by Terri Farley
“She’s fine as long as she faces that way.” Jake pointed. He’d been watching her the whole time Sam was on the phone. “Looking into the dark barn, she’s fine. She started coming unglued when I turned on the light to get a look at her.”
Was something wrong with the buckskin’s eyes? Sam had assumed the men had blindfolded the mare to make her helpless, but maybe she was extra sensitive to light. Sam knew nothing about horses’ eyes, and she had no time to ask Jake before she heard riders approaching.
Dad and all three cowboys—Dallas, Pepper, and Ross—were crossing the bridge. They rode loose-jointed and tired, like men who’d already put in a full day’s work.
Sam looked at her watch. She could hardly believe it was already 4 P.M. She swallowed against the tension threatening to strangle her, but then she saw her calf, Buddy, frolic up to the gate to greet the riders. Ever since she’d been pulled from quicksand as an orphan, the calf had been peppy as a pup.
Dad stripped the saddle and bridle from Banjo and turned the horse into the big pasture. While he rinsed his hands and face at the pump, Sam remembered she hadn’t brushed her hair since dawn, when she had pulled her ratty green sweatshirt over her head.
She forked fingers through her bangs and the tendrils at her temples, trying to fluff the hair flattened by her old brown cowboy hat.
Now, saddle and blanket in hand, Dad walked toward the tack room.
“Steady there.” Jake’s voice was so low only the horses heard, but he was talking to Sam. “The worst thing that can happen is we give the mare to BLM.”
Jake was right, but Sam noticed he hadn’t ridden home for dinner. Suspense had its claws in him, too. He wanted to hear what Dad and Brynna said about this frightened animal.
“What do we have here?” Dad asked.
Sam listened for judgment in his voice, but heard only curiosity about the golden tan mare who refused to look at him.
As Sam began to explain, Brynna arrived. So did the vet. Gram walked down from the house, too, and all three cowboys put off dinner to see what was causing the excitement.
Sam supposed she did a fine job of explaining. After all, no one could contradict her except Ace or the rustlers, and one seemed as likely as the other. But Sam was distracted.
Not by Dad, who stood expressionless as a tree trunk. Not by Brynna, who took notes like a newspaper reporter. Sam wasn’t distracted by the vet, who said he wouldn’t sedate the mare for an exam now, since he’d have to tranquilize her again tomorrow when BLM moved her to Willow Springs.
Sam was distracted by the girl who’d arrived with Brynna. The BLM woman was so caught up in identifying the mare, she’d forgotten to introduce the girl who’d come in the white government truck along with her.
The girl had a pointy fox face and wispy blond hair, and though she couldn’t be more than twelve years old, she was what Aunt Sue would call a “tough cookie.” Hands on hips, eyelids slack with boredom, she looked at those around her—Sam included—as if they were barely smart enough to breathe.
The vet had to detour around the girl to leave. She wouldn’t step out of his path. Only Sam seemed to notice.
Was the girl Brynna’s daughter? Her niece? If so, Sam pitied Brynna. The girl looked mean. Her jaw jutted out as if she held a grudge against the world.
“I think they kept her in a dark stall, long-term,” Jake suggested.
A flicker of fear lit the girl’s face before she gave a forced and noisy yawn.
“It happens,” Brynna said. She gave the girl a quick glance, but gestured toward the horse. “Even a mustang gets to feeling safe when she’s left undisturbed. Then, when they try to make her leave, she charges.”
“Yes, she does.” Sam could have kicked herself for saying it.
Dad and Gram turned frowns her way. Their expressions said that the hours they’d spent at her hospital bedside, two years ago, were still fresh in their memories.
“When I opened the gate up there, she ran for it.” Sam gestured toward Lost Canyon, then made things worse by brushing off the front of her jeans. “I fell getting out of her way.”
Figuring the girl would be amused by her discomfort, Sam shot her a sidelong glance. She was wrong.
The girl wasn’t listening to a word she’d said. She was watching the horses.
In the ten-acre pasture, Strawberry rolled the saddle stiffness from her back, then shot to her feet and ran with the others galloping after. It happened every evening, but you couldn’t guess that by the girl’s expression. For the first time, Sam thought she was seeing rapture.
