by Terri Farley
Sam wheeled Ace. The bay gelding jumped, jerking Flick off his feet.
Was it herd instinct or some desire to help that lured the Phantom down from his safe spot on the hillside? He bolted past Preston and the bus. He galloped past Honey without faltering, and then he was right beside her, tucking in next to Ace.
The stallion wasn’t racing for fun. He huffed, but not from exertion. His hooves thundered and ears flattened, disappearing amid torrents of white mane. Head flat and nostrils wide, he ran past Ace, leading him on.
Ace followed. Fighting the reins, his head wrenched from side to side. Sam held on as the bay mustang answered the call of the stallion who’d been his leader and tried to rip the reins from her grip. She tightened them instead, but even the gelding’s trot was too fast.
Flick wasn’t yelling and thrashing as Preston had when they were pretending, but she couldn’t let Ace follow the Phantom. He had to slow down. They were dragging Flick way too fast.
The Phantom stopped a hundred yards ahead and pawed the dirt. A dust cloud surrounded him as he chastised Ace for being so slow, but it gave Sam a chance to pull Ace to a stop.
Sam looked back and saw that Flick still held the rifle. How was that possible?
Panting, he rolled up, onto one knee.
Could he shoot from that position? Sam didn’t give him a chance.
“Giddyup!” Sam shouted.
She heard the impact of Flick’s chest hitting the dirt as Ace bolted into a lope, headed for the silver stallion.
But then Sam heard Preston shouting, and a glance back showed her the retired policeman was on his feet, running after her.
“Don’t drag him to death!” he shouted. Preston knew murder when he saw it, and he was warning her.
Sam jerked her reins. Ace’s heels skidded and he squealed in bewilderment.
I know, Sam thought wildly. Drag him to death or let him shoot us? We can’t win.
“Hang in there!” Preston shouted, but how could she?
This was like a bad dream.
Ace half reared, but she clucked her tongue, calming him, reining him to turn and face Flick.
How could she “hang in there” when the outlaw lay motionless on the desert floor?
Nearly crouching, Preston rushed toward the rifle Flick had finally dropped.
It’ll be over when he gets the gun, Sam thought.
Black dots frenzied like a million buzzing bees before Sam’s eyes. She felt herself waver in the saddle.
“Stay with me, Sam,” Preston called, but it was the Phantom’s neigh as he approached Sam and Honey at a majestic trot that helped her stay focused and strong.
Hang in there. The words echoed in Sam’s mind. She could do that.
Preston knew she had no experience, so he must be counting on her courage.
Taking a deep breath, Sam wrenched her eyes away from the unconscious man and watched the horses.
Honey lowered her head in submission. Her neck curved like a golden swan’s looking back at the stallion as he came closer. And then she straightened. Head held high, she moved to meet him.
Preston had the rifle clamped in one fist, held horizontal to the ground, but he turned away from Flick to watch his horse.
“Honey,” Preston said quietly.
Sam sensed the mare stop, but Ace’s muscles tensed. He snorted and Sam knew even before she looked that she and Preston had made a mistake.
Flick had lifted her loop soundlessly. Now he ducked out of it.
Preston yelled something at the same time Sam heard her own cry, but Flick had already launched himself at her.
Hadn’t Preston said in the desensitization class that posse members would probably never have to face a criminal grappling for their gun? But she had no gun. Was Flick after her horse?
Sam kicked at Flick, but he was too close. Her boot didn’t jar him back a single inch.
Instead, she lost her stirrup and he grabbed Ace’s near rein, yanking the gelding’s head around as his hand grabbed at Sam.
He’s trying to drag me from the saddle, Sam thought with sudden clarity. He wanted to use her as a shield between himself and the rifle, and she couldn’t let him do it.
Sam leaned away from him, still kicking. If his arm snaked around her waist, his leverage would be too good. She wouldn’t have a chance of staying on Ace.
Sam had one more thing to try. It meant dropping her reins and leaning toward her attacker, but she had nothing to lose.
Closing her hand, but not with her fingers inside, Sam felt herself falling as her fist crashed down on Flick’s nose.
She heard a sickening crunch and saw a gush of blood as she tumbled past him and slammed shoulder first onto the ground, rolling.
Ace’s hooves, dancing nervously, passed her. He joined the Phantom and Honey, but he didn’t run away.
Flick howled and reached for his nose with both hands. He was still moaning when Preston jumped on top of him and tied him with his own piggin’ strings.
Sam struggled to her feet.
She watched Preston secure Flick with professional efficiency. He probably would have read him his rights, too, if he hadn’t been retired, Sam thought; and the roosters…
It seemed like there was a congratulatory chorus of crowing roosters as Preston straightened.
“I’d say your shot missed that rooster,” Preston said, but he wasn’t looking at the roosters. His stare stabbed past Sam and she turned to follow it.
