by Terri Farley
“Yes, yes, they work so hard.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “But they won’t leave you here. You’re just saying that to be annoying.”
“No, I’m not,” Sam insisted. “Some days they can’t drive all the way into town until after dark. It’s that whole work thing, you know? Like Jake was talking about?”
“Ride home with him, why don’t you?” Rachel suggested.
“He rides with his brothers, and the Blazer’s already too full,” Sam said.
Besides, even if they could squeeze her into the Blazer, there wouldn’t be room for Jen. Though she was a little ticked at Jen right now for that anthropo--whatever remark, they were best friends. They did some of their best talking at the end of the school day, riding home. She didn’t want to give that up.
“There’s always Mrs. Ely,” Rachel suggested. “She seems to like you.”
“No.” Sam knew Jake’s mom would give her rides, but wouldn’t she have to stay for meetings and stuff?
Sam ducked inside her class and left Rachel musing over some great idea Sam knew she’d hate.
Rachel ambushed Sam in the hallway just outside journalism.
“It’s all settled,” Rachel muttered as if she’d planned something shifty. After all, her cheerleader friend Daisy was in journalism, too. “You can ride in my car. Our housekeeper doesn’t mind.”
Once Sam had cooled off, she’d realized that all of her mental vows to save the ranch were worth nothing if she didn’t teach Rachel, take her money, and get in good with Linc Slocum.
Next, it occurred to Sam that this wasn’t an idle wish for Rachel. She wanted this a lot, so Sam could hold out for what she wanted, too. And what she wanted most didn’t have a single dollar sign attached.
“That’ll be fine.” Sam gave Rachel a minute of relief before adding, “And since you drive right by her house, you can give Jen a ride, too.”
“Jennifer Kenworthy?”
Sam kept her sarcasm trapped behind closed lips.
“She hasn’t been barred from the bus, surely?” Rachel scanned the crowded hall. “Jennifer likes riding the bus.”
“Rachel, you’ve never been on a bus or you wouldn’t say that. No one likes the smell of old bananas and sweaty socks, and even on a good day …” The horror on Rachel’s face stopped Sam. “You haven’t, have you? You’ve never been on a school bus in your life!”
“The first few days you were in this class, you were so nice and quiet,” Rachel snapped. “Why don’t you--” Rachel’s eyes closed and stayed that way, as if she were counting to a hundred.
Eventually, she opened her eyes.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Rachel smiled and smoothed the wing of dark hair as if it had been displaced by her temper, but Sam was pretty sure Rachel hadn’t noticed Daisy in the doorway dead ahead.
The cheerleader stared at her friend as if she couldn’t be certain Rachel was actually conversing with Sam.
Sam made sure to raise her voice as they approached.
“Thanks, Rachel,” Sam said, nudging her. “You’re a pal.”
Chapter Seven
Sam and Jen embarrassed Rachel the minute they slid into the baby blue Mercedes after school.
“Hi, Mrs. Coley,” Jen said as she fastened her seat belt in the backseat.
“Jennifer, it’s good to see you.”
The woman who turned away from the steering wheel had boyish short gray hair and a welcoming smile.
“Hi,” Sam said, leaning forward with her hand extended. “I’m Samantha Forster. I’ve seen you drive by, but I don’t think we’ve met.” Sam often felt a moment of uncertainty about people she’d known before the accident. This time, Rachel’s huffing didn’t help, but Mrs. Coley’s handshake couldn’t have been friendlier.
“Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Helen Coley. I know your grandmother, Grace, from church.”
Sam squirmed a little. Although both Dad and Gram were devout people, they had an ongoing battle about church. Gram believed folks liked to join together with the minister to pray for rain. Dad thought it gave them false hope, no different from teasing winds, which blew through carrying the smell of wet grass and rain-slick rocks from some luckier place.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sam, but Mrs. Coley had already turned her attention to the parking lot crowded with teenage drivers.
