Desert Dancer (10 page)

“Yes?” Aunt Sue encouraged.

“So, I think the whole family is a mess. I know Jen doesn't sleep well. I bet her parents don't, either. They're all worried and she's cranky,” Sam said.

As Sam waited for Aunt Sue to see the connection, she poked a fork at her salad. They'd eaten most of the nachos and almost none of their salads. With a guilty twinge, Sam wondered what Callie was eating tonight.

“By not speaking out when they pass judgment on Callie, do you think you're making Jen and Jed feel better?” Aunt Sue seemed to be asking a real question, instead of just disapproving.

At the wedding, Jen's face had looked tight and tired, in spite of her nice velvet jumper. Today, Jed Kenworthy hadn't been his laid-back self; he'd been fidgeting and nervous.

“No, I don't think it makes them happier,” Sam said. “And it makes Callie feel awful. She's just getting up her confidence to do stuff, and she's still sort of shaky.”

“And what about you?” Aunt Sue asked. “How do you feel?”

Sam shrugged. She wasn't going to let Aunt Sue pressure her into admitting she still didn't really fit in here. She was afraid to offend those who did.

Sam was glad her aunt didn't push.

Aunt Sue stood, picked up the nacho plate, and her own salad bowl. Blaze danced around her feet as she disposed of the leftover food.

Then Aunt Sue met Sam's eyes. “Why don't you stand up to them, I wonder?”

Sam drew a deep breath. “I don't know.”

Even Dad would say Sam didn't have the right to sass Jed Kenworthy, but when it came to Jen, he wouldn't back her up. If Jen's meanness kept up, pretty soon people wouldn't like her.

And the dislike might be contagious. Sam knew she'd already hurt Callie's feelings by standing silent.

“You didn't have any trouble setting Mr. Slocum straight,” Aunt Sue said, chuckling.

She seemed willing to drop the conversation there, but she left Sam wondering why it was so much harder to stand up to someone you liked than someone you disliked.

All at once, clattering sounded overhead. Cougar's tiny paws pattered downstairs. Blaze gave one scolding “woof” as the kitten raced, wide-eyed, into the kitchen. Seeing them, he tried to stop, but he only succeeded in sliding across the tile floor with his striped tail straight up.

“Is he causing all that racket?” Aunt Sue asked.

The kitten made an attempt to crawl under the refrigerator, failed, then rocketed back the way he'd come.

All the while, the clattering continued, then pounded louder. Soon, it was hammering loudly, not only on the roof, but against the metal drainpipe that carried water from the rain gutters to the ground.

“What on earth is that?” Aunt Sue asked. “Hail?”

“I think it's sleet,” Sam said.

“Oh, right.” Aunt Sue turned to a cabinet and
took down a can of powdered cocoa and a bag of marshmallows. “What's the difference exactly?”

Sam thought of Queen standing alone in the round pen with no way to reach shelter.

“For the animals,” Sam said as she stood and frowned toward the ranch yard, “sleet is a whole lot worse.”

“S
amantha, please don't issue ominous warnings unless you're going to explain,” Aunt Sue said.

Sam realized she was standing, holding her hair back from her temples with both hands. “I don't know exactly why sleet is so bad,” she said. “I just remember everyone rushing around doing things when there was a cold snap like this.”

“What kinds of things?” Aunt Sue didn't sound patient anymore.

“Running water to keep the pipes from freezing and going out to check on the range cattle….”

Sam wracked her brain, but she couldn't come up with much else. “They must have just sent me off to watch television, to keep me out of the way, because I really can't remember.”

Aunt Sue rubbed her index finger between Sam's eyebrows. Then she smiled. “No need to frown, honey. We can ask Dallas, can't we? Wyatt said he
was the ranch boss.”

“Yes. He'll know what to do,” Sam said, then sighed with relief. “He might already be doing it. I'll run over there.”

As foreman, Dallas made ranch decisions along with Dad and Gram. He'd tell her how she could help.

Aunt Sue stared from the kitchen window. Sam stood beside her. Here, the porch light created a golden circle of light. Over at the bunkhouse, another porch light shone. In between, it was cold and dark.

“Couldn't you just call him?” Aunt Sue asked.

“There's a telephone extension in the bunkhouse, but not a separate line. It's just across the yard.” Sam pulled on a slicker and turned back to Aunt Sue.

“It's dark,” Aunt Sue protested. “And the weather could be dangerous.”

“I'll run,” Sam promised, but when Blaze tried to follow, she ordered him back. “You stay here,” she said, then opened the kitchen door.

She was met with a surge of cold. Icy rain hammered the porch. Chills ran down her neck and arms, but she knew she wouldn't get any warmer while she stood there watching. She drew a deep breath and plunged into it. Her boots hit a patch of ground that was slick as a frozen pond, and she almost fell.

“Running on ice isn't exactly what I had in mind,” Aunt Sue called after her. “Be careful!”

“Good idea,” Sam muttered. Compared to sleet,
hail was the pleasant texture of a snow cone. This stuff hurt.

