Gift Horse (11 page)

B
ack inside the house, Sam scarfed down another piece of chocolate cake to fortify herself for what she had to do next. Brynna insisted Sam should call Mr. Martinez and tell him about Tinkerbell's escape before she called Ryan.

After her last bite, Sam stood. Still holding her empty plate, she took the dishwashing soap from its shelf.

“You're stalling,” Brynna said. “I'll wash your plate while you call.”

“I don't know his number.”

“We have a phone book,” Brynna told her.

“It might be too late,” Sam said.

“It's perfectly appropriate to call an adult at eight
o'clock on a Saturday night.”

“But I'm kind of scared to call Mr. Martinez,” Sam protested. “I mean, Dad's the one who made the arrangements in the first place.”

“Sam,” Brynna said in a cautioning tone. “Remember what your Dad said about making things happen instead of just wishing they would?”

“I heard him,” Sam said. She flipped through the phone book instead of meeting Brynna's eyes. Even after she found Mr. Martinez's number, she kept looking down.

“Well, he's right.”

“I know.” Sam sighed heavily and began dialing.

Mr. Martinez reported Tinkerbell had unloaded as easily as he'd loaded. He'd touched noses with Teddy Bear, then began grazing among the other horses shortly after entering the pasture.

“All in all,” Mr. Martinez said, “I think things will work out fine.”

Mr. Martinez's tone was pleasant, but he was clearly puzzled by her call.

“The thing is,” Sam said, “Tinkerbell is here.” She closed her eyes and waited.

“There? There at River Bend?”

“He just showed up. About an hour ago.”

“He came on his own?” Mr. Martinez asked.

“He must have,” Sam said. She held a hand over her closed eyes. She didn't know exactly why. “We were pretty surprised to find him.”

It was quiet long enough that Sam heard classical music playing at Mr. Martinez's house. As violins soared, Sam pictured an elegant house with crystal goblets and softly glowing candles. Runaway horses probably didn't belong in Mr. Martinez's life.

“That's a long distance,” Mr. Martinez mused. “He's safe, though?”

Sam opened her eyes. Mr. Martinez was more concerned about Tinkerbell's welfare than the trouble the big horse had caused. If Tinkerbell had only stayed put, Mr. Martinez would have given him the affection he deserved.

“He's fine,” Sam said. “Brynna and I just looked him over inch by inch.”

“And so…” This time it was Mr. Martinez who sighed. “You are calling to see if I still want him. Is that it?”

Sam couldn't admit it. “I just thought you should know,” she said, instead.

“Thank you,” he said. “This may change my decision. Of course you know that. But I'd like the chance to go out and check the pasture fence. If there was a section down, it would be natural for him to find his way back to you.”

Sam bit her lip. Why hadn't she thought of that?

“Do you want me to call Clara? The diner's so close to your pasture she could go check the fence.”

“I'll call, Samantha. And if you'll give me a couple days to think about it, I'll get back to you about Tinker's future.”

Tinker's future. The words had an ominous sound.

“Okay,” Sam said. She cleared her throat, trying to cover the fear in her voice.

“We won't let anything awful happen to him, you and I,” Mr. Martinez promised. “Something will work out.”

“Thanks, Mr. Martinez,” she said. “Take your time.”

Sam hung up and left her hand on the telephone receiver.

“Is it still Saturday night?” Sam asked as she looked up and saw Brynna studying her.

Brynna nodded. “Feel like you've just run fifteen miles yourself?”

“Kind of,” Sam admitted as she dialed Mrs. Coley's number. “But now it should feel easy talking to Ryan.”

 

Only five minutes passed between the time Sam talked with Mrs. Coley and the time Ryan Slocum called back. He sounded excited about working with a heavy hunter prospect. He'd done it before in England, riding a Friesian mare over jumps. He could barely wait to get started with Tinkerbell.

“I'll prepare the arena first thing and be ready as early as you can get here,” he promised. “Shall we say nine? And don't worry about tack. I'll cobble something together that should suit our purposes.”

“Thanks so much,” Sam said, and hung up. Brynna had stood at her elbow listening the entire time, so
Sam didn't have to explain.

