Kidnapped Colt

by Terri Farley

  “Yeah.”

  Sam didn’t know how Gina’s tone managed to imply Jen had no experience with real life, but it did.

  Dad started to say something, but Brynna touched his arm and shook her head.

  “Everyone has a reputation for something,” Brynna said. “I hope I have one for being a fair boss and a decent biologist. Jen has a reputation for being a level-headed genius,” Brynna joked. “And everyone knows Sam is a wild horse expert.”

  “You can try to brand someone with a bad reputation, but it don’t necessarily take,” Dad said.

  They drove in silence for a few seconds before Gram, buckled into the front seat between Dad and Brynna, spoke up.

  “The best words I ever heard about making your own reputation,” Gram said, looking over her shoulder into the back seat, “is that you come into the world crying while everyone else is smiling at the miracle of you, and you should live your life so when you leave it, you’re smiling, but everyone else is crying because the miracle of you is gone.”

  “That’s so cool,” Mikki said, but Gram’s words of wisdom didn’t lighten Sam’s mood.

  If even one person thought she was responsible for the horses’ disappearance, she had to do something.

  Driving toward the fairgrounds, they stopped at Crane Crossing Mall and left flyers at the Western wear and tack stores, so it was dusk by the time they arrived.

  Climbing out of the car into the warm July evening, Sam felt the bustle of preview night at the carnival. The hum of excitement made it impossible to mope.

  Sam strolled the fairgrounds with Jen on one side and Mikki on the other. Gina forged ahead as if she knew where she was going. Dad and Brynna lagged behind, holding hands.

  Hammers pounded and power tools whined as rides that would be running Friday night were rolled down from trucks and rebuilt.

  Vendors climbed ladders to hang red, white, and blue bunting. Service groups that would sell barbecued beef sandwiches and cotton candy later yelled back and forth, testing lights.

  A woman wearing a gray canvas apron pulled coupons from her pouch-like pockets and urged them to visit the two things that were already running—a hotdog stand and the carousel.

  Brynna bought corn dogs on sticks for everyone. They meandered around the fairgrounds, eating and handing out flyers while merry-go-round music followed them.

  “Pretty cool,” Mikki said.

  “Pretty bor—” Gina broke off when Jen and Sam turned to glare at her. “Quiet.”

  “It’s just a small-town carnival, and it’s not even set up yet,” Brynna said, almost agreeing. “But you could be back at the ranch, cleaning out the barn.”

  “Or washing dishes after Gram made some huge feast for dinner,” Sam suggested.

  “Okay, it’s fun enough,” Gina said, and even though she pulled her baseball cap down to hide her eyes, Sam heard the smile in her voice.

  “Hey, check that out!” Mikki said, pointing.

  PATTY’S PRONTO PETTING ZOO read the blue-and-white-striped awning that swooped up like a tent to shade an enclosure. CUTE, LOVEABLE, FRIENDLY, AND CLEAN said one banner. ANIMAL HANDLER ALWAYS READY TO ANSWER QUESTIONS said another.

  Shy Boots was cute and loveable. What if—

  Sam rushed to look inside, but the enclosure was empty.

  “Too bad, there’s nothing to pet,” Jen said, joining in Sam’s disappointment as she came to stand beside her.

  Sam smiled at her friend, but she didn’t share her one instant of crazy hope with Jen.

  “Come back on the Fourth of July, and you’ll see goats, sheep, pigs, and ducks.”

  Sam turned toward the new voice. A woman in jeans and a khaki shirt might have passed for a teenager, except for the gray in her brown braids and squint lines around her eyes.

  “And over in the sitting area,” the woman continued, “you’ll be able to hold bunnies and guinea pigs.”

  “Hi,” Sam said, studying the woman.

  “Hi, I’m Patty.” The woman pointed to the name on the awning. “And I even let big kids like you in, if you behave.”

  “Cool,” Mikki said, as Patty gave them each a dollar-off coupon for the petting zoo.

  Instead of looking at the coupon in her hand, Sam read the poster taped to the petting zoo’s admission booth.

  Patty apparently used her animals for children’s birthday parties and Christmas nativity scenes, as well as fairs and carnivals.

