Gypsy Gold (7 page)

L
ace kept calling for the dun colt.

Every few minutes, Sam heard the vardo's wheels crunch to a stop. Then, after a moment spent sniffing the air and listening, the mare would cast her neigh out in another direction.

The colt must have heard the plaintive sound, but maybe he was too frightened to return, or perhaps he'd lost his way.

As Sam, Jen, and Nicolas drew closer to River Bend Ranch, wind scuttled leaves ahead of them. Yesterday's summery mood faded.

Tomorrow was a school holiday. Nevada Day,
they called it, in honor of the day Nevada had been admitted to the United States. No matter how often their parents and teachers told them otherwise, lots of Nevada children thought their day off, which usually coincided with Halloween, had been declared so that they could recover from a late night of candy and excitement.

Sam was glad tomorrow was a holiday. She'd have time to begin her campaign to see that Slocum got what he deserved.

But after Nevada Day came Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and though the excitement of holidays and a new baby lay ahead, she also felt melancholy. There'd be fewer days to ride and, most likely, she'd see the Phantom far less once he and his herd holed up in their hidden valley for the winter.

Wait a minute,
Sam thought. In her mental list of holidays, she'd missed something. Nevada Day and Halloween, Thanksgiving, then wasn't there another holiday? Schools didn't get a break on Columbus Day, so that meant…

“I missed Jake's birthday!” Sam gasped suddenly.

“By like a month,” Jen said.

“Who's Jake?” Nicolas asked, but Sam barely heard him.

Jen's words reminded Sam of her own birthday party. When Jake had said the big box full of film for her camera wasn't what he wanted to give her, but it had been the only thing he could think of, Jen had
been her usual sarcastic self, wondering aloud where Sam had gotten the idea she could have a birthday every year.

She'd known Jake all her life, and though they didn't make a huge deal of each other's birthdays, they always gave each other something. When Jake had been recovering from the horseback accident that had broken his leg, she'd given him a beautiful leather headstall for Witch and a book about Native American trackers. Even when they'd been little kids, she'd given him a bunch of carrots for his pony.

This was the first time she'd completely forgotten.

But why hadn't someone reminded her? Like Gram. Or Jen. Sam reined in her impulse to blame someone else. That wouldn't help, and besides, she was fourteen years old. She knew how to use a calendar.

“I didn't even give him a card!” Sam mumbled. “How stupid can I be?”

“Don't panic, Sam,” Jen said.

“Hey, if I'd missed your birthday—”

“I would have reminded you with merciless harassment.”

“Exactly. But Jake just let it go,” Sam moaned.

“He might not even have noticed,” Jen said.

Yeah, right,
Sam thought.

“Who's Jake?” Nicolas asked again.

The breath Sam drew to tell him puffed right back out of her as Ace's sudden stop jerked her forward against the saddle horn.

Her bay gelding threw his head so high, she couldn't gaze through the frame of his ears in the direction he was staring. He gave a shrill neigh. Then, as he bobbed his head, and his black mane slapped his neck, Sam saw the dark figure riding their way.

“
That's
Jake,” Sam said, pointing.

Sam wondered if there was a name for this weird feeling of guilt mixed with relief.

Probably not. Most people who were glad to see a friend hadn't forgotten his birthday for an entire month.

Just the same, Sam was glad to see Jake. She just wished he'd shown up sooner.

Not that she, Jen, and Nicolas hadn't handled Slocum just fine. She hadn't collapsed into tears or smothered the rich rancher with his own huge hat, although the image of Slocum's pudgy legs kicking in protest was kind of satisfying.

Sam shook the picture from her wicked imagination.

She'd done fine, but if Jake had been riding beside her, Slocum might have apologized instead of threatening to report her to the sheriff. Jake had a more calming effect on people than she did.

Sam heard the gentle thud of hooves and saw Jake sway in the saddle, moving with his horse as if they were a single creature.

A centaur, she thought, one of those mythological beasts that were half horse and half human. And if
she rode every day for the rest of her life, no one would ever mistake her for one.

“How did he get so close without any of us noticing him?” Nicolas asked.

“It's what he does,” Jen said sourly.

