The Wildest Heart (6 page)

“I
'm not leaving,” Sam told Callie as the fist hammered at the door, but the older girl must have seen the fear mixed with Sam's stubbornness, because she pretended not to care.

“Suit yourself,” Callie shouted over the pounding at the door. “And when you do decide to take off, bring my flute,” Callie said. “No way would I put it in the Jeep with Imp and Angel.”

“Someone needs to stay and watch the horses,” Sam protested.

Her voice was way too loud, as the sirens cut to silence and the pounding stopped.

Sam couldn't prick up her ears like the dogs did, but it sounded as if the truck had stopped farther
out than the ranch gates.

Sam was reaching for the doorknob, about to go out and explain she had to stay with the horses, when the front door swung open.

The dogs jumped back.

Outside, smoke hung like fog. Its smell rushed in, overcoming the scent of Mrs. Allen's roses. Standing amid the thick smoke was Jake Ely.

Dressed in bright yellow “turnouts,” with his black hair tied back and tucked inside his collar, Jake looked like a real firefighter. Sam wondered why she felt a wave of relief at the sight of him. Especially since she had no intention of doing what he'd shouted through the door.

“I mighta known,” Jake said.

Jake's low voice revived Imp and Angel. Yapping and drooling, they lunged toward him.

“Oh, get back,” Callie scolded. Then, grabbing Sam's arm, she slipped outside and pulled the door closed behind them, leaving the dogs indoors.

“You need to leave the ranch,” Jake said. “They never should have put the propane tank so close to the house.”

Sam hadn't noticed the tank of propane Mrs. Allen used as heating fuel. Now, she did. The white tank looked like a small submarine, and it was filled with flammable gas. If the tank got too hot, it would explode.

“I'm outta here,” Callie said, though she didn't take a step. “I trust Queen to take care of herself.”

Jake looked satisfied as he motioned for the girls to walk ahead of him.

Callie watched Sam.

Sam set her teeth against each other. How could she balance her safety with that of the horses?

This was no time to bicker with Jake, but she said, “The lady at the fire department told me to wait for your dad, since he's the chief.”

Jake's eyes widened. Sam could see he was offended, but just for a second.

“C'mon,” he said, then strode toward the green fire truck parked outside the ranch gates.

Sam followed, but she only glanced at Luke Ely and the other guys in yellow turnouts clustered around him. They were all staring at the fire, and Sam stopped stone-still as her eyes followed theirs.

Her pulse pounded in her temples, throat, and wrists, and her mouth turned dry.

The fire had quadrupled in size. It had burned just a few yards along the fence line before veering away from the sanctuary pasture. Now it gobbled cheatgrass, leaving a black scorch behind as it swooped toward the foothills.

“Stop it!” Sam shouted, then she turned to Jake. “Can't you please stop the fire?”

For an instant, Jake's eyes showed he was her friend, the guy she'd grown up with.

“It's okay, Brat,” he said, in a soothing tone. “It's burnin' away from us.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm not scared, it's…”

Jake's sympathy got all mixed up with her mental images of wild things fleeing hungry flames.

“The animals,” Sam said, but while she tried to focus her thoughts, Jake returned to the firefighter's attitude he'd pulled on along with his turnouts.

“Our first responsibility is to protect people and structures,” he said.

“But the people and structures are just fine!” Sam cried.

The gray-white fire hoses were rolled out to battle the flames. Jake's brothers, Quinn and Bryan, and a cowboy she didn't recognize, seemed almost lazy as they aimed water spray at the fire.

And Jake's dad was just standing there!

“It's burning away from the house. You just said so,” Sam pointed out, when Jake didn't seem to understand. “So there's no reason to evacuate, and you guys can go around there”—she broke off to point at the sheet of flame sweeping toward the hills—“and put it out.”

Sam tried to sound patient, but she'd bet she was doing a bad job of it. Even though Callie hung back a few steps, Sam knew she felt frustrated, too. Callie just wasn't arguing because she didn't know Jake as well.

