Mustang Moon

by Terri Farley

  “Why me?” Jake asked.

  “Because you’ll get it right the first time,” Sam said. Jake looked bashful, and she was afraid he’d refuse out of modesty.

  “Because if you do it,” Sam added, “Buddy won’t be scared any longer than she has to be.”

  Jake groaned.

  “Samantha, you drive me crazy.” Jake shook his head and glared at the night sky as if the stars ought to help him out. “What if I miss?”

  “You won’t!” Sam took two light steps away. His disgusted expression said she’d better escape before he changed his mind.

  From the front porch steps, Dad called, “Fire ought to be ready by seven-thirty, Jake.”

  Dad had been listening all along. Drenched with embarrassment, Sam looked at Jake, spreading her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Yes, sir,” Jake called, and he seemed just fine as he strode back to his father’s truck.

  Sam didn’t feel fine.

  “There’s no privacy around this place,” she said, letting the door slam behind her as she entered the kitchen. “Not a bit!”

  Dad didn’t look properly ashamed.

  “Sure there is, honey.” Gram sounded sympathetic, but her smile held some sort of trick. “Your dad and I are going into the living room to watch a little television.”

  Gram untied her apron, handed it to Sam, and nodded at a sink stacked high with dirty dishes. “You can have the kitchen all to yourself.”

  Sage-spiced smoke made its way into Sam’s bedroom, waking her with thoughts of branding. It was Saturday. She could sleep in, but then she thought of Buddy. The calf had no idea what the day held for her. Suddenly, Sam was wide awake.

  She swung her feet out of bed and stood. Through her nightgown, Sam touched her hip. She’d hate to have a scar burned on her skin.

  Dad expected her help. She, Dad, and Jake would do the branding. Once the iron was heated, Jake would ride into the ten-acre pasture and rope Buddy. Sam would swing open the gate, let Jake ride through with the calf, slam the gate, then run to where Dad waited with the branding iron.

  Sam didn’t feel like eating. She skipped breakfast and went outside. The hens fluttered at the sight of her and scurried away. Dad squatted beside a little campfire.

  He didn’t give orders, but Sam knew what to do. She gathered an armload of sagebrush and stacked it near the fire. After a few minutes, Sam realized she and Dad both stood with arms crossed, staring down into the flames. Dad seemed even quieter than usual, probably because of the hailstorm and lost winter fodder.

  Dad scooted the business end of the branding iron into the fire. After a while, he rotated it a turn. He did that every so often, sometimes pulling it from the fire and blowing on the iron to scatter the ash. He checked the iron’s progress as it turned from black to gray to red.

  Sam snapped a piece of twisted gray sagebrush into small lengths and dropped them into the fire.

  “That’s enough,” Dad said.

  Sam realized she was feeding the fire to keep from imagining the searing pain from that hot iron.

  From the instant Jake loped over the wooden bridge and into the ranch yard, he and Dad communicated in silence. Though they didn’t wiggle their ears at each other like horses, Dad used only a few gestures to outline the plan he’d explained to Sam last night. And Jake nodded.

  It was clear to Sam that both men wanted this operation over with quickly. So did Sam, but she had the feeling Dad and Jake felt embarrassed about making such a fuss over a solitary calf.

  She knew they were doing it for her.

  At last, Dad drew the branding iron out, blew on it, and looked up at Sam.

  “That’s what we’ve been waiting for,” he said, showing her the metal had turned gray white.

  As Jake limbered up his rope and Witch danced in excitement, Sam jogged to the pasture and opened the gate. The horses stopped grazing to watch Witch lope past, and Buddy glanced up. Grass fell from her lips. She looked to the horses for advice and then, bewildered, jogged where Jake herded her.

  Sam blinked back tears. She refused to cry, but Buddy’s confusion made Sam’s heart ache.

  Closer and closer Jake herded the calf. Was he going to ride past the open gate and rope the tiny black hooves somewhere farther out? At last, just before the gate, Jake leaned forward and gently cast the loop over Buddy’s hind legs. She fell almost at Sam’s feet and Jake rode through, dragging her mere yards to where Dad waited.

