Red Feather Filly (8 page)

“No, I'm just asking you, what makes you so sure I'll be riding as your partner? Have we talked about it? Have you asked if I think Ace is up to it? Have you wondered for just a second if I made plans to ride with someone else?”

It was quiet for a full minute.

A flock of seagulls passed overhead, checked out the humans below, and prepared to land and see
if they'd dropped any food.

“Like who?” Jake shouted suddenly, and the flock gave a few scattered cries, banked away from the shore and flew away.

“Like anybody,” Sam yelled back. “Dad or Ryan or Pepper…”

“Ride with me, Sam,” Jake said, “and you won't have idiot people—like me—thinking you're a less-than-great rider. Especially your dad. I saw the way you flinched when Wyatt told you to be careful.”

“Oh, like you've gotten over my accident?”

“I'm trying, but—”

“But, if I fell or something, would you decide the very day before the race that it was just too dangerous for poor little Samantha?”

Ever since she'd come home, Jake had been protective of her. He still felt guilty over her accident years ago, because he'd been with her, because he'd felt responsible.

“I am trying,” Jake repeated. He drew himself up to his full height, crossed his arms, and looked down at her.

Sam stared right back. Jake couldn't intimidate her into being his partner.

“You're going to have to come up with something better than that,” Sam told him.

Jake took a deep breath and looked at her again. This time he raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Be my partner and I promise we'll win.”

W
hen Sam arrived home and announced that she and Jake would be riding as partners in Mrs. Allen's Super Bowl of Horsemanship, she thought the hard part was behind her.

She was wrong.

Dad didn't stop what he was doing. He kept using a heavy rasp to smooth something on Tank's hoof.

Ross stood at the big Quarter horse's head, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else, but Sam couldn't figure out why.

“Dad, did you hear me?” Sam asked. “Jake and I are going to be partners in the race.”

Dad lowered Tank's hoof, gave the horse a shoulder pat, then slowly straightened. He pressed both hands to
the small of his back and made a small noise of pain. Then, instead of answering, he glanced at Ross.

“You and Pepper want to finish this up?”

Sam stiffened. Dad was turning his chore over to the cowboys. If that was because he wanted to give her his full attention, she wasn't sure she wanted it.

“Sure,” Ross said. He looked pleased to be left out of their discussion.

Dad dusted his hands off on his jeans and motioned for Sam to walk beside him back to the house. She did, but with each step, she tried to interpret Dad's silence.

“I thought you'd be excited,” she said after about ten steps.

“That's one way of puttin' it.”

Sam looked sideways at him. Dad didn't seem mad, exactly, but he sure wasn't overjoyed.

“We'll be careful,” she offered.

“Yeah,” Dad said, but that didn't count as permission.

As soon as they walked into the house, Dad called a family meeting.

Sam crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, waiting as everyone stopped what they were doing to assemble at the kitchen table.

“It's not that big a deal,” she said softly, but no one paid attention.

Gram folded up the order blank she'd been filling out for a seed catalog.

Dad called up the stairs to Brynna.

“I was ready for a break,” Brynna said. “My end- of-winter range condition report has got to get finished, but I was dying for a glass of water.”

She got her water and sat at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes.

“Tell them what you told me,” Dad instructed Sam.

Sam took a deep breath. “Jake and I are going to be partners in Mrs. Allen's race.”

Gram and Brynna looked as baffled as she felt, but Dad's hands were folded together on the table in one big fist.

Sam filled the silence as best she could.

“I'm thirteen years old. I've been raised to be a cowgirl, right?” she asked.

Dad gave a grudging nod.

“And the entire point of Mrs. Allen having coed teams is that things will be safe,” Sam added.

Her English teacher had told the class that three good points was enough to persuade a normal person to believe what you were saying, but Sam decided Dad just might not be normal.

So she added one more.

“I'll be riding Ace. I know him and I know the terrain. He's a good horse and I can depend on him.”

