by Terri Farley
The mare stopped beside Ace. While the two horses sniffed each other all over, Sam took the opportunity to put her boots back on. She didn’t need them to ride Ace, and it would put her in a vulnerable position for a few minutes, but she felt safe here, and pretty sure she could keep hold of the rope and tug on her boots at the same time.
“Thank goodness,” she moaned when she managed to stand and stomp her cold toes down into her boots.
But it wasn’t her stamping that made both horses recoil. They heard rustling in the leaves overhead. It wasn’t a morning breeze or a crow hopping on a branch, either.
Sam’s right hand clamped onto her rope while her left snagged Ace’s reins.
Looking up, she searched for whatever was moving. And she walked backward. So what if she was clumsy? There was no way in the world that she’d turn around and expose her spine to whatever was jouncing those tree branches.
A cougar had swept her from the back of a horse once before. She refused to let it happen again.
“C’mon!” Sam hissed, but neither horse followed. She flung her weight against the rope and reins, knowing she wasn’t hurting the animals half as much as a cougar would.
The horses seemed mesmerized. Of course, they weren’t remembering that smell, or the sight of a cougar gnawing a deer long-frozen in a snow bank not far from here.
She had to scare the cat off, but how? If she bent over to pick up a rock to throw, she’d look like four-legged prey. That was out. She could yell, maybe, but would she be safer in the saddle? Sure, if she was riding Ace. He’d hightail it out of here like the mustang he was, but what about the injured horse?
Sam drew a breath, determined to make a commotion. She hoped the honey-colored mare was terrified enough to outdistance a predator before it identified her as lame.
What was that? Ace snorted and both horses’ ears pointed as something struck the ground across the creek. Sam whirled to look, too.
Good. Whatever it was had moved to the other side of the water.
Sam’s shoulders sagged with relief an instant before her brain reminded her cats didn’t like to swim, and she would have seen it pounce. Before she could make sense of those facts a dark shadow blocked the sun, and something landed heavily behind her.
Chapter Three
Reeling with panic, Sam turned to face her attacker.
“Next time you steal a horse you might pick one with four good legs.”
Jake Ely wore running clothes. He leaned forward with his hands on his thighs to stare at the palomino’s front hoof, then used the back of one hand to brush at a twig caught in his black hair.
He looked pretty casual for a guy who’d practically given her a heart attack, a guy who was about to pay for it big-time.
Sam’s thoughts vanished under an avalanche of outrage. She didn’t mean to drop the end of her rope. It just happened. One second she was picturing herself gripping his shoulders and shaking him until his teeth clacked together and the next second she’d pushed off from the ground and launched herself right at him.
Of course it didn’t work out the way she’d pictured it.
She charged.
Jake sidestepped.
She whirled around to take another run at him. He bent, grabbed her rope as it trailed past, and caught the palomino. Then he rolled his eyes sympathetically at Ace as if they were both so used to Sam’s dramatics.
How could she punish him, but not traumatize the horses?
Sam knew she probably shouldn’t waste time wondering. The wild mare fidgeted at the end of the rope, looking more fascinated by Jake than frightened.
In that moment of quiet, Sam heard her own quick, shallow breaths. Jake studied her like she was an amoeba under a microscope. She couldn’t put together a sentence to tell him to stop.
“You look pale.”
“What I look is homicidal,” Sam managed, but then she wrecked her sarcasm by feeling so dizzy she had to grab an aspen trunk for support. How could he have scared her so badly?
“Sit down before you fall down,” Jake insisted.
Something about that order made Sam’s weakness vanish, and she was pretty sure her voice sounded calm as she said, “I’m not going to faint. I’m going to wipe that grin off your stupid face.”
Totally on its own, her right arm swung through the air, hand fisted.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Not like that, you won’t,” Jake said. Instantly he released her wrist and took a step back.
“I know you’re not giving me advice on how to beat you up.” Sam rubbed her wrist as if it hurt, but it didn’t.
“Punchin’s a useful skill for a horse thief,” Jake said, then tilted his head toward the palomino mare. “Where’d ya get this one?”