“Can I just talk to your dad?” Sam asked.

“He's busy.”

Jake's voice left no room for questions, and Sam saw Luke Ely was speaking into a handheld radio.

He was the chief, Sam reminded herself. He was in touch with the Darton fire department.

Frustration kept swelling inside Sam. Either Jake and the other firefighters were blind, or she was missing something. That had to be it, because they couldn't all be so hard-hearted. Could they?

As if he'd heard, Jake's brother Quinn surrendered his position on the hose to another man.

Skinny and tall, Quinn had a porcupine-sharp crewcut. He looked nothing like Jake as he strode toward them, carrying his helmet by the chin strap. Quinn was on student council at school and he'd helped her pull a trick or two on Jake, but once he reached them, his voice was honey-sweet, as if he were trying to calm her, too.

“Don't worry, you're safe,” Quinn said.

“Who cares about
my
safety?” she began.

“You're always safe in the black,” Quinn went on, as he pointed. “The first flames burned along the fence line. So even if the wind shifts and the fire comes back this way, you're okay. There's nothing for it to burn in the black.”

When Sam waved her hands, he stopped talking, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I'm not worried about getting hurt. The fire is going up the canyon.”

Quinn shot a quick glance at his brother, but Jake's expression reminded Sam of a closed door.

“It might burn that far, depending on the winds,” Quinn said, squinting toward the hills. “Luckily,
there's only cheatgrass between here and there. Really, it's doin' a good job of clearing things out. Lots of ranchers apply for permits and do a controlled burn so that they can plant. Mrs. Allen doesn't have to go to all that trouble.”

All at once, Jake and Quinn stiffened, shrugged, and went back to work as their dad approached.

Luke Ely was taller than Dad. His pronounced cheekbones and long jaw made him look like a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Sam knew Jake's dad had a great smile, but it was hard to picture it. As he came her way, he looked every inch a fire chief.

“It'd be a good idea to get those older horses out of here,” he said to Callie. “They suffer from smoke inhalation just like people.”

“Got it,” Callie said, and her car keys were already in her hand as she left.

“Now, what's up with you?” he asked Sam.

Jake's dad sounded impatient, but faintly amused. Maybe.

“Quinn and Jake were both telling me there's no reason to fight the fire over there,” Sam said, pointing. “And, I understand about you having to stay here and protect homes and barns first, but since it's all burned off—”

“It isn't,” Luke interrupted. “It's burnin' spotty, because of moisture in the low places.”

Sam swallowed hard as he indicated the place
where she'd left the paint cans. She couldn't see them from here, but she could imagine dampness from the passing storm. It probably wouldn't be damp enough, Sam thought, as she heard more crackling.

“There's plenty left to burn if it turns back this way,” Luke said. “That's why I left Nate down there with what equipment I could spare, and that's why we're taking a stand here.”

The sound of a distressed neigh made Sam turn away from Luke. She squinted back toward the ranch yard. She could make out Callie in the corral and see Ace trotting uneasily around it. She could see only one pinto. Callie must have already loaded the other, but now she was battling Judge. Tossing his black mane, the old gelding reared, huffed, and resisted the pull on the halter rope.

“Samantha.” Luke's voice jerked her attention back. “I need you to return to the house and stay there, if you're not leaving with Callie.”

“I'm not,” she said.

Callie drove past, windows rolled up against the smoke, but Sam could see she was frowning.

Sam didn't wave. She drew a breath, trying to ask more, explain more, but her eyes were fixed on a tower of smoke mingling with the gray clouds. She couldn't tell them apart. Smoke veiled the sun, turning it into a tan disk surrounded by a dull yellow ring. Everywhere the smoke wavered.

Fire didn't have a mind of its own. If it did, she'd
think the flames were trying to decide in which direction to charge next.

“Sam, you're going to have to spit it out,” Luke snapped. “I've got duties here.”

Sam's fists curled so tightly, her fingernails bit into her palms.

