Moonrise

by Terri Farley

“You could,” he agreed. “But then you’d need a key to let the horses out.”

  That would be stupid. If she’d needed a key to release the saddle horses on the night of the fire—

  What about a combination lock? No way, that would have been even worse. She couldn’t even remember numbers when she was sitting in a quiet classroom. With a fire raging behind her, she would be useless to the horses.

  “Help,” she said, finally.

  Dad took pity on her frustration. He showed her how to unscrew the lock, chip away at the wood, and recess the lock so that it wasn’t hard to open with fingers, but should be impossible for horse lips.

  She worked alone, with only Ace for a supervisor.

  Half an hour later, when she was finished, the gelding nuzzled her hair.

  “You think you’re so cute,” Sam said as sweat dripped from her forehead into one eye.

  Of course, Ace was cute. And clever. And more loyal and tolerant than any human.

  Even before she rubbed the eye that was stinging from sweat, Sam reached a hand up to touch the muzzle Ace pressed against her ear.

  Ace took a step backward, shook his head, and flipped his forelock clear of his white star.

  Friends? he seemed to be asking.

  Sam laughed. Tired and cranky as she was, she couldn’t stay mad.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wondering if she’d ever been so tired, Sam sucked the index finger she’d just pulled a sliver of wood from.

  Just then, she heard the clop of hooves and saw Jake riding across the bridge.

  She took a deep breath.

  Am I up for this?

  Of all the ranch skills she’d attempted so far, roping was hardest. Every single time she’d tried, she’d failed. And yet, if she planned to go out with Jen and actually earmark and brand calves, she’d have to learn.

  Jake rode Chocolate Chip. The dark brown Quarter Horse belonged to Jake’s brother Bryan. Though Chip was as muscled and quick as Witch, he had a better temperament.

  Jake led a half-grown calf.

  Yep, Sam thought, that meant she was about to receive roping lessons, whether she wanted them or not.

  She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t give up.

  So why was she leaning against a post, slowly sliding down until she sat cross-legged with her back against the fence?

  When Jake rode right up to where she sat, Sam stared at Chip’s hooves.

  Jake’s words tumbled down from overhead.

  “Hey Brat, you get into a wrestlin’ match with a wildcat?”

  Sam raised one arm and inspected her chicken scratches. They’d bled a little. Her hands were scuffed and scraped, too, from learning to use the chisel on the fence.

  She tried to think back as far as dawn, and realized she hadn’t brushed her hair this morning, either.

  If Jake wanted to tease her now, she didn’t have the energy to fight back.

  “No wildcats.” Sam stifled a yawn and looked up past Chip’s knees and chest to Jake, who was sitting in the saddle. “Just a huffy hen and an out-of-control tool.”

  Jake smiled and Sam remembered why, when she was a little kid, she’d thought Jake had mustang eyes. Brown and lively, they shone from the shade of his hat brim, their expression just as mischievous as a wild horse peering from behind his tangled forelock.

  “Have you eaten?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, scrambled eggs,” she muttered. “Dad pretty much told me if I ever wanted them again I had to fix that monster hen.”

  “I meant lunch.”

  How long ago had Dad said she could break for lunch? Sam had no idea.

  “I’m not really hungry,” she said, though after she’d told Jake what she’d done all day, she was amazed she wasn’t famished.

  “We can’t start till you have some water, at least,” Jake said, and when he walked her to the kitchen, Gram took over.

  After she’d had a tuna sandwich, chips, and three glasses of lemonade, Sam felt as if she’d clicked on a light switch in her brain.

  “You brought a calf,” Sam said as she and Jake walked back outside.

  “I wondered what that was, following me.”

  “Be serious,” Sam said. “Shouldn’t we start by roping a stump or something?”

  “You’ve done that already.”

  “I’ve tried,” Sam corrected him.

  “Well, today you’re gonna try catching Dewey. He’s my mom’s pet orphan and she thinks he looks like Thomas Dewey,” Jake explained.

  “Who?”

