Desert Dancer (6 page)

Suddenly, Sam thought of Jake. Since the accident, he'd been torn with guilt. Yes, he'd rushed her through a gate on a green horse and, as she fell, Blackie's hoof had struck her head. But Jake was the
one who'd gone for help. He was responsible for saving her life, but he didn't see it that way.

“Was Jake there at the hospital?” Sam asked.

“Not that first night. It was only the three of us, waiting. You were out of surgery, but no one had been allowed to see you.”

“But…?” Sam closed her lips.

Discussing Jake's concern with Aunt Sue would increase the chance they'd get together and decide she wasn't allowed to ride any mount more challenging than a pony on a lead rein.

Aunt Sue met Sam's eyes, clearly waiting for her to finish the question.

No way. Sam jiggled Cougar on her shoulder as he started to get restless. Distraction had worked with the kitten. She might as well try it on Aunt Sue.

“About Jake,” Sam said. “He would've taken me up to Willow Springs Wild Horse Center tomorrow, but he's busy.”

That wasn't a lie. Jake's dad wanted his seven sons to dig up and repair the Three Ponies Ranch irrigation system during their break from school.

“Is it completely out of the question,” Sam asked, “that you'd, you know, drive me up there tomorrow?”

Aunt Sue didn't pin her down. She didn't inquire why Sam wanted to go, but she did ask, “Are they in cages?”

Since it wasn't a good time to laugh, Sam said, “In corrals, yes.”

“Okay, I'll do it. I'm here to spoil you, after all. In addition, I don't trust another soul to watch you like I will. Don't look so relieved. If you touch a pinky to a wild horse, that's it. You'll sit in this house and watch Disney videos until your father gets home. Understood?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said, and because she couldn't suppress her sigh of relief, she followed it with an offer. “Can I help you with dinner?”

“No, you can't. Go take a bubble bath or something.”

Sam turned toward the stairs, thinking she might just do that when Aunt Sue called after her.

“Sam?” Aunt Sue stood with her feet braced apart and her hands on her hips. “I've only got one niece, honey, and I plan to take care of her.”

W
ind had swept the skies clear of all but the highest, wispiest clouds.

“A perfect blue-and-white day,” Aunt Sue said as she locked the front door and looked into the skies. “Aren't those clouds called ‘mares' tails'?”

“I hope so,” Sam said. She was thinking that would bode well for finding the tiger dun, but Aunt Sue didn't seem to understand.

Sam felt a little disoriented. Last night she'd dreamed of falling. She'd stumbled off the Golden Gate Bridge and ended up plummeting toward Arroyo Azul.

Weird, she thought, but it didn't take long for the December weather to sweep her nightmare aside.

With each breath, the cold wind raced through her nose, down into her lungs and Sam was glad she'd snagged her jacket. She wore her favorite russet sweater with her new black jeans, but they were no
match for the piercing wind.

Aunt Sue wore trim khaki pants with a turtleneck and blazer. Country casual, San Francisco style, Sam thought.

As they drove down the highway toward Willow Springs, Aunt Sue commented on the limitless vistas and sage-dotted spaciousness of the range. Sam knew her aunt was just filling the moments, hoping Sam would suddenly confess what she wanted to do at the wild horse corrals. That was one big difference between Aunt Sue and Gram. Aunt Sue was so patient.

“The horse I'm hoping to find up here,” Sam began, “is the lead mare of the herd you saw yesterday.”

Aunt Sue's fingers tightened on the steering wheel before she said, “They have a female boss? Not that white stallion?”

“They sort of share the leadership,” Sam explained. “And when she's missing, he can't really handle a herd that big.”

“Why go looking for her? Won't she just come back on her own after she's had her vacation?”

“Wild horses aren't like people,” Sam said. “The herd is everything to them. It's not just a family, but their home and a shield against danger. They all watch out for each other and they don't leave unless they're driven out—which the Phantom wouldn't do to her—or unless they're hurt and get left behind.”

“They leave their injured behind?” Aunt Sue said, frowning.

“Sometimes,” Sam admitted, though she didn't want Aunt Sue to think badly of the horses. “Everybody tells me it's for the good of the herd. An injured horse attracts predators and then if something like a cougar or a pack of coyotes comes by and sees the foals, they'd go after them instead.”