  Though one line of type said, “I love my animals and reserve the right to expel anyone from the petting pen,” Sam felt wary.

  “Where do you get your animals?” she asked.

  Suspicion must have tinged her tone, because Patty looked startled.

  “I mean, do you take pets that people don’t want anymore?” Sam added.

  “I only buy animals from reputable breeders, but there’s no shortage of people trying to give me pets they’ve gotten sick of. I hope you’re not one of them.”

  Patty’s hands perched on her hips, and while Sam was deciding she liked this woman a lot, Brynna laughed.

  “Hardly,” Brynna said. “According to my husband, we’re running a home for old chickens. We have two Rhode Island Red hens—”

  “Three,” Dad added.

  “—that haven’t laid eggs in over a year.”

  “My kinda folks, then,” Patty said, nodding. “Some people have no loyalty to their animals, though, and it’s hard to refuse, but I make precious few exceptions.”

  Sam felt guilty for thinking this nice woman might be in league with whoever had stolen Hotspot and Shy Boots.

  That was just wishful thinking that didn’t make sense, she decided. She wanted this search to be over.

  Sam handed Patty one of the flyers, but the woman spared it only a glance before slipping it in her pocket.

  “I do have two potbellied pigs,” Patty said as Mikki and Gina investigated the zoo. “Some woman bought them for her husband, then divorced him and thought it would serve him right if she had Hamlet and Ophelia—that’s what she named them—made into pork c-h-o-p-s.”

  Patty glanced around as if the pigs were nearby. And could spell.

  “My only other exception is a pregnant burro who was captured in the desert outside Las Vegas. She won’t be here Fourth of July, because she’s due to foal any day.”

  “What’s her name?” Mikki asked.

  “Mistress Mayhem,” Patty said grandly. “But I call her May, and despite her bossiness, she makes a lovely addition to a nativity scene.”

  “We’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday,” Brynna said. She glanced after Gina, who had walked on to watch the setup for a pitching booth. Milk bottles made of tin rolled everywhere, and Gina bent to help a man pick them up.

  “I’m always here,” Patty insisted as Sam looked back at her. “Where my animals are, that’s where you’ll find me! They’re my family. My son hates it when I say that,” Patty said as Sam waved good-bye.

  Mikki decided to pass up a ride on the carousel.

  “I’m a little sore,” she admitted. “Just the idea of throwing a leg over one of those wooden horses makes me hurt.”

  “Well, I don’t want to ride alone,” Gina said. “But if that guy had his pitching booth open, I’d show you something.”

  “Could you win me a stuffed animal?” Mikki asked.

  There was something sad about Gina’s smile as she nodded. “I used to be really good at that.”

  After Sam and Jen passed out their remaining flyers, they all left for home.

  Both HARP girls and Gram were dozing by the time the Buick passed the turnoff to Gold Dust Ranch.

  “Do you think Linc’s told Ryan that Karl Mannix took off?” Jen whispered to Sam.

  “Do you think he’d care?” Sam asked, hoping Jen wouldn’t get mad.

  “I think he would,” Jen said.

  Brynna twisted in her seat, listening.

  “Can we call him again when we get back to the house?” Jen asked Brynn
a.

  “It’s pretty late,” Brynna said.

  Sam and Jen stared at each other, even though they couldn’t see each other’s expressions in the dark car.

  “It probably won’t make any difference if we wait until morning to tell him that Mannix took off,” Jen said.

  Sam gazed into the desert darkness and hoped Jen was right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They’d just bumped across the bridge over the La Charla River and rolled into the ranch yard when Gram straightened in the front seat, suddenly awake.

  “The barn light’s on,” she said.

  “I see that. Looks like Pepper wants to have a word,” Dad said.

  What now? Sam thought. She stared toward the barn, trying to make out the shapes of Dark Sunshine and Tempest, but she only saw Pepper’s shadow cross the bright square that was the barn door.

  The cowboys—Pepper, Ross, and Dallas—were usually relaxing in their own bunkhouse by now, but Pepper stood where he knew Dad would park, waiting.

  Pepper was lanky and young, an Idaho cowboy nicknamed for his chili-pepper red hair. As the girls piled out of the car, he took a long stride toward Dad.

