by Terri Farley
But Sam had no choice. She had to allow Norman to drive her home.
They rode along in silence. She didn’t know what he was thinking about, but Sam knew Brynna and Dad would hate thanking Norman for his neighborliness.
He was so quiet, Sam thought he was probably equally uncomfortable, too. Usually, she’d be polite and summon up words to smooth over the awkwardness. But not this time.
When Sam thought of Norman’s single-minded desire to cage Nevada’s wild horses, she didn’t even try.
In her restless dreams, Sam wore huge thigh-high boots, carried a heavy backpack, and hiked in deep snow, passing Darby on the golden filly, Kit driving a carriage pulled by Witch, and Jake following them and falling behind because he was carrying Brynna, but dropping her time and again because somehow, in this nightmare, Jake was the one with a broken arm.
Vaguely, Sam realized she was really home in bed. Sometimes when she half woke, her face felt hot, and she remembered Gram saying that she’d gotten sunburned from the glare off the snow. Other times she surfaced enough to feel Cougar burrowing under her covers. He wasn’t purring. He pushed at her shoulder, ribs, and ankles, making places for himself as if this was one big cat bed and he’d like her to move out.
The next morning a faint dusting of snow covered the ranch, but it felt warmer than it had the day before. It took only minutes to crunch up the ice that covered the animals’ water, and as Sam walked out to check the river, she thought she’d carry the digging bar over her shoulder, just for practice.
The instant she tried to raise the bar to shoulder level, the muscles she’d strained tumbling through the bus screamed in protest.
Bad idea, Sam thought, and though she’d glossed over the accident as much as she could, she knew Gram would be on the phone this morning with Mrs. Allen. The good news was that Dad was staying close to the ranch and keeping an eye on Brynna. He wouldn’t be stopping by Clara’s and run into Mr. Pinkerton, who’d probably be brushing off the cut on his head as no big deal while he talked about the crash. At some point that would all come up, and Sam would explain everything as well as she could, but right now she wanted to get back to normal.
The morning was serene and she was following the delicate vee of bird tracks, wondering if birds’ little feet got cold, when she was distracted by the paw prints of some small animal with a tail. Curious and determined to unmask the mystery animal, Sam was stepping as carefully as she could, accommodating her sore muscles and the iron bar, when the snow prints ended in a splatter of blood and a blot of wings.
“A hawk got something,” Sam told Blaze, who’d followed her this morning, but she couldn’t stop staring at the story in the snow.
Had the pawed creature heard the hawk coming? Had its head jerked up at the faint whistle of wind in feathers just before the impact?
She looked back over her shoulder. Obviously she had nothing to fear from a hawk, but she was thinking of the cougar that had attacked her. She hadn’t heard it coming, but in a split second before it crashed into her back, she’d caught a smell just like dirty laundry.
There was nothing behind her. Blaze would have alerted her if there had been, but Sam was convinced that once you’d been stalked and set upon, been the prey instead of the hunter, you never got over it.
When Sam crossed the river, hurrying toward breakfast, she saw Ross using a square-nosed shovel to chip at the icy ruts over the bridge.
Ross was the biggest cowboy on River Bend Ranch, and the quietest. Although he and Sam had become friendly when he’d swept Jen off to the hospital after she’d been gored by a bull, and after Ross had shown Sam poetry he’d written about the Phantom, the big cowboy was still painfully shy.
Now, for instance, he looked up as if he’d done something wrong when Sam said, “I’m supposed to do that. Not that I had my heart set on shoveling.” A smile struggled to form on her frozen face.
“Bored,” Ross told her. “Wyatt said not to ride out.”
“Oh. Well then”—Sam felt a celebration coming on—“thank you!”
With a nod, Ross returned to shoveling and Sam would have skipped back to the house if every muscle fiber in her body hadn’t warned against it.
That job would have taken her at least an hour, and now she’d have more time to spend with Tempest—although the filly didn’t seem heartbroken over her mother’s absence.
Maybe, Sam thought, she should do something nice for Ross. After all, he must feel lonely with Christmas coming on and his family far away.
