by Terri Farley
Though she knew it was silly, the sight made her feel better.
So did Tempest’s greeting.
“You squeal like a little piggy,” Sam told the filly.
Even in the dim barn, Tempest’s coat flashed obsidian bright. Her tiny mouth showed pink as she whinnied for Sam’s attention, then sidled up to the side of the box stall and rolled her eyes at the sheriff.
“Aren’t you the feisty one,” the sheriff said. “How soon ’til you wean her?”
“Around Thanksgiving,” Sam said. “Brynna said before—” Sam broke off when her voice started shaking. Get a grip, she told herself, then went on, “before Christmas, so all Tempest’s and Sunny’s carrying on doesn’t wake the baby.”
Dark Sunshine stood back from her own baby, ears pricked forward because she saw Sam and trusted her. She was also braced to attack, because she didn’t know the man beside Sam.
“It’s okay, girl,” Sam told the mare. “No one’s here to hurt either of you.”
“Your buckskin belonged to another one of Slocum’s bad companions, didn’t she?” Sheriff Ballard mused.
Weren’t there enough nightmares waiting for her to go to sleep tonight? Why did Sheriff Ballard have to bring up Flick, the bullwhip-wielding criminal who’d roped the Phantom for Linc, then threatened her and Jake on a lonely canyon rim?
“Yeah,” Sam admitted.
“Probably I should check and see when he gets released from prison,” the sheriff said.
“Why?” Sam asked. “It was…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to remember when she and Jake had faced Flick in Lost Canyon. “It’s only been a year since he was locked up. He couldn’t be out yet, could he?”
“Can’t see him returning to these parts where people know what he is,” the sheriff said. “Doesn’t hurt to check.”
Sam heard the sheriff sidestep her question. That meant he could be out of jail. And she’d spend tonight alone in the big, creaky ranch house.
Then, almost as if he wanted to give her something different to worry about, Sheriff Ballard said, “We need to talk about you and Preston.”
Instead of insisting there was nothing to talk about, Sam said, “Okay.”
“I know you care about horses more than just about anything. I also know you’re a good girl,” he said.
But…
Sam could hear the qualifier before he spoke it. In fact, this conversation was sounding really familiar. Not that she was bored with it. Instead, she wondered if Preston had changed his mind. What if he was pressing charges against her after all?
“You care about truth, honor, justice, and big value words like that. I know your mom would be proud of you,” he said.
Sam took a deep breath and held it. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. But Heck Ballard had been her mother’s friend. He probably knew what he was talking about.
“Thanks,” Sam said.
“All the same, you’ve got to stay safe until we can channel your enthusiasm into the right project, okay?” he asked.
Sam reminded herself that Heck Ballard had also investigated Mom’s death. Like Dad, he blamed Mom’s car crash and drowning on her being preoccupied with wild horses and antelope.
“Okay,” Sam said. She tried to keep the resentment out of her voice.
“This isn’t the same old thing, Sam. Remember, I mentioned Preston.”
Sam nodded for him to go on.
“By the sound of things, Preston and Mrs. Allen are putting together something—come to think of it, she said it was your idea,” the sheriff said. “Don’t know the details, but it’s some way to get city folks to come out and help with the sanctuary horses. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of,” Sam said. “But Mrs. Allen said she’d have to get, uh, liability insurance and that it was unbelievably expensive.”
“I guess winnin’ the lottery’ll help with that,” Sheriff Ballard said, “’cause they’re looking into it, pretty seriously.”
“That’s great!” Sam said, and she meant it, but she had to ask, “Are they, like…”
“In love?” the sheriff asked.
At the same time, Sam finished her sentence with “…hooking up?”
Sheriff Ballard laughed so loudly, Tempest and Sunny shied back from the side of their stall and trotted into their pasture. Finally his laughter faded into a chuckle.
“Got me, Sam,” he said. “I’m just a country sheriff, and a confirmed bachelor, at that.”
“But what do you think?” Sam persisted. “Gram and Brynna were talking about them, too, but Mrs. Allen and Preston have only known each other for a few days and, well, aren’t they kind of old for love at first sight?”
