Mountain Mare (11 page)

“Sometimes you see them on Indian ponies in the old movies,” Hal said. “Just like a hand-tied halter, only a loop's tied around the horse's lower jaw.”

“That, plus the horse thief we had around here,” Dad said, “made us think you mighta walked in on something.”

The knot of muscle that bulged at Dad's jaw told her he was angry, and she was pretty sure his fury was aimed at her.

“I'm sorry it never crossed my mind that there would be horse theft problems here,” Hal said. “This is one of the smaller towns we pass through.”

“Not your fault,” Dad said. “That's the heck of it. There's no one to blame.”

Except Linc Slocum,
Sam thought, but she only asked, “Which horse do you think they were after?”

“Hard to say,” Hal told her. “But I have an idea it wasn't one of my blacks—though they're all valuable—probably not Criollo or Cloudburst, my roping horses, or your friend's palomino, though she's an outstanding-looking animal.”

“Silk Stockings,” Dad told him. “A little bit loco, but she's one of the Kenworthy palominos.”

“But Silly wasn't in the barn when I came back,” Sam put in.

“But you
rode
out,” Hal said. “I saw you. And I knew you were goin' home. Anyone else would have guessed you were just going out for a moonlight ride. Our thief mighta been waiting for you to come back.”

Sam shivered. It was beyond creepy to think someone had been in the barn, watching and waiting while they'd been saddling up and chattering about Ace's misbehavior. But Hal had said he was pretty sure the thief
wasn't
after the horses he'd mentioned.

“I think the thief wanted the mare that followed us down from the mountains,” Hal said. “That war bridle was inside her stall.”

“I knew it!” Sam shouted. Gram frowned at the threads of maple syrup that dripped as Sam gestured with her fork. She lay the fork back on her plate and
said, more quietly, “I knew it, and you want to know who planned it?”

Sam felt like a movie detective, who calmly solved the mystery after everyone else had been running around in confusion.

“Of course we do, dear,” Gram said. “But eat breakfast while you talk.”

Just to satisfy Gram, Sam took a bite, then said, “Linc was mean to me yesterday.”

“I heard what he said.” In a disapproving tone, Hal told Dad and Gram about the “welcome as a rattlesnake” remark he'd overheard.

“That man can make being a good neighbor pretty difficult,” Gram said, “but—”

“No, Gram, that was just the beginning,” Sam rushed on. “He also told me that curiosity killed the cat.”

“Honey, I believe you,” Dad assured her. “But why did he say that?”

“He wants to be part of the rodeo association,” Sam explained. “And he thinks what I know about him could ruin his reputation.”

Dad gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Now, Wyatt,” Gram cautioned.

“Didn't say a word. Though if I had, I'd say Linc doesn't need help makin' himself look bad.”

“Still,” Hal began, looking dubious. “It's a big leap from mean talk to horse theft. You think the sheriff
will go along with your finger pointing?”

Sam mulled that over for a second. Sheriff Ballard insisted on evidence. He'd lectured her about that before.

She turned her argument toward Dad.

“I know this seems far-fetched, but remember Karl Mannix?” Sam asked.

“He's a horse thief, and even though he's not a very good one, he worked for Linc and he got away. Plus, he knows how Linc loves unusual livestock.”

“I'm not following you,” Hal said, and he looked even more skeptical when Dad explained that Karl Mannix had stolen horses from the Gold Dust Ranch. “So, because he's done it before and is kinda inept at handling horses, you think it's him. I get that part. But surely Slocum's not gonna buy a horse from a man who stole from him.”

“There's a chance that Linc didn't discourage him from stealing the colt,” Dad said.

“A chance?” Gram snapped, adding two more pancakes to Sam's stack. “Why, it's plain as red paint that Linc thought his son was too softhearted when it came to that half-breed colt.” Then, looking surprised by her own outburst, Gram said, “Don't listen to a word I say, Samantha. I'm just a cranky old woman.”

Sam laughed. Gram meant what she'd said.

