Dawn Runner (3 page)

Princess Kitty guessed Sam was coming for her. As Sam opened the pasture gate and slipped inside, the mare's delicate ears pricked in her direction. The sorrel didn't lift her head, but her teeth stopped clipping grass and her brown eyes gazed through her flaxen forelock.

Sam stopped shaking the grain bucket and stood still.

That peekaboo look—more an acknowledgment than a greeting—made Sam's breath catch. Many times, she'd seen the Phantom do the same thing. He let a veil of forelock shield his eyes while he thought things over.

“Hey beauty,” Sam said, taking a step closer. “I know your son.”

Of course the mare didn't understand. She couldn't. She was an animal, not a human mother, but Princess Kitty's lips left the green grass. Her head rose, and her luminous brown eyes met Sam's.

“He's doing fine,” Sam told the mare, “in case you've been wondering.”

When the sorrel gave a faint nicker, Sam swallowed hard.
She just smells the grain,
Sam told herself, but she kept talking as she moved closer.

“He has colts of his own now.” Silently, Sam scolded herself for the pang of melancholy that tightened her throat.

Sam tried to tell herself it was nonsense. Princess
Kitty had long since forgotten the black colt she'd lost.

“He lives in wonderful, wild places,” Sam said as the mare studied the lead rope.

Sam stood close enough now that she could have touched the horse, but she waited. She wouldn't risk a grab. Not quite yet. With the lead rope in one hand and the bucket in the other, she wasn't set up for a quick capture. One wrong move would make Kitty shy. Then, Sam would be trailing the mare all over the pasture. And she'd have an audience for her mistake.

“We're getting this right the first time, girl,” Sam said.

She really was a pretty horse. Red-gold, but whereas Ace's coat was red-gold over rich brown, Kitty's was red-gold over copper.

“Let's go see Shy Boots. He could use some company,” Sam said.

Princess Kitty's cheek grazed Sam's as she ducked her head, going for the bucket. She didn't draw back when Sam clipped on the lead rope, but she did give a noisy snuffle, making sure she'd searched out all the grain.

Satisfied she'd eaten it all, Kitty walked quietly beside Sam to the gate. Sam was surprised at Kitty's gentleness, but that surprise had barely registered when the mare sighted Shy Boots.

The colt spotted her at the same time. His high-pitched whinny brought a look of alarm into the
mare's eyes. Kitty burst from a standstill into a trot and Sam had to jog to keep up.

“Easy,” Sam called, but Princess Kitty ignored her, even when Sam gave a tug on the lead rope and scolded, “Slow down.”

Princess Kitty's pace stayed the same, but she glanced back over her shoulder to regard Sam with a royal air that seemed to say, “No,
you
keep up.”

Sam couldn't help smiling. She wasn't pleased with the mare's defiance, but it was nice to know that even though Princess Kitty was just one of Linc Slocum's many possessions, she ha0dn't lost the pride she'd passed on to her son.

It would do Shy Boots good to spend time with this horse. Ryan could teach him manners while Kitty taught him nerve.

At last, Sam turned Kitty into Shy Boots's paddock.

Sam stood between Jen and Ryan, watching for the horses' reactions to each other.

After ten minutes, Kitty and Shy Boots were still pretending to ignore each other. After twenty minutes, they'd moved a few steps closer together, but they still didn't seem excited.

Ryan said, “Nothing's happening.”

“Nothing we can see or hear,” Dr. Scott corrected. “But I think they're going to do fine.

“You know, on some big horse ranches, where they have a dozen brood mares and foals in the same pasture, they wean by slowly removing one or two mothers
and replacing them with old saddle horse mares.”

Sam wanted to protest. Kitty sure didn't fit that description.

“Of course they notice the difference,” Dr. Scott said, “but it's a good solution. The older mares comfort the little ones and teach them how to be around other horses.”

Thirty minutes after the horses had been together, just as Jen drooped against the fence and looked ready to give in to her weariness, Shy Boots released a heavy sigh.

“Look,” Jen said quietly.

The little Appaloosa lowered himself to the grass, then rested his head against his folded legs. He was down, but his whole attitude was different than before, Sam thought. Shy Boots was relaxed enough to close his eyes and doze.

Beside her, Sam heard Ryan sigh, too.

“I'll be on my way,” Dr. Scott said quietly. He stretched his linked hands high over his head, rolled his head from side to side, loosening his neck muscles, and grinned. “This is the kind of house call I like best. I didn't even have to take my bag out of the truck.”