If the little creep loved horses, she couldn’t be all bad.
Just then, Jake leaned forward to show Brynna the bandanna the buckskin had worn, and he accidentally bumped the girl.
“Sorry,” Jake apologized.
Instead of shrugging off the encounter, the girl stepped closer, lifted her chin and shot both hands out to her sides, fingers motioning him closer.
Sam blinked. The girl was clearly saying that if Jake wanted to fight, she was ready.
Jake looked stunned. Sam watched him calculate the huge difference in their heights and weights, but he only repeated, “Sorry.”
Sam glanced at Dad to gauge his reaction to all this, and caught him looking at Brynna. Something in the tilt of Dad’s head said they’d already discussed this kid. Their eyes continued the conversation and Sam felt left out.
“I forgot to introduce Mikki,” Brynna said.
“Mikki,” Gram repeated. “What a cute name.”
Gram stepped forward to take the girl’s hand in both of hers, but Mikki crossed her arms and cinched them close to her body.
Sam couldn’t believe someone didn’t tell the girl to straighten up and apologize.
“Mikki is from Sacramento, California,” Brynna went on. “She goes by Mikki, but her full name is Michelle Small.”
The girl glared at Sam as if daring her to comment on the match between her name and her size.
“Mikki’s agreed to be the first to try out the HARP program—that’s the Horse and Rider Protection program—here in northern Nevada,” Brynna said.
Sam felt her lips twist in sarcasm. With Mikki’s attitude, people needed protection from her.
“Some people who adopt mustangs just aren’t suited to the chore of training them. Sometimes, they make some pretty big mistakes,” Brynna said. “When that happens, we take the horses back and match them with girls who gentle them and make them adoptable all over again.”
Sam would have asked Brynna how they picked the girls, if Jake hadn’t chosen that moment to escape.
“’Scuse me,” he mumbled. “I’m due home soon, and it’ll take a while to finish up with Teddy and turn him out.”
Dad glanced toward the round corral where Jake had left the horse he was working, then nodded for Jake to go ahead.
“Bye, Jake,” Sam said. She waved, and watched Dallas, Pepper, and Ross go after him. Cowboys didn’t willingly join in uncomfortable conversations. Sam was amazed Dad was still standing here.
“Teddy Bear is the nicest little horse,” Gram explained. “He’s a curly Bashkir. Maybe you’ve seen them in magazines.”
When Gram added that, Sam realized why she’d gone off on this tangent. Once more, Mikki’s face lit with that joyous look. Even though Mikki had been rude, Gram was entertaining her. Why?
“Jake’s schooling Teddy for Mr. Martinez, a banker in town. He loves that horse, but he raised him from a baby and, well, spoiled him a bit. Some tricks that were cute when Teddy was a colt—like using his teeth to pull the wallet out of your back pocket—are downright dangerous now that he’s an adult horse. And when he doesn’t want to be ridden?” Gram raised her eyebrows. “He just sits down like a big old dog.”
When Brynna noticed Mikki’s smile, her own got bigger. “Mikki, why don’t you go over and watch?”
Even Sam knew the girl wouldn’t take the bait. Brynna had a lot to learn about kids.
“S
o you can talk behind my back? It’s not like I can’t guess what you’re going to say.” Mikki slung her thumbs in her jeans pockets before facing Sam’s father. “Here’s the deal, sir.” She made the word an insult. “HARP can’t place me in the California program because of my juvenile record, my crimes, got it?”
Mikki’s head wagged a little as she talked. Her tone was sarcastic, as though trying to shock Wyatt Forster was fun.
“Shoplifting, fighting, runaway.” Mikki ticked her offenses off on three fingers. “What Ms. Olson didn’t say is that HARP matches at-risk girls with wild horses who’ve been messed up.”
Sam almost nodded, and Mikki turned to her.
“Yeah, and I’m past ‘at-risk.’ Everyone in the state of California has given up on me. Even my mom. She’s the one who sent me to this freaking desert—”
When Mikki stopped, Brynna took over without a hint of emotion.