  “Had a little trouble with one of them”—Pepper glanced at Sam and she had the feeling he amended what he’d been about to say—“wild horses. That white stallion.”

  Electricity might have jolted through every nerve in Sam’s body. Trouble with the Phantom?

  “What happened?” Sam pushed past the others to face Pepper.

  “Everyone’s okay.” He used both hands to make a “settle-down” motion. “But Tank fell and scraped his knees bad, trying to get away.”

  Tank was a bald-faced Quarter Horse, usually ridden by Ross. The gelding was big—so big that Sam feared a fall would be more serious for him than for a smaller horse.

  “Shall I call Dr. Scott?” Sam asked. The vet’s number was posted next to the phone in the kitchen.

  Lips pressed together in a straight line, Dad looked toward the barn, then shook his head. Sam knew what he was thinking. Tank was a valuable cow horse, but vet bills were expensive.

  “Dallas patching him up?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah. Looks like he’ll be okay.”

  “Girls, you can go on and get ready for bed,” Brynna said, but when none of them moved, she was too distracted to insist. “What happened with the stallion?”

  “We saw some mustangs over by Aspen Creek, and Ross thought he spied an Appaloosa among ’em,” Pepper said. “We were joggin’ over to see, when that stud horse charged out of nowhere and ambushed us.”

  Sam shivered. Aspen Creek wasn’t the Phantom’s usual territory. Charging riders on horseback wasn’t the way he usually behaved. But Pepper would recognize her horse.

  “As soon as they got up—”

  “I didn’t even ask about Ross,” Brynna said suddenly. “Is he all right?”

  “Fine,” Pepper said, nodding. “And we wanted to ride closer and see if he’d seen Slocum’s mare, but Tank took the hide right off his knees and the way he was bleedin’ we knew we needed to bring him on home slow. And it was getting toward dark.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Dad said, watching as Gram and Brynna walked purposefully toward the barn. Then he turned to Jen and Sam. “Why don’t you all get bedded down for the night. I’m going to call Linc and tell him the news.”

  All four girls returned to the bunkhouse. As she and Jen tried to ease the girls toward a peaceful sleep, Sam realized they were acting like real counselors.

  Sam was brushing her teeth and wondering what Linc had said about Hotspot when she heard Brynna’s hushed voice at the bunkhouse door.

  Although Sam and Jen were both in nightgowns, Brynna motioned them outside.

  “What’s up?” Sam asked, ignoring Blaze as he sniffed loudly at her bare toes.

  “Your dad and I have been talking,” Brynna began.

  “What did Linc say?” Jen interrupted. “Has he heard anything from Ryan?”

  “Linc didn’t seem concerned about Hotspot or the fact that he hasn’t heard from Ryan,” Brynna said.

  “I’m shocked,” Sam said sarcastically.

  “And he told Wyatt that he and Karl Mannix parted on friendly terms.”

  A breeze chased through the ranch yard and Blaze pricked his ears up at the sound of a distant owl.

  “Since Linc didn’t seem inclined to do it, I left a message at Sheriff Ballard’s office, just to let him know the mare might have been seen—”

  “Everyone keeps saying ‘the mare,’” Sam said. “Isn’t Shy Boots with her?”

  “Probably,” Brynna said, then she yawned.

  Sam studied her stepmother. She still looked a little pale. “You should get to bed,” Sam said.

  “What do you want us to do?” Jen asked.

  Brynna considered them both with a grateful smile.

  “Unfortunately, I have a teleconference with my boss in Washington, D.C., or I’d stay home tomorrow,” Brynna said.

  “We can handle everything here,” Jen said.

  “That’s good, but Jen, I’m afraid I’m going to leave you shorthanded,” Brynna said. “Even though it’s not really our responsibility, Wyatt and I have decided Sam has the best chance of getting close enough to the Phantom’s herd to see if Hotspot and Shy Boots really are there.”

  “I just don’t…” Sam began, but she couldn’t finish.

  Sam felt as if a chalk line had been marked down the center of her heart. She didn’t know whether to help the Appaloosas or the Phantom.

  “Your dad told me you have qualms about going, and I think they’re well-founded. Still, want to or not, you and Jake are nominated.”