Too bad Pepper wasn’t here, Sam thought, stamping her boots on the porch. Not only would he have filled out the bunkhouse Christmas, but yesterday’s mail had brought something he’d absolutely love to see.
Inez Garcia, the Hollywood horse trainer who’d brought her stallion Bayfire to River Bend, had sent the Forsters the long, uncut first version of the movie that had been partially shot in Lost Canyon.
Okay, only an hour of it had been shot in Lost Canyon, but it starred Ace and Violette Lee.
Sam only cared about Ace, but Pepper had had stars in his eyes from the moment Violette Lee had arrived. Even when the actress proved to be stubborn and full of herself, Pepper didn’t care. He’d called it the luckiest day of his life when he’d been on the spot to carry the actress off a plateau and drive her to the hospital for a checkup on a sprained wrist she’d incurred by being a primadonna.
But love really was blind, Sam had decided, because when Dallas had joshed with Pepper, asking if he’d trade the experience for a million-dollar lottery ticket, he’d said, “Nope.”
Even though Pepper had gone home for the holidays, he’d get a chance to see the movie later. Inez had given it to Sam in thanks for her help with Bayfire and for Ace’s surprise appearance in the movie, and Sam knew the DVD would be passed back and forth from the ranch house to the bunkhouse many times that winter.
Sam put the digging bar away and headed for the warm house.
Sausage, biscuits, and a plate of orange slices sat on the kitchen table, but the room was empty and quiet. Then she heard Dad’s voice rumble from the living room.
“It’s against my better judgment, I tell you, but I’m doing it!”
He didn’t shout, exactly, but he’d raised his voice, and that was rare.
Sam stood still and listened. She heard feet crossing the floor upstairs, in Gram’s room.
“I don’t know why one of them can’t do it, seein’ she’s set on goin’,” Dad added more quietly.
“Three simple reasons,” Brynna answered. “First, she doesn’t trust Dallas’s driving in bad weather. Second, she says Ross drives too slowly and she wants to do her turn with the therapy horse and drop off Sweetheart’s winter blanket, then finish up a little Christmas shopping.”
“Now, wait just a doggone minute. I never signed on for shoppin’—”
“—and third, Wyatt-Forster-love-of-my-life, you are driving me stark, staring mad and I need you out of the house for a few hours!”
“Now, B.,” Dad began patiently.
“You watch every mouthful I eat and tell me to chew my food more completely so that I don’t choke,” Brynna began. “You check each step I take walking across a room and tell me to slow down, so that I don’t fall. When I’m standing up, you ask me if I shouldn’t lie down. When I do, you loom over me, watching my tummy to see if the baby squirms because you’re afraid she or he won’t have enough room to stretch.”
Sam started giggling. She couldn’t help it. Brynna was absolutely right. Gram, Brynna, and Sam had begun meeting each other’s eyes each time Dad fussed.
“You got all your chores done?” Dad bawled toward the swinging door between the living room and kitchen.
“Yes, sir,” Sam called back.
She sat down at the table, smiling. Her day just kept getting better and better. Her chores were finished, and if Dad and Gram were in town, there’d be no one to crack the whip. She and Brynna could relax and do whatever they wanted.
Sam just hoped Brynna had gotten all that compulsive cleaning out of her system. Yesterday when Sam had come home after the accident, Brynna had not only emptied Gram’s sewing closet, she’d taken out all the odds and ends of fabric, then washed, dried, and folded them before putting them back.
Sam had snagged one piece of material that had warm memories for her, but she hadn’t mentioned it to her stepmother for fear it would offend her new-found sense of order.
“Don’t she just look proud as a pouter pigeon,” Dad said to Sam as he came into the kitchen with Brynna. Her hand was tucked through his elbow as if they were on their way to a dance, Sam thought, but Brynna did look pretty smug.
Sam made a sound that indicated her mouth was full, even though she just really didn’t want to comment on Dad’s defeat.
As Gram whisked into the room carrying a big purple horse blanket she’d had specially made for Sweetheart in New Mexico, Dad started talking to Sam.
