Desert Dancer (15 page)

Sam followed him, then stood in the doorway watching.

Jake didn't talk to Witch. She nickered, turning her head as far as the rope would allow, and blinked at him. Careful not to disturb his blameless horse, Jake smoothed his hand over her as he analyzed the intricate braiding and bows.

“What's this supposed to prove?” Jake's voice was quiet.

Suddenly, her joke didn't seem funny. If Jen had been here, or Quinn, or one of Jake's other brothers, it would have been a great joke. But just between the two of them, her prank stunk. And she didn't know how to answer Jake's question.

“It's payback,” she managed, finally. “For the dousing before the wedding, and the way you blamed me for letting Queen get loose, and a million other things. I'm thirteen. You're sixteen. Big deal. You are not my boss.”

Witch jerked back to the end of the rope. Her eyes rolled and her hooves hit the barn floor so many times it sounded as if she was trotting in place.

“Let's go sit on your porch.”

“I don't want a big discussion,” Sam said. “I just—”

“Oh no,” Jake said. “You wouldn't have done this if you hadn't wanted a big discussion. Now you're gonna get it.”

D
usk wasn't a good time to have a talk. As she and Jake walked across the ranch yard, Sam wished for noon or night.

She felt stronger any other time. In this half light, when the sun dipped behind the far-off mountains on its way to sink into the ocean, she thought of Mom.

The twilight memory that made her most melancholy was all around her, now. One night—she must have been five or six—Mom had allowed her to stay up late. She'd get to watch a Halloween television special,
if
she took a long afternoon nap. She had, and awakened at dusk. Sam recalled padding down the stairs in stockinged feet to the kitchen. Though she'd been stooping to open the oven door, Mom had heard her right away. She'd turned, hands muffled in oven mitts, to show Sam a lattice-topped cherry pie.

How could even sweet memories hurt so much?

Sam glanced toward the ten-acre pasture.
Popcorn and Dark Sunshine stood together under the cottonwood tree. At dusk, even in winter, the trees' leaves were edged with fading gold sunlight and it almost looked like fall.

Mom was gone, and so were Dad and Gram. For now. And the last time she'd been close to the Phantom, he'd charged. Shaking his forelock free of his fiery eyes, he'd looked as if he'd forgotten who she was, or didn't care.

She knew too well how something you loved could turn on you.

A discussion with Jake was doomed. She could either act tough, putting on an I-don't-care mask, or she could cry like a little kid. Either way, she and Jake wouldn't accomplish much.

She sat on the step, closest to the porch rail. Jake sat against the house, as far away as he could get from her and not have to shout.

Even in his city clothes, Jake sat like a cowboy. He hung his hands off knees that were bent and spraddled out. He cleared his throat, squinted toward the barn, then gritted his teeth so hard, a ridge of muscle popped up along his jaw.

“I don't know how t'talk to a kid your age.”

Suddenly, Sam wanted to laugh. Jake didn't know how to talk, period. He understood horses and cattle. Flicking ears and rolling eyes told him all he needed to know. But when it came to people, he was hopeless. If this talk lasted ten minutes, it would set a
world record for Jake Ely.

Sam decided to rescue him. “I fancied up Witch to remind you not to take yourself so seriously. I've got Dad to boss me around and worry over me.”

Jake didn't seem to hear what she'd said.

“You won't stop bein' crazy with horses, will you?” he demanded.

He couldn't know about her nightmares, about her fear of galloping and falling, and she wasn't about to admit her cowardice.

“If you'd been paying attention,” Sam told him patiently, “you'd know I have stopped. I haven't run Ace in—”

“Three days? Four? Since you took that spill?” Jake looked disgusted, as if she'd offered him a lie.

“I told you I had to do a sudden dismount. Not that I ‘took a spill,'” she corrected.

Again, he followed his own thoughts and ignored what she'd said.

“There's a natural order of things,” Jake said solemnly, “and when people interfere, there's a price to be paid.”

