Kidnapped Colt (6 page)

When Dad nodded, the sheriff said, “Let's go, Samantha.”

“But Mikki and Gina,” Sam said. “I have to help get them settled and—”

“We can handle things without you,” Brynna said, sounding almost cold. “This takes precedence.”

Sam wasn't sure, but the firm set of Brynna's lips implied that since Sam was supposed to be a role model for the HARP girls, she'd better hurry up and clear her good name.

S
am had always thought it would be fun to ride in a police car. It wasn't.

A metal grate loomed behind the seat. She didn't turn to look at it, but it hovered there like a silent threat.

She told herself she was lucky Karl wasn't riding with them. Otherwise Sheriff Ballard might have made her ride in that backseat cage.

“You can let go,” Sheriff Ballard said as he drove down the highway along the La Charla River.

Sam didn't know what he meant. Without taking his eyes from the windshield, he reached over and tapped her clasped hands. Sam looked down.

Her fingers were interlaced so tightly, she had to
work them apart. While she did, she thought of how badly she'd messed up this time.

Sheriff Ballard was her friend. He'd helped her solve the mystery of her mother's death and he'd adopted Jinx, the fierce but frightened mustang who'd been a bucking horse. Her misbehavior must be embarrassing for him, just as it was for her family.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly.

“I know you did this out of the goodness of your heart,” Sheriff Ballard told her. “But you want to put a little more thought into situations like this. Peer pressure—”

“I didn't do it for Ryan; I did it for Shy Boots. I think Ryan's probably right. Linc would have gotten rid of the colt.”

“Maybe. And maybe I heard through the grapevine that something like this was brewing.”

Sam started to ask who'd told him, but she knew he wouldn't tell.

“Samantha, how'd you get hurt?” he asked suddenly.

Sam's hand darted to her cheek.

“My filly did it,” she said, wondering why he cared. “I'm training her to lead.”

“You're sure?” he said, and the accusation in his words suddenly made sense.

“Oh my gosh, Ryan didn't bully me into helping him,” she said. “Ryan's not that way.”

“Never be too sure, Samantha. It's hard to tell
what people will do when they're desperate.”

For a minute, Sam heard nothing but the tires on the road.

“It was my filly,” she said, finally. “Dallas saw it happen and Gram bandaged it for me. Ryan was actually a little worried about it.”

In the car's dimness, the sheriff nodded.

“Ryan might be a fine kid. Maybe he just needs to cowboy up a little bit,” the sheriff said a few miles later.

Cowboy up
, Sam thought. The expression made her smile even before Sheriff Ballard added, “You know, quit whinin' and do what needs to be done. I'd like to think that's the only problem,” the sheriff continued, “but he told you he'd spring these horses by nightfall, Sam, and now he's gone. He's four hundred miles away, for the best part of the week.”

“I don't know why he did that,” Sam said. Even to her, her voice sounded small inside the rushing police car.

“Because he knows you're the kind of girl who'd do the wrong thing, if it's for the right reason.” He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, “He left you holding the bag, Samantha.”

“I know.”

Sam stared out the window, into the darkness. In that moment, she gave up on Ryan Slocum, for good.

Only the horses mattered now.

 

In the gloomy dusk, Sam almost missed the spot where Ryan had fought so hard to unhitch the trailer.

“There it is,” Sam said, pointing, but as the sheriff pulled over and parked, she noticed the trailer was open.

Panic vaulted up in Sam's chest.

“I know it probably doesn't matter,” she said, quickly, “but the trailer was latched. The handle on the door…” she gestured, showing how Ryan had shoved it into place.

That didn't make sense. She and Ryan were the only ones who'd known the trailer was here. After he'd dropped her off at River Bend Ranch, could he have come back and put the horses inside? Had there been time for him to do that before the private plane arrived for him and Rachel?

Sam jumped out of the police car.

“Don't touch it, Sam,” the sheriff said before she could close her door. “Let me.”

Fidgeting, Sam watched the sheriff tug a handkerchief from his pocket, but the trailer was silent. She knew the horses weren't inside.

Using the handkerchief to cover his hand, the sheriff opened the trailer door farther. Of course it was empty.

Karl Mannix drove up in the bright-yellow Hummer, lowered his window, and chuckled at the pains the sheriff was taking not to smear fingerprints.