“Mikki is living in a group home in Darton. Although she’s just eleven, she’s in a program for academically talented students and she’s going to middle school there,” Brynna explained. “The situation’s not as bleak as she says. HARP is a very popular program in California, and it’s just getting started in Nevada.”
“Look.” Mikki’s hands perched on her hips. She turned her back on Gram and Dad to face Brynna. “This perfect little family doesn’t want me around. Can’t you tell? And I really don’t care. I only said I’d do this because I sort of like horses.”
Mikki gave a snort. Then, carefully not glancing toward Teddy as Jake led him prancing to the pasture, Mikki walked to the white BLM truck, climbed in, and slammed the door.
As soon as the kid disappeared, Brynna started talking fast.
“River Bend Ranch is the perfect place to start HARP in Nevada. You’ve got the round corral for starting the mustangs and girls together. And once you get the rails up on that big pasture near the barn, it will work for an arena, when they start riding. As I’ve, uh, explained, before.” Brynna hesitated.
The BLM woman looked from Gram, who looked excited by the idea, to Dad. His face was blank, not giving Brynna a flicker of encouragement. But she kept talking.
“And, of course, the big bunkhouse would be perfect.”
For what? Sam wondered.
Brynna pointed to a weathered building with broken windowpanes and a roof buckled at the peak and stripped bare of shingles by the wind. Cowboys hadn’t slept there for years. Sam had heard Dallas say it was home to spiders big as lions and he wouldn’t go in there without a whip and a chair.
Gram must have been thinking the same thing. When Brynna saw Gram frown, she added, “It will take some fixing up, but HARP, as I’ve said before”—she glanced at Dad—“pays ranchers for hosting the program if the pilot program succeeds.”
Brynna took a breath before she went on.
“And the girls would do so much better here than at the Gold Dust. Mr. Slocum’s volunteered, but Sam would be a far better influence than—” Brynna gestured in the general direction of Linc Slocum’s ranch, and Sam mentally filled in the blank.
Rachel. The most popular girl at Darton High School, Rachel Slocum was beautiful, catty, and selfish. Her rich father gave her whatever she wanted. Rachel was bored by horses, and she’d scorn girls who had the bad luck not to be born wealthy and pretty.
Sam knew that from experience.
But wait. Sam reined in her dislike of Rachel and flashed Brynna a frown. Sam wouldn’t let herself be bought out with flattery. Just because she wasn’t as selfish as Rachel didn’t mean she wanted the HARP program here.
Why should she share her family, horses, or Jake with strangers? And she didn’t want sly kids spying on her friendship with the Phantom.
Just thinking of the silver stallion made Sam’s pulse race. He needed her help. She had to protect him from wild horse rustlers who’d kill him for dog food. She didn’t have time to be a good influence on Mikki.
Get a grip, Sam told herself. She was overreacting. Dad would never go for this idea. A proud, hardworking man who spoke only when he had to, Dad was the next thing to a hermit. He wanted nothing to do with the federal government and its programs.
Sam was about to tell Brynna to save her breath, when Dad nodded.
“Ms. Olson,” Dad said, “you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter Four
VOICES SWIRLED around Sam, discussing and planning, but she just stood there, stunned.
“River Bend Ranch will help you out. We’ll see how the pilot program goes,” Dad cautioned. “No promises after that.”
“Absolutely.” Brynna nodded.
“We’d only have Mikki, to begin with, is that right?” Gram asked. “For an hour or two after school?”
“Right,” Brynna said.
“I’d like to cook for that poor little thing…”
Poor little thing? Hadn’t Gram heard the part about shoplifting and fighting?
“…get some wholesome food into her.” Gram clucked her tongue. “I suppose she’ll go back to the foster home for meals, but I make nutritious after-school snacks. And then, if we get the program permanently…”
Sam’s hands fisted so tightly, her fingernails bit into her palms. The longer she let these plans roll ahead, the harder it would be to stop them.
Sam glanced toward the white truck. Mikki still sat inside, where she couldn’t hear a thing.