Sam's mind echoed the phrase.
When people interfere with the natural order of things, there's a price to be paid
. Had Jake read that? Was it a bit of Native American philosophy he'd learned from his shaman grandfather?

“I don't interfere,” she began.

“'Course you do. Take Buddy. That calf was an
orphan. You saved her. Later, you put yourself in the way of coyotes trying to eat her. That's the price. There's Blackie, of course, and those mustangs.” He gestured in the direction of Popcorn and Dark Sunshine. “And this wild dun.”

“You can't count Queen,” Sam rushed to put in. “I'd be a lot happier if she was still out on the range.”

“With that hoof? As cougar bait?” he asked. “I don't believe you. Not that you're the only one. BLM's just as guilty.”

“Then they should assign the Phantom another lead mare,” Sam said. “His herd's in chaos without one.”

“That's just what I'm talkin' about! He'll pick his own lead mare, Sam. Just give him a chance.”

Sam took a deep breath. Jake was right. Blackie was now the Phantom, a wild thing. He didn't play by human rules.

“Is that all?” Sam moved to stand up. “We're starting to talk in circles. That seems like a good time to stop.”

“Thing is, uh, in the natural order of things, I'm afraid you might turn out like your mom.”

Sam stiffened. Vertebrae from the base of her skull to the seat of her jeans lined up like a metal rod.

Jake noticed. He made a soothing motion with his hands, but he kept talking.

“When she died, she was doin' the same thing you do. You think about animals instead of yourself.”

Hot blood must've rushed to her face, because it felt like someone had thrown a pan of scalding water at her. For a second, Sam couldn't speak.

Then, she couldn't stop.

“Are you trying to make me mad? Because if you are, it's working really well and I think you should get the heck out of here, Jake Ely, before I hurt you.”

She shoved him against the side of the house.

“Sam—”

“I don't want to hear it! All in one punch, you tell me my mom was stupid, I'm stupid, and—”

“That's not it.” Jake puffed his cheeks full of air and the gesture was so childish, Sam stopped. Jake opened his mouth three times before words came out. “Just forget it,” he said finally.

“What
were
you saying then?” Sam dared him to finish.

“I'm saying that—they're animals. Just animals. You can love them, but you're more…” Jake fought to go on. “To your aunt, Wyatt, your gram…” Jake made a growling sound, then rubbed the back of his neck. “And, I'd rather not see you hurt again.”

In the sudden silence, Sam noticed it was awfully quiet inside the house. It was almost full dark now. Shouldn't she hear the television or Aunt Sue heating something?

“Well,” she told Jake, finally, “you don't have to worry about me getting hurt again. I'm done doing stupid things with horses. I'm afraid to ride now.”

Jake laughed out loud, as if she'd released him from his solemn trance.

“That's great, Jake. Really, it's just fantastic.” She shoved his shoulder. Then, because he kept laughing, she socked him. Hard.

“Ow.” He held his hand over his bicep, but he was still laughing.

“I spill my guts. You laugh. What a rotten way to get people to confide in you.”

“Lucky for me,” Jake said. “Can't think of anything I'd hate more.”

Frustration made Sam close her eyes and clench her fists. She tried to explain. “This changes everything, don't you see? I can't go riding with Jen. I won't be able to go on the spring cattle drive.”

“You are the biggest fake,” Jake said, sighing.

“Jake, you know something? If you weren't a large guy, you'd get beaten up all the time. Weekly,” she speculated, “maybe daily. Your body would be covered with bruises.” She took a deep breath, then put sincerity in every word. “I am not faking. I'm scared. I'm even having bad dreams.”

Heavy footsteps approached the door from inside. They sounded as if Aunt Sue were warning them she was coming, and that almost certainly meant she'd been eavesdropping.

Jake scrambled to his feet as Aunt Sue opened the door. She didn't come out on the plank porch, just leaned against the doorframe, holding her mug of tea.

She'd exchanged her sweats for khaki pants and a tangerine-colored pullover. She wore bright lipstick and she'd brushed her silver-blond hair. Sam wondered if Aunt Sue wanted to go out for dinner.

