Firefly

by Terri Farley

  “We can’t go at sunrise or sunset. That’s when other wildlife is likely to be there and I want to cut our odds of having that colt act up.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Sam said. She shivered at what could happen if the Phantom’s herd came to drink when the colt was there.

  “Is that all?” Gabe asked, looking up at his grandmother as she stood.

  “That’s all I can think of right this minute,” she said. “But I reserve the right to add more rules later on.” She gave a strong-minded nod. “Now I’m going back up to the house. Sam, do you need anything?”

  “Mosquito repellent, or a snake bite kit?” Gabe suggested, looking around the empty ranch yard.

  “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Allen,” Sam said, ignoring him.

  “Gabriel, are you coming?” his grandmother asked.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said. “You can have a head start.”

  “Honey.” Mrs. Allen’s voice was a moan of regret as he reminded her of her mistake.

  “I’m kidding, Grandma,” Gabe told her, and his tone said he was telling the truth.

  “Well all right, then,” Mrs. Allen said with a sniff. “Don’t take too long.”

  “I won’t,” he said, but he stalled until he heard the iron gate creak and Sam knew he was up to something.

  He didn’t make her wonder for long.

  “In about a half hour,” Gabe said, “she’ll be asleep, and if she’s not, you can pretend you’re in the kitchen for a snack.”

  Sam crossed her arms. “And if I go along with whatever this is, why will I really be there?”

  Gabe made a bouncing movement against his crutches.

  Sam could see this idea really had him excited, though he clearly didn’t think his grandmother would approve.

  “You’ll be getting one of those big plastic bags she keeps for gathering leaves and stuff. I saw them in the pantry. Then you’ll be folding it up real small to bring with us tomorrow.”

  “Why will I be doing that?” Sam asked.

  Gabe rapped his knuckles against his cast. His mischievous smile showed even in the dark. “I don’t want this thing to melt.”

  So he wanted to get in the hot spring with Pirate.

  “I’m not sure this is a very good idea,” Sam said.

  “Maybe not,” Gabe agreed, shrugging, “but if you think I’d miss a chance to tell the guys that I soaked in a Wild West hot tub with a mustang, you’re the one who’s loco.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Everything was ready for Sam and Gabe to lead the colt to the hot springs.

  Following Mrs. Allen’s rule, they’d waited until mid-morning, long past the time the wild creatures would have come to the hot springs to drink and distract the colt.

  The downside to Mrs. Allen’s rule was the temperature. It had already soared to one hundred degrees.

  Sweaty for life, Sam thought as she fanned the bottom of her red-and-white sleeveless jersey to make a breeze on her hot skin. The jersey was a relic from her middle school basketball uniform, but it was the coolest thing she’d brought, and it would dry quickly after their dip in the hot springs.

  She’d already snapped the rope on the colt’s halter and Gabe stood ready to open the gate when a blue Mercedes sedan came snarling down the dirt road toward the ranch.

  No, no, no! Sam would have shouted the words if she hadn’t been standing next to the colt.

  The car belonged to Linc Slocum, and Sam would bet Rachel Slocum was driving.

  It only made sense. Rachel had finished her summer trips to Europe, Bermuda, and Africa. Now she was home and bored.

  She’d heard there was a teenage guy at Mrs. Allen’s house—more importantly, a guy who hadn’t yet fallen worshipping at her feet—and Princess Rachel had decided to remedy that situation.

  Sensing Sam’s agitation, the colt backed against the rope until he’d used up every inch of slack.

  “It’s okay, good boy,” Sam whispered. “You’re safe. After letting Tempest loose, she won’t dare come near me or you. Not if she has any sense at all.”

  The mustang ducked his gleaming head and gave her a sidelong look from his white-patched eye.

  “Yeah, I know,” Sam whispered. “That part about her having good sense was a dumb thing to say, wasn’t it?”

  “When you two are done gossiping, maybe you can tell me who this is?” Gabe said, tugging at the collar of his faded blue T-shirt with the sleeves hacked off at the shoulders.

  Sam guessed Gabe was wishing he’d worn something nicer for his trip to the hot springs. Not that it mattered. If Rachel flirted with him, she wouldn’t care what he was wearing. He’d only be required to keel over at her beauty.