  “The guy who was supposed to beat some other guy for president a long time ago.” Jake shrugged as if she shouldn’t blame him for a name given by his history teacher mom. “I don’t know, Sam, but he’s the perfect calf for ropin’ practice. You’ll see.”

  Sam bit her lip. There wasn’t much of a chance she’d actually get a loop around a moving neck if she couldn’t catch a stationary object. Still, she knew what would happen if she did.

  Ace would slide to a stop and, if she did her part, the rope would strain in a straight line from her hand to the calf’s neck. The calf wouldn’t know until it hit the end of the rope and was jerked off its feet that it had been caught.

  “His poor little neck,” Sam said, knowing it was a totally unrancherlike comment.

  “You’re going to be heeling him,” Jake corrected. “Putting a loop around his back legs is safer for the calf. And with just you and Jen working, it’ll be more efficient.”

  Sam felt a little relieved.

  “And you won’t hurt him,” Jake promised. “Dewey’s different than other calves. Soon as he feels the rope, he flops down, like he wants his belly rubbed. Drives ropin’ horses crazy. When Dewey pulled it with Witch, she wanted to rush up and bite him. That’s why I rode Chip.”

  Sam looked down at the ground between her boots. If she planned to live on a ranch, if she wanted to be the partner Dad expected, she didn’t have much choice.

  “I’ll try,” Sam said.

  “’Course you will,” Jake said. “Do you want to use my rope?”

  “Dad gave me one. I’m just awful with it.”

  “Show me,” he said. “Spin it over your head,” he said, as if it were just a first step instead of an impossibility. “Don’t throw it at anything.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.”

  She really tried, but the loop flopped like a dead flower.

  “Faster,” Jake suggested, but when Sam spun her wrist with more speed, Jake just stepped out of range.

  “Hmph,” he said, sounding puzzled.

  “See? It’s hopeless,” Sam said.

  Jake shook his head. “If wild colts can learn barrel racin’, something that makes no sense to ’em, you can learn to rope.”

  “You might be right,” Sam said. Trust Jake to use a horse example that actually gave her hope.

  And it turned out he was right.

  Somehow, when Jake wrapped his fingers around hers on the lariat, modeling the correct hand position before she raised it over her head, roping became possible.

  It took a while to get the speed and balance right, but the rope no longer felt too fat or too thin in her fingers. Now it felt just right.

  Jake never took his eyes from her. He watched, telling her when the diameter of her loop reached six to eight inches.

  When her wrist began to ache, she stopped and rubbed it.

  “Keep goin’,” Jake said.

  “My wrist hurts and my mind is spinning faster than my loop,” she told him.

  “Don’t think,” he said, as if it was an obvious mistake. “Do what I do.”

  Jake set an example with his own rope, spinning the loop clockwise at a smooth, hypnotic pace.

  Sam kept her eyes on Jake, and gradually the movement began to feel natural, almost graceful.

  “You’re getting it,” Jake said as if he’d never doubted she would, and Sam kept spinning.

  He let his loop fall when she’d spun the rope over her h
ead for a full three minutes.

  “You’re a wizard,” Sam told him. She didn’t have a single qualm left about Jake’s ability to teach the HARP girls.

  “You ain’t caught anything yet,” he snorted, pulling in his rope and recoiling it. “What I taught ya so far’s not good for nothing.”

  Sam couldn’t understand why Jake acted ignorant when she complimented him, but she let it go as he talked her through the next few steps.

  As Jake swung into Chip’s saddle, the brown gelding danced with excitement.

  Dewey was tied to the hitching post, switching his tail and looking bored.

  “You’re gonna use an underhand flick to toss the loop. Like this.” He sent the rope out, then pulled it back. “Do it.”

  “But I’m just standing here,” Sam protested.

  “Like this.” He repeated the action.

  “But I’m not roping anything.”

  “Could ya just trust me on this and pretend?” Jake asked.

  Sam guessed that was fair. An hour ago, she hadn’t been able to spin the rope over her head and now she could.

  “Okay, I’m roping an air cow,” Sam said.