Aunt Sue tapped her painted fingernails against her mug, then looked up with teary eyes. “One of the saddest things in life is to take something that gives you joy and let it get ruined. Your mother and I spent two years not speaking because I thought she was insane to live out here and she thought I was a fool for not understanding.”

Aunt Sue shielded her eyes a minute before going on. “What a waste of two years we could have had together.”

Sam and Jake met each other's eyes. Adults never made confessions like this. Neither of them knew what Aunt Sue expected them to do.

“Does that mean you don't think the ranch is so bad?” Sam asked. This might not be the right time to tease Aunt Sue, but the words just hopped from her tongue.

“It means,” Aunt Sue said, with a sarcastic lilt, “I'm about to make a big pasta dinner and I'm wondering if young Mr. Ely would like to stay and eat.”

Jake's face lit at the mention of food, but he hesitated.

“Then I could drive you home while your horses have—” Aunt Sue broke off, and her free hand spun in the air. “An equine slumber party.”

For a minute, Sam thought he'd resist out of pure stubbornness, but Aunt Sue's next words did the trick. “Do you think one loaf of garlic bread will be enough?”

“I'll stay,” Jake said. “Thanks for askin'.”

Sam stood, planning to follow Aunt Sue, but Jake touched her arm and she stopped. “What?” she asked, suspiciously.

“You're not afraid of falling. You're afraid of being afraid.”

“Whatever that means,” Sam said.

“This is what it means.” Jake lowered his voice until she could barely hear it. “I don't know another soul who's ridden a wild stallion—on the range. Not in a corral, not in a rodeo arena, but out in his own territory where he could run off with you, forever.”

Jake's whisper gave her the shivers.

No one had seen her riding the Phantom. She'd been alone in Arroyo Azul and the dark tunnel that snaked through the Calico Mountains. Jake had to be guessing.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, brushing the porch dust from her jeans.

“Right,” Jake said, then kept quiet.

Jake was a world-class competitor when it came to keeping silent, but this time Sam knew she'd win. She and the Phantom shared a secret she'd never tell.

“Don't forget,” Jake said finally. “I'm the one who picked you up after that cougar attack. You were
probably in shock, and you were for sure shaken up. Your jacket was ripped with stuffing flying out, but you came walking down that shale hillside, out of a dark passageway, looking like the happiest kid in the world.”

Sam started to deny it.

“Don't waste your breath, Brat. You were flying. And we both know why.”

 

That night, Sam dreamed, again, of falling.

This time the dream was different. She still cartwheeled through night air, still passed a silver blur of stars, but then she was plummeting into water. All around her, it flowed brilliant turquoise, and she was going down toes first.

At last, her toes touched the bottom. Her calf muscles bunched and she pushed off. Bubbles streamed all around her as she jetted up toward the light. And when she broke the surface, a hot orange sun warmed her face.

As before, Sam woke to darkness and the sound of Cougar resettling himself on the quilt beside her. She stroked the kitten's fur, but he twisted and turned, trying to find a more comfortable position.

This time, Sam's heart wasn't pounding, but Aunt Sue's words played back as clearly as if she were listening to a tape recorder.

One of the saddest things in life is to take something that gives you joy and let it get ruined.

Sam's sleep-bleary mind sorted through images as if they were snapshots. She saw herself riding across War Drum Flats with Jen, then catching Champ after Linc Slocum had fallen from the lively palomino. She saw herself riding through the snowstorm to rescue an orphaned foal, and then she imagined leading Teddy Bear home with an injured Jake clinging to the saddle horn.

She tossed to her other side, trying to make sense of it all.

“Too tired,” Sam murmured to Cougar.

Claws sheathed inside a velvety paw, the kitten gave Sam's cheek a gentle bat.

“Does that mean ‘shut up'?” Sam asked.

She pulled the sleepy kitten into a hug.

“Mrow,” Cougar said, and together they slept.

E
arly the next morning, Quinn called to tell Sam that her joke had gotten him in trouble.

