Kidnapped Colt (7 page)

“S
o the horses were just gone?” Jen asked, after Sam had eaten a few bites of dinner.

Sam noticed Jen covered her lips right after asking, as if the subject were too awful to discuss. Jen understood the horses' danger, and she was sharing the blame.

Linc Slocum didn't seem to. He swallowed a bite of chicken and gave Sam a smirk.

“And I suppose you know nothin' more about their disappearance than a hog knows about a sidesaddle,” Linc said finally.

“I don't,” Sam said. She was too tired and heart-sick to fight, so she took a sip of milk before adding,
“The last time I saw Hotspot and Shy Boots, they were in that corral.”

Linc shook his head with a snicker.

Sam was pretty sure it was the laugh that pushed Dad to the edge of his patience.

“Linc…” Dad began. He looked down as if addressing his plate, but Sam saw his knuckles were white from holding his fork so tightly. “Neighborliness has limits. If Sam says she doesn't know what's become of those horses, she doesn't.”

“And you still haven't talked with your son,” Sheriff Ballard pointed out as he took a bite of mashed potatoes.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Linc said. “Got him on his cell phone, which is why, and I hope you'll pardon me, Wyatt, but I've got to say it straight out, I'm convinced Samantha knows what's happened. Ryan told me she's the only one who knew where those Appaloosas were, and she promised to take care of them while he was gone.”

“He told me—no, he
promised
me—he'd be back before nightfall!” Sam yelped.

Ryan was lying.

Her anger built as she thought of Ryan in San Francisco, a city she loved. She imagined him eating freshly caught crab and warm sourdough bread on Fisherman's Wharf. Or maybe he was sipping jasmine tea and breaking open a fortune cookie in Chinatown
while she worried over the colt he claimed to care about.

“Give me his cell phone number,” she told Linc, “and I'll find out what's really going on.”

“I don't think so, young lady,” Linc said.

Jen jabbed Sam with her elbow.

“Ow!” Sam said, frowning at her friend.

“Sorry,” Jen said, but Sam could tell she wasn't. Her eyes were hinting at a secret.

“Sam's been home since two o'clock, Linc,” Gram said. “Ryan dropped her off just before Jen arrived. Sam didn't have a chance to go anywhere.”

“Sam didn't take the horses out of there,” the sheriff said. “Unless she's taught herself to drive.”

“That so?” Dad asked.

“Most likely,” the sheriff said.

Sam was surprised, but heartened, when both Mikki and Gina gave her a thumbs-up and said, “Yeah!”

It was cool that they were on her side, Sam thought, remembering how Sheriff Ballard had bent to play his flashlight beam over the dirt before they even started up the hill. He must have been looking for tire tracks.

That let her off the hook, in one way, but her feelings were still all snarled up. Neither she nor the Phantom were directly to blame for the horses' disappearance. But she'd put Hotspot and Shy Boots in
a place where they had no protection against thieves.

“Should I expect you to come into my office and file a report?” the sheriff asked Linc.

“Why wouldn't I?” Linc demanded.

“Just asking,” Sheriff Ballard said.

“Do you still hang horse thieves out here?” Gina asked with a totally fake guffaw.

Sam winced. Gina had rotten judgment, but Sheriff Ballard just gave her a quick frown.

“We don't even catch most of them,” he told her. “But we've got a good start on this one. Linc, you might want to get on the phone to Duke Fairchild at Mineral Auction Yards, first thing tomorrow morning.”

Sam shivered and her eyes met Dad's. The last time they'd been at the auction yards, she and Dad had rescued Tinkerbell, a giant mustang who'd nearly been sold for slaughter.

It wasn't unusual for ranchers to bring aged saddle horses, or other animals they considered useless, to Mineral Auction Yards.

With nightmarish clarity, Sam remembered a man named Baldy. With his clipboard and calculator, he'd reduced each horse to its price per pound and decided whether to purchase it for the Dagdown Packing Company.

“Hotspot's a valuable horse,” Sam said. “No one would sell her for—you know.”

“The ‘criminal genius' pretty much exists only on TV and in the movies,” Sheriff Ballard said.

Gina made a soft noise of protest, but no one seemed to hear.