Sam thought about Jake’s choice of words. This one, as if she were forever stealing horses. The only horse she’d ever stolen was Dark Sunshine, and that awful Flick had deserved to lose her. That’s why he was in jail.
Sure, she’d been accused of stealing the Slocums’ Appaloosas, but she really hadn’t.
“She’s wild,” Sam said.
“I can see that,” Jake said sarcastically as the mare glanced between them, following their conversation.
While she tried to figure out what was going on with the Phantom’s lead mare, Sam realized she was almost smiling. Even though Jake had scared her half to death, his leap from the aspen trees was just the sort of prank he used to play on her.
Since he’d cut off his long hair for his college visits and scholarship interviews, then cranked up his academic and athletic efforts for his last year in high school, he’d been different from the Jake who’d been her friend ever since she could remember.
She’d missed him.
It made her happy to see him acting like a kid. As usual, though, he was a patient kid. While her mind had veered off on a tangent, he stood waiting for her to explain the way-too-tame mustang.
“She’s been running with the Phantom’s herd for a long time,” Sam said, and it took little effort to recall the first time she’d spotted the mare. “Remember on Dad and Brynna’s wedding day how you shampooed my hair in the horse trough?”
Jake nodded, with a satisfied smile.
“That was because she knocked Ace off his feet and jumped over us.”
“Hmm,” Jake said. He reached a hand toward the mare and she backed clumsily, head swinging from side to side, to avoid his touch. When her right front hoof brushed the ground, the weak leg wobbled and she gave a pained squeal.
Jake made a comforting sound to the horse, but the look he flashed Sam was stern.
“Better bandage her up and get her to a vet.”
“I have a plan,” Sam protested, then told him how she wanted to wrap the wound with a piece of her shirt and the sock, then lead the mare to Mrs. Allen’s ranch.
She took Jake’s shrug to mean her idea was barely better than nothing, so Sam didn’t swear him to silence. She didn’t insist the Phantom’s lead mare had to return to the herd. Right now, she needed Jake’s help. She could browbeat him into agreeing with her later.
They picked a spot of shade and tied Ace to a tree, then brought the mare alongside him.
Sam lifted her saddlebags off Ace. She’d just started to crouch beside the mare, as she had across the creek, when Jake said, “You want to hold her and I’ll do that?”
Was he saying he could do a better job or taking on the risk of getting kicked? Sam didn’t bother asking. She knew he wouldn’t give her a straight answer.
“I’ll do it. You hold her,” Sam said.
Then, maybe because he didn’t like her answer, Jake started being a jerk.
“Didn’t Sheriff Ballard talk to you about admirin’ other folks’ horses a little too much?”
“Jake, you know I’ve never—”
“And how could you not know I was here? The tread on these running shoes makes distinctive tracks and that wild bunch had me spotted from a mile away.”
&nb
sp; “Distinctive—” Sam cut off her outburst because of the horses, then muttered, “Pardon me for not having the instincts of a wild animal.”
“You need to concentrate on something besides that stallion,” Jake insisted.
Sam wanted to yell in frustration, but she didn’t. She couldn’t help going stiff, though.
Both Jake and Dad thought she lost her good sense where the Phantom was concerned. They were wrong, but she didn’t want to have that argument right now, either.
For the first time in maybe a thousand conversations, Jake filled the silence between them.
Expressionless, with his lids half lowered, he said, “You did good over there”—Jake nodded to the far side of the creek where she’d roped the mare—“but she’s not wild.”
Sam could barely believe it. Jake had seen her pinned between the two horses and hadn’t rushed to her rescue. That had to be another first. Either he trusted her judgement, or he thought she’d be in greater danger if he swooped in heroically. But he didn’t believe the mare was wild.
“Whatever,” Sam said. “You be the expert. I don’t care. But she’s the Phantom’s lead mare and she has to get back to the herd before they go—” Where would the herd head? Certainly to a lower altitude, where they’d be warmer and have more food. Maybe the Phantom’s secret valley? “Wherever they winter,” she finished lamely, then added, “And she’s really hurt, Jake, so why don’t you help, instead of harassing me?”