  Sam latched the gate and sprinted after them. She knelt at Buddy’s head, steadying her, looking into the calf’s frightened eyes.

  “It’s okay, Buddy,” she crooned, and then there was a sizzle, a thread of pungent smoke and the branding iron was lifted.

  “Go,” Dad said.

  The rope that was stretched tight between Buddy and Jake now slackened as Witch stepped forward.

  Quick as her shaking fingers could move, Sam slipped the loop from Buddy’s legs.

  She rocked the calf. “You can get up, baby.”

  Buddy scrambled to her feet, staggered a step, then stampeded toward the barn, her tail held straight up.

  “Go on after her,” Dad said. “You can sleep in the barn tonight, too, if you want.”

  Amazed, but afraid to stay around in case he changed his mind, Sam followed Buddy.

  Last night, Dad had told her that mother cows always rushed to nurse their calves after the traumatic experience of branding.

  Though Buddy ate mostly grass these days, Sam had left a bottle in the box stall, just in case. What worked for other calves might work for Buddy.

  It did. As soon as Sam offered the bottle, Buddy latched her lips around the nipple. She tugged and sucked, gazing up at Sam with accusing eyes.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Sam said. “Now you won’t get lost, ever.”

  At last, the calf’s eyes closed. She drew on the nipple more slowly and her tail stopped switching from side to side. Buddy’s knees buckled wearily. With a shuddering sigh like a baby who’s cried itself to sleep, Buddy collapsed into the straw. Her long white eyelashes fluttered, and then she napped.

  Sam felt almost like she’d been napping when she emerged from the dim barn. When she saw Dad standing with his arm around Brynna Olson, she knew she was dreaming.

  From the small corral, Ace nickered.

  “Tomorrow, boy,” she said.

  Ace stamped his hoof impatiently. For the first time since she’d come home, Sam didn’t answer the gelding’s summons. She had to see what was going on with Dad and Brynna.

  A quick glance showed her the white BLM truck. Another look, as she walked closer, showed Sam her imagination had run away with her.

  Dad’s arm lay along the top fence rail, not around Brynna Olson. Still, Brynna stood pretty close. She was talking to Dad and having to look up at him. Dad was looking down and listening intently.

  Sam paused next to the big flatbed truck Dad had pulled out of the barn. She wasn’t spying on them, exactly, or even hiding. She just happened to stop and tie her shoe where they wouldn’t see her.

  Sam crouched there, listening. The conversation she overheard was definitely not romantic.

  “Wyatt, I do believe you’re the most bullheaded man I’ve met,” said Brynna Olson. “This is a great job, with a terrific salary, using horseman’s skills you’ve mastered. Your contract would run from November to March—months your cattle pretty much take care of themselves—and still, you turn me down.”

  Brynna had gone from leaning on the fence beside Dad to standing in front of him, hands on her hips.

  “Just tell me why,” Brynna demanded.

  “I work for myself—no one else,” Dad said. “And for darn sure, not for the government.”

  Brynna threw her hands in the air with a strangled little scream of frustration. Sam covered her mouth, smothering a giggle. She’d never heard an adult make that particular sound, but she knew exactly how Brynna felt.

  Dad’s jaw was set hard, and he wore
his stubborn-mule face. No one would be able to budge him.

  “Part of this is selfish,” Brynna admitted. “I need to go to Washington for some meetings. I’d like everything not to fall apart while I’m gone.” She tilted her head to one side, as if she were talking to a small child or a smart dog. And she waited.

  “Yeah,” Dad said.

  “Someone from Las Vegas will fill in for me while I’m gone.” Brynna let that sink in for a minute. “I don’t want my replacement to hand this wrangler’s position over to some dude who doesn’t know how to ride, or worse, some yahoo who treats horses like machines!”

  Brynna was so wound up, she missed it, but Sam saw Dad nearly laugh out loud. That was why he was nodding, all serious, as he looked down at the boot he was scuffing in the dirt. Yep, Dad thought yahoo was pretty funny.

  “You know, Brynna—” Dad began.

  Whoa. When had Dad started calling Miss Olson, Brynna?

  “—I appreciate the offer, but you’re not going to change my mind.”