  “Not unless you point your index finger,” Jake said, as she made a miserable attempt. “Try it again. There,” he said as she threw, pulled back her rope, and threw again. “Better, lots better. When you get mounted and try this, remember that even though your brain wants to aim the rope right at Dewey, you can’t. The calf’s running—”

  “But Jake, I mess up when it’s not running. When it’s not even alive.”

  “Not this time,” he told her. “This time, you’re gonna aim ahead of the calf, cause if you aim where he is, Dewey’ll be gone by the time the rope gets there.”

  It all made sense, and Jake claimed she was getting better. And then he told her to saddle Ace.

  “But wait, I still haven’t roped anything.”

  “Don’t worry so much,” Jake said as he pulled his own rope in, coiled it in a loop, and fastened it to his saddle.

  “I expect you’ll miss a few times, but then Ace will get you in position and—piece of cake.”

  At last, with Dad’s help, they moved Dewey to the barn corral.

  Still spinning the rope over her head, Sam got ready as Dad gave Dewey a head start.

  “Heel kick,” Jake shouted. “Go!”

  Sam jerked her boot heels back, but Ace was already springing after the calf.

  Around and around, her hand spun in a small circle.

  The loop stayed up!

  Aim ahead of the calf. The pounding of Ace’s hooves surrounded Jake’s lessons. Where Dewey will be, not where he is.

  Not yet.

  Sam shifted as Ace cornered, staying after the calf but not too close.

  The loop was still up.

  Not yet.

  There! Her arm darted forward and the loop floated. As if by remote control, it snagged the calf’s hind legs. Just as it began to tighten, Dewey flopped on his side.

  Ace slid to a stop, pulling the calf back a full yard.

  “Whoa!” Sam shouted, but Ace ignored her.

  “It’s okay,” Jake shouted. “You’d have to drag him to the fire for branding, anyway. Ace is practicin’, too.”

  Sam leaned forward. She patted Ace’s shoulder as she’d seen Dad do. Like magic, Ace took a step and let his head hang down a bit.

  Jake walked forward, leaned down, and stroked Dewey’s belly.

  “Now, your normal calf will be fighting and trying to get up at this point.” Jake spread the loop and removed it from Dewey’s hind legs.

  Then Jake faced Sam with a grin.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  Ace pranced and Sam turned him in a circle until she came back around to face Jake.

  “I had a good teacher,” she told him.

  “We all know that’s not true,” Jake grumped.

  But it was true. All at once Sam remembered that Jake had taught her to gentle Blackie. And that bond had lasted.

  Four out of six times, Sam made successful catches. Then, Jake said it was time to stop.

  “You let Jen be the mugger,” Jake said.

  “The—?” Sam was sure her face looked as blank as her brain felt.

  “Someone’s gotta wrestle most calves down,” Jake explained, then looked thoughtful. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jen has you do all the vaccinating, branding, and marking, while she holds the calf still.”

  “I’m as strong as she is,” Sam protested, though her mind was still weighing which was worse: burning a calf with a hot iron, or holding it down so Jen could.

  Vaccinating? Sam knew calves had to get shots, just like kids did when they went to the doctor’s office. But she had no idea how to give a vaccination.

  It was four o’clock by the time Sam swung down from the saddle, loosened Ace’s cinch, and slid the saddle from his back.

  She gasped at the stab of soreness that ran from her right inner arm to her fingertips.

  Jake, walking away from a ground-tied Chip, was tightening the rawhide thong around his black hair.

  “Hurts, don’t it?” he asked. “You use those same roping muscles for lifting that saddle off and on.”

  “I’m okay,” Sam said, but the pain had arced like fire through her surprised arms and down her torso.

  Sam walked Ace around to cool him, then brushed his sweaty coat dry.

  Jake walked around aimlessly, never getting more than a few yards away.

  Even Ace noticed Jake’s restlessness, and he pointed it out to Sam by tipping his ears in Jake’s direction.