Sam didn’t feel smug about riding in Rachel’s Mercedes. She felt misplaced and uneasy. Telling Dad and Gram she’d been kicked off the bus would be ugly. They’d blame the Phantom, of course. Just when they seemed reasonable about mustangs, their old-fashioned ranchers’ stereotypes cropped up.
As they edged through the parking lot, Sam saw RJay, editor of the Darton Dialogue, strolling to his car. When he did a double take at the sight of Sam and Rachel riding together, Sam waved. Rachel might have wanted to fling herself to the car floor, but she only flattened her spine against the seat back as they left Darton High traffic behind.
Sam was just thinking how cool it would be to have a saddle made with the supple leather used for the Mercedes’ seat covers, when the car phone rang.
Sam and Jen looked at each other. Since they couldn’t cover their ears, they shifted away and pretended not to listen.
“Ryan!” Rachel’s voice brimmed with happiness, and though Sam knew she’d heard the name before, she couldn’t place it until Rachel said, “What’s up in Nottingham?”
Her brother, Jen mouthed, and Sam gave a tiny nod.
“Of course, Ry.” Rachel’s voice returned to its usual mocking tone. “My equitation instructor is in the Mercedes with me now.”
Rachel’s fingers flipped through her silky hair as she shifted with discomfort. “Anyone can improve. My skills will be top-notch for summer competition--Oh, it is not. It’s no more a beauty contest than your steeplechasing.”
She laughed at her twin’s answer, then turned farther away from Sam and Jen and lowered her voice.
“Just the recognition. I’ll donate the scholarship to the needy or something. That’s what I was about to say. You always--” She paused, listening. “The advantage of being twelve minutes older, yes?”
Rachel’s chat turned brittle again. “My horse? I’ll let that be your summer surprise.”
During the silence that followed, Sam decided Rachel didn’t have a mount of her own. Of course, Linc wouldn’t allow that to be a problem for long.
“Not really!” Rachel’s gasp was so sudden, even Jen, who’d been politely pretending to study, glanced up at Rachel’s suddenly red face.
“Christmas?” Rachel pronounced the word as if she’d just learned it. “She is?” Rachel sighed, and though her coloring faded toward normal, her expression was sad. “Switzerland. How nice. Well, then, of course you--and I guess you’ll get to see my horse a little sooner than expected. Still, I want to surprise you, Ry. Okay, yes. Ta to you, too. I miss you.”
Face to the window, Rachel curled against her side of the car, looking small.
No. Sam would not let herself feel sorry for Rachel. She couldn’t forget the girl had dropped one of Mr. Blair’s cameras and let Sam take the blame. And what about Rachel’s mocking laugh as she said Sam looked like a boy? As if that weren’t enough, Rachel had also been rude to Jake and Jen, Sam’s two, best friends in the world.
“Well, cowgirl,” Rachel said suddenly. “My schedule’s changed and so has yours. You’ll give me the intensive course. Starting tomorrow, I’d say, since I must be riding well by Christmas. And you’ll need to help me find an appropriate horse.”
Rachel’s lips formed a witchy smile, as if Sam had no choice.
As she replaced the car phone, Sam considered Rachel’s unprotected back. Sam didn’t think of herself as a violent person, but if Jen’s knee hadn’t nudged hers meaningfully, she might have explored her desire to give Rachel a punch.
The car’s rolling tires were the only sound for a minute.
“Mother calls Ryan the conscience of the family,” Rachel said.
“I want your assistance, too,” Rachel said to Jen.
Jen closed her book. “I’m fascinated,” she said. “But it depends on what you need.”
Rachel wrestled with whether she could admit she needed anything from them, then decided to let it go.
“Samantha knows,” Rachel said.
“Sort of. You want to improve your riding skills.”
Jen’s hand couldn’t cover her mouth before a laugh escaped.
“I have some skills,” Rachel protested.
“What’s the competition you want to enter?” Sam asked. “Is it the ‘Best in the West’ you mentioned the other day?”
“You want to be a rodeo queen?” Jen blurted.