“Hal, if the man sees something he wants, he goes
after it,” Dad admitted. “Brynna's been trying to catch him tracking a certain range stallion. And that's a federal crime.”

The Phantom,
Sam thought. The stallion still wore scars inflicted by Linc's attempt to capture him.

“What we're saying,” Gram added, quietly, “is we wouldn't put it past him.”

“And he collects weird livestock,” Sam told Hal.

“You keep sayin' that. What qualifies this mare as weird livestock?” Dad asked.

“Unusual.” Sam corrected herself, picturing the white-gold mane that fell to the mare's smooth, dark shoulders. “You should see her.”

She was about to describe the mare's unusual coloring when the phone began ringing. Sam hoped everyone ignored it. She didn't want to talk with Amelia's grandmother and she had the queasy feeling that that was who was calling so early.

“No sooner said than done. C'mon out, Wyatt, Grace,” Hal was saying, pushing back from the table, then carrying his plate toward the sink while Gram was still deciding whether to do it for him or answer the phone.

C'mon out?
Sam thought. Could she blame her confusion on trying to listen to Gram's phone conversation?

“Are we driving back to the fairgrounds?” Sam asked.

“I guess that's what you get for sleepin' late,” Hal teased.

“What did I miss?” Sam asked.

“I talked this whole situation over with the sheriff, and while he didn't think there was reason enough to stake out the rodeo with a deputy, he agreed that the mare might be safer here at River Bend Ranch.”

S
am considered the phone Gram extended as if she were offering a poisonous snake.

“Samantha,” Gram said reproachfully, “it's Lynn Cooper, the reporter.”

“Oh,” Sam said, relieved, and hurried to answer.

“Hi, there,” Lynn said. “I hear you had a little excitement last night.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “How did you know?”

“I'll explain later,” Lynn said. “Just now, I'd like to talk to your dad and see if he'll allow you to come back to the rodeo to help me out with this horse story.”

Sam's eyes wandered to Dad. “I can't think of any reason he'd care,” she said. Then she noticed Dad's
eyebrows arching in question. “But I'll let you talk to him.”

As usual, when Dad “talked” on the telephone, he said almost nothing, but Sam could tell he wasn't entirely happy with what Lynn was saying.

“Nope, I don't think that will work,” he said, finally.

“What?” Sam yelped.

Dad gave her a look that said he wouldn't welcome another outburst and listened some more.

“Not until they get the security situation nailed down,” he said.

“Oh my gosh,” Sam muttered as she paced in frustration. “I'm fourteen years old.”

It was weird, but she hadn't known how much she wanted to help Lynn with the story until Dad refused to let her do it.

She was staring at Dad, watching his face for a sign that he was changing his mind, when she noticed Hal slipping on the black cowboy hat he'd hung on the rack by the front door.

“Samantha, honey, take it from an old rodeo rider,” Hal said, nodding at Dad. “Don't mess with the bull 'less you're willin' to deal with them horns.”

Then, before she'd quite figured that out, he made a polite nod and said, “Ladies, I've got a mare to unload. I'll see you outside.”

In the end, Dad agreed Sam could help on the
story from home and she could talk with Lynn. That was all.

Gram had left the kitchen and followed Hal when Dad covered the mouthpiece and told her, “We'll talk about your behavior later.”

Then Dad handed her the phone. She held it as he put on his Stetson, gave her a frown over his shoulder, and left without a word.

There was no way she'd sell her horse to buy Dad a new truck. He could just walk.

Okay, I'm acting like a brat,
Sam told herself.
He's just trying to keep me safe. As usual, it's totally unnecessary.

But Lynn was waiting.

Sam took a deep breath and said, “Hi, again.”

“First off, I don't blame him. If you were my daughter, I wouldn't want you locked in a stall.”

“Feed room,” Sam corrected.

“Really?” Lynn stretched the word out. “I heard a stall.”

“I could have unbolted a stall, or climbed over,” Sam explained, thinking it was weird that Gram had said the same thing. Is that what Hal had told her? Maybe the guard had got it wrong when he told Hal.