Brynna and Gram both looked at Dad.

They're on my side, Sam thought. So why don't they jump in and say something? And then, Gram did.

“Samantha, did it ever occur to you to ask per
mission, rather than coming home and declaring what you were going to do?”

“Umm…no.”

“And I wonder if you've decided how you'll pay the entry fee?” Brynna added.

“Don't be looking at me,” Dad said, when she did. “If I had a hundred-dollar bill I'd be giving it to the power company.”

Sam didn't bury her face in her hands, but that's just what she felt like doing. Not asking permission wasn't a big thing. She could take care of that in a single minute. But why hadn't she remembered the money?

“I was thinking that I could use the money I earned from selling Tinkerbell,” Sam said.

After saving the big brown draft horse from slaughter, Sam had sold him to Sterling Stables. But she knew exactly what Brynna would say, and she did.

“That's an exciting idea,” Brynna said, “but we agreed that would go into your college fund.”

Sam nodded. She'd felt as if she were soaring and reality had deflated her. Her spirits sank lower and lower.

Brynna wasn't done talking, though, and she sounded way too cheery.

“If it's all right with your Gram and Dad, I say we should check out the details of this race. If it's unsafe, you and Jake won't waste time trying to find the
money. On the other hand, if it sounds all right and you and Jake somehow strike it rich, you'll be good to go.”

Brynna leaned back in her chair and waited.

“I guess that would be okay,” Dad said.

Sam sighed. It wasn't the best news in the world, but it was a start.

 

For the rest of the evening, Gram and Brynna made phone calls to Mrs. Allen and Dr. Scott, the veterinarian.

With their directions, Gram sketched out the course. She and Dad knew every gulch and gully, each cliff and shaley sidehill.

“There's that thorn thicket that'll rip right through those lightweight chinks of yours,” Dad said, tapping Gram's map.

All the while, Sam felt Brynna watching her. Her stepmother's elbow was on the table. Her chin rested in her palm and her red braid dangled to one side.

Sam was embarrassed. She rode the area between here, Deerpath Ranch, and War Drum Flats all the time. Just the same, she was willing to keep quiet, if they'd come to the right conclusion.

It looked like that was just what would happen. Then, after they'd discussed the terrain, Dad called Dr. Scott for a description of the obstacle course.

Sam realized Brynna was still watching her, tapping the fingers of one hand on the table. Sam tried not
to notice. Instead, she listened intently, trying to decipher Dr. Scott's side of the telephone conversation.

“Balloons and whistles,” Dad mused, finally. “That's not so bad. The things to step over and through don't worry me. Ace is one range-smart pony.”

Sam was smiling by the time Dad hung up.

“You've got my permission,” Dad said, at last.

“And mine,” Gram said.

“Mine too,” Brynna echoed.

Sam thanked her entire family with hugs. She was happy, enough to smile as she went up the stairs to bed.

By the time she lay in bed, staring up at the plaster ceiling, she was wondering why her family couldn't see that using money from her college fund to pay the entry fee would be an investment.

Sam rolled over and closed her eyes. If she and Jake won the race, she'd have more money than before, even with one small deduction for a new saddle.

 

On the way to the bus stop the next morning, Dad turned Sam's entire day upside down.

“I gave you my permission,” he said.

Sam sucked in a breath. Dad expected her to know he was referring to the race, and she did. Had he been thinking about it all night? That couldn't be good.

“Yeah,” she said cautiously.

“And you still have it,” he assured her. “But things could go wrong, things you can't control. You're still my baby, Samantha. When you were born, your mom and I vowed to protect your life with our own. Now, I don't expect it to come to that…” Dad's hand slashed through the air between them, as if he could cut off the possibility. “It's a simple race. Trudy Allen's takin' every precaution to see it stays safe. Just to be sure, though, Brynna and I are entering, too. I'll be there if you need me.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said as she climbed out of the truck. But she didn't mean it. Not really.