“Besides Rachel, Jennifer Kenworthy’s over at the Gold Dust Ranch. She’s the foreman’s daughter,” Sam explained to Brynna. “And she’s as good an influence as I am. Maybe better.”
Sam knew her desperate tone had given her away when both Gram and Dad looked disappointed.
Brynna, on the other hand, seemed interested.
“If the work with Mikki turns out well, Jen could help next summer,” Brynna said. “There’s good funding for this program, enough to remodel the bunkhouse so you could host a whole group of girls. The program would pay for saddles, feed, and wages. You and Jen could be instructors.”
Brynna stopped when Dad held out his hand in a move that clearly said Halt. But why was he smiling?
“When do we start?” Dad asked.
“I’ll have Popcorn trailered out on Monday.” Brynna looked as if she were making calculations. “If we start Mikki with him on Tuesday, that would give the horse time to settle in.”
“Popcorn?” Gram asked.
Brynna’s lips firmed into a straight line before she answered. “He’s an albino gelding who’s been ‘shown who’s boss’ a few times too many. He’s awfully shy, but he’ll be a great match for Mikki.”
Sam didn’t see the logic in the woman’s remark, but she kept quiet. She’d have time to work on Dad after Brynna left.
“Tuesday, then,” Dad said, and stuck out his hand.
“Tuesday.” Brynna shook Dad’s hand. “Thanks so much, Wyatt. I hope it works out for all of us.”
Not only had Brynna’s brisk tone softened, but as she walked away, Dad watched her go with a small smile.
Frustrated down to her fingernails, Sam tackled her chores. She fed the dog, fed the chickens, topped off the water troughs, checked the hens’ nests for eggs, then stood staring at Ace, Sweetheart, and the frightened buckskin.
She hadn’t had a chance to groom Ace when she’d first ridden in. Now, she wanted to do it. She’d made a habit of pouring her troubles into Ace’s attentive ears while she curried dirt and sweat from his coat. But it would be cruel to disturb the horses now. And selfish.
Sam walked into the shady barn and hung her green sweatshirt back on its nail. Selfishness. That was the feeling boiling inside her. But wasn’t she allowed to be just a little stingy, when she’d just gotten her family back?
Sam sat on a hay bale. She tried not to look at the little buckskin. The mare was watching, waiting for Sam to do something scary.
Sam stared outside. The barn pasture was empty of animals because several fence rails were down and a few were broken. The pasture re
minded her of one of her worst mistakes since she’d come home and tried to fit back into ranch life.
Sam hadn’t noticed the missing rails a month ago, when she’d left Buddy in that pen. While Sam was gone, the orphan calf had wandered away. Now Dad was pacing along the fence line.
He was getting ready to fix it. Not for her, but for Brynna.
Accidentally, Sam glanced at the buckskin. The mare’s ears flattened against her neck and her nostrils flared.
Sam pretended to ignore the horse. She leaned back and stared into the barn’s dark rafters. Overhead, a pigeon moved in its straw nest, trying to get comfy.
Sam knew how the bird felt. She was still adapting to ranch life. Gram and Dad tried to help, but each time she got used to them treating her like a child, they expected her to act like an adult.
Now Gram wanted to cook special meals for a stranger and fuss over her. Sam knew she sounded like a pouty little kid.
Her mind understood that Gram and Dad meant to do something good and charitable, but Sam’s heart wanted to know why.
Why, why, why should they help this smart-mouthed kid named Mikki?
Lost in her own thoughts, Sam stopped watching Dad until he was just a few yards away. Sam shot to her feet, looking for something to do, but she didn’t think fast enough.
The buckskin sucked in deep breaths, testing the air for threats.
Dad stood silhouetted against the outside brightness.
“Gram wants us to come eat some sandwiches and potato salad.”
“Okay,” Sam said. Her stomach growled and she felt lightheaded from eating nothing since last night’s supper.
She knew she should politely follow her father inside and wait for her sulky mood to pass. But she didn’t.
“Dad, we don’t need more work around here. Especially with me at school all day.”
“Outside work will lighten up as winter comes on. The girl will only be here five or six hours a week. I can spare Jake that much.”
Jake? Sam muffled her screech of outrage, but it echoed in her mind.