Sam smiled. It was strange that even though he rode Witch, a big black mare, Ace hadn't noticed Jake until he was a quarter-mile away.

“I hope he's a friend of yours,” Nicolas said, “because he's got the colt with him.”

Just then, the dun colt, which had been running in Witch's shadow, pranced on ahead of her. Jake kept Witch at an easy lope as they followed. The black mare hovered behind the colt without hurrying him.

“What you're seeing is typical Jake,” Jen told Nicolas. “He has this totally annoying habit of showing up at the right place at the right time.”

“It's only because he's the best tracker in the state, not because he's psychic or anything,” Sam explained.

“A tracker?” Nicolas asked. “Like a bounty hunter?”

Jen gave a short laugh. “Maybe that's a career choice he should consider.”

Sam wondered if her two best friends' competition would last their entire lives. Probably.

“No, but where we'd just ride on past a patch of dirt, he looks down and reads it as if someone had
scratched out a five-paragraph essay with a sharp stick,” Sam explained.

“I get it.” Nicolas stared toward the black horse and dark rider with surprised appreciation. “That's something I should learn before my next journey. It would be useful, being out in the wilderness like I am. I haven't had any bad experiences, but I could know what was”—Nicolas made a circular motion with his hand—“going on. I've been surprised a time or two and if I'd known the signs to look for, I might not have been.”

Nicolas broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry, I was just sort of thinking out loud. I mean, a tracker probably wouldn't have been startled when a sheepherder and his flock showed up at his campsite. I didn't know they were coming until the guy shouted hello.”

“You knew we were coming,” Sam said.

“Sending two horses on ahead provided kind of a big hint,” Nicolas said.

“You sound like you're going to do this again,” Jen said.

“I might,” Nicolas said, then shrugged. “A lot depends on how things go between here and Sacramento.”

Sam saw Nicolas rub his wrist. Was it sore, or was he thinking of a watch and the time he'd waste riding to River Bend Ranch?

With a loud snort, Witch gave in to Jake's order to walk as the colt ran for the big paint mare.

The staccato hammering of small hooves made Sam swallow hard. The little guy was so glad to be back where he belonged. Lace obviously felt the same way. She tossed her mane with such enthusiasm, it sounded like a flag flapping on a windy day.

“Go ahead, girl,” Nicolas said.

He slackened the reins so Lace could trot forward to meet the colt. Even though he wasn't hers, the mare greeted the little dun with a nicker that tugged at Sam's heart and made her push away the reminder that it was almost time to wean her filly Tempest.

Jake hung back until the colt and mare quieted.

Was he tipping his head forward that way on purpose? Did he know his face was shadowed by his black Stetson?

He had to be curious about Nicolas, his beautiful horse, and the unusual wagon, but Jake only touched the brim of his hat in greeting and waited for someone else to say something.

“Thanks for bringing the colt back,” Nicolas said and when Jake just shrugged, Nicolas held out his hand. “I'm Nicolas Raykov.”

Jake rode close enough to shake hands.

“Jake Ely,” he said, accepting Nicolas's hand-clasp.

Sam glanced at Jen. Nicolas had been a little standoffish with them, and he sure hadn't been friendly with Slocum, but he seemed different with Jake.

Jake didn't return Nicolas's smile and Sam hoped Nicolas understood it only meant Jake was shy. He had friends, but most days when she saw him on campus or in the hallways of Darton High, Jake stood at the edge of a circle of guffawing guys, with a quiet grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

As Nicolas and Jake's handshake broke, they both looked away. Sam caught Jake's eyes darting between the girls and Nicolas. Was he wondering how she and Jen had ended up riding home with a stranger?

Sam was set to tell Jake about the coydog, Slocum's trigger-happy killing, and everything else, but for some reason she put it off a few more minutes.

“Nicolas is driving from Seattle to Sacramento,” she said.

“Yeah?” Jake asked.

Nicolas gave a proud nod.

“That wagon he's driving is known as a vardo,” Jen explained, “and the mare is a Gypsy Vanner horse. There are fewer than a hundred of them in the entire country, but he was lucky enough that she was imported especially for him by his grandparents, because he's a gypsy.”

