Mountain Mare (13 page)

Sam could see Diana weakening.

“And Lynn
did
do a story about a lost horse, even though she's scared to death of them,” Sam said. “And if that horse had really, truly been lost, you might have found her because of it.”

Sam was pretty happy with her argument, especially when Diana agreed.

After Sam's phone call, Lynn arrived and interviewed Diana gently. While the cameraman filmed Diana's joy at being reunited with her horse, Lynn took notes, learning facts about Rocky Mountain Horses that she'd share with her viewers.

“The breed just sprung up in the Appalachian Mountains,” Diana said. “They're naturally gaited and suited for anything—hard travel, carrying kids, pulling plows, sleighs, and working cattle. Most of all, they're famous for their sweet temperaments,” Diana said, and then she kissed Lass on the nose.

Before Lynn left, she pulled Sam aside. Sam could tell before the reporter said a word that she was
going to bring up her accusations of Linc Slocum.

“So, he's not as bad as you thought, is he?” Lynn teased.

“He's even worse than I thought,” Sam said stubbornly. “He's just not the villain this time.”

Lynn laughed. “That's why a good journalist always looks for evidence.”

“I guess,” Sam said.

“It's disappointing,” Lynn said as Sam walked her back to her news van. “But even criminals are innocent sometimes.”

Lynn climbed into the van and started it, but before she drove away she lowered her window.

“Sam?” she called, smiling. “If he's really that crooked, there'll be a next time, and I'll be more than happy to be there.”

L
ynn had left for the television studio. Kevin and Diana had loaded up Lass. They were planning to go talk to Diana's dad.

“We need to tell him we're getting married, too,” Diana said. “That's going to blow him away. So, with any luck, he won't even notice I stole a horse!”

They'd left laughing, and now Sam stood brushing Ace.

This might be our last ride together,
Sam thought.

She paused and touched her chest as if she could feel her heart breaking.

She kept brushing, but she couldn't stop thinking about her dream. It was as if it had tossed some kind of net over her.

A gossamer net,
she thought, remembering that word from a vocabulary lesson in English. She was pretty sure the definition she'd found in the dictionary just said something like “delicate” or “flimsy,” but to her, it had a mystical feel. All day she'd imagined the dream's invisible net surrounding her, even though it allowed her to eat and talk and do her chores.

Almost finished, Sam looked down at Ace's gleaming leg. There, where the bay darkened into glistening black, he was beautiful. And his hooves, so small that their imprint would fit her palm, were amazing. Hardened by years of galloping across the
playa
, up and down shale hillsides, they made him more sure-footed than any mountain goat. Would anyone in his new home appreciate his beauty, or would they just think of him as a plain, brown horse?

Sam saddled Ace, drawing the cinch and checking it twice.

“We'll have to tell them you're a tricky guy,” Sam said, kissing the star on his forehead before she mounted up.

Sam was riding past the house when Gram stood up from her garden.

“I don't know why we keep that useless dog around,” she snapped, using the back of her hand to wipe her forehead. “To think I was so worried over his night ramblings.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“He's let the deer get in and eat all my strawberries,” Gram said, “and then he dug himself a nice cool place to rest in my herb garden! My thyme and rosemary were just ready to harvest. I was giving them one more day.” Gram stopped and shook her head.

“I'm sorry, Gram, I don't think he meant to destroy it,” Sam said, turning Ace toward the bridge.

“When you get back, promise me you'll do something about the stack of phone messages you're accumulating,” Gram said.

“I will,” Sam said, and then she heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. Since there was no sense in putting off the call, Sam swung down from her saddle.

“I'll get it,” she said, ground-tying Ace, and if Gram mumbled something after her, she didn't hear exactly what.

The kitchen was little cooler than the ranch yard, but Sam felt chilled as she crossed the room to pick up the telephone.

She was so braced to do the right thing, she almost didn't recognize Jake's voice.

“I've been thinking about Ace,” he said, as if it was still yesterday morning and Sam had just told him about the offer.

“Oh, swell, you sure took your time about it.”

“Good thoughts take a little longer,” Jake said, and there was an irritability in his voice that made Sam wonder if he'd come in off the range just to call
her. She couldn't take a chance that he'd hang up.

“Thanks,” she said. “Go ahead and tell me what you figured out.”

“I'm not makin' the decision for you, but, uh, are you sure Ace is the horse they want for that therapy job?”