“Oh,” Jen said suddenly, “how did things turn out with your last patient? Ryan said you were tending a tortoise who'd had a bad accident.”

Great, Jen
, Sam thought. Why bring up a patient who might have died, when Shy Boots had made the vet happy?

But Jen wanted to be a vet when she grew up. She was probably just curious.

“Agnes, the desert tortoise,” the vet said, “is another of today's success stories, although her cure was a little more high-tech.”

“Surgery?” Jen asked, eyes widening behind her glasses.

Sam wondered how you'd perform surgery beneath the tortoise's shell.

“Epoxy,” Dr. Scott corrected.

“You mean glue?” Sam asked.

“Medical-grade glue,” Dr. Scott said, nodding. Then, looking excited, he added, “The shell did just what it was supposed to do, protecting Agnes' soft body, and all the tender stuff inside.”

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw Ryan rub his hand across his forehead, shading his eyes as he did.

“The shell only had a little crack,” Dr. Scott went on. “I squeezed glue in a ring around the crack, layered in tiny fiberglass sheets, and she should be as good as new.”

Sam was glad for Agnes and Dr. Scott, but for some reason she couldn't stop staring at Ryan. His lips pulled down into a frown. Maybe he wished someone could mend the crack Shy Boots had put in the shell he'd worn over his feelings and all the “tender stuff inside.”

I
ce cubes tinkled as Lila Kenworthy, Jen's mom, placed a pitcher of pink lemonade on the camp table between Sam and Jen.

Lila had dragged the table and three chairs onto the porch of the foreman's house. The girls had collapsed gratefully in the shade.

“This is great. Thank you,” Sam said. As she sipped, a red maraschino cherry bumped her lips. Sam would bet Lila had tinted the lemonade pink by adding the cherries and their juice. Gram did the same thing.

Fanning herself with one hand, Lila smiled and settled into the third chair.

Lemonade, the shady porch, and a plan in place to
help Shy Boots would have made this the perfect time to ask Jen what she should do about Pam, except that she caught Jen shooting a quick look toward Ryan. He still lingered by Shy Boots's paddock, but Jen's expression said she'd hoped the third chair was for him.

Lila didn't notice.

“You're welcome, Sam,” Lila said. “Thank
you
for walking out here with Jen's schoolwork. Every year I forget how we suffer in the September heat.”

“Darton High is air-conditioned,” Jen pointed out, and her mother took the hint.

“Honey, I'm working on him,” Lila assured her daughter, and Sam knew the
him
was Jen's dad, Jed. “It's only the first day of school and you're still recovering, so be patient.” Lila waited for Jen's grumbling agreement, then turned to Sam. “Tell us about your classes, Sam.”

“I have P.E. first thing in the morning,” Sam said.

“So you'll be finished before it gets hot,” Lila said.

“But in December…” Jen began.

“I know.” Sam rolled her eyes. “And what good is it trying to look nice when I leave home in the morning, if I'm going to be sweaty and gross an hour later?”

“A problem I yearn to have,” Jen said, then stared at her mother with such intensity, Sam wasn't sure she should go on. Was she only making Jen feel left out?

“Go ahead, Sam,” Lila urged.

“Then I have English, world history, math, and journalism.”

Sam was pleased with her recital, until Jen said, “That's only five classes. Don't you have six?”

“Right,” Sam said. Mentally, she reviewed her day, numbering classes off on her fingers. She was about to reach for the printed schedule in her backpack when she remembered. “Oh yeah, one semester of Life Skills.”

“What's that?” Lila asked.

“One of those retro fifties classes Mrs. Santos is bringing back, hoping they'll make us successful when we move out on our own,” Jen said, with emphasis. “I have to take it, too.”

Lila drank the rest of her lemonade, plucked a cherry from her glass, and bit it from its stem.

“Let's hope,” she said.

Sam rushed on, trying to distract Jen. She didn't want to be in the middle of family bickering, even though Jen and her mom were on the same side.

“In Life Skills, I start with cooking, but then classes rotate,” Sam explained. “Next quarter, I'll have sewing or personal finance—”

“Subjects we could handle at home,” Lila put in, as she stood.

“—but then second semester, I'll go back to Spanish,” Sam said.

“You girls take your time. Sam, just let me know
when, and I'll call your Gram to come pick you up. Drink all you like,” Lila said, nodding to the pitcher. “And I'll bring out another glass.”

Sam and Jen followed Lila's glance and saw Ryan headed their way, but Jen didn't let her mother escape.

“And how are you feeling about teaching me calculus, Mom?” Jen teased.