“Just gonna check out this trailer, then Sam and I'll walk up and see that the horses are safe. We'll bring 'em back down.”

“How far up is it?” Mannix nodded to the trail.

The sheriff turned, passing the question to Sam.

“About a mile,” she said. “It's a rough walk, but not very long.”

“Shoot, we can get up there in the Hummer. No need to walk,” Karl boasted.

“Let's not rip up the trail,” the sheriff said.

“It's nothing but weeds and dirt,” Karl insisted.

Sam stared at the vehicle Karl wanted to take up the hill. The Hummer was as big as an apartment on wheels. It could crush squirrel burrows, demolish deerpaths, and terrify mustangs. Even if the wildlife escaped, the plants they lived on would be ripped and mashed.

“Don't want to take a chance on scaring the horses off, if they've broken out,” the sheriff added. “They'll probably head downhill, toward home.”

“You're the expert,” Karl said, and parked. The yellow Hummer glowed in the twilight.

Sheriff Ballard grabbed a heavy flashlight from his car. Before they left, he turned it on, squatted, and played the beam inside the trailer, then over the dirt surrounding it. Sam and Mannix watched until he rose to his feet.

“Sam, is there another way—besides this trail—to
where you left the horses?”

Sam pictured the Phantom's territory, then slowly shook her head.

“Not unless you start out from Arroyo Azul,” she said, pointing.

“We'd never make it before dark,” Sheriff Ballard said. “I'm just thinking, if this turns out to be a crime scene, I don't want to destroy any more evidence than we have to.

“Mr. Mannix, why don't you just relax in your vehicle? Sam and I can handle whatever we've got here.”

For two or three heartbeats, Sam felt better.

“No, I'll come along,” Mannix insisted. “Don't think my boss would like it if I stayed behind.”

“Why's that?” the sheriff asked.

Sam heard the challenge in Sheriff Ballard's voice. Was Mannix hinting that Linc Slocum didn't trust the sheriff?

But Mannix only said, “Can't have him thinking I'm lazy.”

“Okay,” Sheriff Ballard said. “But stay off to the left side on the way up. Don't walk on the trail.”

Sam led the way. Striding up the rocky shoulder, Sam glanced back in time to see Sheriff Ballard's right hand hover over the gun in its snapped holster.

She sucked in a breath.

This whole situation was unreal. How had helping Ryan and the horses gotten her into this mess?

Sheriff Ballard stayed so close behind, he reached out and steadied her arm when her foot slipped on a rock.

The sheriff was alert, scanning the terrain around them. More than once, he reminded Karl Mannix to stay off the center of the trail.

The first time, Mannix apologized. The second time, he laughed. He wasn't taking this very seriously. He was doing a good job of hiking, though, Sam thought.

She had to walk faster and take longer strides to stay ahead of him. Another glance back showed Sam why she'd thought his outdoor clothes looked a little odd.

Karl Mannix wore cowboy clothes down to his boots. They were hiking boots, which laced around hooks up to his ankles.

As darkness closed in, Sam heard something on the trail ahead and stopped to listen. There was a gentle plop of weight hitting dirt.

“What's going on?” Mannix asked loudly.

Sam held her hand up, listening. It was probably nothing to worry about, but the darkness made her turn to Sheriff Ballard.

“Deer?” he asked under his breath.

“Yeah, of course,” she whispered.

Then the creature plunged off the trail and into a thicket of brush.

“Must be,” she said. “Jen and I didn't leave any
cattle up here, and I don't think we'd hear a mustang.”

“Not if he heard us first,” the sheriff said.

Still, with every step she took, Sam's eyes swept the shadows, watching for the Phantom.

He'd been up here just hours ago. Only humans could keep him from stealing Hotspot if he wanted to add her to his harem.

“We're getting close,” Sam said at last.

A faint evening breeze rustled the cottonwood leaves ahead, but they heard no questioning nicker from Hotspot or Shy Boots.

She hoped the mare was just dozing, with the foal tucked beside her.

When they were almost there, Sam's steps slowed and Sheriff Ballard clicked on his flashlight.

“Fence is down,” he said as the beam struck orange plastic strewn on the ground.