Sam remembered Ace rearing at the fairgrounds. Ace panicking at the sound of the water truck and leading a rush for the far end of the pasture, just an hour ago, because he'd heard an unfamiliar noise.

“You aren't saying that just to make me happy, are you?” Sam asked.

“'Course not.”

Sam sat in silence, waiting for Jake to convince her she wouldn't be selfish if she refused to sell Ace. When he finally spoke again, it sounded as if he'd started thinking about something else.

“You know when I was helping you with math last summer,” Jake said.

“Don't remind me.”

“Well, you think best with a pencil in your hand. You might write down the facts about that horse.”

“Okay…”

“I gotta go,” Jake said, and hung up.

When she heard dial tone, Sam hung up, too.

“What was
that
?” Sam lifted her hands toward the ceiling in a frustrated gesture, then realized she was talking to herself.

If Jake had called to help, he'd done a lousy job of it.

Sam paced back outside, jammed a boot in her stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

“It wasn't her. It was Jake,” she said before Gram could ask.

“Those messages have been sitting on the kitchen table since yesterday,” Gram went on, as if Sam hadn't said a word.

Sam gritted her teeth, but managed to be polite.

“I'll call as soon as I get back. I promise, Gram.”

Sam clucked Ace and rode on.

Sam's a good girl. She knows what's important. She'll do her part.

Gram and Dad's bragging about her to Hal didn't make her decision easier, just more obvious. As she rode across the bridge, heading for the range, there was Dad's truck, pushed off to the side.

Dead as a doornail,
he'd said. He'd almost joked about it, too, as if he knew the money to fix or replace it would come from somewhere.

 

Fire danger was high and water was low,
Sam thought as she rode Ace across the La Charla River. His hooves slipped on rocks that would have been submerged during a year with more rain.

Should she ride right, toward War Drum Flats, or left, toward the Phantom's territory? She loosened her hold on the reins, giving Ace his head, and he veered toward mustang country.

She'd just done what she'd told Diana not to do, Sam realized. You didn't let your horse choose its own path.

But I'm not going to strip off his saddle and bridle and let him decide whether he wants to rejoin the Phantom,
Sam thought. She'd like to, but Ace was tame now. He knew where he could get food, water, and love, and he'd just come home.

Up ahead, wisps of smoke blew across the horizon.

She drew in her reins, but Ace strained against the bit and kept going.

“Whoa, boy,” she told him. “Don't tell me you got used to being a brat at the rodeo, because I won't believe you. If that's smoke, the smart thing to do is go the other way.”

Ace stopped, swung his head around, and stamped a front hoof.

“Good boy,” Sam said, but she'd barely uttered the words when Ace's head swung around and he nipped the toe of her boot.

“Hey!” she shouted. “What are you thinking?”

Ace tossed his head skyward, eyes rolling, then he shook from nose to tail.

Now what?
Sam thought. But then she saw what she'd missed.

Eight white horses marched in single file up the mustang path over the stair-step mesas. Sam blinked. Eight white horses?

She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing, until she recalled the way Ace had just shook.

The Phantom's herd was returning home from their dusting spot.

They'd rolled in the chalky dust of the
playa
. Though they looked like fairy-tale horses, they'd really been scratching itchy spots, rubbing off bugs, and loosening old hair so that their coats would gleam once the dust blew away.

Every few steps, a herd member stopped to shake, creating a white haze that swirled around them.

Judging from her muscled conformation, Sam was pretty sure the big honey-colored mare led the way, though she was a pale peach color in her dust coat.

Eight wild white horses, Sam thought. A white
playa
, and far off, the white-tipped peaks of the Calico Mountains.

Ace raised his head, testing the hot wind. At first, Sam was sure he'd scented the Phantom, but she didn't see the stallion.

Could that be him?

Sam loosed her reins and urged Ace closer to a fan of dust.

Stark white from alkali powder, the Phantom lay flat on his side. Tail outspread, head pressed to the
playa
, he rubbed his cheek back and forth against the hot desert floor. With eyes closed, he gave a groan of pleasure.

Then, hearing their approach or feeling the vibrations of Ace's hooves, the Phantom sensed he was no longer alone.

He rolled to his other side. So quickly his movements were blurred, his hind legs drew up against his belly, his forelegs extended to almost a sitting position, and he was up. Head lowered, eyes flashing a warning, the stallion stared their way.