Sam walked with her head down, walking on the edge of the road where asphalt met scrubby range grass.

It was no surprise that he and Brynna wanted to ride in the race. They could put the prize money toward replacing the old hay truck that kept belching black smoke and breaking down.

But why didn't he say that?

Why did he have to tell her which horse to ride? Why did he have to watch over her every minute? How could she prove she was capable if he wouldn't let her do anything on her own?

When she looked up, Jen was already at the bus stop. Sam smothered a surprised laugh. Jen's appearance knocked the frustration right out of her head.

Jen wore gray corduroy pants and a pink blouse. Those were normal enough, but her purple cardigan
with some kind of multicolored bulges all over it was…bizarre.

“Check out my latest purchase,” Jen said. She pulled the sweater closed with one hand and made an artistic gesture with the other.

Jen loved to shop at thrift stores and her taste was what Brynna called “original.”

“Nice,” Sam managed. She couldn't help squinting a bit closer. “Are those pom-pom things…?”

“Easter eggs,” Jen said with satisfaction. “Is this cool, or what?”

“Cool,” Sam said, but now that Dad had driven away, the silence around them seemed brittle.

A quail's call came from somewhere nearby. And far off, there was a clunk-clang of Dad's tires crossing a cattle guard.

“So,” Jen said, “are you riding with Jake?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and her breath rushed out. She didn't add that her Daddy would be watching every move she made. “How about you and Ryan?”

“Yes!” Jen nodded so hard her braids flipped. “Can you believe it?”

“Of course I can. You're a great rider and he wants to win.”

Jen waved away Sam's compliments to rush on.

“I tried to talk him out of that whole mustang-tamer idea, but if Jake's doing it…” Jen trailed off, eyebrows raised so high that Sam could see them above Jen's glasses.

“He is,” she admitted.

“Then there's no question. Ryan will do it, too. But the good part of that is, he wants me to ride Sky Ranger!”

Sky Ranger was a Thoroughbred cross that Linc Slocum rode for endurance work, like chasing mustangs. Once, soon after Sam had arrived, Linc had ridden him after the Phantom. If the stallion and his herd hadn't disappeared into their secret valley, Sky Ranger might have kept pace with them. He was fleet and tireless.

Just then, they heard the chugging sound of the school bus drawing near.

“Do you want to come watch me get on him for the first time after school?” Jen asked.

It wouldn't be a rodeo, Sam knew. If Linc Slocum could ride him, Jen certainly could. Still, Sky Ranger was high-strung and Linc kept him full of grain. It would be worth watching.

“Sure—” Sam had barely pronounced the word when Jen interrupted.

“Ryan could drive you home afterward.”

Jen frowned as soon as she said it and Sam wondered if her best friend was mirroring her expression. With Ryan hanging around, watching Jen wouldn't be as much fun.

“I'll have to see,” Sam said.

They both looked left. A tiny slice of bright yellow showed as the bus crested the hill. An instant later, its
front windows glittered in the spring sun.

Jen and Sam stood quietly, waiting.

“This isn't going to be awkward, is it?” Sam blurted. “I don't want us to be all aggressive about this race.”

Jen's smile started slow, then spread until her lips curved in a grin.

“We'll leave that to our partners,” Jen said.

The bus stopped. The air brake hissed and the door opened.

The girls hurried down the middle aisle to their usual row and took their usual seat. All around them things looked the same and smelled the same. But Sam felt the change.

Maybe neither of them liked the tension of competition, but they both wanted to win.

S
am was entering Mrs. Ely's history class when Jake grabbed her elbow.

“Ow! What?” she asked. It didn't hurt, but he'd surprised her. She'd been gloomily watching Jen walk away toward her own first period class.

“She riding with Slocum?” Jake nodded after Jen.

“I'm not going to be your spy,” Sam snapped.