Blackness and ice blurred the bunkhouse before her eyes. A golden rectangle appeared as the bunkhouse door opened and Dallas motioned her onto the covered porch.

The gray-haired foreman had the tanned and creased face of a career cowboy. In spite of his age, and the stiffness that flared up with each change in weather, he was unfailingly dependable and the best roper Sam had ever seen.

Usually he had the help of two other cowboys, Pepper and Ross, but they were in Idaho, visiting Pepper's family.

Now he wore a Stetson and slicker and was clearly about to go out into the storm.

“Why aren't you inside?” Dallas shouted over the pounding ice. “Get back over there.” He started past her and Sam heard keys jingling. He must be driving out to check on the stock.

“Wait! I'm supposed to be doing something, aren't I?” she asked.

“You're supposed to be keeping your city-bred aunt out of my way.” Dallas nodded toward the house where Aunt Sue stood with crossed arms, squinting through the sleet. “Wave.”

“What?”

“Go on,” Dallas said, giving Sam's shoulder a light push. “Wave to let her know everything's okay.
Then get back over there.”

Sam waved, but she followed at Dallas's heels, wincing and wondering how she could have forgotten her hat. “What should I be doing,
really
?”

He started to get in the truck.

“Not much to do right now,” he shouted over the pounding ice. “We're pretty much set up for bad weather. You could double-check the henhouse door and make sure it's closed tight, but the rest of the stock has the sense to stay under cover. I'm taking the truck out, to be sure none of 'em are in trouble.”

“What about Queen?” Sam asked.

Dallas frowned in confusion.

“The new mustang,” she added.

“That dun? She'll be just fine. She'd face worse than this on her own if she was out on the range.”

“But if she was on the range, she'd have the whole herd to cuddle up with, and they'd be searching for shelter.”

Sam remembered the time she'd hidden among the Phantom's herd. The horses had already been chased and nearly captured by a group of rustlers once. They'd been frightened enough to learn the sound and smell of the men and hide from them.

Mounted, but just as afraid, Sam had followed the wild horses into a brushy gully above War Drum Flats. The horses had been warm and dusty, all pressed together, and they'd taught her why they always sought the safety of the herd.

Queen didn't have that now.

“She's tougher than she looks,” Dallas yelled, and then he was driving away.

He'd be gone a long time, Sam thought. Maybe all night. Together, the Elys, Jed Kenworthy, and Dallas would sweep across the range, making sure the cattle were safe. She couldn't question Dallas's priorities. Lost cattle meant lost money. Without the cattle, there'd be no River Bend Ranch.

She glanced right, at the ten-acre pasture, and saw the saddle horses crowded under their shelter. She looked to the left. Ace and Sweetheart had vanished inside the barn. Next, Sam hurried toward the round pen and peered through the fence rails. By the glow of the two porch lights, she could see Queen standing in the middle.

Why didn't Queen at least put her tail to the wind? Why did she stand there, facing the ice storm?

“What are you thinking, girl?” Sam whispered. “This isn't something you can stare down.”

The dun's ears didn't even flick.

Sam needed a flashlight, a tarp, and a rope. With them, she could rig a shelter over one side of the corral and hope the mare took care of herself, as she always had before. The flashlight was number one on Sam's list. For that, she'd have to go back inside.

While she was in there, just to be absolutely sure she was doing what was right, she'd call the vet, Dr. Scott.

The radio played staticky music and the phone was ringing as she stepped inside the house. Sam shrugged out of her wet yellow slicker and hung it on a front porch hook. She would have wrung the water out of her hair, too, except that Aunt Sue was beckoning her to answer the phone. The kitchen's heat made her cheeks feel tight and hot, but she moved to pick up the telephone receiver.

Maybe it was Dad. It seemed like a long time since yesterday when he'd called to wish her a merry Christmas, and she could sure use his advice now.

“Hello?” Sam said, but then she felt her shoulders droop as she realized the caller was Callie.

“How is she?” Callie asked. “Should I come back?”

“No, Callie, I don't think you need to—”

“Come back?” Aunt Sue finished, as if she'd heard Callie's question. “Absolutely not. I've been listening to the radio and they say roads everywhere are too slick. ‘Ice-skating rinks' they're calling them, and every few minutes they mention another car off the road. Some are upside down.”

“Did you hear all that?” Sam asked Callie.

“Yeah,” Callie's voice turned stiff again and Sam felt picked on.

Did anyone like her? Sam didn't think so.

Callie was mad. Dad was gone. Aunt Sue was disapproving. The Phantom had mock-charged her in a way that said he didn't want her help.

“So what're you going to do?” Callie asked.

“The minute I hang up, I'm going to call Dr. Scott and see if he thinks it's a good idea to string up a tarp for cover.” Sam looked at Aunt Sue in time to see her lips press together in a cautioning line. “Of course I'll do that from the outside of the pen.”

“Yeah,” Callie agreed, as if Sam had a pea-sized brain. “Oh wait, is your aunt listening? Did you say that for her?”

“Right,” Sam answered. “So, I'd better go.”

They both said “bye” at the same time. Then, after an awkward moment of silence, they both hung up.