Jake’s only response was to stare down at the wound again. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Had the cold water helped? Sam glanced away from the wound to see if Jake’s expression told her what he thought of the mare’s condition.
He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Jake?”
“Settle down. Cut’s a long way from her heart.” Jake’s typical cowboy understatement didn’t soothe her until he added, “Let’s see what we can do.”
After doing the best they could without disinfectant and gauze, Sam rode Ace and led the mare, while Jake walked alongside. It had taken double the usual time to reach the border of Deerpath Ranch, but either the cold water or the soft sock covering must have eased the tenderness around the mare’s injury, because she kept walking.
Their gait was so slow and uneven. Ace stopped several times and might have napped if Sam hadn’t kept him moving. But the mare seemed more cautious than miserable.
Jake had insisted on walking beside the horse to watch her for any danger signs, but he hadn’t spoken since they’d left the shade of Aspen Creek.
Now they were moving down a path flanked with horse-high weeds. Ace and the palomino were wary as they approached the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary, but Sam spotted the pointed roofline of Mrs. Allen’s lavender house with relief.
As they entered Mrs. Allen’s ranch yard, Jake stayed near the mare, but in all this time he hadn’t touched her.
He is so patient, Sam thought as she watched him observe the mare’s ears, eyes, and nostrils inspect this new place.
Deerpath Ranch was strangely silent. Out of habit, Sam’s eyes wandered to the iron gate barring the path through the garden to Mrs. Allen’s house. It still had spear-shaped uprights and they looked as dangerous to Sam now as they had when she was a little kid.
The Boston bull terriers must be shut up in the house, because they weren’t yapping at the arrival of company. Mrs. Allen’s three old saddle horses, Calico, Ginger, and Judge, dozed in the midday shade at the far end of their pasture. The captive mustangs were probably down by the stream that spurred off the La Charla River.
Sam tightened her grip on the rope leading to the mare as the sound of a rake scraping over dry ground tipped Sam off to the old lady’s location.
Dressed in jeans and a faded denim vest slapped on in place of a shirt, hair stuffed under a maroon baseball cap her teenage grandson had left behind two weeks ago, Mrs. Allen worked in the big pasture.
With robotic movements, she raked then shoveled sun-dried manure into a wheelbarrow. Had she even noticed she had company?
She’s exhausted, Sam thought. Though Trudy Allen wasn’t the shuffling, out-of-focus woman she’d been last year, before she’d taken in more than a dozen “unadoptable” mustangs, she looked burned out.
Why wouldn’t she? Mrs. Allen ran Deerpath Ranch all alone, though it was about the same size as River Bend.
Sam did a quick count, tapping fingers down on her saddle horn. Pepper, Ross, Dad, Dallas, Gram—she had to go to her other hand and tapped her fingers on her jeaned leg—Brynna, and her. Sam counted again and shook her head. They had seven people to share the chores at River Bend Ranch, and though Mrs. Allen didn’t run cattle anymore, just taking care of the horses, fences, and house was more than one person could handle.
“Ride on in,” Jake said. His glance told Sam it would be bad news to be standing at the ranch entrance if a car or truck drove up.
“Right,” Sam said.
Cautious as if her hooves were treading on a sheet of glass, the mare followed Ace and Sam couldn’t help looking back once more. Mrs. Allen had grown so thin that she looked taller, and her arms were like sticks. Mrs. Allen was a talented artist, but she wasn’t much of a cook. Was she eating right?
Sam was telling herself she sounded like Gram, when she saw Mrs. Allen become aware of them. The old lady lifted her head and Sam just had time to take in the hollows beneath her cheekbones before Mrs. Allen threw down the rake. The clash of metal striking the wheelbarrow made both horses shy.
“Just what I need,” Mrs. Allen shouted as she came toward them. “Another broken-down nag to add to my collection.”