  “Because it’s a government job.”

  “Because it’s working for somebody else.”

  Sam couldn’t figure Dad out. Had he forgotten about the hailstorm, about the drought-thin cattle that sold for next to nothing, about the school clothes and horse vaccinations and windmill parts he couldn’t afford?

  Out of nowhere, a hand clamped over Sam’s mouth. A strong arm jerked her backward. She slammed down on the seat of her jeans in the dust. And then she was looking up into Jake’s mischievous brown eyes.

  She tried to shake her lips loose from his hand as he whispered, “Getting yourself quite an earful, Brat?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “WHAT ARE YOU kids doing?” Dad’s voice boomed like an explosion, when their scuffling drew his attention.

  “You are so dead,” Sam said. Since she barely breathed the words, Sam wasn’t certain Jake heard, but she’d bet her eyes were shooting fire. Even Jake wasn’t too dense to understand that.

  Together, they stood. Sam waved, but Dad didn’t look amused. By the time they walked within range, Brynna Olson saved them from making excuses. Brynna knew they’d been eavesdropping. She showed it by blushing to the roots of her red hair, but she refused to let her humiliation last.

  “You two know about Slocum’s Appaloosa, I suppose.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “I’ve seen rails down on his fences. She could’ve been restless in her new corral and walked off.”

  “It’s possible,” Brynna said.

  “I know Slocum thinks the Phantom stole her,” Sam said, “but it wasn’t him.”

  “Just how do you know what Linc Slocum’s thinking?” Dad said the words slowly, warning Sam he wasn’t happy.

  “He, uh, talked to me at the bus stop yesterday.”

  “So I heard.” Dad’s voice dropped even lower. “I don’t like being the last to know an adult threatened my daughter.”

  “He didn’t. Not really. He never said he’d hurt me,” Sam assured her father. “He just loomed over me and Jen. He had the crazy idea I could whistle and the Phantom would come running.”

  Although no one turned to look, Sam was pretty sure Jake, Brynna, and Dad were listening to the river rushing nearby, remembering she’d met the Phantom there, more than once.

  “I wanted to tell you and Gram.” Sam defended herself. “But things were complicated yesterday—with the haying and storm and ten people for dinner.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Dad said. “If he—if anyone—does something like that again, I want to know about it. No matter what.”

  “All right,” Sam said.

  There was a moment’s silence before Brynna spoke.

  “Of course, Slocum wants the Bureau to catch the horse. He called yesterday, after his chat with Sheriff Ballard.” Brynna hid her smile. “He demanded I catch this renegade stallion. In all probability it is a mustang, and I’m trying to hire a wrangler to trap the stud.” Brynna brushed a wisp of red hair back toward her French braid. “But I’m not having much luck.”

  The Phantom probably wasn’t to blame, but if it did turn out to be him, Sam couldn’t hope for a better captor than Dad. If Dad trapped the Phantom, he’d treat him with respect, not violence.

  Sam glanced Dad’s way. As if he could read her mind, he crossed his arms. Tight.

  Brynna Olson probably had a better chance of changing Dad’s mind than Sam did. The best thing she could do was vanish and hope they worked it out.

  “Dad, is it okay if I go to Alkali with Jake to pick up some chick-scratch?” Sam noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Jake looked completely confused, so she rushed on. “Gram forgot to get it when we were in Darton buying school clothes and…”

  “Go ahead.” Dad extracted several dollar bills from his wallet. Sam had started picturing cheeseburgers at Clara’s coffee shop when he said, “Gas money. That Buick drinks like a fish.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said.

  She was leading a baffled Jake away when she heard Brynna say something softly. As always, conversation that sounded like a secret caught Sam’s attention.

  “That’s assuming it was a horse that stole his new Appaloosa.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Dad asked.

  “Slocum made a big show of buying that mare and having her delivered in a horse van that cost a thousand dollars a day. He pointed out that Sam had talked with the driver about the Appaloosa’s registration and pedigree.”

  “Don’t tell me he thinks Sam had anything to do—?”

  Even though it was a bad idea to interrupt her father, Sam couldn’t stop.

  “What?” Sam whipped around and marched back toward the two adults.