Aunt Sue followed Sam's gesture to turn right at the sign for Willow Springs.

“After this, the road just keeps climbing. There's a narrow part called Thread the Needle. Then it drops into a valley full of BLM corrals and an office,” Sam explained.

“Piece of cake,” Aunt Sue said, then added, “and what if this lead mare is up here?”

For a minute, that question stopped Sam. She'd promised to get the mare back to her herd, but she didn't really have a plan.

“If she's there, I'll find out why. Brynna said there weren't any gathers planned, so she didn't think the mare would be there. But if she is, I'll tell Brynna and she'll help me figure some way for the mare to rejoin her band.”

Sam noticed Aunt Sue's inquiring look, but she didn't try to interpret it. She was more worried about Mr. Norman White, Brynna's substitute. She knew for a fact that Mr. White had no qualms about destroying horses.

The van made a chugging sound as Aunt Sue downshifted.

“This would be a tricky bit of road if you weren't expecting it,” she said as the road narrowed to barely accommodate the van. Aunt Sue drove on a bit, glanced to her left at a sidehill slanting like a slide into a maze of deer trails. “Looking at that too long could give a person vertigo. You know, that dizzy feeling of falling forward?”

“I know,” Sam said. “Gram doesn't like this place, either. And to tell the truth, when I get my license…”

“Don't worry about it,” Aunt Sue dismissed Sam's anxiety. “The trick is to let your eyes rest where you want the car to go. That definitely wouldn't call for peeking over the edge.”

For the first time, Sam thought she might turn out to be a good driver.

“That's what you do when you're riding, too,” Sam said.

“Really?” Aunt Sue shot a quick glance Sam's way. “If that smirk is because you think you can get me up on some equine monster, you can just forget about it.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam said, but the idea made her grin.

Even though Aunt Sue wasn't an experienced mountain driver, she had more confidence than people who'd lived here all their lives.

Once, when she'd driven up here with Mrs. Allen, owner of Deerpath Ranch and the new wild horse sanctuary, Sam was sure she'd seen the older lady jab
her foot on the accelerator and close her eyes, just to get past this narrow spot.

Just past the summit, the road dipped down toward dozens of corrals filled with hundreds of horses. A few horses fled the approach of the minivan, running to the other side of their enclosure, and kept their heads turned toward the new vehicle, but none of them looked very scared.

Aunt Sue angled the van toward a small patch of asphalt where two white off-road vehicles belonging to BLM were parked near a rental truck with a huge horse trailer coupled on behind.

Could Callie be taking her adopted mustang home today?

As they climbed out of the van, Aunt Sue rubbed her hands up and down her blazer sleeves. The drop in temperature underlined the increase in altitude.

As they walked toward the BLM office, Sam recognized Norman White. Dressed in a crisp tan uniform, he had a stiff little mustache that twitched as he talked to Callie Thurston.

Since they were still yards away, Sam couldn't tell what he was saying, but Mr. White was gesturing with a folder. Each time the wind gusted, he stepped back.

Callie wore a moss-green cloak that swirled around her and threatened to wrap Mr. White in its folds as well. Sam knew the garment would frighten a horse fresh off the range, but Mr. White wasn't a horse.

As they drew closer, Sam thought he looked tense and muscular in a self-conscious way. His short hair stuck up like the bristles of her toothbrush. And there he went, hopping out of the way of the cloak, again. Mr. White was trying so hard not to look silly, that he did.

He also broke off his conversation with Callie as he noticed her. He didn't greet her like an acquaintance, didn't mention Brynna had talked with him about the lead mare, or even needle her about coming to rescue more unadoptable horses. He gave a curt nod and kept talking.

Fine, Sam thought. She'd begin a search for the tiger dun mare, until Mr. White made time for her.

Aunt Sue followed Sam over to one of the pens. Through the fence rails, they saw about a dozen horses.

“That blond one's nice looking,” Aunt Sue said.

Sam smiled. At least Aunt Sue was trying to show some interest in horses.

“That's a palomino,” Sam explained gently. “My friend Jen rides one.”

Sam kept looking for the tiger dun, but most of the mustangs were bays and chestnuts. A single Appaloosa with blue roan splatters stood apart from the others.

“They're all young horses, yearlings or so. She wouldn't be with them,” Sam confided to Aunt Sue. “That's the corral I want to check.”