  Cowgirl up, Sam thought.

  “And,” Brynna went on, “I’ve already called Jake and he’ll be here in”—Brynna reached for Sam’s wrist and turned it so she could see the face of her watch—“five hours.”

  Jen suddenly looked happier about her part of tomorrow’s plan.

  “Sweet dreams,” Brynna said. She gave Jen a pat on the back and Sam a kiss on the cheek, then hurried back to the ranch house.

  Three taps from a single fingertip against the bunkhouse door brought Sam awake in the darkness.

  Jake was here.

  Sam sat up and stared at her watch. It was already three o’clock.

  She eased out of her bunk and stood listening, but no one stirred.

  She’d gone to sleep wearing everything but her boots.

  What time had Jake gotten out of bed to be here on time? Sam wondered as she tugged on the boots. And why hadn’t she heard his truck rumble over the bridge and into the ranch yard?

  Sam ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her jacket and hat, then slipped outside.

  She stood blinking in darkness. Where was Jake?

  Thudding hooves and a questioning nicker told her he was in the ten-acre pasture, catching horses. She’d barely finished the thought when she saw him lead Ace and Nike through the faint beam of the front porch light.

  Sam had known Jake wasn’t going to take the time to load Witch and trailer her over this morning. She wondered what had made Jake pick Nike over the other River Bend horses, but it was too early to ask.

  “Hi,” she whispered.

  “You were quick.”

  Sam smiled in the darkness. It was a small compliment, but it spurred her to work even faster to smooth on Ace’s saddle blanket, heft her saddle onto his back, and rock it into place.

  They were ready and swinging into their saddles in the same moment, and not even Blaze had come out to investigate.

  “Which way?” Sam asked.

  They could ride through the ranch, past the barn, and up a trail to the ridgeline that ran behind River Bend and Three Ponies Ranch to reach Aspen Creek, but if they went the front way, they could scan the wild terrain for the Phantom’s herd, and that was the direction in which Jake nodded.

  At 3:15, they were riding across the bridge, headed for the op
en range.

  The sky was moonless and black, but the smell of water and green things blew off the river.

  As they jogged away from River Bend, Nike’s head swung toward Ace.

  Usually he was ridden by Pete, and Sam wondered if Nike, who couldn’t see the rider on his back, was checking with Ace to make sure this new guy was okay.

  “Don’t see much,” Jake said, eyes turned toward the Calico Mountains.

  “Good,” Sam said.

  A dark red-orange stripe outlined the mountains. Sunrise was on its way.

  They swung the horses left, toward Three Ponies and the shortcut to Aspen Creek.

  Riding with Jake was different from riding with Jen. Instead of talking and laughing, Jake rode like a tracker.

  Over the mountains, the red-orange stripe brightened into a serape of pinks.

  Sam saw the silhouette of Jake’s head lift to study the juniper and pinion branches that looked as if they’d been inked in black against that pink.

  Seconds later, a covey of quail fretted and fluttered at the base of the pinions. Had he heard them or only sensed them? Knowing Jake, he might even have smelled them. He wouldn’t miss the fresh scent of sagebrush creased by a bird’s wing.

  Sam tried to ride with the same focus. No matter how hard she listened, though, she didn’t hear a hoof strike granite or the crunch of brush that meant mustangs were wending among the aspen trees to elude the riders.

  If Hotspot was with the mustangs, would she stop, recognizing domestic horses as her own kind? It would be a lot handier if she’d come trotting up to them with Shy Boots by her side, Sam thought, yawning.

  Nike slowed, then stopped.

  “Brynna said Aspen Creek, but where’d you see that stud last?”

  Sam didn’t miss the challenge in Jake’s voice. They were good friends, and she’d do almost anything for him. Almost. One thing she’d never do was reveal the Phantom’s secret valley, and he knew it. Luckily, that wasn’t the answer to his question.

  “The last place I saw mustangs was by the box canyon on the way up to Cowkiller Caldera,” Sam said. “But that was a couple days ago.”

  “’Kay,” Jake said, and instantly Nike’s sorrel body lunged into a lope. The going between here and Aspen Creek was good, so Jake had decided to pick up the pace.