“Ross and Dallas are to stay put in case you need anything,” Dad said. “I put snow chains on the truck tires and the Buick in case one or the other of ’em won’t start.”
“Dear,” Brynna said quietly, but pointedly, “there’s been a helicopter up this morning and each time one goes up it costs a thousand dollars, and—”
“‘Norman White’s not a man to waste money.’ Yeah, I heard that, but he’s new to this country and I don’t trust his weather judgment.”
“I have zero symptoms—except for being as ungainly as a whale—and I have a telephone, a cell phone, the ranch radio—”
“I wound up the emergency radio, too, in case of a power failure,” Dad put in.
“—a totally capable daughter, two cowboys, and a week and a half to go until my due date!” Then, before he could respond, Brynna stood on her toes, maneuvered the swell of the baby so that she could kiss Dad’s cheek, and smiled as she wiggled her fingers in a wave good-bye, about an inch from his nose.
Gram slipped out the door and it looked like Dad was about to follow, but he stopped the door from closing after him to say, “Samantha, you’ve got that hardship driver’s license. Drivin’ in snow’s just like driving in mud. Keep goin’ slow but sure, pedal down, but not too hard—”
“Wyatt, for heaven’s sake, where do you think Ross and Dallas’d be that Sam would have to drive to town in a snowstorm?” Gram asked, and then she must have grabbed Dad’s sleeve and yanked, because he disappeared and the door slammed.
Brynna sank into the chair across the table from Sam. She listened to Dad’s truck crunch over the gravel road Ross had cleared and waited as his tires thumped across the bridge. Then she waited some more, eyes closed with her head leaned against the chair back.
When her lids finally opened to show the sparkle of her blue eyes, Brynna said, “How about passing me one more biscuit and a dab of that strawberry jam?”
Chapter Sixteen
Yawning, Sam repositioned the pillow behind her head and stretched her stockinged toes until they touched the far arm of the couch. She usually preferred watching television from Dad’s chair. That’s where she’d started out and Brynna had picked the couch, but after they’d watched the film sent by Inez Garcia, Brynna had asked to switch places while they watched one of Sam’s favorite movies, The Little Mermaid. Now, Sam thought, the couch suited her just fine.
Wind moaned around the corners of the ranch house and snow patted the windows, but each time Sam rose to put another log on the fire and stare outside, the snow depth looked about the same.
Brynna watched Sam watch the snow, but she didn’t get up.
“If it’s like this tomorrow and you want to go ride, use my cold-weather gear,” Brynna told her.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I’m feeling pretty lazy.”
“If you change your mind,” Brynna said, picking through a bowl of cold popcorn, “it’s in that little maple wood trunk in the bottom of my closet. I didn’t have the figure for it this year,” she said with a lopsided smile.
Sam turned away from the window. The snow must be melting as it fell. She wedged a chunky log into the fireplace. It ought to last for at least an hour.
When the movie credits rolled over the TV screen, Brynna asked Sam, “More dancing crustaceans? Or do you want to watch the Inez movie once more? I can’t believe they caught the Phantom on film.”
Caught the Phantom. Sam’s heart responded, thudding in panic, before her brain explained the words. She must be closer to sleep than she thought.
Sam wiggled into a sitting position before she reminded Brynna, “The Phantom part won’t be in the real movie.”
“Who cares? We can watch him forever.”
Brynna groaned, threw off a knitted comforter, and kneaded a muscle spasm in her leg. Each time she did stuff like that, Sam felt nervous, but she tried not to be as paranoid as Dad.
“Honey, switch places with me, will you?” Brynna asked. “Again?” she added sheepishly. With difficulty, she slid her feet into knee-high, fleece-lined shoes that were not quite boots or bedroom slippers.
“Sure,” Sam said. She stood, made way for Brynna to get by, then plopped into Dad’s chair.
“I don’t know how I can feel restless and sleepy at the same time,” Brynna said. She fidgeted on the couch, despite the pillows piled under her feet and her head. Then, with a heavy sigh, she said, “Watch whatever you…” The sentence ended with a ladylike snore.
