by Terri Farley
Still, she knew he was right. Gelded horses were easier to train.
“I don’t think Wyatt has much use for a breeding stallion around the place. They’re unpredictable.” Jake cleared his throat. “Besides, you’ve heard Slocum criticize mustangs, and what he says is mild. Lots of ranchers think they should be gunned down on sight.”
Sam blocked the mental flash of a rifle shot and horses falling.
“You’re saying no one would pay to breed mares to him,” Sam said. “No matter how strong, fast, and smart he is?”
“I know it sounds harsh, but it’s true.”
“Besides, he’d be miserable,” Sam said.
“Dangerous, Sam. When that stallion is scared, he’s dangerous. Got it?”
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Sam glanced over to see if the waitress had looked up from her magazine at the sound of their bickering. She hadn’t.
“You might be right,” Sam admitted. “Think of that little stallion staking out his territory in the Willow Springs corral.”
“I didn’t say a stallion like him, Sam. I said, that particular stallion. The Phantom. Blackie. Whatever you called him before. He nearly killed you.”
This time, Jake’s guilt didn’t turn him pale. His ruddy skin grew darker.
“He wasn’t trying to—”
“Sam. Shut up.” Jake grabbed Sam’s wrist before she could push back her chair and stomp out of the restaurant. “Sorry. I didn’t mean ‘shut up.’ Could you just listen a minute? This talk between us has been a long time coming. We’re going to have it now.”
Sam’s hands shook when Jake took his away.
“Most of the time, I don’t think we should even hang around together.” Jake looked at her from the corner of his eye, like a nervous horse. “I can’t help teasing you, and you take it as a dare. That’s why you keep getting in trouble.”
“I get in trouble on my own,” Sam said. “You’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Don’t try to lead me off the subject, Sam. We’re going to talk about that day.”
Jake was right. She did not want to relive that day. In her lap, Sam’s hands curled into fist and her fingernails bit into her palms.
“When I tried all that Native American horse taming stuff with Blackie—”
“It worked,” she interrupted, then put her fingers over her lips. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet now. But it did work.”
“Yeah. Most of it I’d do over again. Some stuff I still do with rough stock your dad turns over to me. When you gave him a secret name, sighed your breath into his nostrils, and mounted him for the first time in the river, it all worked.”
Jake’s eyes grew dreamy as he remembered. “That colt was yours, body and soul.”
Jake looked up then, sharply. “But he’s still got a horse’s brain. We couldn’t trust him to think for himself.”
“It was my idea to leave the ranch grounds,” Sam said, remembering the second day she’d ridden Blackie.
“I was older. I knew better.”
“I remember begging,” Sam said.
“So what? I shouldn’t have given in to a little kid.”
The wind had come up outside the restaurant. Dust pecked at the window. There were no trees and few other buildings to slow its force.
It had been a windy day at River Bend, when she’d sweet-talked Jake into letting her ride Blackie.
He’d agreed, but only if she met his list of requirements. Jake told her to ride bareback, so she did. He insisted something soft be used for Blackie’s first bit-less bridle, so Sam fashioned an outgrown red flannel nightgown into a headstall and attached cotton rope reins.
As they’d set out, the colt looked flashy and responded like a dream. He’d welcomed Sam’s small weight on his back and her hand resting on his withers. His wide eyes took in everything and his slim black legs pranced as they’d passed the ranch house, angled through pastures, and headed for the open range.
“Everything was going fine,” Jake’s voice narrated the pictures in Sam’s mind. “You followed my directions, exactly.”
“Because I looked up to you, Jake, even though you called me a brat and a tagalong and teased me unmercifully.” Sam was joking, but Jake’s downcast expression said she’d made him feel even worse.
“I only planned to take you out a mile or so, but Blackie was doing so great, we just kept riding.”
“It showed how much time we’d taken gentling him,” Sam added. “You taught me a lot, Jake.”
Jake didn’t seem to hear her.