Next, she called Dr. Scott, but only got his answering machine.

“This is Glenn Scott. The vet. I'm over at Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary and likely to be here until the roads clear. If you're calling about the litter of pups I posted at the feed store, I still have two of them. If you're calling about how to handle the weather, here are some general recommendations: make sure all stock has shelter. If this ice storm lasts, they'll want to stand still. Don't let 'em or they'll become Popsicles. This is especially important with poultry.”
Beeep.

The sound was so loud, Sam held the receiver away from her ear. Then the message resumed.

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Scott chuckled. “Chickens' eyes have been known to ice over, rendering them blind. Lock 'em in their coops. Range cattle
should find their own shelter, but you'll want to do heavy supplemental feeding for reasons you can probably figure out. Provide cover for penned animals, even if you just stake a tarp over one corner. If this is an emergency, call me on my cell….” Sam hung up.

“I'm brilliant,” Sam told Aunt Sue. “The vet said to do exactly what I was planning to do.”

Sam was reaching for the flashlight on top of the refrigerator when the phone rang again.

“We're not ever going to sit down and watch
Casablanca
, are we?” Aunt Sue sighed.

This time it
had
to be Dad.

It wasn't.

“Hi there, little lady, this is Linc Slocum, with a favor to ask.”

Before Sam could even respond, Linc launched into a one-man discussion of Mrs. Allen, her land, his land, and his scheme for Home on the Range.

Sam still didn't know what it was and she didn't care.

She only realized she'd slapped her forehead in frustration when Aunt Sue peeled her hand back to look into her eyes.

To calm her aunt's concern, Sam smiled and made a “no big deal” gesture.

“You still with me, little lady?” he asked.

“Sure, Mr. Slocum, but I couldn't convince Mrs. Allen to go along with your plan, even if I wanted to,”
Sam said. When she saw Aunt Sue's raised eyebrow, she added, “I'm not being rude, but I don't even know what you mean by your ‘Home on the Range' plan.”

“It's only the most elegant destination resort on this half of the United States. It'll be Western, all right, but no more like a dude ranch than a Thoroughbred is like a jackrabbit.” Slocum drew a deep breath. “Why, our guests will fly in from all over the country—all over the world!—and land on my private airstrip. While they're here, they'll dine on meals created by a French chef, swim in my tropically landscaped swimming pool, and play golf on greens as smooth as velvet. And all the while, mind you, they'll be in the heart of mustang country and—” Slocum's voice broke off. “What
is
that infernal racket?”

Outside, the sleet came down with renewed force. It was typical, Sam thought, that Linc Slocum was oblivious to weather that could damage his ranch and harm his cattle.

“It's sleet, Mr. Slocum. I'm sure Jed is out checking on your stock and—”

“Shoot, yes,” he said in a disgusted tone. “Came up here to my house and couldn't stop babbling about it. Don't know what he was fussin' about, with cattle a dime a dozen. And that old ranch house shoulda been bulldozed long ago.”

“That old ranch house” was Jen's home. How could Slocum believe the cozy wood and river rock
house should be knocked down?

“What's wrong with the Kenworthys' house?” she asked.

“Oh, it's sprung a leak, a couple leaks, or some such nonsense, but the important thing, now, is that you call Trudy Allen—”

Sam pictured Jen and Lila darting around, putting cooking pots under streams of water that managed to slip past the roof shingles. But they couldn't do that, because they were in Utah. And Jed couldn't do it, either. He was out in the freezing rain, trying to save the red-and-white Herefords because it was his job to care for them.

Listening to Linc Slocum talk about what was important was a waste of time. The man had no idea.

“Mr. Slocum, I'm sure we'll discuss this later.” Sam tried to talk over him. “But right now I've got a mustang to check on. This ice storm is dangerous.”

“—symbol of the wild West,” he continued.

“Gotta go,” Sam said, and hung up. She stared at Aunt Sue, waiting for a reprimand.

“You did a lovely job of handling that insufferable man.”

“I've had a lot of practice,” Sam admitted.

“Now,” Aunt Sue said, nodding toward the hammering sleet. “Do you want some help with that tarp thing you're going to do out there?”

“I think I can handle it, but could you run water? Here inside the house?”

“Run water? Sam, you don't have to give me a little task so that I'll feel useful.”

“It
is
useful. If we keep water running through the pipes, they won't freeze and burst.” Sam stopped as she thought of Aunt Sue's shower and the load of laundry. “Of course, we could run the well dry,” she mused, “but I guess we'd better face the problems we have right now.”

“Sounds like a mature decision to me,” Aunt Sue congratulated her.

“I'm glad I don't have to make them all the time,” she said, thinking of Callie.

Sam pulled on her heavy jacket, her hat, then slipped the wet slicker on over both. She felt as clumsy as a walking snowman, and Blaze wasn't helping matters.

“You stay, boy,” Sam ordered, but when the dog began whining, she took his brown-and-white face in her hands and scolded him more gently. “I know you want to help, but you'd scare Queen.” She kissed the white spot on top of his head. “You can meet Queen later. Now, stay in the house and help Aunt Sue.”