The light lifted, played across the canyon's rock walls, then dropped, hunting over the grass, searching for the horses.

But Sam's hopes had already sunk. The horses were gone.

 

For a few minutes, Sheriff Ballard examined the plastic fence and the thick branches she and Jen, then she and Ryan, had used as posts.

“Someone took this fence down,” the sheriff said flatly.

“How do you know?” Mannix asked. “I bet they
broke out and ran for the hills.”

Sam crossed fingers on both hands, hoping Mannix was wrong.

“Horses would jump over, or break through with their chests, pulling the fence through the staples. They sure wouldn't aim for the posts. Whoever got 'em out yanked right here by the posts and popped the staples loose.”

Relief coursed through Sam. The Phantom wasn't to blame.

“Amazing,” Mannix said with a chuckle, and it struck Sam that he hadn't expected such detailed analysis from a small-town sheriff like Heck Ballard.

“Should we have Jake come up and look for tracks?” Sam asked.

“No,” Sheriff Ballard said. “Ryan wanted to keep the horses from his dad. This is for them to work out.”

“Yeah,” Mannix seconded.

“I don't know how he would've had time,” Sam protested.

“He might've hired some help,” Sheriff Ballard said. “After all, look how he turned to you.”

It sounded nice, put that way, but Sam knew Sheriff Ballard was repeating what he'd told her before. If Ryan had left her holding the bag, why wouldn't he hire someone else to take the horses?

The walk back down was quiet as the three concentrated on putting their feet in safe places on the steep trail.

“Sheriff, I'll just hitch up that trailer and be on my way,” Mannix said when they reached level ground again.

“Leave it here,” Sheriff Ballard said, and when Mannix looked startled, he added, “I want another look at it in the daylight. You never know where you'll find evidence.”

He sounded friendly, Sam thought, but firm.

“I'll call you if they turn up back at the ranch,” Mannix said, then started toward the Hummer.

“You do that,” Sheriff Ballard said, then stood watching as Mannix drove the vehicle carelessly to the highway.

Once they were back in the truck, Sheriff Ballard radioed his office to tell Linc Slocum to stick around River Bend Ranch. After that, they drove in silence.

When Sam and the sheriff drove into the ranch yard, Sam saw the white curtain on the kitchen window pulled back.

Whoever was looking would notice they didn't have a horse trailer hooked on behind.

Gram held open the kitchen door and Jen stood behind her. Dad, Brynna, Mikki, and Gina sat at the kitchen table, watching expectantly as Sam walked inside. Linc sat there, too, but he barely glanced up.

“The horses were gone,” Sam said.

Jen's hands went up to cover her eyes. Then, after a loud exhalation, her arms dropped to her sides and she returned to sit at the table along with the others.

“That's a shame,” Brynna said.

Sam wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs to her room, pull the covers over her head, and pretend this day had all been a bad dream.

“We're just finishing a fried chicken dinner,” Gram said, and only then did Sam notice the scent of Gram's buttermilk batter. “There's plenty left for you, Sam. And Sheriff, we'd love to have you join us. It's the least we can do after you taking so much time and trouble.”

Shouldn't Linc be the one saying that? Sam let out a heavy sigh, but her tight chest felt no better for it.

“No, though I do thank you,” Sheriff Ballard. He, too, waited for some reaction from Linc. “I should probably be getting back to town.”

In a moment of silence, Linc rubbed his napkin across his lips and met the sheriff's gaze.

“You don't know what you're missing,” Linc chuckled. He rocked his chair back on two legs and patted his belly.

“Put all four legs of that chair on the floor,” Gram snapped.

Everyone at the table looked shocked. Gram had reprimanded Linc Slocum as if he were a kid.

Sam felt a cranky spurt of satisfaction.

He shouldn't act like one if he doesn't want to be treated like one,
Sam thought.

“Sorry, Grace,” Linc said as he complied.

Despite the sheriff's refusal, Sam noticed Gram had loaded two plates with chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

Linc didn't seem interested in anything except the two biscuits left in the bread basket.

He eyed Sam with a raised eyebrow.

There was something kind of warped in the way he silently encouraged her to give permission for him to have hers.

Fat chance
, Sam thought, but what she said before she even settled in her chair was, “Please pass the biscuits.”