“All the way out, I opened the gates and closed them behind us. I don’t know why I thought that was such a chore.”
From her earliest days, Sam had known that major ranch rule. If a rider came to a gate that was open, the gate was left open. If it was shut, the rider had to ride through, then back his horse and close it.
“Coming back, I let you ride ahead, so you could maneuver Blackie to open the gate. You’d only been riding him for one day, though, and it was windy. Blackie was already starting to spook at blowing sagebrush. What was I thinking making you fight those gates?”
Sam thought she’d forgotten most of that day, but details came back with the remembered scent of dust on summer wind and Jake’s shout.
“Ride in parallel to the gate,” Jake had yelled. “Parallel, brat. Get him to face the hinge. That’s it. Now rattle the gate. Whoa, keep him together. Now ride back and do it again. Parallel. Rattle it. See? He’s not as scared this time.”
Blackie had tensed beneath her. She’d felt his sweat soak through her jeans. But he’d trusted her. By the third time Sam rattled the gate, the colt didn’t tremble.
But holding the gate open and getting the horse through wasn’t easy. By then, Sam was sweating, too.
“Pull the gate towards you. Don’t take your hand off it.”
“Jake, it’s too hard. He’s scared.”
Sam could still hear her quavering voice, and she’d known her hands, shaking on the reins, only made the colt more afraid.
“Just back him through, or turn him,” Jake’s impatience made Sam feel clumsy. “Don’t take your hand off the gate, I said. Sam, get a grip.”
The black colt had danced in place, tossing his head. His black mane stung her cheeks and her arm ached from holding the gate open. Her legs quivered from urging the horse to obey.
“Jake, he’s really scared,” she said over Blackie’s snorts. “You have to get this gate. I can’t.”
All right, you baby. The words echoed in Sam’s mind. Had he really said them? Sam looked at Jake across the table and asked.
“Yeah, I said it,” Jake admitted. “And soon as you twisted around in your saddle to start yelling that you’d slug me if I didn’t take it back, Blackie fell apart. He charged into the gate. You lost your hold on it and Blackie thought he was trapped.
“His shoulders were only pinned for a minute, but he reared to escape. I tried to ride in and help, but he bolted backward, slamming into my horse. You stayed on, until he took off for open range.”
That’s when she’d lost her reins. Sam remembered leaning against the colt’s neck, looking down at the gray-green desert floor speeding by in a blur as the ropes swirled around the colt’s running legs.
Why hadn’t she just held tight and ridden out his fear? Why had she stretched, reaching down to grab them? It made no sense to her now, but she had.
“And when you leaned down on the left to grab your reins, he caught a glimpse of you and veered hard right. You went one way, he went the other, and his off hind hoof caught you in the head.”
Like a drumbeat she’d never forget, Sam heard those hooves pounding away. She felt weak, as if she’d lived it all over again. As if she were lying shaken on the ground.
“I don’t remember much after that,” she said.
“You were unconscious. Your head was bleeding. I knew head wounds bled a lot. I knew it, but it was your head. And there was so much…blood.” Jake separ
ated the last two words with silence. “I didn’t know what to do.”
What should he have done? Sam didn’t know, and yet she was thirteen now, the same age Jake had been then.
Water rushed against a metal sink as someone washed dishes in the restaurant kitchen. The waitress closed her magazine, stretched, and carried her plate across the room on squeaky tennis shoes.
“Can I get you two something else?” she asked.
“No, we’re just going,” Jake said.
What should he have done? Sam swept the candy wrappers into a pile. Then she and Jake stood and headed for the door. Jake took his black Stetson from the rack, as she threw the wrappers away.
Sam squinted against blowing dust as they left Clara’s and walked toward Phil’s Fill-Up.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, galloping away, leaving you there all alone.”
Sam tried to catch Jake’s arm. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t help being a dumb kid, that he had no right to keep shouldering this guilt.