The Mercedes slowed as if Mrs. Coley’s foot had faltered on the gas pedal.
Rachel considered her green-gold-tinted fingernails.
“Karla Starr encouraged me to enter.” Rachel’s chin lifted as if the rodeo contractor’s opinion was all that mattered. “Once I told Ryan, it became a fact. But I want to keep it a secret from Dad.”
“My mom was first runner-up for Best in the West, like, twenty years ago,” Jen said, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Rachel. You’d have to compete in horsemanship, modeling, and there’s a personal interview.”
“Riding is only a third of it.” Rachel shrugged. “Plus, it would stop Ry from bragging about his silly water jumps, and I have been told--by an expert, mind you--that winning would be a piece of cake for me.”
The day he’d come to River Bend for help, Slocum had mentioned Rachel had been perturbed ever since Karla Starr’s visit. Rachel must have seen Champ, saddled and tied, and decided to prove to herself that she could still ride.
Had she made it as far along the ridge trail because she remembered how to ride, or because Champ was a patient, well-schooled horse?
“It would have worked out nicely,” Rachel said, “if I’d had the whole school year to train. But Ryan’s coming home at Christmas.”
Sam felt a pulse of excitement. If Rachel’s sense of urgency made her buckle down and work, they might finish sooner.
But was that a good thing? River Bend needed the money.
What would Rachel pay for lessons? Twenty dollars per hour? Thirty? Fifty? Sam knew she could earn enough money to help. She was adding up dollars and basking in possibilities, when Rachel sighed.
“I could pretend I was sick or tell him I’d changed my mind,” Rachel suggested.
“Come on, Rachel,” Sam said. “You’re not a quitter.”
“Certainly not,” Rachel said, but she looked surprised.
“If we got together three times a week after school, you’d make progress fast.” Sam couldn’t believe she’d volunteered to spend so much time with Rachel.
“That’s a splendid idea, Samantha, perhaps the best you’ve ever had.”
The shocked expression on Jen’s face would have made Sam stop, but River Bend Ranch was at stake.
As they approached War Drum Flats, Sam saw a bachelor band of mustangs.
“Mrs. Coley,” she blurted, “if it’s, not too much trouble--”
Everyone in the car followed Sam’s pointing finger.
“Samantha, really,” Rachel moaned, but Mr. Coley was already pulling over.
“I’m another of those ranch women who actually likes mustangs,” Mrs. Coley said. “I’ve been watching this bunch for a week or two.”
“Are we in a time warp?” Rachel said. “It’s taking forever to reach home.”
In spite of Rachel’s complaint, the Mercedes stopped at the roadside.
Shoulders touching, manes blowing, three young stallions clung together so closely, Sam thought she could measure across all three chests with her out-flung arms.
Little bachelor bands like this one were common. When a lead stallion saw them as potential rivals for his mares, he used hooves and teeth to drive young males from the herd. Wandering the range, lonely and yearning for the safety they’d always known in a band, the young stallions formed small herds of their own.
“I call them New Moon, Yellow Tail, and Spike,” Mrs. Coley confided.
The first name gave Sam chills. During the new moon, the sky was black. This colt had no white markings. Neither had the Phantom as a colt. In fact, as a two-year-old, he’d looked much like this leggy horse.
Distracted by memories, Sam took a minute to see how well the other young outcasts matched Mrs. Coley’s names for them.
Spike had to be the bay whose mane stuck up almost as if it had been roached, then moussed into place. The sorrel, standing in the middle, had a long flaxen tail that really did look almost yellow. In spite of the warm fall temperatures, both were getting fuzzy winter coats. Only the black, who led the others by a half stride, still shone like glass.
As Sam watched, the black broke away from the others. He arched his neck and executed a sort of bow, inviting his pals into a mock battle.
Like guys sparring because they had nothing better to do, the three pulled each others’ manes and tails. They reared and fenced with their front legs, clearly playing.
Sam had seen the Phantom fight a blue roan stallion she’d called Hammer, and this was different. The bachelors were practicing. One day they’d challenge another stallion for his harem. This was a study session for that day.