“Jake's threatening to tell Dad how I helped you, unless I come over for Chip and Witch. Brian's driving into Darton to the library around noon, so he's gonna drop me and I'll need to ride Chip and pony Witch home.”

“Sorry,” Sam said. “I didn't mean for you to suffer.”

“I haven't suffered much yet.” Quinn laughed. “And it woulda been worth it if I coulda been there when Jake found his horse. You've got to tell me all about it. When I asked him, all he said was she looked like someone's pet poodle.”

“She looked cute,” Sam protested, but Quinn was already saying good-bye.

Sam hung up, took a bite of the quiche Aunt Sue had made for breakfast and decided the least she could do was catch Chocolate Chip and Witch before
Quinn arrived. Jake had put them into the ten-acre pasture with the other saddle horses before he left last night.

The phone rang as she was washing her plate.

“Hi honey, I miss you.” Dad's voice sounded younger than Sam had ever heard it.

“I miss you, too, Daddy,” Sam said, realizing she'd used her childhood name for him. “But we're fine. Are you having fun?”

“Big fun,” he said. “Walking all over this town. So much that I had to get new shoes.”

Sam smiled as she imagined Dad strolling hilly San Francisco in his cowboy boots.

“Are you shopping and going to plays?” she asked.

“Yeah, and hitting the aquarium and museums, too. Brynna's leading me around like a sow on a string,” he said, but laughter filled his voice. “Things okay there?”

“Just fine,” she said. Her eyes met Aunt Sue's. Would her aunt tell Dad about Queen?

“Weather okay?”

“We had some sleet, but Dallas and the Elys went out and checked on the stock. Today's gray and over-cast, but it looks like the sun will burn through in a little while. Everything's fine.”

“Good,” Dad said.

Sam told herself it was just guilt that made her think she heard a tinge of suspicion in Dad's voice.

She heard Brynna speaking in the background
before Dad added, “So, if we decided to rent a car and drive back home, that wouldn't be a problem?”

“I don't think so,” Sam said. “We're doing fine.”

Sam realized she'd said
fine
way too many times. She had to quit. If Dad hadn't started out suspicious, she'd make him that way.

“Uh, Brynna wants to talk with you,” Dad said, and there was a jumble of sound as the receiver was passed along.

“Sam!” Brynna sounded like a cheerleader. Enthusiasm bubbled in her voice. “How are the horses? Did you go up to Willow Springs? Is Norman White—?” Brynna's voice broke off. “Okay, your dad just reminded me we've only been gone a couple days and it's unlikely Norman White could reduce the entire BLM to rubble so fast.”

“He was okay,” Sam said. “But hey, it's
not
okay, is it, for Linc Slocum to be feeding mustangs out next to the highway? He wants some guests of his to see them. He—”

“Definitely not okay,” Brynna's voice turned clipped and official. “If the horses stumble upon supplemental feeding for cattle, or if there's an emergency hay drop, that's one thing, but if you see him doing it, call Norman White right away.”

Next Dad wanted to talk with Aunt Sue.

Sam had almost made it out the kitchen door to the stable when Aunt Sue hung up the phone and called her back.

“One hour of housework, then the day is yours,” Aunt Sue told her. “Dallas is feeding the animals before he goes to Clara's for coffee, so don't even think of using that excuse. When we're finished, I plan to drive into Alkali or Darton, or wherever I have to go to get what I need to make peanut brittle.”

“That's Dad's favorite!” Sam said.

“Louise mentioned that once,” Aunt Sue said. “And there's no reason I shouldn't whip some up for him. I could wait and send him some from the city, but I'm learning it's not always a good idea to wait.”

Aunt Sue held her arms open and Sam met her hug halfway. For a full minute, Aunt Sue rested her cheek atop Sam's head. Then she held her back at arm's length.

“Now, my little Cinderella,” Aunt Sue said, using her fingers to comb the hair back from Sam's eyes. “Get in there and make that kitchen shine.”

The house looked pretty good at the end of the hour, and Sam promised she'd help keep it that way until Dad and Brynna returned. Next, she called Willow Springs to tell Mr. White what Slocum was up to. When no one answered, she left a message on Mr. White's answering machine and hoped he'd check it soon.