“No dust bath for you today,” Sam whispered to Ace. “I think he's just embarrassed to be caught off guard.”

Ace was in no mood for jokes, and he backed up abruptly. Sam fought to keep her seat. In that instant, when Sam was making up her mind about Ace's future, the Phantom proved he was serious.

A mirage horse in the midst of a dust cloud, the stallion reared.

Mouth agape as he returned to all fours, he slashed the air with bright teeth before whirling, kicking, then rocketing after his mares.

Once he reached the second plateau, the Phantom stopped, stared back over his shoulder, and gave a snort.

Once Ace echoed the sound, the stallion turned and trotted away.

“That was good-bye,” Sam whispered to Ace, and when she used her reins to signal a turn, Ace obeyed.

He didn't question a single command all the way home.

 

When Sam turned Ace out into the pasture, she wished she could roll in the cool grass with him.

It must be a hundred degrees,
she thought, taking slow, dragging steps toward the house.

Gram stood on the porch, face shiny with perspiration, fanning herself with the skirt of her apron.

“Samantha.”

Sam stopped. Just the stress on the middle syllable of her name told Sam that Gram was even crankier than she'd been over Blaze and the garden. Did she still have time to turn around and run for the barn? Cleaning stalls was more fun than facing Gram in hot weather.

But Gram had come down the steps to hold a slip of paper in front of Sam's face.

“I don't know why you're avoiding this woman, but here's another call.”

Sighing, Sam took the message.

“It's a different number,” Sam noticed.

“She said it was toll-free and you should call as soon as possible,” Gram said. “Now I'm going upstairs to take a shower as soon as I finish cleaning this table.”

Sam watched as Gram spread a square of flannel with lemon oil, then leaned her weight against her palm to polish the kitchen table.

Why would you do a chore like that on such a hot day?

I'm smart enough not to ask,
Sam thought, although nothing could be worse than calling Amelia's grandmother and telling her she'd accept the three thousand dollars for Ace.

“Dinner's going to be late,” Gram muttered as she buffed. “In fact, I don't feel much like cooking. If anyone wants more than sandwiches and chips, they can by golly bake it themselves.”

The phone rang just as Sam was ready to lift the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Samantha, I've finally reached you.”

The pleasant voice must belong to Amelia's grandmother. That surprised Sam. Because she hated the thought of selling her horse, she'd imagined the woman would sound like a witch.

“I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, dear.”

Sam held the phone more tightly. Should she still sell Ace if Amelia's grandmother couldn't offer three thousand dollars?

No. She'd made her decision.

Ace was smart, but he was cow smart, not city smart, or riding ring smart. Ace was calm, but he was mustang calm, and that meant he could not ignore threats. Ace was patient, but—Sam shook her head and quit arguing with herself.

Three thousand dollars was a lot of money, but it wasn't worth the risk that Ace would harm a child.

I'm not being selfish,
Sam thought,
I'm looking at the facts and being smart.

“Bad news?” Sam said, and then she rushed to add, “Amelia's all right, isn't she?”

“What now?” Gram grumbled, but when Sam glanced over, she saw that Gram was staring at a light spot on the tabletop.

“Oh, yes, of course. Amelia's delighted to be riding again, and promising to be a model student in September, but it's about the therapy horse program and your Ace.” She cleared her throat and Sam waited. “I saw those pictures of him acting up.”

“Pictures?” Sam asked.

“Yes, you were wearing matching cowgirl outfits with a blond girl, and riding on each side of a bunch of cows.”

For a minute Sam only remembered Lynn's cameraman shooting film for the six o'clock news, but then she recalled the whine of a camera's motor drive taking frame after frame of photographs.

“It was on the front page of the Denver paper, dear, and if anyone should find out that I'd donated a, well,
bucking bronco
as a therapy horse, what would they think?” She paused for a second, but when Sam didn't respond, she added, “Not to mention the safety of the children.”

Could you feel let down and thankful at the same time?

Sam searched for words, but all she came up with
was, “It's okay. I understand.”

“That's lovely of you, dear.”

“Wait,” Sam said, looking down at the note she was holding. “I want to say I'm sorry I didn't call you back sooner. I really meant to—”

“Don't give it another thought,” she said.

“And I really appreciate you leaving this 800 number. I was just about to phone.”

“Oh dear, I'm afraid there must be someone else after you as well!” she chuckled. “I didn't leave an 800 number.”