Jake gave her a bland look, waiting. At last Sam sighed. Jake would find out soon, anyway.

“With Ryan,” Sam said, though of course that was who Jake had meant. Linc was a cruel and inept rider and Rachel thought horses were smelly and boring. Besides, she was in France.

Jake stood solid amid the students dodging around him and sprinting toward classes. He stared
at the place in the hall where Jen had been, though she'd turned a corner and vanished.

“He doesn't go to school,” Jake said.

Sam was used to mining Jake's remarks for their meaning and she thought she knew what he meant this time.

“So he's got more time to work with Roman,” Sam suggested. She went on after Jake nodded. “But it will all even out, because Jen's riding Sky. He's flighty and it will take her a while to get comfortable with him. I'll be riding Ace. We know each other inside and out. And”—Sam raised her voice when Jake shifted impatiently—“Roman's never been haltered, let alone ridden, but the pinto filly has some experience with a rider.”

“All bad,” Jake said.

“But she's not going to think you're trying to wrap a snake around her head when you approach with a bridle,” Sam said. “And don't forget she was raised by nice people.”

“Maryann Pete,” Jake said, nodding.

“Until she was a yearling, she was happy around humans,” Sam insisted.

As the tardy bell rang, Sam stepped back inside the classroom. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Mrs. Ely. Blond hair curled and bouncing, she clicked into the classroom's back door on her high heels.

She pointed a finger at Sam and motioned her into class.

Sam knew she'd be counted present and on time,
but Jake would be late.

“Oh, man.” He sighed.

“Ask your mom for a pass,” Sam whispered.

“I'd have a better chance getting that hundred dollars from her,” Jake sounded sour, but sure.

As he started away, he shouted back over his shoulder. “We'll talk after school, okay? And drive the Scout out to Monument Lake.”

As he sprinted down the empty hallway, Sam was filled with disbelief. First, he'd assumed she'd be his partner. Now, Jake assumed she'd hang around with him after school.

Was she supposed to just ditch Jen?

“Miss Forster,” Mrs. Ely's sarcasm snapped Sam back to history class. “Were you planning on handing in your weekend homework or are you acting as hallway sentry, today?”

Sam let the door slam. Her classmates smiled as she headed for her desk.

“I've got it,” Sam said, as she slipped into her seat. At least Rachel was out of the country instead of sitting in the desk behind hers, rolling her eyes.

Sam unzipped her backpack and rummaged through it.

“It's here, really,” Sam said as Mrs. Ely tapped her toe in annoyance. “I found it!”

Sam passed the paper forward and hoped it would be that easy to find an excuse to tell Jen.

During their lunch hour, both girls stood outside, munching sandwiches and apples. For months, the
weather had been so harsh, they'd had to eat in the cafeteria. Now it was cool and sunny.

They were enjoying the warmth of sun on their cheeks and talking as usual when Jen mentioned she'd received a message in her last class.

“I forgot, I have a dentist appointment,” she said with a pout. “I guess riding Sky will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Do it when you get home, Jen. I don't have to be there to watch. We have less than two weeks.”

“Yeah, I know. I wouldn't be worried, except for Roman. What do you remember about him?”

“Not that much,” Sam said slowly. “He's dark chestnut with a pretty extreme Roman nose and he acts like a stallion.”

“I was just thinking—oh, forget it. I'm beginning to sound like you.”

“Oh, now I really have to hear it,” Sam said. “Spit it out.”

“Well, the race runs over the Phantom's territory, right?” Jen asked. “And this is the time of year herd stallions guard their mares against other stallions. They're superjealous, right?”

“Why didn't I think of that?” Sam wondered aloud. “There are bound to be some stallions in the race. What if the Phantom challenges them?”

“I don't think it will happen,” Jen said as the bell rang for the end of lunch hour. “The noise and riders would scare off the usual mustang.”