 

As soon as Aunt Sue drove off in her minivan, Sam released Blaze from the house.

“Go get 'em!” Sam cheered the dog on. There
wasn't anyone or anything that needed “getting,” but the Border collie searched nonetheless.

Blaze ran three circuits of the ranch yard, passing the chicken coop, swerving left in front of the barn, veering toward the bunkhouse, then back to the front porch to start over again.

As much as he liked the scraps and tidbits Aunt Sue tossed him, Blaze would probably be glad to return to his routine once she left.

Because she'd entangled Quinn in getting back at Jake, Sam was determined to have Chocolate Chip caught, brushed, and saddled when Quinn arrived. It was the least she could do, and it turned out to be a fairly simple chore. When Strawberry trotted up to see what Sam was doing in the pasture, Chip followed.

Catching Witch, however, was impossible.

When Callie arrived to work with Queen, Sam was approaching the black mare, shaking a measure of grain in a coffee can.

Afraid to wave “hi” with the hand holding the lead rope, Sam just lifted her chin toward Callie when the girl yelled a greeting out her Jeep window.

Eyes fixed on Witch, Sam heard the Jeep stop and its door slam. Then the pen gate opened. She didn't hear it latch into place behind Callie.

That wasn't good. She listened for Callie to check the latch. She might have missed it, because Witch was showing a little interest. She was still halfway
across the pasture, but Witch extended her neck and her head jerked upward with a hungry snort.

Even if the gate hadn't latched, it might be for the best. Queen had never charged Callie, but there was always a first time, and no one was at the gate standing guard. If she was in danger, Callie might race for the gate instead of climbing up and over the fence.

For safety's sake, Sam knew she should be over there, watching Callie and Queen. She'd give Witch five more minutes to cooperate.

“Come on, Witch. I've got some sweet grain here. Smell that molasses? Oh yum.”

Witch's ears flicked forward, then back. She swished her tail, flashed her teeth at Dark Sunshine, then crossed the pasture to stand beside old Amigo.

Dallas's sorrel gelding had gray around his eyes and muzzle. As Witch stood near him, the veteran cow pony's lips moved. When Witch tossed her head and snorted, Sam imagined Witch was telling Amigo how insulted she was that Sam would think she'd fall for
that
ancient trick.

Sam decided she'd just have to let Quinn catch Witch.

“You win,” Sam called out to the black mare. “But Quinn will be here soon, and he won't put up with your nonsense.”

Sam was halfway between the big pasture and the barn when she noticed Blaze. Head and tail low, he skulked toward the new pen where Callie was
working with Queen.

“Blaze!” Sam called out, but the dog paced faster. “Get over here!”

She slapped her hand against the side seam of her jeans, trying to break the dog's concentration, but he ignored her and broke into a trot.

Sam increased her pace. She saw a flash of red through the fence rails and heard Queen moving restlessly.

Sam didn't want to yell and scare the dun. Queen could bolt into Callie and injure her. But she had to warn Callie to close the gate.

Don't be silly
, she told herself. He's not going to start yapping and scare Queen. He won't flatten himself and slip under the lowest fence rail to sneak in, either.

He's a ranch dog. He knows how to act around horses.
But Blaze had been Aunt Sue's prisoner for days. He might not be himself right now.

By the time Sam figured out what Blaze was up to, it was too late to stop him.

The Border collie trotted to the unlatched gate and jumped up.

Sam broke into a full run. Please let me get there first, she thought.

Blaze jumped a second time, and Sam knew for sure that he intended to slip into the pen and investigate the new horse.

“No!” Callie shouted from inside the pen as the gate opened.

Blaze jumped back with a yelp. The gate slammed wide, just as it had before when she'd been opening it for Jake.

This time Queen knew exactly what to do. She stampeded through the opening, alone. A lead rope streamed behind her. Sam ran to grab it, but she couldn't get near the mare. Queen didn't detour near the ten-acre pasture. Before, she'd hesitated, but now she knew the way out and she was headed for home.