Sam nodded toward the pen closest to Callie. One end of the enclosure had a squeeze chute, which would keep a horse confined so that it could be inoculated or given vitamins. It also had a ramp that would make loading a horse into a trailer easier. Sam sensed movement inside the corral, but she couldn't see the horse.

It had to be the mustang Callie was adopting, so the horse wouldn't be here when Brynna returned. If it
was
the red dun mare, that meant trouble.

“…your parents?”

Wind caught most of Mr. White's question, but Sam heard Callie's answer.

“If you'll check my application, you'll see they've already signed it. Plus, I'm an emancipated minor, so I can do this on my own.”

Sam turned to Aunt Sue, whispering, “What exactly is an ‘emancipated minor'?”

At first, Sam wasn't sure Aunt Sue had heard her question.

“That's the girl from the beauty college, isn't it? The one who did such miracles with our hair.” Aunt Sue studied Callie for a few seconds. “It means she's under eighteen years old and her parents have legally freed her from their control.”

“Why would they do that?” Sam asked, but Aunt Sue was motioning her to silence.

“…corral must be four hundred feet square with tall, strong fences. A round pen is ideal for breaking
her to halter and for the approach and retreat training method BLM suggests for wild horses.” Mr. White's mustache twitched as if he thought the technique was nonsense. Sam would bet he was an advocate of showing horses who was boss, rather than working with their natural instincts.

“She doesn't have it,” Aunt Sue muttered.

“Have what?” Sam noticed Aunt Sue was watching Callie, not Mr. White, and Callie definitely looked uneasy.

Mr. White was going on about training and shelter, while Callie twisted her fingers in a fold of her cloak and gave slow, halting nods.

“An official from BLM or a humane organization will come out and inspect the facility and verify your horse's health. I'll supply you with a card that must be kept up-to-date and produced on demand. The freeze brand tells the animal's estimated year of birth, where she was gathered…”

Callie fidgeted with a pendant that hung around her neck amid a layer of other necklaces. And she chewed her lower lip.

“…belongs to the United States government and if she dies, escapes, or is stolen you must report—”

“I know about gaining title to her,” Callie said. “But what about her feet?”

Her feet?
If there was something wrong with the mare's hooves, Callie needed to be quiet.

No hooves, no horse.
That's what Dallas always said.
If Mr. White agreed, he might want to put her down.

“She has a cracked hoof,” Callie explained. “That's why she was brought in.”

Sam moved closer. A cracked hoof. That might make the mare temporarily lame, or it could cripple her. Either way, the condition would slow a horse down. She might be left behind and gathered by a BLM wrangler.

Sam strode away from Aunt Sue. It might seem like she was intruding on Callie's conversation, but she had to see the horse they were talking about. Sam peered between two fence rails at the horse inside.

The mare stood straight and slim as a Thoroughbred. Her slender legs wore horizontal bars of black, and a dark stripe traced the path of her spine. Her black-edged ears pricked to listen and her slightly dished head turned toward Sam. The horse trembled with watchfulness.

“Oh girl,” Sam said with a sigh.

The mare was the color of autumn leaves, of fiery sunsets, of every beautiful red thing in nature. The Phantom's red dun lead mare was a prisoner.

She didn't belong in this pen. She couldn't belong to Callie Thurston.

Sam squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was the only one who cared about returning the mare to her herd, so she'd better get started with that rescue, right now.

“S
am!” Callie's voice soared with delight. “I knew Queen and I were meant to be together!” She clapped her hands and laughed.

“Huh?”

It wasn't the most intelligent response to Callie's greeting, but Sam didn't know what in the world Callie was talking about.

“From the moment my eyes met Queen's, there was a connection, a bond,” Callie said. Her hands cupped around her pendant, as if warming it. “When a problem came up this morning, logic told me to cancel the adoption. But I'd already rented the horse trailer and even though I had no place to take her, some sixth sense told me a way would be provided. And here you are!”

A way would be provided.
The phrase sounded otherworldly, as if Callie had expected something paranormal to happen. If that was the case, Sam knew she
didn't fit that description.

Sam looked to Aunt Sue for help. Because she'd been a teacher for so long, she was usually pretty good at reading kids, but Aunt Sue's frown showed she was equally puzzled. Sam looked at Mr. White. Tapping the file folder against his palm, he stared at Callie as if she spoke another language.