“Helpless,” Lila said, grinning. “And that's what's going to win this one for us.” Lila held up crossed fingers. “Your dad is no better at higher math than I am. You outpaced both of us when you were in sixth grade.” Then, just before she left them, Lila used the back of her hand to check the temperature of Jen's forehead. “Don't push yourself, honey.”

“I don't have a fever,” Jen said, pulling away from her mother's concerned touch. “It's a hundred degrees out here. Everyone's hot.”

Lila nodded, unconvinced.

Once the screen door closed behind her mother, Jen moaned, “If I'm not back in school next week, I don't know what I'll do. Maybe die of boredom.”

“Or take care of my colt?” Ryan suggested. Hair slicked down and shirt cuffs turned back, he'd clearly made a trip up to the mansion.

Probably, Sam thought, that's where he'd gotten the folder he was carrying, too.

“Sure, I'll take care of Boots,” Jen told him. “But my brilliant mind needs stimulation. Every day
counts if I'm going to earn a scholarship to Stanford.”

Sam was pretty sure Ryan didn't mean his expression to look so indulgent, but it did, as if he were tolerating a child's dream of sliding down a rainbow.

Whatever he meant by it, the smile was brief. Ryan pulled a chair closer, moved the pitcher aside, and opened his folder.

“Maps,” Sam said, as he placed the papers side by side, but then she saw they were actually digital photographs of real maps pierced with multicolored pins.

“Photos of maps on my bedroom wall,” Ryan said.

Sam looked up at Ryan expectantly.

But Jen didn't wait for him to explain. Head tilted to one side, she squinted, studied the photos, then said, “You've been thinking about this for a while.”

“Yes,” he said.

“About what?” Sam asked.

She knew she wasn't dumb. Her grades and standardized test scores said her intelligence was above average, but sometimes, it was hard having a best friend who was brilliant.

“Dr. Scott's diagnosis wasn't what convinced Ryan to try to find Hotspot,” Jen told Sam.

“It did, but it wasn't the only thing,” Ryan admitted. “I'd already been considering it. What rational person wouldn't want to get back something that's his?”

His defensive tone made Sam look at Jen, but her friend's expression was carefully blank.

Get back
some
thing.
He must mean Hotspot,
Sam thought.

“Of course, my father thinks it's a poor idea. Still, he agreed to let me use Sky Ranger to stalk the herd, even though he's tried unsuccessfully to do the same thing with the same horse. But I'm a lighter rider and I've been giving Sky an athlete's nutrition—the highest quality grain to be found—preparing for this.”

When Ryan rubbed his hands together, Sam remembered last week, when she'd been alone on Gold Dust Ranch.

Right after Jen's accident, Ross had driven Jen to the hospital and Lila had gone to meet them after making Sam promise to stay at Gold Dust, to tell Jed, Jen's father, what had happened. After caring for Silly, Sam had wandered over to the barn and heard the rush of grain from a scoop and seen Ryan with Sky Ranger, the Thoroughbred gelding who was sleek and fast as a greyhound.

Hotspot came from running stock, too, so it would be a fair race, but Ryan hadn't said he was stalking the Appaloosa mare. He'd said “stalking the herd,” like his father had.

Sam recalled one rainy morning on her first cattle drive. From her sleeping bag she'd heard hooves splattering mud and looked up to see Linc ride out on Sky Ranger, determined to chase down the Phantom.

Now, when Sam looked at Ryan's photos of the maps on his bedroom wall, she felt sick.

Ryan was entitled to go after Hotspot, but…

“Do the pins in those maps show where she's been spotted?” Sam asked.

“That's almost right,” Ryan encouraged her.

“The Phantom's herd?” Sam's voice turned shrill as she demanded, “You've been tracking the Phantom's herd?”

The screen door opened. Lila handed Ryan an empty glass for lemonade, then asked, “Everything all right out here?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Jen said. “Sam's just—” Jen must have felt the accusation from Sam's eyes, because she broke off. “We're fine.”

Waiting for Jen's mom to leave, Sam gripped her hands into fists so tight, she felt her fingernails press into her palms. Finally the screen door closed again.

“I'm not fine,” Sam said quietly.

“All right, then. Yes, I've talked with people who've spotted that wild band, the band Hotspot's traveling with.” Ryan let his words sink in, then asked, “Sam, what's the difference? I've gotten information from several sources. I'm putting it together. So what?”

Wasn't it bad enough that Pam and her mother would see the Phantom? Now Ryan would be after him, too. He'd see the Phantom and fall under his spell.

Sam knew she wasn't being selfish. If she didn't shield the stallion from other people, someone was bound to turn greedy.