“I tried to hold on!” Callie staggered out of the pen. Her forearms were skinned and bleeding.

“Are you okay?” Sam shouted.

“
I'm
okay, but her hoof—”

Chocolate Chip was saddled and tied near the front porch.

“I'll go after her,” Sam said.

The big brown gelding tossed his head with excitement. He neighed and pulled, agitated by all the commotion.

“We can't let her run on that hoof!” Callie cried.

“I know! Call Jake,” Sam yelled, trying to approach the eager horse. “Call Mr. White, or anybody.”

“I want to come with you,” Callie insisted.

“Go saddle Ace,” Sam said, as she petted Chip's neck. She didn't shout, so maybe Callie didn't hear, but she had her hands full right now.

Quinn had boasted his gelding was fast, the only horse that could catch Witch. That meant Chip
would have no trouble catching up with Queen. If only Quinn was here to ride.

“Settle down,” Sam ordered, and Chip did. His hooves stuttered in place, but he was eager for her to mount. He snorted and looked back at her.

Sam put her hands on her hips and met the gelding's eyes. She'd been home for seven months. She knew how to ride. Even in new situations, the old rules applied. And rule number one was that there was only one leader in the herd.

“I'm taking charge, Chip,” Sam told the gelding. “I can do this.”

She jammed the toe of her left boot into the saddle stirrup. The leather was adjusted for Quinn and it was way too long.

For an instant, Sam considered riding with the stirrups that way. She could still climb up into the saddle, but she remembered how Jake had ridden bareback. What a disaster. Riding with flapping stirrups would be equally foolhardy.

Working quickly, she took both stirrups up. She slipped the bit into Chip's mouth and unsnapped the rope holding him to the hitching rail. Then she swung into the saddle.

The horse swerved in a wide arc. Sam had a hard time keeping her seat as Chip turned toward the bridge like a barrel racer headed for the way out.

The big brown horse moved into a hammering trot before Sam gave him a signal to go. She had to
let him know she was the boss. Sam gathered her reins and sat into him.

“We're going to run, Chip,” she told him. “But we'll do it when I say so, got it?”

The horse lifted his head and knees. He snorted and pranced, then settled into a perfectly collected lope.

Nice
, Sam thought.
Maybe I'll live through this after all.

Coming off the bridge, Sam wished she'd asked Jake where he'd found Queen the first time. Horses were creatures of habit.

But it was too late for regret. Sam leaned right, deciding the mare would have run along the river on this side, rather than try to cross over on her damaged hoof.

She saw horses.

At first Sam thought Queen had crossed the highway to the hay bales left by Slocum. Even from this distance, she knew none of the horses was Queen. Maybe the lead mare had headed toward Gold Dust Ranch where there were lots of other horses to command.

Feeling her indecision, Chip pulled toward the river.

“I'm still here,” she told him, and used her hands and legs to underline the message.

All at once she recognized the horses on the far side of the highway. Two blood bays meandered along, munching hay with the rest of the Phantom's herd.

On the near side of the highway, right in her path if she continued on this trail, Sam saw five more horses, a buckskin and several bays including that leggy colt with a white patch over his eye. Their heads flew up and their nostrils fluttered as they inspected Chip.

Horror swept over Sam like a crashing wave. The herd was divided by the highway. Startled by a passing car or truck, they'd reunite.

Every moment of their lives had told them safety was in the herd. No one had taught them to look both ways for traffic.

Think,
Sam told herself. Should she try to get them back together now, before something scared them?

And where was Queen? All she needed was for the dun to show up and run gathering laps around her band.

All at once, Sam felt the odd static that came with a lightning storm.

The sky changed from gray to an eerie red and a splashing sound drew Sam's attention to her left. For a minute, she couldn't tell what made the splash. Sun filtered through the clouds and shone on the river, turning it red. Then she saw Queen, scattering red drops as she ran through the shallows of La Charla.

More hooves drew Sam's attention away from Queen and up the stair-step mesas leading to the Calico Mountains.