“If you could have your pick--” Jen began.
“The black,” Sam answered without hesitation. “There’s something about him …”
Sam’s voice trailed off as her mind recognized what her eyes had already noticed.
The black was from the Phantom’s herd, perhaps even his son.
Weeks ago, he and several other horses had been trapped by rustlers using Dark Sunshine for bait. The captive mustangs had very nearly been sold for pet food. Detective work and luck had rescued the horses, and they’d been released in the Phantom’s territory.
But maybe his absence made the black seem an intruder and the Phantom had driven him away.
Done with their skirmish, the three horses rolled in the mud until they were caked with it.
“How gross,” Rachel said. “That black one was kind of pretty, before.”
“It keeps off bugs,” Jen explained.
“I’d think that was the least of their worries,” Rachel said, yawning.
“What do you mean?” Sam tried to keep her voice light, but Rachel had hinted at something secret before. If it had anything to do with wild horses, Sam needed to know.
“With BLM and other people trying to catch them, I just think they’d better watch out,” Rachel said.
The mustangs did seem more intent on playing than watching for danger, but Sam knew they could vanish in a heartbeat.
“If they’re caught by anyone except BLM, that would be illegal.” Jen studied Rachel. “You know that, right?”
Rachel sat back in her seat and gave a superior laugh.
“Of course, and I’ll thank you not to lecture me, Jennifer, for the remainder of our little car pool.”
When Jen’s index finger stabbed her glasses back up her nose, Sam knew Jen was about to declare she didn’t want to be part of this arrangement.
With the excuse of showing good manners, Sam tried to make Jen feel too guilty to desert her.
“Rachel, Mrs. Coley, thanks so much for giving me a ride,” Sam said. “I’m going to be in trouble, but at least I won’t have to ask Dad and Gram to drive me back and forth.”
Sam winced as the River Bend bridge came into view. The last time she’d been in big trouble, Dad and Gram had turned her into a virtual slave.
“You have no idea how hard it’s going to be to tell them what I did. All day long, I’ve been thinking about the right way to put it.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be spared that, dear.” Mrs. Coley looked up in her rearview mir
ror. Sam could only see her eyes, but they were sympathetic. “Mr. Pinkerton, the bus driver, has a little romance going with Junie. You know, the waitress at Clara’s diner.”
“Yes,” Sam said, and even she could tell her voice was faint with fear.
“Well, when Jed came back from buying some fuses for me at the Alkali store this morning, he told me all about your wild horse escapade.”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Jen said. “My dad wouldn’t pick up the telephone unless he had to report a fire. A big one. He sure wouldn’t call and tattle on you.”
“No, you’re right, Jennifer, but he did have a cup of coffee with Dallas while he was there.” Mrs. Coley sighed. “He told me how that Junie sure is a chatterbox. Fact is, Samantha, if I know, I expect your folks do, too.”
Chapter Eight
The minute Mrs. Coley let her out in the ranch yard, Sam crossed her fingers. It was just possible Dallas had decided to keep her secret.
She didn’t worry too much about Jake. Although he’d probably heard gossip at school, he wouldn’t pass it on to Dad. There was no sign of his brother’s truck or Witch, so maybe she’d beat him to River Bend.
The entire ranch simmered silently in the afternoon heat. Even Blaze didn’t come running to meet her.
When Sam opened the door, she saw Gram and Dad sitting together at the kitchen table. That meant a lecture was brewing, but Sam was more worried over the missing snack.
Every day, since the first day of school, Gram had put a plate of cookies on the kitchen table. Today there were none.
And Dad was home in the middle of the day. Though this was a slow time of year for cattlemen, Dad rarely came home before dusk.
Sam shrugged out of her backpack and let it fall to the floor. If she could tell them about the money she’d be making for Rachel’s lessons, and about arranging her own rides to school, it would show she wasn’t irresponsible.
They didn’t seem in a rush to start, so Sam did.
“I guess you heard,” she said.