Sam swallowed. “I can't explain.”

“Would you rather have me just blundering across the range on my own?”

“Of course not,” Sam said. “I don't want you to get lost, but—”

Sam knew it would be rude to say what she was thinking. Ryan's father was obsessed with the stallion. If Ryan knew where to find the Phantom, he'd probably tell Linc.

“But what?” Ryan asked.

“Who are your sources?” Sam demanded.

Ryan arranged the maps. As he talked, he pointed out meadows and springs mentioned to him by Caleb Sawyer, the hermit of Snake's Head Peak. He indicated trails and canyons both Jen and Mrs. Coley had told him about.

“These are gullies, a
playa
, water holes, and washes my father admitted got the best of him when he was after the stallion,” Ryan said, ignoring the fact that Linc's actions were illegal.

Next, Ryan's index finger tapped places he'd heard about from Mrs. Allen, Sheriff Ballard, Brynna, and Karl Mannix, the horse thief.

“My information indicates the herd has six favorite habitats.” Tilting his head to one side, as if he were joking, Ryan added, “Those details came from
almost everyone in the county, except you and Jake Ely.”

Sam felt dizzy, and it wasn't from the heat.

Ryan fidgeted in his chair. He watched Jen, obviously waiting for congratulations.

“These sightings of the Phantom go back over three years,” he boasted.

He knew, and so did Sam, that Jen admired his calculated, analytical approach to tracking the herd, but she sat silent.

When she cupped her hand over her bandages, Sam knew why.

“Jen, does your rib hurt?”

Lips pressed together, Jen shook her head.

As if he thought Sam's question were meant to distract him, Ryan protested, “I assure both of you that I only want Hotspot.”

Jen met Sam's eyes. They both heard the plea in his words.

“I believe you,” Sam said, but she couldn't help thinking of Golden Rose, the palomino mare Ryan had kept hidden in the ghost town of Nugget. He'd known she belonged to someone else. Still, he'd kept her.

Images of Nugget led to thoughts of prospectors who'd sworn they'd be level-headed amid a stampede for riches. But once they'd begun digging the dirt and panning the water of nearby streams, once they'd seen the glitter of precious minerals, the miners had
given in to obsessions for gold nuggets and veins of silver.

Ryan wouldn't know he wanted the silver stallion until he saw him.

“So then you'll help me?” Ryan asked.

Sam looked to Jen for advice, but her friend had reached for the stack of schoolbooks. Wincing, Jen stretched until her hand clamped on a brand new calculus book. Then she settled it on her lap with a sigh of satisfaction.

Poor Jen,
Sam thought. She must feel left out. First, her parents had kept her from going back to school. Now her rib kept her from joining Ryan's search for Hotspot. Something told Sam that Jen wouldn't enjoy hearing that Sam's old best friend was coming to town.

Lila opened the screen door. “Sam?” she said, but her eyes studied Jen, and Sam knew Lila had given up on her daughter's good judgment. “It's time I called your Gram, don't you think?”

Before Sam could agree, Ryan spoke up.

“Don't bother, Mrs. Kenworthy. I'll take Samantha home. We have things to discuss.”

“Fine,” Lila said, but Sam wasn't so sure.

“Jen, is that okay?” Sam asked. No way would she ride with Ryan, alone, if it made her best friend jealous. “Jen?”

One of Jen's braids had worked loose from its hairpins. It exposed the sunburned part on her scalp
and hung down like the ear of a sad puppy.

Jen didn't fix it. She'd didn't answer. She didn't even look up from the math book.

Ryan shook his head impatiently, stood, and started walking toward the circular driveway where his family's cars were parked.

“Jen,” Sam repeated once Ryan was too far away to hear her, “do you want me to wait? Or is it okay if I go with Ryan and save Gram a drive over here? I don't mind waiting. Really.”

Jen was probably just engrossed in the wonders of calculus, but Sam had to make sure.

“I know I'm less fascinating than math, but give me a sign that you hear me, okay?” Sam snatched up her friend's hand. “Squeeze once for
yes
and twice for
no
.”

Finally Jen looked up. She gave a weak smile. “Sure, go ahead. Help him find his horse. Anything that will help him stand up to his dad is fine with me. Besides, I know you don't like him like I do.”

The sun glinted on the lenses of Jen's glasses, hiding her eyes so that Sam couldn't tell what Jen meant by that last bit.

“I'll call you tonight,” Sam promised.

“Will you?” Jen asked.

“Sure,” Sam said. Then she gave her friend's hand a single squeeze and left.