“I give up,” Sheriff Ballard said, holding both hands over his head. “Don’t ask me about anything ’cept crooks and horses. Other than that, I’m ignorant as a jackrabbit.”
As they walked back to his police car, Sam and Sheriff Ballard were rejoined by Blaze. The Border collie bumped against Sam’s leg, staying close.
“I’m going to be at that Harvest Home parade tomorrow, babysitting Slocum, so you stay out of trouble, hear?” Sheriff Ballard said as he opened his black door.
“I will,” Sam said.
The sheriff raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah, well, I hope so. Preston’s going to be over at Deerpath Ranch. The vet told him his mare’s fine for riding, and he’s been working with her ever since.”
“Okay,” Sam said, though she didn’t see what that had to do with her behaving herself.
The sheriff stared at her over the roof of his police car. “If something comes up and you take it into your head to go ridin’ to the rescue, ask him to go along with you.”
“I’m grounded,” Sam reminded him.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard, but just the same.” He studied her for a reaction, so finally Sam nodded. “Like him or not,” the sheriff said, “Preston knows his way around horses and trouble, and that seems to be your favorite combination.”
Since she was late beginning her chores, Sam left her backpack on the front porch and got busy. She kept listening for the phone to ring. Part of her wanted to go inside and sit there, staring at it, waiting to hear news of Brynna and the baby, but she knew she’d hear it ring through the open kitchen window, and she knew Gram or Dad would give her plenty of time to answer, so she kept working.
It was almost dark when she knocked on the bunkhouse door.
Sam smelled frying onions and heard them sputtering in a cast-iron pan as Dallas opened the door. Instantly, Pepper and Ross crowded around him, too.
“Want to come in?” Dallas invited. “We’re not havin’ anything fancy, but you’re sure welcome.”
“And you can pick what you wanna watch on TV,” Pepper said. He gestured to a small screen with a scratchy picture. “We don’t care what it is.”
Ross nodded in agreement, and the cowboys’ kindness touched Sam.
“No, I’m just checking to be sure everything’s all set up for the vaccinations,” she said to Dallas.
Could she have said it worse? Who was she to be checking up on Dallas, who’d been foreman of the ranch forever? He knew more about it than anyone, maybe even more than Dad and Gram.
But Dallas gave no sign that it was a lame thing to say.
“Yeah, we’re all ready,” Dallas said. “Ross’s driving in first thing. Phil promised he’d have it for us by ten o’clock.”
“He’s keeping it in the bait cooler until we get there,” Pepper put in.
Phil’s Fill Up was the gas station next to Clara’s coffee shop. Because those two buildings made up the entire business district of Alkali, Nevada, Phil stocked chicken feed, groceries, and other necessities—including night crawlers for fishing—in his little convenience store. So he was keeping the individual hypodermics filled with vaccine for West Nile virus in with the bait.
It wasn’t much of a joke, but Sam smiled, as Pepper had probably hoped she would.
“I’
m not worried about Brynna and the baby,” Sam protested when all three cowboys kept watching her.
“No reason to worry, I guess,” Dallas said. “Now you just go over and fix yourself something your grandma wouldn’t approve of for dinner, and watch you some television. If you get lonesome, or if you get a call and want to tell us what the folks have to say, just come on back over.”
“I will,” Sam said. She turned to go.
“No need to if you don’t feel like it,” Dallas added, “but I’d surely like to know that everything’s all right.”
Chapter Sixteen
The phone rang just minutes after Sam walked into the house with Blaze romping at her heels. She must have stared at it like it was a rattlesnake, because Blaze lowered his head and growled. His tail swung low and uncertain.
“Hello?”
“Honey, it’s Dad.”
“Good,” she said. Sam wanted to say more, but her throat tightened and all she could do was press the telephone so tightly against her ear.
“It’s just false labor,” he said. “Everything’s okay, but in case it turns into something else, and since we live so far out, they want us to stay awhile.”
“How long?” Sam asked.