“Great! I'll drive you over in the morning,” Brynna said, but then her eyes widened. “One problem, though. The trailer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said.

Why had it taken them both so long to realize they had no way to transport Tinkerbell to Gold Dust Ranch? Mr. Martinez still had their open horse trailer.

Brynna and Sam sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other.

“For some reason, it doesn't feel like a good idea to call him back. Mr. Martinez, I mean, while he's still deciding about Tinkerbell,” Sam said, and Brynna nodded in understanding. “We could pony him over there,” Sam suggested.

“Maybe.” Brynna's voice was dubious. “If we led Tinkerbell between two horses, which ones do you think we should use? Tank and…”

“No, it's a dumb idea. Never mind,” Sam said. “The other horses are starting to like him, but that might be pushing them too fast.” Sam looked down at the sound of Cougar batting his paw against the edge of the kitchen door. He'd been seeking an escape route since she had brought him back inside. If they had a horse who felt the same about Tinkerbell as the kitten did, they'd be set. But they didn't.

They still had no solution when Dad came home from the Kenworthys' house. He entered talking.
“Winter used to be a quiet time,” he said. “Not this year. Between the cattle and horses spread from here to breakfast and this”—Dad bent to scoop up Cougar—“feline fugitive, I don't know what to think.”

Dad closed the door and deposited Cougar on Sam's lap.

Was Dad happier or just preoccupied? When he rumpled her hair and kissed Brynna, Sam decided it didn't matter which.

Then, he seemed to hear the silence. “What's wrong with you two?”

Brynna told him their plan.

Dad's raised eyebrows said he thought it was a silly idea, but Brynna wore an “I-dare-you” look. Dad must have recognized it, because he offered a suggestion instead of criticism.

“The Elys have a cattle truck that'd work. Get Jake to drive Sam over,” Dad said to Brynna, “and I might just make you a real Sunday breakfast.”

Brynna flashed Sam a look that said she couldn't refuse. Dad knew the family was divided on the issue of wild horses. This was his way of saying he didn't want the disagreement to escalate into a civil war.

But Jake and Ryan were not a good combination.

“Call him, Sam,” Brynna urged. She dialed and handed Sam the phone. “Here.”

Sam wanted to ask Brynna to quit rushing her into things, but the phone was already ringing.
Maybe no one would be home. It was Saturday night, after all.

The phone was still ringing at the Elys' when Dad and Brynna left the kitchen to go watch television with Gram.

Jake and Ryan didn't hate each other. In fact, Ryan pretended not to notice Jake, but Jake couldn't stand Ryan's British accent and exacting manners.

She was just about to hang up, when Nate, the oldest Ely brother, answered. Grudgingly, he gave the phone to Jake.

“Jake, Tinkerbell is back. It seems like he jumped out of Mr. Martinez's corral and ran all the way back to River Bend. We found him in the ten-acre pasture a couple hours ago.”

“Huh,” Jake said.

Anyone else would voice astonishment, but not Jake. Sam wasn't surprised by his seeming acceptance of Tinkerbell's stunt. She knew if she told Jake that it appeared Tinkerbell had sprouted wings in the vicinity of his withers, Jake would react the same way.

“Since Mr. Martinez isn't sure he wants to keep Tinkerbell, I want to see if he really can jump. We're just guessing that he can.”

“Yeah,” Jake said.

Sam took the syllable as encouragement to keep talking, but here came the hard part. “So, I want to take him over to the Gold Dust Ranch. Ryan has
done some jumping and he said he'd put Tinker through his paces and see what he could do.”

“You already talked to him?”

“Mr. Martinez?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Sure.”

“No,” Jake said.

Sam bristled, but she didn't need to irritate Jake when she was asking for his help.

“Oh, you mean Ryan? Yes, he said he'd be glad to do it, and I'm thinking that if Tinkerbell can jump, I might have an easier time finding him a good home. And since Mr. Martinez still has our trailer, my dad thought you might be willing to drive Tinkerbell over in your cattle truck. With me, too, of course.”

Having said all she could to convince him, Sam waited.

There was a moment of silence, but then Jake agreed. Of course he had to make it seem like he was doing Dad a favor, not her.

