Desert Dancer (7 page)

I
t took three men and two hours to load the red dun into the trailer.

Sam had known the delicate, doelike mustang would fight confinement, but she hadn't guessed the battle would be so sad.

When escape proved impossible, the mare squealed in fury, trying to back down the men she saw as tormenters. When that didn't work, she used her strength against them. The men were patient, working with her instincts instead of forcing her, but the mare stood firm.

Once the plunging mare was loaded, they gave her no chance to back out. The trailer door was latched behind her when she snagged the cheek piece of her new black halter and began jerking back and scrambling to stay upright.

“Aw, shoot,” Bale-Tosser moaned as the mare's neck wrenched at an unnatural angle.

Instantly, he clambered over the chute fence, leaned against the trailer, and his arm darted out, trying to release the metal slide that held the halter in place.

The commotion was brief. He fell back to the ground, stood, and stamped the dust from his boots.

“Worked just like it was supposed to,” he said. He examined the bones in the back of his hand and gently flexed his fingers. “Instead of fussing with knots and buckles, the thing fell right off.”

“I can take her without a halter,” Callie offered.

“No you can't,” Bale-Tosser insisted. “She leaves here with a halter and that ten-foot lead rope you brought.”

Sam sighed. Haltering the mare had taken forever. She must have thought they were predators, going for her vulnerable eyes.

Now they'd have to do it again.

Bale-Tosser read Sam's expression and shook his head. “Lots more fun to get it on her again than get your fingers outta a knot that has hundreds of pounds of horse jerking it tighter and tighter. Fingers can be sorta useful to those of us workin' with mustangs.”

For a few minutes, Willow Springs was silent, except for the breathing of the tired horse and confounded men.

The mare faced away from them, but she made the mouthing movements of a foal.

Sam knew the red dun was promising the men could rule her, if only they'd leave her alone.

“Let's take a coffee break before we try haltering her again. It will give her a chance to get used to her surroundings,” said Bale-Tosser, glancing at his hand again. “I can get some ice on this.”

Everyone nodded. Mr. White, of course, had long since returned to his warm office. The perfect blue-and-white day had turned gray. Sam hoped it wouldn't rain.

Hooves thudded inside the trailer as the mare looked for a way out.

Now Sam realized why the BLM required a big horse trailer, non-skid footing, and a halter with panic snaps for adopted mustangs. So far, the mare was tired and frightened, but she hadn't injured herself.

A heavy sigh reminded Sam that Aunt Sue stood beside her.

“I'm going to get some of that coffee,” she said.

“I'll stay here,” Sam replied.

“Me too,” Callie said, and though she sounded wearied from watching, she still sounded hopeful.

When she moved closer to the trailer, Sam felt angry. Couldn't Callie see the horse was already frightened? Pressing close and staring at her like she was a zoo animal would only bring on more panic.

“What do you think you're—?” Sam began, but then she broke off.

Queen belonged to Callie. It would do no good to interfere. Even if the red dun lived at River Bend, it would be temporary.

At least Callie moved slowly. Wind caught the hem of her cloak, pulling it out behind her.

A snort made Sam glance back at the mare. In snatches, she watched Callie come. Her lathered neck curved, and she fastened her eyes on the strange figure. Then she looked away. Seconds later, the mare turned to watch Callie again. The horse didn't look suspicious; merely interested.

A
bond
, Callie had said. Sam didn't really believe that, but the girl was doing something right. Sam remembered when she'd first started working with Dark Sunshine and the abused mustang mare had stared at the barn, listening to Buddy.

Queen was giving Callie that same attention, and Jake—or had it been Dallas?—had said, “That's how you want her looking at you.”

Callie's luck seemed to be holding, today.

Her fingers moved from her brass pendant to another necklace. The charm on this one looked like a tiny bamboo tube. As Sam watched, Callie slowly turned the tube end for end, causing a faint rushing sound, like water over rocks.

“What's that?” Sam asked.

“A rain stick,” Callie whispered, then nodded at the mare.

Sam looked. The dun's ears tipped forward, flicked back, then stayed forward, testing the sound for familiarity.