As she walked toward Journalism, her last class
of the day, Sam was thinking that she and Jen both knew the Phantom was a very
un
usual mustang. She'd raised him from birth and he'd lived as a domestic horse until the accident that had put her in a coma and set him free.

While Sam lived in San Francisco, recovering, the young stallion had run wild, but he hadn't forgotten her.

He might have been easy to recapture and gentle, if his encounters with people hadn't taught him fear.

The silver mustang's beauty had drawn humans who wanted to capture him. Some, like Linc Slocum, hadn't cared if they'd scared and injured him.

Suddenly a charge of excitement flashed through her. Of course the Phantom hated some humans, but he trusted her as much as a wild thing could.

The situation could be exactly the same for Jake and the filly.

 

Sam couldn't get her mind off horses. The current events quiz in Journalism didn't do it and neither did typing her story for the next issue of the
Darton Dialogue
.

Her fingers lifted right off the computer keys when an idea struck her.

Saturday night, she'd dreamed of the Phantom. This morning, she'd noticed she'd scratched her wrist. Even in her sleep, she'd been checking her wrist for the lost bracelet woven of the stallion's hair.

What if he'd come to the river Saturday and
Sunday nights, but she'd been sleeping too deeply to wake completely? Could she have half heard him, and woven his call into her dreams?

It was possible.

Sam typed another sentence, then stared into the computer screen. Jen wouldn't get off the bus with her today. She'd be walking home alone. If the Phantom was nearby he might come to her.

“Forster! Take a nap on your own time. I need that story!” Mr. Blair shouted.

Frowning at the screen, as if she was concentrating, Sam waved one hand to let Mr. Blair know she'd heard.

She glanced at the classroom clock. Fifteen minutes until she could leave. Another twenty-five, or so, until the bus dropped her off.

Sam's fingers danced on the keys, faster than ever before. She had to finish this story now. If Mr. Blair kept her in and she missed the bus, she'd miss a chance to see the Phantom.

 

After class, Jake was waiting outside.

Sam fiddled with her backpack, adjusting it to sit just right. She wasn't sure what to tell him.

“Ready?” he shifted from foot to foot as if she'd been stalling for hours.

“Excuse me,” she said, slipping past him. “I'm taking the bus home.” She paused, feeling guilty because he looked so surprised. “You know Gram will go nuts if I just take off without asking permission.”

It was true, but it wasn't the reason she didn't want to go with him. Somehow, Jake seemed to know.

“Okay,” he bit the word short and headed down the hall.

“What if…” Sam said, before he got too far.

Jake turned and Sam hurried after him. They were outside now. She could see the bus idling, waiting.

A gust of warm spring wind blew from behind her, sending her red-brown hair into a frenzy around her face.

Frustrated, she pushed it back with both hands, then ordered her brain to come up with something.

“Since we saw the filly in the morning at Monument Lake—”

Sam stopped, filled with disbelief for what she'd nearly said. Jake raised his black eyebrows, but he didn't meet her gaze. In fact, he seemed focused on her hair. Probably so she wouldn't see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Why don't we go tomorrow before school,” she blurted.

Say no, say no, say no,
she begged silently.

“Good idea.” Jake nodded slowly. “Dad won't complain about undone chores, either, since I'm not doin' anything at five
A.M.
Pick you up then.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Sam wondered if she was weaving with shock as she started toward the bus.

“Hey, Brat?” Jake called after her.

Sam whirled, hoping no one had heard the babyish nickname.

“What?” she hissed.

Jake used one hand to make a vague smoothing gesture at his hair. “Do somethin'. You look kinda like, uh, what's that flower with the petals goin' every which way? Like a chrysanthemum.”

If she hadn't already been so embarrassed her face hurt from blushing, Sam would have screamed.

With a little planning, she could have picked a better friend than Jake Ely. A friend who didn't mock her or force her to get up early.