“I'm always willing to help Wyatt and, if nothin' else, it'll be amusin',” he drawled.

 

The next morning, Sam stood in the ranch yard holding Tinkerbell's lead rope while Gram, dressed for church in a navy-blue dress and matching gloves, played with the big horse.

In spite of the foam and alfalfa clinging to his lips, she let Tinkerbell sniff her gloves.

“Not the usual hands, are they?” she joked, then turned to Sam. “I can't help loving this animal. He
has so much personality. Look how those big brown eyes sparkle.”

As soon as Gram had driven her big yellow Buick across the bridge, Jake pulled in driving a cattle truck that had seen better days.

He looked nice, as if he were going to church, too.

Sam was about to compliment him when he brushed by her, lowered the truck's tailgate, and grumbled, “Let's get this done.”

Keeping her compliments to herself, Sam led Tinkerbell up the ramp. He seemed almost eager to get inside.

“I've gotta be home by noon,” Jake said, as if Sam weren't moving fast enough. “My dad wants me to crawl under the house and wrap insulation around the pipes.”

Sam shivered. Wiggling into the narrow space under a house in this freezing cold weather made her chores sound pleasant, but Sam didn't sympathize with Jake. At least not aloud. She just kept talking to Tinkerbell, helping him settle into the new setting.

“You are such a good boy,” Sam told the gelding just before she left the rear of the truck. Then, to Jake, she said, “He acts like he does it every day.”

Jake shrugged. “Been three days in a row, hasn't it?”

“Yes,” Sam said, climbing into the passenger's seat. “But still.”

As Jake made a right turn off the main road and
headed toward Gold Dust Ranch, he warned her, “I'm just the driver. Don't be expecting me to socialize.”

Sam turned in her seat and considered Jake. He wore fresh jeans and a brick-colored shirt with pearl snaps. His hair still smelled of shampoo. He
looked
ready to socialize. If she said that, though, it would be just like Jake to turn around and drive home again.

For the first time, Sam wondered if she'd heard something else beneath Jake's dislike for Ryan. Shyness and uncertainty?

It made sense, she thought. Jake was basically shy. He spoke little to friends and was always uneasy around strangers. He'd spent most of his life in this quiet corner of Nevada.

Ryan, on the other hand, had shown a lively, open charm from the first time Sam had met him. Had living in Europe given him a knack at fitting in, or had he always been that way?

Sam couldn't guess, but she could see how Jake would be ill at ease around him. Suddenly, thoughts of Jake's shyness led her to a problem of her own.

“I guess you've already started your community service project,” Sam hinted.

“I guess so,” Jake said. “Everyone has.” He drove along a minute or two, then added, “Right?”

Sam didn't answer him directly. Instead she asked another question. “Since you're, you know, not the most talkative guy around, how did it go when you had to present your idea to the student council?”

“I don't know. I just did it. Well, Brian and me. After we saw the graffiti spray-painted on the tribal museum, we wanted to do something.” Jake shrugged. “That place means a lot to my grandfather. Since Dad would definitely yank my license away if I got into a fight—”

“A fight?” Sam asked.

“We were going to find the guys who did it.” Jake raised his chin and smiled. “But doing the graffiti patrol thing was a way to make Grandfather happy and get the stupid requirement filled.”

As Sam mulled over what Jake had said, she glanced toward Lost Canyon. There wasn't a mustang in sight.

“Hey,” Jake said, and there was a suspicious edge to his tone. “Just 'cause I talked to the student council doesn't mean I'm gonna have a tea party with your buddy Ryan.”

“A tea party,” Sam echoed. “As if all they do in England is drink tea. What is it, really, that you don't like about Ryan?”

“He's just plain fussy,” Jake said.

“What does he do that's fussy?” Sam demanded.

“I'm not tellin' you who to be friends with,” Jake maintained, but his tone said someone should.

“No really, what is it?” Sam insisted. “His accent? The fact that he rides with an English saddle?”

“Yeah, and the way he dresses.” Jake slowed the truck as they drove past the pastures that flanked
both sides of the driveway.

“It's not like you to judge people because of the way they just are.” Sam paused. When Jake looked uncomfortable, she pressed her advantage. “Really, I'm kind of disappointed.”