The spell lasted until the door to the office opened
and the men and Aunt Sue came back into the blustery day. Bale-Tosser was carrying a long stick of some sort. Sam felt a jolt of alarm.

“This next part's gonna seem a little rough,” Bale-Tosser warned Callie.

She took a deep breath, but didn't protest. “You're the experts,” she said finally.

Bale-Tosser nodded. “Thanks. What we're gonna do is get a rope on her and reel her to the side while I use this.” He paused, holding up the stick. Now Sam could see it had a hook at one end. “To get that halter out of the trailer. That'll keep me at a distance, which will make her happier. Besides, it's not going to do anyone any good for me to get my brains kicked out. Then, we'll keep her in position to get the halter back on.”

Five minutes later, it was done.

Callie stood where the mare could watch her and listen to the fall of whatever was inside the bamboo tube.

Queen kept watching and listening, and this time, when the halter went over her head, she seemed more annoyed than scared.

“Whatever you're doin' worked like a charm,” Bale-Tosser said to Callie.

“It's probably my talisman,” Callie said, touching the brass circle she'd been fooling with before. “The engraving's of Rhiannon the horse goddess.”

Sam had never heard of Rhiannon the horse
goddess and she couldn't believe the way Callie gave the credit to her necklace.

As far as Sam knew, a talisman was like a good luck charm. Believing in one was pure superstition, but Callie had spoken as if it was as common as a horse being attracted by a fresh red apple.

And now Bale-Tosser and another BLM employee were making a fuss over Callie because she could drive the truck pulling the horse trailer. She was experienced, it seemed, because she'd driven the big truck her parents had used for their health food store.

“I think I know where I'm going,” Callie said to Aunt Sue. “But I'll follow you to River Bend, okay?”

“That's fine, but how are we going to get this horse out when we arrive?” Aunt Sue asked.

It was a good question. One look at Aunt Sue's tight lips and raised eyebrow told Sam to not even think of doing it alone.

“That's right,” Bale-Tosser said. “Wyatt's on his honeymoon.” He smiled and glanced briefly at Sam.

She shrugged and nodded toward Aunt Sue.

“I think the two of us can do it,” Callie suggested.

“Not while I'm the reigning adult,” Aunt Sue said.

Sam didn't argue. She didn't have a pinch of faith in Callie and her talisman. If they couldn't handle the mare, she could be further injured coming out of the trailer.

“How 'bout I call Jed Kenworthy and tell him to swing by in a half hour or so,” Bale-Tosser suggested.

Aunt Sue glanced at her for approval and Sam hesitated. Jed was like Dad. A mustang had to prove its worth to them, and even then they doubted their own eyes.

“Or Jake Ely? He's a good hand with horses and I bet you girls know him from school.”

“Jake's busy,” Sam said quickly. “I bet Jed would help us out.”

The last thing she wanted was Jake protecting her from a horse. If he and Aunt Sue swapped even two sentences on the subject of Sam's riding, she might as well donate her saddle to the state museum.

 

Aunt Sue wore her teacher face on the way back to River Bend Ranch.

“It was quite impressive the way Callie held that wild horse's attention, wasn't it?” she asked, then added, “she was getting a lot of attention herself.”

Aunt Sue kept her eyes on the road, but Sam looked at her just the same. She knew what her aunt was suggesting.

“I'm not jealous, Aunt Sue.”

“I didn't say you were, but Callie does seem to have a rather unconventional approach to horsemanship.”

“Horsemanship?” Sam squeaked. “It's more like snake charming. With a horse.” Lousy comparison, Sam told herself.

“You mean the necklace?” Aunt Sue asked.

“Yeah, of course. It's like pure superstition.”

“Nothing like that bracelet you told me about, I suppose.”

Sam caught her breath. Aunt Sue might as well have said
gotcha.

She'd written Aunt Sue a letter about the silvery circlet she'd braided with hair from the Phantom's mane.

“It's not the same,” Sam said. “I think my bracelet works—if it does—because he smells it.”