“If the fire keeps burning toward the hills, it'll get into the canyons. My dad says they'll act just like a chimney.”

Luke gave a nod, but then a tone from his radio distracted him. After a short sentence, he turned back to her.

“Wyatt's right. That area's a disaster waiting to happen. It hasn't burned off in years, which means there's lots of fuel.

“It looks awful when you see black, charred trees where a fire's gone through, but a fire can be a blessing. Old brush is gone. Big animals can move through areas that have been too dense for them. New seeds get sun for the first time and the ashes act like fertilizer. That's how nature does it and we've been inter-ferin', settin' ourselves up—”

As Luke turned to his radio again, Sam rubbed her arms against a sudden gust of wind, but it wasn't cold. The smoky summer wind might have gusted from an oven.

“We got trouble,” Luke Ely shouted toward the nearest firefighters.

Sam moved with the men as they fought for a
better view of the area where Luke had assigned Nate.

She saw wild horses on the run.

Led by a young bay galloping full out, the horses stampeded down from the hills. What could they be running from? Had wind-borne sparks blown and started a fire they couldn't see from here? Was a fire already burning into the canyon?

When the bay tossed his head, showing a patch of white over one eye, Sam recognized Pirate. Just behind him ran the red roan filly she thought of as Sugar. The horses bumped shoulders and faltered. For a second, the filly veered off course as if the smoke stung her eyes. But then she must have heard the golden-brown mare, trying to keep up, because Sugar's roan legs stretched as she pursued Pirate.

The golden-brown horse was the Phantom's lead mare. Usually, she controlled the herd while the silver stallion watched from above, or hung back where he could see his entire band. But where was he now?

While Sam stood transfixed by the horses' hasty and clumsy descent, Jake and Quinn bolted back toward the other firefighters, who were already hefting the hose. It was then that Sam heard the sound of a cyclone, a tornado, some wild storm rushing their way. Only it wasn't a storm; it was a freakish gale created by the fire.

When Sam turned back to look for the Phantom once more, she could barely see the herd. Dark smoke reduced the mustangs to shadows darting and
stumbling in the direction of the captive horses.

Sam squinted and used her hand to shade her eyes, as if that could keep them from tearing up from the smoke.

Something moved, far out in the pasture. Did the wild herd think the other horses were running to safety?

That could be it, Sam decided.

Once, Dark Sunshine had been a decoy, luring other horses into a trap. Sometimes BLM loosed a domestic horse just ahead of wild ones as they fled a hovering helicopter, and they followed the “Judas horse” into a camouflaged corral. Maybe the same thing was happening now.

Pirate reached the pasture fence and raced up and down, looking for a way in. From where she stood, Sam thought he was near the gate, where she'd been painting. What if she ran down and let the wild mustangs into the pasture? Once the horses were confined, the firefighters could protect them.

But if she ran down there, the mustangs would flee. She had to make this decision alone. Jake and the other firefighters were busy. Callie was gone.

Only the fire would help her make this decision.

Red flames danced like tightrope walkers along the top rail of the fence, burning closer and closer to Pirate. He circled away from the fence, looking as if he'd backed up to jump.

She'd heard of fear-maddened horses breaking
free of those leading them out of burning barns, to run back to stalls because they were home. But those were domestic horses.

Pirate's determination to run through flames, into the sanctuary pasture, made no sense.

The lead mare wanted to force him back, but clanging metal, the huff from the fire truck's engine, the shouting men, and a dark shroud of smoke turned her trot into a shambles of confusion.

Suddenly a whirlwind of movement swept through the milling herd.

Glinting brightly through the smoke, the Phantom galloped downhill. He ignored the worn path, leaping in sharp turns to make his way through the brush, to take charge of his band.

S
am didn't know whether she felt relieved or terrified as she watched the stallion rush down with ears so flat they were hidden by his swirling silver mane.

His mares' turbulent shifting turned to calm as the stallion's presence settled them. The honey-colored mare's uncertainty had caused chaos. The Phantom was hurried, but sure.