The Phantom’s silver head lay across Honey’s withers, just in front of the saddle.
Brynna would probably say the stallion was exerting his dominance over his lead mare one last time, but to Sam it looked like a friendly good-bye.
It was, she thought excitedly. The stallion proved it, as he backed up far enough to nibble a wavy clump of Honey’s mane.
Whisking his tail and giving a snort, he glanced at Preston. The man stood still and there was a respectful look on his face, but when he merely took a breath, the stallion bolted.
Dirt spun from under his hooves and he soared over yards of desert, putting himself as far from the unfamiliar human as he could. He didn’t look back at Honey, Ace, or Sam. Tail streaming silver behind him, the Phantom galloped away.
Sam sighed. Her horse was safe, she thought, and maybe it was the sudden relief that allowed her to realize she was cupping her right hand in her left, blowing her breath on it as if that could somehow ease the pain that accompanied the proper use of the Ely Brothers’ hammer fist.
Exactly a week later, Sam stood on the front porch of her house at River Bend Ranch.
Because Gram had insisted, she wore her bridesmaid dress from Dad and Brynna’s wedding and she stood in the quickly-cooling dusk, handing candles to guests as they arrived for Preston and Mrs. Allen’s engagement party.
Dad, Brynna, and Gram had already welcomed Sheriff Ballard, Ally, and her father, and the Elys—all except for Jake—with cups of punch and crystal plates piled with six different kinds of cookies.
Now the last guests, the Kenworthys, hurried into the crowded kitchen to loud greetings, but Jen lagged behind.
“What’s this for?” Jen asked, holding up the pumpkin-colored candle.
“When Gram and Mrs. Allen were girls,” Sam explained, “there was this candle-passing ceremony all their girlfriends did when anyone got engaged. And, since Mrs. Allen eloped, she skipped the tradition of her first engagement—”
“So, she’s getting it now,” Jen said, smiling. “That’s cute.”
“I guess,” Sam said, but she couldn’t shake off the melancholy that came with thinking that the marriage wouldn’t last long because Mrs. Allen and Preston were so old.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jen whispered, then she touched the book she’d tucked under her arm. “Statistically speaking, they’re not that old. I’ll show you something later that will cheer you up.
“Right now, though,” Jen said, grimacing, “it looks like someone else has somethin
g to say to you, and though it probably won’t cheer you up, I’m abandoning you to handle it on your own.”
Sam glanced back to see Jake striding across the ranch yard.
He wore a long-sleeved white shirt with jeans, and his black hair had grown out enough that he’d had to wet it and brush it back from falling in front of his ears.
The screen door slammed behind Jen, and Sam was facing Jake alone.
“Where’d you come from?” Sam asked. Then, daring him to treat her like a kid, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m too old for you to lecture me, you know.”
“I know. I won’t. I just have one thing to say.”
He looked down at the tips of boots she’d never seen before. They were mahogany brown and smooth and polished so that they glowed under the porch light.
“Go ahead,” Sam said.
“Puttin’ the whole thing with Flick aside,” Jake said, “’cause I know you’ll say it was about roosters, not the Phantom—”
“It was!”
“Yeah,” Jake said, “but horses were runnin’ all through the trouble you got us tangled in.”
Sam drew a breath to contradict him, then let it out. As much as she hated to agree with him, Jake was right.
“All I’m sayin’ is, quit puttin’ your whole heart on the line, Brat. About everything, but especially about the Phantom. The life of a wild horse is dangerous. How long do you think you’ll have him?”
“You kids get in here,” Gram called from inside the kitchen, but Sam noticed that no one opened the screen door to interrupt.
“Not that you really have him now,” Jake said. Then, with a shrug, he added, “Just think about pulling back a little bit, okay?”
And then Jake held the screen door open, so Sam could enter the party before him.
Ally stood in the corner strumming her guitar, introducing the guests to the song they were about to sing together. She smiled at Sam as she came in.
“All right,” Gram said, quickly lighting Sam’s candle. “Everyone’s candle is lighted and those of you who didn’t know ‘Tell Me Why’ have had a chance to look at the lyrics, so here we go.”
Gram turned off the kitchen light, and everyone stood in candlelight as they began to sing.
“Tell me why the stars do shine.
Tell me why the ivy twines….”
Ally’s voice soared over the others, but no one seemed to care, and Sam hoped their beginning friendship would last.
Ally had thanked her an embarrassing number of times for revealing her dad’s secret. Together, Ally and her dad had already attended meetings for people addicted to gambling and their family members.
Sam thought everything would probably be okay, because Mr. McClintock had admitted his gambling problem and his hatred for the direction it had taken him, saying he hadn’t even seen blood and feathers. He’d only thought about the money.
“Tell me why the sky’s so blue
And then I’ll tell you just why I love you….”