  “Rachel Slocum,” Sam muttered. “She’s really rich and really pretty. She’s never wanted anything her daddy didn’t get for her but she—” Sam drew a deep breath. How could she explain? “In spite of her looks, Rachel Slocum is a witch.”

  Nervous as he was, Gabe laughed.

  “I know the type,” he said confidently, and for a few minutes, Sam thought he might be immune.

  When Rachel steered the Mercedes off the driveway and through a neglected flowerbed, nearly ramming into Mrs. Allen’s truck, Gabe laughed even harder. His chest shook so much, he had to regrip his crutches to keep from falling.

  But when Rachel eased from the Mercedes, model-sleek in a bare-shouldered dress of floaty black and dusty orange tiers, Gabe’s laughter stopped.

  The dress would have looked like a Halloween costume on anyone less perfect, Sam thought, and wondered how this could possibly be fair.

  “Sa-man-tha!” Rachel called, finger-combing a wave of mink-brown hair back from one eye.

  You’ve got a choice, Sam told herself. She could release her fury in a scream at Rachel—which would be satisfying but would cost her every minute of progress she’d made with the colt—or she could pretend Rachel didn’t exist.

  “I don’t hear a thing, sweet boy,” she crooned to the horse.

  “And you must be Gabriel.” Rachel’s voice was a purr. Even though she wore high-heeled sandals that wrapped her feet and ankles in complicated crisscrosses, she arrived at Gabe’s side before he knew what was happening.

  If she’d felt generous, Sam would have given Rachel credit for slinking so gracefully and quickly across the ranch yard, and for ignoring Gabe’s crutches. But when Rachel tapped her little black envelope of a purse on Gabe’s shoulder and he smiled a cocky grin that said he was totally taken in by her flirting, Sam felt a little sick.

  “Hello, honey,” Mrs. Allen said, approaching from the direction of her truck. Then, even though it was obvious, she asked, “What brings you all the way out here?”

  Pirate’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. He could have scented Rachel’s perfume, or maybe smoke from the Slocums’ fields clung to Rachel’s expensive clothes.

  “Shhh,” Sam told the colt. “She’ll be gone soon.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Allen, I heard a snippet of gossip about your grandson,” Rachel admitted with a giggle.

  “Yeah?” Gabe said, encouraging her.

  “I heard you looked like an angel, but you weren’t. What about that?”

  Oh my gosh. Sam wanted to demand Rachel’s source, but this wasn’t journalism class. Besides, Rachel had probably made up the comment because it was the sort of thing guys liked to hear about themselves.

  Sam risked a quick glance at the two of them. Judging by the look on Gabe’s face, Rachel was right.

  “And the other reason, dear?” Mrs. Allen said.

  It took Rachel a minute to answer and Sam was amazed to see a kind of dreamy look on the rich girl’s face.

  “Oh, yeah,” Rachel said, shaking her head as if she’d shake off her softened mood. “I want to buy that horse my brother rode in that race.”

  “Roman?” Mrs. Allen asked, amazed.

  “I guess,” Rachel said.

  That horse. That race. Rachel definitely wasn’t fo
cused on her errand.

  Sensing no threat from the new human, Pirate stretched his muzzle out to nudge his bucket of Kool-Aid.

  Sam knew she’d be overdoing it to call this love at first sight, but something was sizzling between Rachel and Gabe.

  “This is a sports injury, I bet,” Rachel said. She tucked her purse under one arm and flicked her manicured nails toward his legs. “Football?”

  Gabe shook his head.

  “Basketball?” she teased, and as she pretended to dribble a ball, her hand grazed his arm.

  Just go away, Sam thought, but Rachel wasn’t nearly as sensitive to telepathy as animals were.

  Mrs. Allen stood frozen and Sam wondered if they were both thinking the same thing. If Gabe told the truth, Rachel would probably recoil. He’d only known her a couple minutes, so in one sense, it wouldn’t matter at all. In another way, it mattered a lot.

  Suddenly the colt kicked at the soccer ball Gabe had left in his corral and Gabe looked up. He blinked. His cocky grin faded. Sam saw him decide to test Rachel and himself.

