the storm, Sam resisted orders from the sensible side of her brain. She was afraid to be afoot
. Whatever was down there couldn’t reach her on the stallion’s back. Could it?

  There was a stone ceiling just inches overhead. Solid and looming, the rock gave off a cold threat. Sam ducked closer to the stallion’s neck, but he was finished cuddling. A hoof rang on rock and he bolted backward until he crashed into a wall. His tail whisked against unseen stone. There wasn’t room for a fight.

  She had no choice. Wrong—she had choices, but both were bad. She could stay on the Phantom’s back until he reared and her head slammed into unconsciousness like it had years ago. Only this time would be different. Jake wasn’t beside her. She’d lay in the gloom alone and undiscovered.

  Or she could dismount and take her chances with the teeth and claws of an animal that was definitely not glad to see her.

  But she might be able to either sprint past the creature or fight back.

  Sam slid from the stallion’s back. Her legs wobbled. She shivered, and the Phantom picked that moment to rub his cheek against hers, but when she reached up to touch him, her hand moved through empty air.

  Her eyes strained, trying to use the bit of light seeping in from outside. The hailstorm had moved on, but a curtain of rain fell across the tunnel’s entrance. Sam saw shadows, but that wasn’t enough.

  Was it a cougar? A bear? Maybe Flick, escaped from prison and hiding here?

  Whatever it was had to move again. That would give her clues. She tried not to swallow. Even that small sound could cover a threat.

  Waiting, she tried to pinpoint her position. She was pretty sure she was just inside the tunnel leading to the Phantom’s secret valley, a few horse lengths from the rust-red and ocher cave paintings of prehistoric horses.

  Startling her, the Phantom lowered his head with a snort of recognition. In the instant before, she heard the thump of a canine tail.