Civilized human beings didn't get out of bed at five o'clock in the morning twice in one week, she thought, as she trudged up the steps, onto the bus. The rooster didn't crow that early. It was still night!

She found a seat and squinted at her reflection in the windowpane. She couldn't see much except her outline, so she smoothed both hands over her hair, then leaned her forehead against the cold glass.

She could probably catch a catnap now, and store up sleep. But there was no way she was going to take a chance of missing a glimpse of the wild horses.

Once the bus had stopped at the junior high school to pick up a few more students, it rolled out of Darton. They passed the mall, the scattered gas stations, mini-marts, and most of the other bus stops and rolled onto the highway, then Sam began searching the far hills.

She couldn't see much without binoculars, but
she watched for movement. When the bus stopped at Clara's Diner to let off a few students, Sam sat up straighter. Lost Canyon, Arroyo Azul, and War Drum Flats were east of here and she'd seen the Phantom's herd here before.

There! Sam bounced up in her seat. Below the ridgeline, in a clump of juniper that was starting to green up, she thought something moved. Something
s
.

“Did you see those antelope?” crowed a voice behind her. “My dad says there's enough of 'em to crowd out the nags this year.”

Sam twisted and glared over the seat back. If looks could kill, whoever was back there was dead meat.

“The
what
?” she demanded.

Two younger boys shrank away as far as their seat would allow, then stared up at Sam, openmouthed.

“The, uh—” His chin ducked as he swallowed. “I don't know any nicer names for 'em, honest.”

“Mustangs,” Sam said, carefully. “Wild horses.”

“Okay,” the boys said, together.

Sam turned around. It would be mean to lecture the boys, since they looked so scared.

She didn't hear another peep from them for several miles. When her stop came up, Sam stood and held the seat in front of her for balance. As the bus slowed, she pulled on her backpack. Two loud whispers came from behind her.

“She got real fierce about those horses.”

“Yeah, with all that crazy red hair, she looked like a lion!”

The bus braked, stopped, and Sam stepped out into the aisle. Before she left, she turned and fixed the two boys with the most threatening glare she could manage.

A lion. A chrysanthemum.

As she left the bus, Sam wondered what she really looked like. She didn't want to care.

Why couldn't she live like a horse? A horse didn't give a thought to the way it looked.

As she stepped off the last step of the bus and reached the ground, Sam took in a deep breath of desert air. The next best thing to being a horse was being with them.

The bus pulled away, leaving her alone in wild horse country.

Slow-footed and loose-jointed, Sam started walking for home. If the Phantom was watching, she wanted him to see no threat from her.

She peered at each clutter of boulders and cluster of sagebrush. She studied the eastern hills. From here, she could see the winter-grayed sagebrush was turning green, but she saw no horses.

Every few steps, she thought she heard a faint scuff. She stopped, listened, and looked back. She saw the high desert, beige and gray and white. She heard the fretting of quail, but there were no leaves to rustle and no insects to buzz.

She took three more steps, before she felt a warm, itching sensation between her shoulder blades. Then came a crunch. As she whirled to look again, she saw the horses.

Tiny and far off, the mares were scattered over the hillside like wildflowers. Half-grown colts and fillies moved among them. But they were too far away. The sound couldn't have been them.

Sam cupped a hand on each side of her face, around her eyes, trying to block out the desert's glare.

The horses were eating, moving slowly over the rock-strewn slant, grabbing mouthfuls of short spring grass wherever they spotted it.

She looked higher on the hillside. The Phantom usually kept watch instead of eating, but she didn't see him.

Sam glanced at her watch. It was a silly thing to do. She was going to cross the road and walk toward the hillside whether she had time or not.

A snort, loud and accusing, made her stop.

The snort hadn't carried to her on the wind. It came from behind her. She didn't move, but the horse did.

A hoof struck the alkali flat.

Sam looked down. Her shadow showed black on the white playa, but she wasn't alone. A bigger shadow overlapped hers.