Sam’s eyes moved to Mrs. Allen’s shining face. She looked up at Preston, who seemed as embarrassed by this ceremony as he had been when his fiancée had told everyone his first name was Phineas and that was why he went by his last name, Preston.
He’d laughed, though, when she said she thought “Finny” was a perfectly lovely nickname and that he had given her just the “darlingest” engagement present—a black-and-white rooster named Lucky.
“Because God made the stars to shine.
Because God made the ivy twine.”
Sam noticed Sheriff Ballard fanning himself with the lyric sheet. He wasn’t following along, but he wasn’t grumping like he had been all week, either. Every time Sam had heard him talking to Dad, he’d been complaining that he didn’t have time to be parceling out all the fighting roosters to local ranchers. He kept doing it, though, and Sam thought he was just dissatisfied because even though he’d tracked Flick to Lost Canyon through the cell phone’s global positioning system, he still hadn’t found Karl Mannix, and Linc Slocum was harassing him relentlessly.
“Because God made the skies so blue.
Because God made you, that’s why I love you!”
As everyone clapped and blew out their candles and Gram turned the lights back up, Sam noticed that Dad and Brynna still stood with shoulders touching. Tears ran down Brynna’s cheeks and Dad looked so softhearted, Sam thought an outsider wouldn’t believe, looking at him now, that he could have been so angry.
She didn’t like to think about it. The consequences of his anger were bad enough: she was grounded from everything but school and school events until Halloween. And she’d been lucky that Brynna had helped her negotiate that concession, because Dad had wanted to ground her until Christmas.
Blaze’s howl floated to them from outside and everyone laughed, pretending it was a comment on their singing.
His howl sounded sad to Sam, though, and she ducked outside as soon as she got the chance. This was supposed to be a celebration, and she didn’t want to ruin it for anyone else.
Blaze rushed across the yard, mouth open and tail wagging, looking much happier than she was, and then the screen door closed quietly and Jen was right beside them.
“Okay, hear the news,” Jen announced, flashing the cover of a world almanac. “I’ve looked it up, and though Preston’s projected life expectancy at the time he was born was sixty-five and Mrs. Allen’s was sixty-six, with nutritional and medical advancements, they have a lot longer!”
Jen glanced at the book and then at Sam. “It’s so cool. Barring accidents and bad guys, he can expect to live an extra twenty-four years and she gets another twenty-three….”
Sam watched her friend’s mind click off numbers like a calculator, as she finished, “Given their age difference, they ought to come out about even!”
Morbid as Jen’s calculations were, they both laughed.
And when Jake’s statement—that the life of a wild horse was risky and she wouldn’t have the Phantom long—popped into her mind, Sam wondered if maybe he was as wrong as she’d been.
“Can I look at that for a minute?” Sam asked. “I’m supposed to be helping with refreshments, but—”
“No problem,” Jen said. “Take it and I’ll go cover for you!”
Alone in the twilight, Sam tilted the book so that she could read the fine print of the index.
“Life expectancy…animals…” she muttered to Blaze, and then she flipped to the page.
Holding her breath, she read the entry for horses, and though the average life span was only twenty, the world record was fifty years.
She didn’t release the shout of joy building inside her chest, but the sight of River Bend’s horses—especially Ace—grazing peacefully, filled her with delight.
Sam gazed up into the lavender-pink sky. She ignored the voices, even Jake’s, saying, “Don’t do it, you’re only going to lose him.”
Even if a mustang’s life was dangerous, she might have him for a long time.
Sam closed her eyes and the voices faded away.
About the Author
Terri Farley has always loved horses. She left Los Angeles for the cowgirl state of Nevada after earning degrees in English and Journalism. Now she rides the range researching books and magazine articles on the West’s people and animals—especially Nevada’s controversial wild horses. She lives in a one-hundred-year-old house with her husband, children, and way too many pets.
Visit www.phantomstallion.com
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Read all the books about the
Phantom Stallion
1
THE WILD ONE
2
MUSTANG MOON
3
DARK SUNSHINE
4
THE RENEGADE
5
FREE AGAIN
6
THE CHALLENGER
7
DES
ERT DANCER
8
GOLDEN GHOST
9
GIFT HORSE
10
RED FEATHER FILLY
11
UNTAMED
12
RAIN DANCE
13
HEARTBREAK BRONCO
14
MOONRISE
15
KIDNAPPED COLT
16
THE WILDEST HEART
17
MOUNTAIN MARE
18
FIREFLY
19
SECRET STAR
20
BLUE WINGS
21
DAWN RUNNER
22
WILD HONEY
Credits
Cover art © 2006 by Greg Call
Copyright
PHANTOM STALLION #22: WILD HONEY. Copyright © 2006 by Terri Sprenger-Farley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition March 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-188985-1
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