  “Car accident,” he said, and when Rachel licked her heavily glossed lips, he added, “I was in a coma for a while and they’re not sure when I’ll be able to walk, you know, in a regular way.”

  She snatched her hand back. The smile on her glossy lips was melting. The bright interest in her eyes grew faint.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said, and Sam was amazed to hear the sincerity in her voice.

  “Yeah, me too,” Gabe said, and his voice seemed to break the spell that, for a second, had made Rachel act like a genuine human being.

  “I’d better be going,” Rachel said and her eyes darted down to Gabe’s legs, frankly staring this time.

  Gabe’s jaw jutted forward and his eyes narrowed before he asked, “What about the horse for your brother?”

  “Oh, I think that was a mistake,” Rachel said. She sucked in a breath that seemed to shiver. “Sometimes I make the silliest mistakes.”

  She talked herself out of it, Sam thought as Rachel hurried back to the Mercedes. She liked him and he liked her, but he was less than perfect.

  Sam glanced at Gabe. He must be fighting to keep his expression bored as Rachel backed the car and swung it the way she’d come.

  Sam wished there was a way to tell Gabe how gutsy she thought he was for being honest, but how could she say it?

  Good thing you found out in the first ten minutes that Rachel Slocum doesn’t follow her heart?

  What did Rachel follow? Sam couldn’t even guess.

  Gabe cleared his throat loudly, then blurted, “Too high-maintenance for me.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Mrs. Allen asked her grandson.

  “My school in Denver has a few millionaires’ daughters, too,” he said. “Girls like that never get tired of having you spend money on them.”

  Mrs. Allen looked confused, then her expression turned to one of understanding. It was less painful for Gabe to mention how materialistic Rachel was than to comment on Rachel’s inability to like a guy on crutches.

  “Can we go now?” Gabe asked.

  “Certainly, but before we do, you two have to agree to one more rule,” Mrs. Allen said.

  “Okay,” Sam said, and when her eyes met Gabe’s she could see he was equally surprised that Mrs. Allen had been thinking about anything besides Rachel.

  “If the colt should get loose, you’re to let him go.” Mrs. Allen shook an index finger in Sam’s direction, but her glance swept over Gabe, too. “No heroic attempts to recapture him from either of you, is that understood?”

  They both nodded, but as Mrs. Allen hurried toward her car, Gabe muttered, “If he tried to run, could you hold him?”

  A far-off cicada whirred as Sam stared at him in disbelief.

  “You know that expression, ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me away’? Well, let me tell you, that was obviously made up by someone who’s never been on the other end of the lead rope when a wild horse starts running.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Carried away, Sam thought as she and Gabe sandwiched the colt between them and set off.

  She’d been carried away by the idea of taking the colt to the hot springs and she hadn’t thought enough about the “what ifs.”

  Everything was fine now, as they crossed the bare ground around Deerpath Ranch, headed toward the sagebrush and sticker bush–studded fields of the shortcut to the hot springs. The colt stepped carefully and slowly through the vegetation. Every few steps, he turned his head away from her to nudge Gabe’s shoulder.

  But what if he caught the scent of smoke and went loco? What if he saw wild horses running and dragged her across the desert at the end of this lead rope? What if a sage hen burst from cover in front of him and he spooked, injuring Gabe?

  “There are lots of sounds out here once you listen, huh?” Gabe said.

  Sam listened. Ahead of them, Mrs. Allen’s truck rolled slowly over the dirt road that ended about a quarter mile from the hot springs. Its tires spun monotonously, but crows cawed, too, and insects buzzed.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Sam said. There was no sense dumping all her misgivings on him. He had enough to worry about.

  The colt stopped, raised his head, and snorted. Nostrils trembling, he tested the air.

  “What do you think he smells?” Gabe asked.

  “I think he’s just recognizing this area,” Sam said. “It’s part of the Phantom’s territory.”

  Sam couldn’t believe Mrs. Allen had given permission to walk into this kind of danger. The colt had already proven he had memories. Who could blame him for wanting to return to freedom?