  “What?” Sam demanded finally, but Jake only shrugged. “I always knew someday you’d use up your supply of words,” she grumbled just loudly enough for him to hear. “I guess that’s why you’re so stingy with them.”

  Sam rubbed her forehead.

  That was a mistake. Not only did bits of dirt fall into her eyes, but the blisters on her palms stung with salt from her sweaty brow.

  Who would have guessed ranching was so much work and hurt so much?

  A whistle sounded near the bunkhouse. Dallas tilted his head to look under the porch, then he kept moving with a bowlegged sway.

  Sam figured her revelation about hard work and ranching probably wouldn’t surprise Dallas. Or Dad.

  “When you do rope a range calf,” Jake said, suddenly, “be careful. They’re wild as deer.”

  Jake looked around for Dad. Did Jake think he’d be rescued from giving her this lecture, or did he want Dad to back him up?

  “I’ll be careful.” Sam tried to make her tone soothing, but Jake decided she was minimizing what he’d said.

  “This is no joke.” Jake shook his finger so near her face, Sam would have grabbed it, if he hadn’t looked truly worried. “Watch out for those little hooves. They’ll cut you like a butcher knife.”

  “Okay.”

  “And some of those calves are only a month old. They’ve never seen a human. They’re scared of you to begin with. How much more are they gonna be likin’ you after you pierce their ears and brand ’em with a white-hot iron?”

  Sam swallowed hard.

  “What I’m sayin’—”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” she assured him, and this time he believed her.

  “Okay. Just let Jen do the close work. She’s more experienced.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Still,” Jake said. “I guess you gotta learn sometime.”

  Logic suddenly elbowed Sam’s fear aside.

  “Hey, how old were you when you started doing this stuff?” she asked.

  “Old enough.”

  Jake crossed his arms and Sam did the same so quickly, she might have been his reflection.

  “Dad said there’s only one way to learn to be a buckaroo,” Sam reminded him.

  “The hard way,” Jake said. “Yeah, I know.”

  Since that was as good an ending as this conversation would ever have, Sam started to squat
down to grab the hoof-pick. She sucked in her breath and put one hand to the small of her back. How could roping make her hurt everywhere?

  Still, she had to clean Ace’s hooves. She was going to ask him to carry her on a long trip across the range. The least she could do was take care of his feet.

  With her teeth set so hard that she heard a pop where her jaw hinged, Sam lowered herself close enough to the ground that she could pick up a hoof.

  She’d only worked at the task a couple of seconds when she felt Jake’s gaze on her, and looked up.

  He gave her an admiring half smile and a pat on the shoulder.

  “Keep after it, Brat. You just may end up a cowgirl, after all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning came way too soon.

  “Oh, wow,” Sam sighed, sitting on the corner of her bed.

  She shouldn’t need a rest five minutes after waking up, but she’d had the coordination of a noodle-armed clown just trying to pull on her boots and jeans.

  It will be worth it when we’re out on the range, Sam promised herself, then walked downstairs to start her day.

  “I don’t know where he could be,” Brynna was saying as Sam pushed open the door to the kitchen.

  “It’s the nice weather,” Gram said. “We’ve had dogs take off before, this time of year.”

  “But Blaze?” Brynna said.

  “Lots of times they come home with a snout full of porcupine quills,” Gram said. “Those big porkies don’t have much patience for being sniffed and pawed.”

  Brynna glanced up at Sam. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I can’t remember,” she admitted.

  She’d been so busy yesterday, she didn’t recall seeing Blaze even once. Would she have noticed him, tagging along at her heels? Probably not, and that made her feel even worse.

  “But Gram, last night—no, the night before, when you were sitting on the porch and Tempest was acting up—didn’t you say Blaze was sleeping over by the bunkhouse?”

  “You’re right,” Gram said. “That’s the last time I saw him. Oh well, he’ll come home when he’s ready.”

  Sam wasn’t so sure of that, and neither was Brynna.

  “Before I leave for work, I think I’ll give Leah a call and tell her he’s missing,” Brynna said, picking up the phone.