She was lucky Aunt Sue couldn't read minds. Sam remembered how she'd decided to leave the bracelet in the pocket of her jeans when she was at the church, dressing for the wedding. She'd left it, not just because it wouldn't go with the formal pine-green gown she wore as maid of honor, but because she'd known she wouldn't need it.

Of course it wasn't essential to bond the Phantom to her. It wasn't magic.

Still, Sam was glad she'd remembered to slip it out before she put her jeans in the laundry last night. But she wished she hadn't left it on her desk.

When she thought of how the Phantom had challenged her yesterday, she decided she'd better put it back on.

 

They were approaching War Drum Flats when Sam noticed bales of hay stacked along the roadside. They were all on the right side, as if someone was feeding
cattle. That was unlikely, since most ranchers had enough sense to feed farther away from the highway.

Except one.

Sam wasn't surprised when Aunt Sue braked to avoid hitting the rear bumper of a champagne-colored truck driven by Linc Slocum.

Linc had purchased the vehicle just weeks ago, in order to go cougar hunting. The last time Sam had seen it, Linc had pulled up to the bus stop, jerked open the rear doors, and practically forced her and Jen to look at the dead mother cougar in the back.

Sam didn't want to know what he was doing now.

“Go around,” Sam urged Aunt Sue.

“I recognize him,” Aunt Sue said. She glanced in her rearview mirror as she started to veer around. Sam looked, too.

Callie and her rented truck were back quite a ways, but close enough that she'd see Aunt Sue maneuvering around something.

“He's the gentleman with the vivid Western language and even more colorful clothes,” Aunt Sue said.

“Hurry,” Sam said, but it was too late.

Waving his arms like an umpire, Linc stepped into the street right in front of them. The brakes screeched and Sam's head snapped back with such force, she wondered if her forehead would have hit the windshield if she hadn't been wearing a seat belt.

“Goodness! What a fool,” Aunt Sue muttered,
then turned to Sam. “Sorry, dear.”

“Don't apologize. Say any rotten thing you like,” Sam encouraged her aunt. “He deserves it.”

Sam could hear the truck Callie was driving draw near. It idled behind them as Linc Slocum wobbled up on high-heeled boots. Sam stared at his belt buckle. A huge chunk of turquoise was centered in a silver square half as big as a toaster. It nearly distracted her from his slicked-back hair and salesman's smile.

When Linc's face appeared at Aunt Sue's window, she did the polite thing and lowered it.

“Howdy, ma'am,” Linc bellowed. “Hello there, little lady.”

Sam's mouth had opened and she'd bet Aunt Sue's had, too, but Linc's delight with his own non-stop talk prevented them from responding.

“Bet you all are wonderin' what I'm up to, stackin' all this good alfalfa at the roadside, and you'd be right to wonder.” He glanced at the truck behind Aunt Sue's minivan. Still, he didn't speed up his comments for anyone's convenience. “There doesn't seem to be any grass along in here.”

Even Slocum couldn't have missed the fact that it was winter, Sam thought.

“Mr. Slocum, it's been down to thirty degrees, and lower at night.”

“I know that,” he said, as if waiting for further explanation.

“When it's that cold,” Sam said carefully, “grass doesn't grow very well. You know how it's green in the spring and brown in the winter?”

Aunt Sue looked astounded and Linc looked as if Sam had gone off on a tangent.

“Be that as it may,” Linc brushed aside her explanation, “I have some investors coming to check out plans for my new venture, Home on the Range.”

The name was familiar, but it took Sam a few seconds to remember Gram's list. That's what she was supposed to call Mr. Slocum about. But what could that be? Sam bit the inside of her cheek to keep from asking.

“You know the sort of investors I'm talkin' about, ma'am,” Linc said, winking at Aunt Sue. “They've got a lot of wrinkles on their horns and a roll of money big enough to choke a mule.”

“Ah,” Aunt Sue commented.

“I want them to see some local wildlife and I figured this would bring critters down into viewing range.”

“But Mr. Slocum,” Sam said, forcing herself to stay polite so Linc would take her advice, “the reason most people don't feed right at the highway is because it's dangerous. The animals cluster around the hay. They get busy eating and hardly notice the traffic.” Sam saw her words weren't sinking in. “They could get hit by a car.”