“I'm not saying it would happen, but it could. By the pound, those Appaloosas would sell for at least five hundred dollars,” Sheriff Ballard said. “A thief could make a tidy profit for a few hours' work.”

“That's awful,” Jen said. “Do you think, by calling Mr. Fairchild, we can keep it from happening?”

We
, Sam thought, smiling.

This was another reason Jen was her best friend. She'd already taken on the task of finding the horses. Sam guessed she could forgive her for that jab in the ribs.

“Duke keeps an eye on the stock coming into his place,” Dad was saying. “He's a good businessman and sure doesn't want the publicity of selling a stolen horse.”

“He told me he's especially careful accepting animals that arrive just minutes before the sales,” Brynna said. “Most cattle and horse thieves give owners or neighbors as little time as possible to recognize stolen animals.”

“Who wouldn't recognize their own horse?” Mikki asked.

Sheriff Ballard glanced pointedly at Linc, but Linc didn't notice. He was busy watching Gram arrange cookies on a platter.

“Horses can be disguised with hair dye,” Brynna told Mikki. “Sometimes they'll trim manes and tails,
too. At a glance, the horse might look like a completely different animal.”

“There's more I can do, Linc,” Sheriff Ballard said, thoughtfully, “if Hotspot is valued at more than $750.”

The mention of money snagged Linc's attention away from Gram's cookies.

“You bet your boots, she is,” Linc insisted. “Every animal on my place is! Except for that colt and Kitty, the mare I bought from—” He jerked his thumb toward Dad, and Sam felt herself grow hot with anger. He was talking about the Phantom's mother. “—they all have the finest bloodlines. Why, I was tellin' Karl just the other day that I've got millions of dollars tied up in my Brahmas, my Dutch Belted cattle, that Morgan of Rachel's, my saddlebreds, Quarter Horses, and that Thoroughbred—what's his name?”

He looked to Jen for the answer.

“Sky Ranger,” she told him.

“Right, Sky Ranger. And I almost forgot those ponies from the Shetland Islands. They're worth more than all the others put together.”

“Those shaggy little ponies?” Gram asked, then tsked her tongue.

“Abso-darn-lutely,” Linc said. “They have their own insurance policy. And was it pricey? Whoo-ey, I just guess it was.”

“The point of my question,” the sheriff said, moving his hand in a rewinding motion, “was to establish that if
they were stolen and valued over $750, the crime would be a felony,” Sheriff Ballard said. “Since it is, I'll contact other law enforcement agencies….”

Sam watched Linc as the sheriff and Brynna added up all the agencies they could turn to for help.

“The city police in Reno,” Brynna said, thinking aloud, “and sheriffs' departments in the adjoining counties?”

“You bet,” Sheriff Ballard said.

Sam was disappointed when Linc didn't seem a bit edgy. He didn't appear worried for himself or Ryan or the horses. His eyes didn't shift with uneasiness—they just kept darting toward the plate of cookies.

“Of course we'll keep watch among the wild horse herds,” Brynna said. “Just in case.”

“I'd like that done straight away,” Linc said.

“So would I, but the federal government didn't figure the cost of putting up a helicopter to look for your lost Appaloosas into BLM's budget,” Brynna said.

Linc crossed his arms and glared at Brynna. “I'm not joking,” he said.

“And neither am I,” Brynna said.

When Dad raised a hand to cover a cough, Sam was pretty sure he was trying to hide a smile.

“To tell you the truth, there's not much interest in this sort of case,” the sheriff said. “Because evidence is hard to gather.”

“Wouldn't someone need Hotspot's papers to get
the amount she's worth?” Jen asked.

“Papers can be forged,” Sheriff Ballard said. “And some folks don't ask questions if they think they're getting a good deal.” He was quiet for a minute, then turned to Sam with a smile. “But I know how I'd feel if someone made off with Jinx, so I'll do what I can.”

“Thanks,” Linc said idly. “Karl said he'd get on the Internet, too. He's a genius with computers.”

I knew he looked like a computer nerd,
Sam thought, and gave a satisfied nod.

“That's a good idea,” the sheriff said, “and it wouldn't hurt if you put some flyers into local feed stores, at rodeos—anywhere people pay attention to horses.”

“We could help,” Brynna said suddenly.