  But maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t searching for the scent of his wild herd, or recalling the nights he’d galloped in the dark of the moon with his family, pressed shoulder to warm shoulder, sleek side to side, to the river. He would have been a long-legged foal in the days that Mrs. Allen’s fences were down and mustangs had grazed in her abandoned hay fields.

  “Hey, buddy, you’re okay,” Gabe said, balancing to reach up and touch the colt’s neck.

  The colt trembled. He jerked his head up but didn’t move away from Gabe.

  This rope won’t hold him if he wants to go, Sam thought again. She gave it another wrap around her hand, glad the colt’s halter was soft cotton, and snug, so it wouldn’t rub his healing burns.

  From the tips of his ears, down his neck to the sweat-damp hair on his chest, the colt shook as if he were cold. His front hooves tapped in—what? Impatience? Confusion? Or maybe anticipation. Sam couldn’t tell, but she knew some horses found water irresistible. Remembering this colt in the lake at War Drum Flats, she hoped that was what he was feeling.

  “What do you think’s got him so excited?” Gabe asked.

  “He likes water,” she said. “I think that’s it.”

  “You don’t think he wants to return to his herd?” Gabe asked as Pirate resumed walking.

  Sam sighed, waited until a crow quit cawing nearby, then said, “That could be it, but you know, even if this hadn’t happened to him, he would’ve been out on his own pretty soon, anyway.”

  “Why? All this stuff you’ve been telling me about herd animals—”

  “Is true, but the lead stallion kicks out the young males when they get to an age that…”

  “They’re too rowdy?” Gabe suggested.

  “Well, sort of,” Sam laughed. “But once they’re on their own, they usually hang around in bachelor bands.”

  “That doesn’t sound all bad,” Gabe said, and Sam wondered if he was thinking of his own friends.

  The colt bolted forward a few steps and the lead rope jerked painfully tight around Sam’s hand.

  “Shoot, five years of weight lifting and what good is it?” Gabe snapped. He gripped his crutches harder and rolled the muscles in his shoulders. “If I could just get rid of these crutches, I could hold him better than you can.”

  The colt’s hooves stuttered to a stop. Wide-ey
ed, he scanned the desert.

  “No offense,” Gabe added as if he’d just heard what he’d said.

  Sam brushed the apology aside.

  “If he tries to go, don’t even think about trying to stop him. He could drag either one of us to death.”

  “That’s kinda harsh,” Gabe said.

  “That’s the truth,” Sam said, but suddenly her hands were shaking. She couldn’t tell Gabe the nightmarish choice that had just occurred to her, so she kept talking. “If you tried to stop him, it wouldn’t change anything—except you might get hurt and it might take you longer to get well. He’d still have to be recaptured by BLM.”

  And if BLM couldn’t find him, Sam thought, would she help?

  “It’s kinda sad,” Gabe said.

  Sam stepped out to the end of the lead rope, then looked back at Gabe.

  “Keep walking,” she told him. “And we’ll follow you. It’s not nearly as sad as him suffering through a muddy autumn and snowy winter only to die when it gets too cold for his lungs.”

  “Wow,” Gabe said. “Now I smell it, too. Smoke.”

  Gabe didn’t stop. Now that he’d adapted his gait to the colt’s, he swung along without pause.

  Though she admired his determination, Sam couldn’t help but wonder if the soft flesh under his arms wasn’t rubbed raw with all the activity of the last few days. And when the colt swung his head to the side, giving Gabe a companionable nudge, Sam saw Gabe put his right leg down for balance.

  It was getting better, she thought, but then Gabe noticed the direction her eyes had darted.

  “Don’t say anything,” he ordered her. “Or you’ll jinx me.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Pretend nothing’s changed. It’s up to the doctor to tell me if it’s really better.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said, shrugging, but excitement spurted through her veins.

  With only a short distance left before they reached the hot springs, Sam decided there were no wild horses around. She hadn’t seen a puff of dust or heard a clack of hooves on rock to support last night’s fears.

  In the darkness, she’d thought of riding while she led Pirate. Even though he wasn’t used to it, she’d thought it might give her greater control. But then, it had occurred to her that even though summer was ending and mustang stallions had assembled their herds months ago, the Phantom might be lured to investigate a mare.