Sam pictured the stallion's actions.

Brandishing teeth and hooves, he'd push the herd away from here, back to their secret valley, and leave Pirate to tag along.

But he didn't. Instead of turning his band toward the mountains, the Phantom passed through, then lowered his head into a herding posture.

Pirate was probably a yearling, but the Phantom's body language was clear.
Act like a baby and I'll treat you like one.

The roan filly saw her sire coming and fled. Swiveling on her heels like a cutting horse, she returned to the herd, leaving Pirate to face his father alone.

Pirate was clearly nervous. He saw the Phantom bearing down on him, but the colt didn't run away. He skittered sideways, head swinging to view everything around him, but whatever had drawn him to the pasture kept him there.

Just yards away from Pirate, the Phantom slowed. Sam heard the beat of each hoof. His ears pricked forward, tips trembling as he strained to listen, but his head stayed low, as if the stallion were trying to ignore his misgivings.

But then, he must have known something was terribly wrong.

His front hooves skidded in a dust cloud. His eyes rolled white, but his head was still lifting as two hollow
zip pops
split the air. Like huge fireworks launched into the sky, the paint cans exploded. Blasting like bombs, they detonated right in front of the mustangs.

“No!” Sam screamed.

The horses screamed with her. Thunder rumbled from their hooves and overhead. Through roiling smoke, she saw horses fall. How many? Which ones?

Sam couldn't tell. Smoke stung her eyes and nose. Her chest burned as she ran, trying not to breathe in the thick gray air.

Not the Phantom, oh please.

But he was right there. It had to be him, falling. And Pirate. Their slender, delicate legs had been steps from the exploding cans.

Holding her breath, Sam remembered how firmly she'd tamped down the lids. If they'd exploded off, they'd be like giant, flat bullets.

Another explosion rocked through the air. Then another.

Four cans. That had to be all of them.

Were the horses down and helpless in the blast?

Black timbers rocked apart. Half of the fence sagged toward the earth and the other jutted up like black fingers.

The explosion, or maybe the fire, had destroyed a section of fence and the lead mare saw it as rescue. With bared teeth and slamming shoulders, the big mare herded the mustangs through the opening, away from the flames and smoke and noise, after the other horses, who were no more than silhouettes on the hazy horizon.

Running after them, Sam's whole world bounced around her. Her legs stretched in steps as long-reaching as her hip sockets would allow. Tears from the smoke blurred her vision as she searched for the Phantom. He wasn't with his herd. Even as a smoky
shadow she would have recognized him.

“We've got two down. Call the vet!” Luke Ely shouted at someone. Her? Should she run back to the house? Confusion and desperation whirled through Sam, but she couldn't go back. Not until she saw her horse.

Two thoughts eased her mind. If Luke Ely thought the horses needed a vet, they weren't dead. And the firefighters had radios. They could summon Dr. Scott in a fraction of the time it would take her to run back to the house and phone.

Sam ran through a mist from the fire hose. Charred wet brush released a sour stench. Sizzling and steamy, waves of wet, white smoke rushed at her.

The fire that had flared along the fence was out. Finally, Luke must have ordered the volunteers to turn their hoses on the tail of the fire rushing toward the mountains.

Sirens wailed. Huge truck tires hit ruts and chugged on, passing her, but Sam barely noticed the commotion. She only saw Jake, ahead of her. Jake, holding his hands wide apart, palms toward her, warning her back.

It wasn't the stern gesture that frightened her. Far worse was his frown of pity.

“Get out of my way!” Sam shouted, but Jake blocked her.

Beyond Jake, Sam glimpsed Luke, shaking his head “no.”

“Sam, stop fighting me.”

She tried to run through Jake, to bull past him, but he was too strong.

She had to see. She didn't want to, but desperation swelled within her chest until she felt it, too, would explode.

Jake grabbed her forearms and gave them a shake.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Sam, are you listening?”