“Help what?” Linc asked, but Brynna's gaze swept over Sam, Jen, Mikki, and Gina, and she smiled.

“Making phone calls and flyers would give us an extra project for the evenings, when we're not riding,” Brynna said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Like we did last time, tracking down the freeze brand on Jinx.”

“That'd be cool,” Mikki said.

When Gina nodded with a sly smile, Sam and Jen met each other's eyes. They hardly knew the girl, but they could tell she was up to something.

“Now, you ladies just leave it to the experts,” Slocum said.

“Brynna is an expert,” Sam snapped.

Linc must have felt Dad's glare, because he conceded, “You're right. I don't see how that could hurt.

“Time for me to go, I guess,” Linc said as he pushed his chair away from he table. Standing slowly, he gazed toward the cookies Gram had yet to serve.

“Keep in touch, Linc,” Sheriff Ballard said. “If you hear anything more from your boy, or if the horses happen to show up on their own—”

“Yeah, sorry to trouble you all,” Linc said. “Thanks for the meal, Grace. I wish I could lure you away to cook for me. I swear, you do a much better job than that Coley woman.”

Linc couldn't open his mouth without offending someone, Sam thought. He had to know “that Coley woman” was Helen Coley, one of Gram's best friends.

“I've got plenty to do right where I am,” Gram said pleasantly.

As soon as the door closed behind Linc Slocum, Brynna sighed.

“There's no way in the world he'll go to any trouble for those horses. He'll just file an insurance claim and forget about them.” Brynna turned to Jen, Mikki, and Gina. “Sorry to be so blunt, girls, but it's the truth.”

“Probably so,” Sheriff Ballard said.

“But Ryan loves those horses,” Jen protested. Then, when she caught everyone looking at her, she pushed aside her affection for Ryan and added,
“Okay, I admit it doesn't look like it, but do you know what I think?”

The kitchen quiet was broken only by the sound of the grandfather clock in the living room, bonging seven.

“What do you think?” Sam asked finally.

“Ryan trusted you to do what was best for the horses. He knew you wouldn't leave them up there all night. He knew you'd find a way to go up and get them, even if you got in trouble.”

Jen sounded so sincere, no one said anything.

Sheriff Ballard's hard eyes flicked to Sam's, though, and after he stood and thanked the Forsters for their hospitality, he nodded her way.

“Remember what I told you, Sam? I want you to think on it.”

No one asked what the sheriff meant, though Sam could tell they were curious.

Sheriff Ballard might have a point.

Doing the wrong things for the right reasons was pretty much the story of her life.

 

After the dinner dishes were cleared, Brynna said that the girls could go settle into the bunkhouse. She wanted to get to bed early, so she'd be organized and alert for her five-thirty meeting with Sam and Jen.

“Couldn't we take turns showing up for that meeting?” Sam asked. It sounded like a great idea to her.

“As long as you don't mind taking turns when
HARP issues paychecks,” Brynna said with a bright grin.

The girls groaned. That wasn't going to happen.

As they walked toward the bunkhouse, they rubbed goose bumps from their arms and gazed up at a blue-black sky studded with silver stars.

“It's a gorgeous sky,” Gina said, tilting her head back as far as it would go as she kept walking. “But what happened to the whole desert thing? I'm freezing!”

“You're not,” Jen said sensibly. “It must be forty degrees.”

“Practically tropical,” Sam said, but the joke ached. Where was Shy Boots? She feared the delicate colt wouldn't last long out in the cold.

“Still!” Mikki insisted. “It doesn't feel like a desert.”

“It's the high desert,” Jen explained. “We're at about fifty-five hundred feet elevation. You don't see any palm trees and camels, right? That's because it snows!”

“But not in summer,” Gina said, purposely chattering her teeth together.

“I don't know,” Jen said thoughtfully.

“It doesn't,” Sam assured them.

“Actually I believe there's been snow in every month of the year,” Jen said.

“In July?” Sam asked, and even as she said it, her smile faded. Could Hotspot protect her foal from the cold?

“I'll have to check,” Jen said.

Once they reached the bunkhouse, Mikki and Gina crowded ahead to pick their bunk beds from those not already claimed by Sam and Jen. Sam motioned for Jen to stay outside.