“That depends. The doctor said she could leave as early as tomorrow afternoon, or late as Sunday morning. Course she’s puttin’ up quite a fuss.”
Dad’s voice sounded almost proud.
“Brynna’s fine, then? And the baby?” Sam felt embarrassed by her eagerness. For a long while she’d resented Brynna and the baby that she feared would take her place in Dad’s heart, but now she ached at the thought that something bad could happen to either of them.
“Fine as frog hair,” Dad joked, but then his voice dropped, “and that is a relief.”
“For me, too,” Sam admitted.
They finished their conversation by talking about chores, vaccinations, and fastening the shutters and barn door because of the high winds kicking up all over Darton County.
“It’s just a fall windstorm,” Sam muttered to Blaze. “Wind gusts of forty-five miles an hour—which is what Dad said—are no big deal. We might lose some shingles, but not the roof.”
Blaze stared up at Sam, brown eyes fixed on her face, ears pricked to catch every word. “You can sleep in my room if you want,” she told him, and the dog’s tail wagged. “No chasing Cougar across my bed, though, understand?”
As Sam hurried across the ranch yard to tell Dallas, Pepper, and Ross about Brynna and the baby, the wind felt like a warning. It snatched her hair out behind her, then blew it back in her face. A tumbleweed bounded prickly and huge across the ranch yard and Sam wondered why the weather always took a turn for the worse when she was home alone.
“Already fastened everything down,” Dallas said after Sam told him the news and mentioned Dad’s concern for doors and shutters banging in the night. “Don’t you worry.”
Excited by the blustery weather, the horses in the ten-acre pasture galloped and snorted, jostling shoulder to shoulder across the dry autumn grass. Spooked by this first storm in his new home, Blue pressed close to Popcorn and Ace, then burst into a run that ended with a worried neigh.
Sunny and Tempest stayed silent. In the falling darkness, Sam couldn’t see their outlines, so maybe Dallas had locked them into the barn for the night.
Sam ate canned soup and toast for dinner. She opened the cookie jar, took out two oatmeal cookies, and poured a glass of milk. She felt restless.
After one bite, she knew what was wrong. She was worried about Ally.
Sam stared at her reflection in the kitchen window. Darkness had turned everything beyond it black and dust spat at the glass, but the light overhead showed her safe and warm, even if she was alone.
It was Friday night. Was Ally facing an entire weekend alone with a madman?
Okay, that’s overdoing it, Sam told herself. He’s not a madman. She slapped her palm against the kitchen table. He’s a choir director.
She was starting to stand up, to get something to sop up the milk that had splashed over the lip of her glass, as the phone rang. If it was Dad again, the news couldn’t be good.
“Hello,” Sam said. For a minute there was no response, but then she heard Ally speak. The voice that had been rich and sweet as milk chocolate when Ally had sung the national anthem on the first day at school was now raspy from tears.
“Sam, I don’t know whether to be happy or—” Ally’s sentence stopped in the middle, but she went on. “My dad bought me a mandolin.”
“Wow, Ally, that’s great!”
So why was she crying? Sam wondered.
“Kind of,” Ally said. “The car was just packed with stuff. He made about a dozen trips back and forth, fighting the wind, carrying all kinds of groceries—steaks and fresh raspberries, and pink boxes tied up with string from that French bakery. One was filled with cream puffs sprinkled with powdered sugar and the other had little chocolate éclairs.”
“Maybe he’s trying to say he’s sorry,” Sam said, but some instinct told her to be suspicious. Mr. McClintock’s sudden generosity was too much.
“I hope you’re right, but he got me a new dress, too. It’s—I don’t know—like a prom dress or something, all glittery green.” Ally was quiet for a minute. “It’s beautiful, but Sam—I saw the price tag. It costs more than he makes in a—”
Suddenly there was silence.
“Ally?” Sam said.
“I’ve got to hang up,” Ally whispered. “Here he comes.”
Sam’s scalp tightened in alarm. She waited for Ally to say more.
She heard only a dial tone.
For a few seconds after she hung up, Sam fought to convince herself that Ally was fine.