Sam's mind spun. Queen had to be the red dun. It was a fitting name for a lead mare, so maybe Callie did have some sort of intuition. But how did Callie suppose normal, everyday, Sam Forster fit into this mystical match?

“Just why do you think I'm that ‘way'?” Sam asked, embarrassed.

“I'd been depending on a friend to supply a corral for Queen, but that didn't work out,” Callie began to explain.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Mr. White interrupted. “You don't have the proper facilities for a healthy animal, let alone an injured one?”

Sam's heart bumped into high speed. This was just what she'd feared.

Mr. White was focusing on the mare's injury. Who knew what twisted solution he'd reach?

“Wouldn't an injury make her even easier to confine?” Aunt Sue spoke up. “I'm no horse expert, but I've had sore feet from wearing high heels. At the end of the day, I don't exactly feel like running across the prairie.”

“Pardon me?” Mr. White said and Sam was pretty sure he wanted to ask Aunt Sue who the heck she was, but things were getting so weird, he didn't know where to start.

Sam didn't know whether to thank Aunt Sue or tell her to hush.

The mare belonged on the range.

If the adoption was finalized, Callie couldn't turn her loose, even if Sam convinced her it was the right thing to do.

If the mare was kept here at Willow Springs, her future was uncertain.

If the mare's hoof was badly damaged, she would be easy prey for a predator.

Aunt Sue took pity on Norman White's confusion. She stepped forward with her hand extended.

“Hi. I'm Samantha's aunt. I guess that sort of makes me Brynna Olson—oops—Brynna
Forster
's sister-in-law. Almost.” Aunt Sue shook Mr. White's unresisting hand. “I certainly didn't mean to barge into your conversation. Actually, it's the first time I've seen so many horses. I've encountered a few in Golden Gate Park, when I jog.”

Aunt Sue flashed Sam a glance that said she was doing her best to stall. But Sam didn't know what to do next.

She needed the truth about the mare's hoof. Would it heal? How well?

There was a big difference between captivity and
the wild. A caring rider could tend a hoof and keep a horse on good footing. Once she was free, the mare would lead her band where food and water were plentiful, regardless of the conditions.

Sam had ridden in mustang country and she knew the wild horses crossed ground that was dangerous. She'd ridden the hard-baked playa and stretches of terrain littered with sharp black volcanic rock. She'd traversed shale layered on a hillside like china plates and been scared silly. One misstep in a place like that could send a horse sliding to its death.

The images flashed through her mind in an instant, making things even more complicated. Sam scanned the acres of wild horses and hay bales, looking for help. She found it when she spotted a big man with a full black beard.

The first day she'd seen him, he'd been throwing hay to the corralled horses and she'd nicknamed him Bale-Tosser in her mind. The last time Mr. White had substituted for Brynna, Bale-Tosser had helped block the destruction of the group of mustangs Mr. White called “unadoptable.”

Now, he walked toward Sam and gave her a quick wink. He looked like a buckaroo, not a bureaucrat.

“Ready to load the princess?” he asked.

“Queen,” Callie corrected. “Not Princess.”

“All I know's she acts like royalty. Scared and hurtin' like she was, she still tried to boss around
those other mares we put her in with.”

“Adoption may not be an option, if she's badly injured,” Mr. White said.

“Shoot, we have special adoptions all the time,” Bale-Tosser said. His tone was easy, not like he was correcting Mr. White, just telling him about the normal events at Willow Springs Wild Horse Center. “Some horses have accidents that render 'em blind, for instance. And, long as they have some other horse to guide on, they do fine in the wild. In pastures, too, for that matter.”

“Yes, but—”

“Just last month we had that beautiful little filly with the twisted legs and she got adopted.”

Sam recognized the description of a flaxen-maned filly that Mrs. Allen had rescued along with twelve other horses before Mr. White could have them destroyed. By the twitch of his mustache, Mr. White clearly didn't appreciate the reminder.

“What is the prognosis on this animal?” he snapped.

“She's doin' okay. Dr. Scott, that's our veterinarian—”

“Oh, I recall Dr. Scott,” Mr. White said.

“—says, she'll need expert farrier care soon as Silas Lake can touch her feet.” Bale-Tosser paused to reach for the folder Mr. White was holding. “Mind if I see that?”