  “Samantha, eavesdropping is a nasty habit,” Dad cautioned. “You rarely hear anything good about yourself.”

  “But wait—now I’m a horse thief?”

  “Sam.” Brynna used a soothing tone. “It was mentioned in anger. I don’t think Mr. Slocum is going anywhere with the idea.”

  “He’d better not!” Sam’s pulse pounded in her temples. “I’ll—I’ll—”

  To save her from figuring out what she’d do to Linc Slocum, Jake snagged Sam’s elbow and tugged her toward Gram’s boat of a Buick.

  “Sit in the car and polish your six-shooter, Calamity Jane. I’ll go get the car keys from your grandma.”

  It turned out Sam wasn’t the only one Linc Slocum had threatened. The Phantom had a price on his head.

  In Alkali, Jake and Sam split up to do errands, but they discovered Slocum’s campaign against the stallion almost at the same time.

  Jake saw the first wanted poster as he paid for a bag of chicken food at Phil’s Fill-Up. After reading the poster, Jake hurried from the store, slung the burlap bag into the Buick’s trunk, then rushed to tell Sam.

  He found her right where she was supposed to be, in Clara’s coffee shop buying sodas and french fries to go.

  A bell jingled as he entered the diner, but Sam didn’t notice. She stood reading another wanted poster taped next to the cash register.

  A full-color picture of Apache Hotspot topped the poster. Sam finished staring at it to glance at Jake and then began to read the print aloud.

  “‘Five thousand dollar reward for information leading to safe recovery of Apache Hotspot, three-year-old running Appaloosa mare, white with liver chestnut markings.’” Sam grabbed Jake by the shoulders and tried to give him a shake.

  “I know,” he said, glancing at Clara, who stood at the open cash register, ready to take payment for the food. “I saw—”

  Sam released her grip and tapped the bottom half of the poster, illustrated with a charcoal sketch of a rearing wild horse that looked just like the Phantom.

  “But wait,” she said. “He can advertise for his own horse. What he can’t do, is this.” Sam read, “‘Five thousand dollar additional reward for capture of stallion implicated in theft of aforementioned mare.’”

  “Honey, you gonna give me that money or stand there
clutchin’ it all day?” Clara tugged the dollar bills peeking from the fist Sam had crumpled them in as she read the poster.

  “Oh, yeah.” Sam surrendered the money. “Sorry.”

  Jake carried the fries and sodas toward the door.

  Sam followed, her mind spinning with questions.

  Wasn’t it illegal for Slocum to distribute or put up that poster? What would Slocum do with the Phantom once he had him? Turn him over to BLM for relocation?

  Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, remembering what Slocum had said. BLM wouldn’t relocate a known troublemaker. BLM would shoot him.

  “Sit.” Jake nodded at a wooden bench in the sunshine.

  “I’m not your dog,” Sam reminded him.

  “True, but you’re walking like a zombie. Dr. Jake’s fat, salt, and sugar diet ought to fix you up.”

  Sam ate.

  She worried about Buddy.

  She drained her soda.

  She watched three cars cruise down Alkali’s main street.

  She saw a cat on a fence post clean her paws and whiskers.

  After all that, she knew what they were going to do.

  “I’ve got a plan,” Sam said, using a fry to pick up a few stray crystals of salt.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  Sam turned to see why Jake’s voice sounded muffled. He leaned back on the bench, Stetson pulled down to cover his eyes.

  She couldn’t believe it. Nearly every rancher around here was broke. They’d all try to win that money from Slocum before BLM stopped him from handing it out. The cruel, old-fashioned mustanging tricks would be used in secret, if the price was right. How could Jake take a nap when the Phantom’s life was at stake?

  Sam snatched his Stetson.

  “I’m awake.” Jake sat up, blinking. “I could hear you getting yourself all worked up, Samantha. So, what’s your plan?”

  “First, we’ll call Brynna and tell her what Slocum’s doing. This encourages people to do the same kind of harassment of wild horses that kept Slocum from being able to adopt a mustang, right?”

  “You know she’s left River Bend by now, and it’s Saturday. The Willow Springs office won’t be open. Do you have her home phone number?”