After all, her dad had apologized by giving her loads of gifts, hadn’t he? But Ally was right there in her house. She’d know if her problems had blown over. If they had, she wouldn’t have sounded scared as she whispered, “Here he comes.”
Sam knew what she had to do. Ally would hate her for it, but that didn’t matter as much as her safety. Sam dialed the number for Three Ponies Ranch, praying Jake wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t ask why she was calling or hint she should tell him why she was asking for his mom, but he’d be curious and Sam couldn’t get through this twice.
As the phone rang, Sam pictured Jake’s mom. Small, blond, and brainy, she ruled her family of men as easily as she did her history students. Sam was sure Mrs. Ely would know what to do.
Luckily, Mrs. Ely answered, and Sam blurted out everything she knew, starting with her darkroom conversation with Ally on Monday, ending with the creepy end to their talk two minutes ago.
Jake’s mom listened in silence, then drew a deep breath.
“This is a pretty serious accusation, Sam,” she said.
Didn’t Mrs. Ely believe her? Had she heard about Cha Cha Marengo and decided Sam wasn’t trustworthy?
No secrets were safe in Darton County. She’d just proven that herself.
“I believe you, of course,” Mrs. Ely went on. “But I wish she’d come to me herself.”
“She didn’t want anyone to know,” Sam said. “She said she’d deny it.”
“That’s not unusual, but the school nurse will want to look for bruises.”
Sam groaned.
“Sam, this will sound harsh, but I have to ask. Are you certain this isn’t something Ally’s doing for attention?”
Sam didn’t have to think about that at all.
“I’m positive,” Sam said. “She didn’t want to tell me. It was almost like she couldn’t help it. And she’s going to hate me for this.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Mrs. Ely said, sounding sympathetic.
“What will you do next?” Sam asked.
“I’m calling her right now—”
“Don’t!” Sam said, feeling a surge of panic.
“I’m going to ask her if she thinks she’ll be safe over the weekend,” Mrs. Ely said. “If she thin
ks she is, she’ll have time to get mad and cool down, and maybe by Monday she’ll realize her dad needs help and so does she.”
Then, in a voice so warm Sam imagined Jake’s mom hugging her, Mrs. Ely added, “Sam, you’re doing the right thing. Some secrets have to be told.”
Mrs. Ely’s gentle words were no consolation when Ally called back ten minutes later.
“I hate you!” Ally said in a voice that was almost a growl. “You promised you wouldn’t tell, but you did. You couldn’t wait to ruin my life. I hate you, Sam Forster, and I’m telling everyone you’re a liar. You’re never going to live this down. Ever!”
Ally slammed the phone down before Sam could say a word. She thought about calling back.
To say what? Sam asked herself. She had told Ally’s secret, just as Mrs. Allen had told hers. But it had been the right thing to do.
As Sam put the uneaten cookie back in the jar and threw the one she’d bitten to Blaze, she wondered if Mrs. Allen had felt the same sad sense of rightness when she’d broken her promise.
Strangely, Sam had no trouble falling asleep, but Blaze woke her with his barking after midnight.
Cougar yowled and jumped off her bed. Sam heard his claws skittering on the floor, trying to get away as Blaze plopped his paws on the edge of the bed. Dog food breath blasted into Sam’s face.
“What?” she complained, pushing at the Border collie. “It’s only the wind.”
When Blaze didn’t accept her explanation, Sam rolled over, looked at the clock, and told herself that she had no choice but to get up and see what was going on. She was the only one home.
This was a down side to being in charge, Sam thought as she rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe.
“There’s nothing there,” she said, but she was talking to herself. Blaze had already bolted downstairs and stood scratching at the kitchen door.
Then, above the banshee howl of the wind, Sam heard Dark Sunshine scream.
“Oh, no.”
Chills covered her arms at the cry she hadn’t heard since the buckskin’s first days at the ranch. The sound reminded her of Flick, the cruel man who’d popped his whip under the buckskin’s nose, refusing to let her join the mustangs he was hauling off for slaughter. He hadn’t acted out of kindness. He’d kept the little buckskin to use as bait, over and over again.