She couldn't twist loose. She couldn't see past him. So she listened.

“It's him,” Jake said, and though she'd wanted to know, the two words ripped like knives. “He's down. He's breathing, though. He's alive.”

Jake waited, staring at her until she nodded, before adding, “There's a colt, too, with a white patch.”

Sam realized she was nodding over and over again.

Pirate and the Phantom. Both were down. Both were hurt or they wouldn't still be there.

“What wrong with them?”

“Don't know. They're all splattered with red….”

A moan arose and Sam only realized it was hers and that her hands had tried to fly up to cover her ears, to block the awful words, when Jake's grip tightened on her arms.

“Don't think it's blood.” Jake was shaking his head. “It doesn't look like blood.”

Hope surged through her along with a possibility.

“The paint? Could it be? Because…” Sam shook her head as her teeth started chattering. “The p-paint's b-b-brownish red. Redwood. Jake, could it…?”

“Yeah.” Jake looked relieved. “That must be why all those little spot fires flared up, too. It splattered, but we got 'em.”

Beyond Jake, there was thrashing and a groan of effort.

“Stay back,” Luke Ely said.

Sam heard boot soles crunch against the ground. She smelled a charcoal scent stirred by movement.

“Please let me go to him,” Sam begged.

“Let 'im be, Sam,” Jake told her. “I know you love him, but he's a wild thing. You're only gonna add to his—” Jake broke off, knowing she'd fill in the awful blank.

Pain? Confusion? Terror?

The memory of the mighty stallion in the rodeo arena flashed through Sam's mind. He'd sunk to his knees, then fallen on his side. If that's what lay beyond Jake, she'd hate it, but she could take it.

“Whatever's goin' on in his head, you can't help. If he can get up, he'll get outta here. If he can't, Dr. Scott will be here soon,” Jake finished.

She could take it, but her horse might not be comforted.

A shuddering sigh shook Sam. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “I won't move a step closer. I
promise, Jake. Just please, get out of my way so I can see him.”

Jake's fingers loosened, one by one, from her left forearm. Sam looked up into his eyes as he released her right arm, too.

Jake stood with his hands raised for a second. Did he think she'd fall and he'd have to catch her? No, he stepped aside and Sam was almost sorry.

War movies showed scenes like this.

A pale horse spattered with scarlet lay on the blackened earth. Just feet away, another horse, face scorched, thrashed as if fighting to rise, but his eyes were closed, lids fluttering as if he were trapped in a nightmare.

“What's wrong with them?” Sam barely breathed the words.

She and Jake stood about ten feet from the horses, but they'd hear, and she didn't want to frighten them more.

Far away, Sam heard the firefighters congratulating each other. The fire was out. But Jake had heard her. He shook his head, concentrating on the horses.

Sam kept her promise. She moved no closer, but she squatted and stared.

The Phantom's rib cage rose with each breath. Dark-gray streaks marked his glossy hide and dots of paint spotted his head and ears.

From lowering his head when he'd tried to herd Pirate out of danger,
she thought.

His head had been right there when the cans exploded from the fire's heat. Now his fine-boned head lay on the blackened ground.

How long ago had the rain stopped? When had the sun emerged from the clouds and smoke? Sam didn't know the answers, but she knew the earth must be hot and the burned weeds must be prickling the delicate skin around the stallion's eyes and lips. She wanted to pillow his head in her lap.

But if he woke, lashing out in panic, he might hurt himself more.

Strands of his mane and tail lifted on the breeze. Otherwise, he didn't move. She ached to do something for him, but what?

A tiny sound made Sam look down. Dark spots showed on the right knee of her jeans. Only then did she realize her face was wet with so many tears, they'd begun dripping off her chin.

With the back of one wrist, Sam wiped her eyes and kept watching.

She didn't know how long the horses lay still. Five minutes? Fifty?

At last, Jake's dad squatted beside her.

“Could be they're just gatherin' strength. Hard to believe, but those cans blowin' all at once caused sort of a concussion. Did you feel it?”