“Anyway, tell me your ideas for proceeding with the story,” Lynn said, “and we'll work out what you can do from home.”

“Wait, who told you about last night?”

“Linc Slocum.”

“I knew it!” Sam crowed for the second time that morning. “That guy is out to get me.”

Since Lynn already knew that Linc thought Sam was nosy, she explained the rest of her theory, just as she had to Hal, Dad, and Gram.

Lynn was quiet for a minute. Sam heard her take a sip of something before she answered. “What have you got for proof?” she asked finally.

“I told you—he thinks I'm ruining his reputation.”

“And for that, he'd buy a stolen horse? Think a minute, Sam. It doesn't make sense.”

“But if he told you about what happened to me, it means he knew.”

“He's not alone. That rodeo's like a gossipy small town.”

“Really?” Sam asked quietly. “So, what about—wait. Sheriff Ballard told me when you're looking for suspects in any crime, you search for motive and opportunity.” Sam felt suddenly sure of herself. “Linc collects exotic livestock—there's the motive—and he was standing right outside the barn when the thief was inside. I'd call that opportunity.”

“Let's try this, then,” Lynn said. “You were around the barn all afternoon and had access to it and a stock trailer, all night. And you, unlike Linc Slocum, showed a whole lot of interest in that mare. For witnesses, there's Jen, the vet, Hal, and me.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked.

“Motive and opportunity,” Lynn said. “You had
more of both than he did and it still means nothing.”

“I thought you were looking for a hot news story,” Sam grumbled.

“I am. We've opened the mystery of the mountain mare and I want a follow-up. Better than that, I want to discover her owner.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “But while we're investigating that, what if—”

“Forget about your feud with Linc Slocum and find some facts,” Lynn said, laughing lightly. “Here's what you learn in journalism school, Sam: The public has a right to know the truth. If you don't have the truth, if you start showing news stories that attack someone's character just because you're pretty sure they did something wrong, you're committing libel and you can go to jail for it.”

Sam blew out her cheeks. She hadn't thought investigative journalism would be so hard.

“That makes sense,” she admitted finally. “But what if I
know
he's guilty?”

Lynn's tone was absolutely no-nonsense when she said, “Find evidence to back up what you're saying. Otherwise, forget it.”

 

Sam couldn't help looking toward the river when she stepped onto the front porch. The Phantom wouldn't be there in the daylight. And she couldn't see the wild side of the river from here.

Though the dream hadn't been real, her thoughts kept spinning around the Phantom.

“You have a beautiful spread, right here in the river's elbow, with the mountain range on the horizon,” Hal Ryden said as he stared toward the Calico Mountains. “Growing up around here, I just took it for granted.”

“Hal's family used to own the Crane Crossing Ranch,” Gram told Sam.

“Crane Crossing? Like the mall?” Sam asked.

“That was it,” Hal said with a melancholy grin. “You'd never think so to look at it now, but it was a beautiful ranch. Kinda ironic that they poured asphalt for the parking lots over the wetlands, then named the whole shebang after the birds that can't come there anymore.” Hal scuffed a boot in the dirt and studied it as he said, “My old man just didn't have the backbone to stand up against the developers.”

“Sometimes it takes more than backbone,” Gram said.

As all three adults nodded, Sam knew they were talking about money again.

“Yeah, I heard old man Potter sold the Happy Heart Ranch and became a millionaire,” Hal said. “Well, I'll tell you, I've been lucky that rodeo has worked out for me. I've got my place in Montana and I love it. It's like those wild horses we were talking about—even though we don't see 'em much, we like knowing they're there. That's how I feel about my
ranch.” Hal clapped Dad on the back. “And I'm real glad you all are makin' a go of it.”

“It's not easy,” Dad said. “Take a day like today, for instance. One problem just leads to another. Truck's dead, so I've got to ride horseback out to fix the irrigation system. While I'm doing that, horse could throw a shoe, and by the time I rode her home to fix it, she's pulled a muscle favoring that hoof, leading to a vet bill or at least a new tin of liniment.”