Sam met Jake’s eyes. Was he remembering their childhood fears that Mrs. Allen was really a cackling witch who lived behind the spike-tipped iron fence in her purple house?
“Bad time?” Jake muttered.
Maybe, but they couldn’t hide the horse while they waited for Mrs. Allen’s mood to improve.
“What are we going to do?” Sam asked, and her voice must have carried.
“Don’t mind my crummy disposition,” Mrs. Allen said, “but don’t expect any lunch, either. I haven’t been to the store for weeks and I’m pretty much down to canned soup and stale crackers.” She yanked the cap off her gray-threaded black hair and wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty brow. “And heaven knows it’s too hot for that kind of lunch.”
Mrs. Allen’s tone said she was joking, but Sam noticed her hands were shaking.
“What if I go in and make some iced tea?” Sam asked.
Mrs. Allen gave a self-mocking grunt. “As if I remembered to fill the ice cube trays this morning. Or last night.” She pulled the cap back on her head and smiled. “Although I will say you’re getting more like your grandmother every day, trying to fix what’s wrong with something to eat or drink.”
Sam shrugged, then she looked pointedly at the mare.
“I can’t take on another horse. Don’t even tell me the story on this one,” Mrs. Allen said flatly. “Do you know, day before yesterday I got a call from a vet over in some neighborhood outside Reno? I turned down a horse he wanted me to take. A wild one, just a yearling, he said.” Mrs. Allen’s feisty voice began fading. “…wandered into town and was hit by a car.”
Sam leaned forward against Ace’s neck, trying to hear. At her movement, the palomino gave a nervous nicker. Surely Mrs. Allen would comment on the beautiful horse now.
But she didn’t.
“Thing that’s been bothering me, is I forgot to ask what would become of the yearling when I said no. I’ve been going over the possibilities ever since. Could hardly sleep last night for wondering how they’ll do it.” Mrs. Allen squinted at the sun behind Sam’s head. “You know they’ll put him down.”
Mrs. Allen closed her eyes, clearly aching for someone to contradict her. Sam knew Jake wouldn’t. He just stood there, wordless as the two horses.
“No they won’t,” Sam said, and when Mrs. Allen opened her eyes, Sam added, “They’
ll find some city horse-lover to take him in.”
“I hope so,” Mrs. Allen said. “But I’ll tell you the truth, I’m at my wits’ end trying to keep this place running. It’s falling apart faster than I can fix it. Why, can you believe a quail crashed through my kitchen window this morning? It did. Being chased by a hawk, I guess, and the poor stupid thing didn’t know it couldn’t fly through glass. Course, that’s shattered on the floor, now.”
Mrs. Allen gave such a heavy sigh, Sam didn’t ask if the quail had died. She knew it must have.
“Let me take care of that,” Jake said.
Sam felt as surprised as Mrs. Allen looked.
Her lips, wearing old, cracked lipstick, opened and closed a couple times before she said, “It’s a mess. I—well, I didn’t have the energy to sweep up the glass and bury the poor bird.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “I just put the dogs in my studio and came outside.”
“No problem,” Jake said, and he strode away to do what had to be done.
Chapter Four
“He’s a nice boy, Samantha,” Mrs. Allen said, staring after Jake.
The iron gate creaked as he opened it, then clanged shut behind him.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said. She knew it was true, though her pulse disagreed. It had just finally settled down after thinking Jake was a pouncing cougar.
“I’m glad he offered to help with the window. Winter will be here before you know it, but I probably would have just taped something over the broken glass.” Mrs. Allen rubbed her hands on her tanned arms as if she already felt goose bumps. “Do you think he knows how?”
“Probably,” Sam said. “Ranch boys have to do a little bit of everything.” Then she drew a breath. “About this horse—”
“Can you believe your grandmother called to invite me to a church social tonight?”
Sam could believe it. Gram and Mrs. Allen had been friends when they were girls, and they’d recently rekindled their friendship. Sam also believed Mrs. Allen had decided the best way to keep from taking on a new horse was not hearing its sad story.