Sam shook her head “no,” but Jake had been closer and he nodded.

“Kinda like a shock wave,” he said.

Sam tried to think how that would affect horses. An explosion—or a concussion—would be something completely outside their experience. The only thing they could compare it to would be a storm. The thunder of the concussion, the lightning flash of the explosion. They knew how to react to predators, to drought and floods and intruders. They'd even learned to flee cars and motorcycles, but exploding paint cans in the midst of a brush fire?

Some people laughed at horses when they shied at scraps of paper or odd-shaped rocks, but horses judged every unfamiliar thing a threat and it had helped them survive centuries of change.

Thinking like a horse, Sam guessed that explained why the horses had bolted through the opening in the fence. It had been the quickest escape and they saw the others running to safety.

Sighing, Sam forgot all about Jake and his dad. Her world shrank to the few yards of earth around the fallen horses. She was dimly aware of truck tires and voices, but she paid no attention.

She wanted to scoot close enough to whisper the Phantom's secret name. Even in his unconscious state, it might soothe him.

Zanzibar.
With tenderness, she thought the name toward the stallion. And hoped.

 

Sam jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see Dr. Scott. Young and blond,
the veterinarian wore black-rimmed glasses. The lenses were grimy with smoke. The first time she'd met him, even though he'd been tending the Phantom's reaction to a drug overdose, Dr. Scott had also worn a hopeful expression. He didn't wear one now.

Behind him, the volunteer firefighters sprayed water on tiny tongues of flame as they flared up here and there. Beyond them, the Darton fire truck prowled the perimeter of the blaze flickering up the mountain.

The storm had moved on, leaving behind destruction and the good, clean smell of storm-hammered sage.

With a strange detachment, Sam wondered if the sky would have dropped the same lightning bolt, even if horses and people had never settled here. Probably so. Nature wasn't out to get them. Storms happened whether living things were helped or hurt by them.

Sam could still see grass all around. It looked as if there was still plenty of graze for the horses. That was good.

It seemed weird to her that there were suddenly so many people around and no one had spoken to her.

Weird, until she realized, with a sickening certainty, that they'd seen her crouched near the mustangs and left her alone to grieve.

But she wasn't grieving! The horses weren't dead.
Any minute they'd stand up, kick their heels, and gallop for home.

As if he'd seen in his mind what she had in hers, the Phantom's eyes opened.

“Hey, boy,” Sam whispered.

Even before he raised his head off the ground, the stallion's eyes flashed brown and fierce. They might have been the eyes of an eagle.

His nostrils flared as his muzzle lifted. His head rose away from the ground, crinkling his dappled neck. For an instant, the stallion's eyes met hers and he gave a soft nicker.

He must have felt safe, because once he scrambled to his feet and faced away from her, he didn't bolt. He must be trying to recover from his shock.

Forelegs braced apart, head hanging, the stallion winced. Something hurt. A pulled muscle from his fall, Sam hoped, or a scrape so small she couldn't see it.

But why were his ears twitching forward, then back and forward again, with such crazy energy?

Then the stallion shook his head.

At first Sam thought the Phantom was only sending his forelock out of his eyes, but he shook his head again. Standing behind him as she was, Sam noticed he shook so vigorously, his entire tail swung with the movement.

The stallion's neck curved. His head jerked toward his shoulder. Then his front leg struck out,
but it didn't come near his head. Still, his gestures reminded her of Blaze trying to get a foxtail out of his ear.

“Did you see that?” Sam asked the vet.

When he didn't answer, she glanced at Dr. Scott. His fingertip pressed against the nosepiece of his glasses and he gave a curt nod.

“What's he doing?” she asked.

The stallion snorted. This time he shook his head so hard his ears made a faint flutter.

“He could have something in his ears,” Dr. Scott suggested. “Debris from the explosion.”

The vet didn't sound convinced, and Sam found herself snatching looks at him, trying to read his expression, while she watched the Phantom.