Dad pretended he was joking, but Sam knew he wasn't when he went on, “Sometimes I wonder if folks aren't right, that we're hanging onto a way of life that's seen its day. Why run cattle on the open range, folks ask, when they can be kept in feedlots next to the factories and just be processed from birth to death?”

“I guess we know why,” Gram said, sniffing as she crossed her arms. “Because when you cram all those creatures in together, they get sick and their meat gives you horrid diseases.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Dad said, then he turned back to Hal. “We're just hoping we can keep River Bend Ranch until the kids are grown.”

The kids. Dad must have told Hal that Brynna was expecting a baby. It wasn't much of a secret anymore.

“‘River Bend' is a terrible name for a mall anyway,” Hal said, and though Dad and Gram chuckled, their laughter was grim. “Before you get to
that point, Samantha here will go off to college and make you all rich.”

Did photojournalists get rich? Sam hoped so, because she hated what she was hearing.

“Sam knows what's important, and it's not just money,” Dad said confidently. “She loves this ranch and she does her part.”

Not if my part is selling Ace!
Sam bit her lip to hold back the words.

“She's a good girl,” Gram seconded, patting Sam on the back. Then, changing the subject, she said, “Sam, before I forget, why is that lady from Albuquerque calling you every time I turn around?”

“It's Amelia's grandmother,” Sam said. She swallowed, before going on. “She wants to talk to me about horses.”

It was true enough,
Sam thought.

Then, even though the mare picked her way around the ranch yard at the end of a leather lead, showing off her graceful gaits and beautiful coloring, Sam didn't watch her. Instead, Sam stared at the horses she'd seen a thousand times.

In the ten-acre pasture, Tank and Amigo grazed together. They might have been a display for what Quarter Horse conformation and muscles built by hard work should look like. Blood-bay Nike and Appaloosa Jeepers-Creepers looked tall and speedy, though they were just grazing beside Sweetheart, Gram's aged pinto. Ace, Popcorn, and Penny, all
mustangs, were on alert, studying the chocolate mare. Even Penny's blindness couldn't keep wild instincts from telling her never to ignore something new.

When Blaze investigated the strange horse trailer and knocked against a bucket, the mustangs fled. Ace led their charge for the far end of the pasture.

That's how mustangs were,
Sam thought. And maybe that alertness, that instinct to run from danger, wasn't such a good trait for a therapy horse.

Then again, she might just be telling herself that so she didn't lose Ace.

She stared out at the Calico Mountains, as Hal had. Up there somewhere was the Phantom's secret valley. The surrounding territory held Lost Canyon, Arroyo Azul, the Deerpath Ranch's mysterious hot springs, and Aspen Creek's trembling leaves.

I love this place,
she thought. And what about Dad and Gram? If they had to leave the ranch and live in the city, they'd wither and become completely different people.

Dad and Gram didn't take a single day on the ranch for granted. Regardless of the weather, they greeted each morning as if they'd embrace it, filling their eyes with vaulting sky and sagebrush-covered ridges. Then they gave silent prayers of thanks for living the life they loved.

“Easiest way to figure out who she belongs to is to check her for a chip,” Hal was saying when Sam refocused on the conversation around her. “I've
already looked for brands and a lip tattoo.”

A chip! Of course, lots of horses had microchips inserted in their necks. Each microchip was supposed to have an individual number on it that could be read instantly with a scanner. The vet had mentioned it, too.

“Where do we get a scanner?” Sam asked suddenly.

“There are all kinds of chips and all kinda scanners,” Dad said.

“Yeah,” Hal said slowly. “I keep hearing about a universal scanner, but I don't know if they make 'em yet. And those little chips can migrate from the neck to other places in the body, too, so we'd best think of someone who knows what he's doing.”

“Sheriff Ballard?” Gram suggested.

Sam was already running toward the house when she heard Hal say that might be a good place to start.