“Naw, really?” Jake said with a straight face. “I took him for a Comanche.”

Sam heard Jen's sound of strangled frustration, but it didn't bother Sam. This was the way it went between her two best friends.

“He's doing this to further appreciate his roots,” Jen said, denying Jake time enough to gloat.

“Plus, my grandparents thought it was a good way to break up my relationship with my girlfriend,” Nicolas said. “They don't like me mingling with non-gypsies and she's ‘not one of us,'” he confided.

Sam met Jen's eyes. Why hadn't Nicolas mentioned this part of his journey's purpose? Was he sort of telling Jake he had no interest in Sam or Jen, in case Jake did?

Sam felt her cheeks heat with a blush. Nicolas was way off base if that was what he thought. He could probably tell that, though, by the way Jake just sat there instead of firing off a bunch of questions.

Nicolas's eyes crinkled at the corner, enjoying the situation for some reason Sam didn't understand, and when Jake said, “Hope you're not lettin' them guide you somewhere,” Nicolas took it as a joke.

“No, I'm just seeing them home,” Nicolas said, then gave Jake a short version of how they'd met where the wild horses watered.

Sam noticed Nicolas was nice enough to leave out the saga of the exploding biscuits. She also noticed Jake's quick glance up the trail, the way he turned his head a fraction of an inch to take in the hillside, then the ridge, near Cowkiller Caldera.

To Sam, Jake's quick survey of the area said he knew exactly where they'd been.

For sure, he'd followed their tracks. Maybe he'd
seen the coydog's prints, too, Sam thought, and suddenly she saw no point in keeping this meeting sweet and social.

“Did you meet up with Linc Slocum?” Sam asked.

“Detoured around him. Saw…” Jake paused. His voice deepened, as he finished, “where he'd been.”

That simply, Jake let Sam know he'd figured out the whole awful story.

“Jake, I hate him so much,” Sam blurted. Something in the way he kept his feelings closed in always made Sam spill hers.

Jake met her eyes, held them, and then nodded.

“She had a pup,” Nicolas said.

“Yeah,” Jake acknowledged.

“But Jake, it's Blaze's pup,” Sam said. “He's a coydog.”

For once, she'd surprised Jake so completely, he showed it.

Disbelief made Jake's jaw drop, then snap closed. He frowned and took in a breath, then said, “Guess you're sure.”

“He has part of a white ruff, just like Blaze,” Sam said, touching the back of her own neck. “And last night all three of them were playing together.”

“Hmph,” Jake said.

As Jake sat thinking, Sam saw Nicolas glance toward the sun. It was directly overhead.

“Hey,” she said to him. “If you want to go ahead the way you had scheduled, you don't have to drive home with us.”

“Oh, nice, Sam,” Jen said. “First you bribe the guy with your Gram's cooking. Then, once you've got his taste buds tingling, you tell him to forget it.”

“You know I didn't mean—”

“Doesn't your Gram make home-fried chicken or steak on Sundays?” Jake teased.

“And pies,” Jen put in. “Didn't Sam say her grandmother's up every Sunday morning before church rolling out piecrusts?”

“No, I didn't,” Sam said, pretending to pout. “Sometimes she makes chocolate cake.”

“A few more hours probably won't throw me completely off my timetable,” Nicolas said, but then flattened ears, an angry squeal, and a single lashing kick erupted from Witch.

“Oh, for…,” Jake muttered.

Then, even though Jake probably didn't feel like “lecturing” his horse, he reined the cranky mare away from Jen's palomino, Ace, the amazed Gypsy Vanner, and the dun colt.

Sam watched as Jake reminded Witch she couldn't get away with bad manners. Jake never lost his temper with his horse. He simply made the mare behave.

Usually Jake's cues to his horse were invisible, but he worked her hard, now, backing her in a long
straight line, then making her spin left and stop. Then right, and stop. Finally, he galloped her through flying lead changes, weaving around invisible barrels. At last, he let the black mare come high-stepping back to the rest of them.

Sam was about to applaud when Silly—who still couldn't believe Witch didn't want to be her friend—extended her palomino muzzle in a second greeting.