In the seconds Mr. White hesitated, Sam
remembered Silas Lake. Though Dad and Dallas did the shoeing for River Bend's horses, Mrs. Allen had used Silas Lake for hers.

That was no simple chore, especially when it came to Calico. Mrs. Allen treated her big paint mare like a pet, but the farrier had left swearing that the horse was a naturally born carnivore.

“Thanks,” Bale-Tosser said as Mr. White surrendered the folder. “Yeah, see right here?” Bale-Tosser tapped a note clipped inside the folder. “Dr. Scott recommended Silas by name.”

Mr. White looked toward the horizon, but Sam could see in his eyes that he thought Dr. Scott was too soft. Sam had heard him say those very words to the blond, bespectacled vet when he refused to put down a blind foal.

For that and his gentle, expert handling of the Phantom in the rodeo arena, Dr. Scott was Sam's hero.

“Are you willing to give Queen lots of extra handling, sorta speed up the gentling process so Silas can take care of those hooves?” Bale-Tosser asked Callie.

“Of course,” Callie said. “I'd keep her in my bedroom if I could.”

“Which brings us back to the problem at hand,” said Mr. White. He leaned toward Callie in a way that was supposed to look friendly. “You don't know where you'll keep her.”

“I've taken every extra job I can,” Callie said,
flashing a thankful smile at Aunt Sue. “And I've been living on noodles so that I could buy all the right food for Queen, but I was hoping…”

Don't say it,
Sam begged silently.

“…maybe…”

Please don't say it.

“Queen could stay at River Bend Ranch until I get my own place.”

An icy gust of wind cooled Sam's forehead and she realized she was sweating.

What's the big deal
? she asked herself. The only promise she'd made had been to a horse.

But she loved that horse.

If the Phantom had no lead mare by spring, he'd be beset by other stallions trying to steal his band. Doing battle, he could be hurt. He could be killed.

A small plane passed overhead. As it did, the red dun bolted, stumbling as her sore hoof hit the ground. Just before she collided with a fence, she swung around and ran back in the opposite direction.

It was then Sam saw the white freeze brand on her neck.

Of course. Why hadn't she realized this before?

The mare wouldn't be released. That brand meant she was now the property of the United States government. The only question was whether she'd be adopted by Callie Thurston or someone else.

Better Callie, Sam decided.

If she waited for another adopter, she'd have to
stay at Willow Springs, under Mr. White's supervision during the week Brynna was gone.

Sam didn't trust Mr. White. She wanted to get the mare out of his reach.

“Ma'am?” Bale-Tosser turned to Aunt Sue.

Sam guessed it was only fair. Aunt Sue was the adult in charge, even if she didn't know a palomino from a blond.

Aunt Sue put the fingers of both hands together, then flexed her knuckles. The gesture reminded Sam of a spider doing push-ups on a mirror, but she knew from the time they'd lived together, this meant Aunt Sue was thinking. Hard.

“Samantha?” Aunt Sue asked.

“We just finished a round pen to BLM specifications, and we're already cleared as adopters because of the HARP horses,” Sam said.

The echo of her own voice sounded as official and cold as Mr. White's, but she didn't want to get excited about Queen. After all, they were stealing her from the Phantom.

“Very well,” Aunt Sue said in her teacher voice. “I agree, if she's kept locked in her cage until Brynna gets home. And no one goes into that—all right,” she put in, remembering Sam's earlier correction, “—
pen,
with her.”

Sam's eyes met Callie's. They both knew Queen needed human contact to start forming a new herd, a family that included humans. Isolating her was the
last thing they should do.

Sam shrugged and gestured toward Callie.

All at once Sam felt really irritated by Callie's constant fiddling with her necklace, and her pierced nose and her Dracula cloak.

This wasn't what Sam had planned. Not even close. She wanted to fling the gate wide, make a whoop so loud people would think it was a fire engine, and watch the red dun mare run. Sam wanted to see her gallop through Thread the Needle, down the hill. She wanted to see her splash through the shallows of La Charla, and emerge on the wild side of the river.

The red dun mare ran a lap around her corral in a lopsided gait, then stopped. She held one hoof clear of the dirt. She shook her mane and nearly fell. Then, she uttered a long, sad neigh in the direction of the Calico Mountains.

How awful if she can read my mind, Sam thought.

How awful if she knows she'll never be free again. Ever.