Sam retrieved the comforter Brynna had discarded and pulled it up to her chin. She clicked the remote to silence the television. Through drowsy eyes, she looked across the room at the freshly laundered red flannel she’d sneaked from the reorganized sewing cabinet.
Once, it had been a nightgown, but she’d used part of it to make the first bridle the Phantom had ever worn. Back then he’d been Blackie, an ebony two-year-old, and Sam could still see the dramatic picture the stallion had made wearing the soft red halter.
If she had to tame him again, she hoped he’d remember. She could cut the cloth now and begin making a headstall, but she felt superstitious about it, almost as if fate would guarantee the Phantom’s capture if she did.
Instead, Sam reached for the mystery novel she’d left on the table and began reading.
Her eyes kept closing. Too groggy to follow the clues, Sam stared at the flames in the fireplace. She kind of liked standing guard this way, especially when there was nothing to do except watch TV and read. Brynna would probably be more comfortable if she shucked off those bootie things, Sam thought, but since her stepmother was fast asleep, she left her alone.
Cougar leaped up onto Sam’s lap and burrowed under the comforter. His claws kneaded her leg gently as he purred, and then he was quiet.
The first thing Sam noticed when she awoke was the cold. The log had burned down to a charred lump and she didn’t hear the heater running, but there was a sunny glare of light around the curtains. Weird, Sam thought.
Stifling a groan as she tried to straighten knees that had been hammered and tossed around in the bus yesterday, Sam stood, then wobbled over to pull back the curtain.
Wow. Snow came down in flakes and clumps, falling as if the ranch house stood in a snow globe shaken by a crazy child.
On the couch, Brynna huffed in frustration. She must be having trouble getting comfortable.
Then Brynna sat up. She pushed back the red frazzles of her braid and tsked her tongue.
“How did he know?”
Sam’s stomach dropped so suddenly, she was sure she could have found it under the house if she’d gone looking for it.
There was no point in trying to shift the sense of Brynna’s words. They could only mean one thing: Dad had been right. Today was the day Brynna would have the baby.
“Do you feel okay?” Sam noticed her hand was trembling as she released her grip on the curtain.
“Not really,” Brynna confessed. She winced and locked her fingers together across her huge middle.
“I’ll get your suitcase,”
Sam said. Sprinting up the stairs, she heard Brynna say something about calling the bunkhouse.
Good, Sam thought, I could use some help. Suitcase right where it was supposed to be, Sam checked it off her mental list. So was Brynna’s purse with her medical information inside.
Boots…boots…there! Sam snagged her best snow boots from beside her bed and pounded back down the stairs.
In about two minutes, she’d laced on her boots extra tightly and she and Brynna were outside.
Brynna held her coat together with one hand and in the other she grasped a plastic baggie filled with tiny pink lemonade ice cubes. Gram had sworn that sucking on them during labor would give Brynna extra energy. Though Brynna had laughed at the idea before, she’d apparently decided that since the real moment was here, she’d give Gram’s idea a try.
“We’re ready,” Brynna said, “but…”
Not all of their escape plan was going so well.
The truck had bogged down in the snow. Its rear wheels were spinning out. Then it jumped a rut in the ranch yard as Ross tried to drive closer to the porch.
“Stay there!” Brynna yelled into the wind, and made a “halt” motion at Ross. Then she held on to Sam’s arm and began making her way across the ranch yard.
As they walked, Sam could see Ross inside the truck cab. He leaned forward to rub at the windshield fogged by his breath, and gunned the engine again. The truck spun loose from its first sticking point, but it wallowed ahead in slow motion as the bottom of the truck scraped on snow.
What had happened to the perfect path they’d shoveled? How could the storm have dumped so much snow, so fast?
The truck stuck again, and this time Sam smelled something like burning rubber.
Dallas darted behind the truck. Using the short shovel, he dug down to the gravel. Good idea, Sam thought as gray materialized beneath the white.
Since Dallas and Ross were doing all they could to free the truck, Sam wiped snowflakes from her eyelashes and studied Brynna.