She felt Jake’s bicep tense as he shook free of her hand, refusing comfort. He kept striding toward the gas station and Sam rushed to keep up.
“I’d heard not to move folks who were badly injured, so I didn’t. But the whole way back to River Bend, and the entire trip riding out, leading your dad to you, I kept promising God that if you weren’t dead, I’d watch over you better.”
Sam bit the inside of her cheek. She certainly didn’t want to interfere with Jake’s bargain, but she didn’t want a constant watchdog either.
“And I wasn’t dead. Which is great.” Sam made her voice cheerful. “But I’m a big girl now and I can take care of myself.”
Jake stopped. He faced her in the middle of the sidewalk.
“A promise is a promise, Sam. Get used to it. I won’t let anyone, including Wyatt, give that horse a second chance to kill you.”
Chapter Twelve
IT TOOK SAM MORE than a few steps to shake off Jake’s announcement.
They had almost reached the truck when she saw Dad hold up a small cardboard box. The pump part must be inside, because he looked pretty happy.
When Jake gave Dad a smiling thumbs-up, the tension waned and Sam finally asked the question that had nibbled at her all afternoon.
“If Buddy were crying for her lunch from the pasture and Gram was in the garden, she’d hear, wouldn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “Which pasture? Did you put her out with the horses?”
“No, the other pasture.”
“Right by the barn?” Jake shook his head. “If you got those rails back up, alone, you’re stronger than you look, Wonder Woman.”
“Rails?” Sam’s stomach sank.
“The fence rails. We lowered them to back the truck in with hay last week. I should’ve had them back up by now, but since we weren’t using it…” Jake’s words trailed off as he watched her.
“I hope Buddy didn’t find the opening in the fence.”
“She couldn’t have missed it, Sam. How could you not see the rails laying in the grass? They opened a hole big enough to drive a truck through.”
“I was in a hurry this morning.” Sam’s lips felt numb as she mumbled the words.
On the ride home, neither Sam nor Jake mentioned her mistake. Jake had changed a lot. Two years ago, he would have rushed to Wyatt to announce her blunder.
Hurry, hurry. It can’t be too late. Oh please, let it not be too late. Sam leaned forward in her seat, as if she could make the truck move faster.
As late afternoon grayed into dusk, Dad offered to drop Jake at home. Jake said he’d ride Witch from River Bend.
“Suit yourself,” Dad said. “But it’s coming on dark.”
By the time the truck rumbled over River Bend bridge, the sky had turned ink-blue. Only the bottoms of clouds were orange from the setting sun.
When the truck headlights showed Gram, dressed for riding and leading Ace, Sam’s dread turned to fear. Had she saved Buddy’s life just to lose her now?
She glanced at Jake. So, this was how it felt to be guilty and totally to blame.
“What is it?” Dad called out the window, before he stopped the truck.
“The calf’s disappeared. I didn’t go in for lunch until quite late. Then, I noticed her bottle in the refrigerator. I’d forgotten all about it,” Gram said. “I was surprised she hadn’t reminded me with her bawling. I’ve scouted all over on foot and I was just getting ready to ride out, calling for her.”
“Let me go.” Sam was out of the truck, reaching for Ace’s reins. “Please.”
“In a minute,” Dad said. “First explain how this happened.”
Sam knew she had no choice.
“This morning, before I knew we were going to Willow Springs, I turned Buddy out into the pasture.”
“Which pasture?”
Sam glanced at Jake. “The one with the rails down.”
“Did you put them back up?” Dad looked at Jake as if he might have helped.
“No. I, uh, didn’t notice they were down,” Sam admitted. “About an hour ago, I mentioned what I’d done, to Jake, and he told me the rails had been down for a week.”
Sam felt herself shrink as Dad stared at her.
“Better get going,” he said, finally. He shooed her with one hand, as if he wanted her out of his sight.
“I’ll get Witch and ride along,” Jake said.
“No, you won’t,” Dad barked. “That calf was Sam’s responsibility, Jake. Let her go.”
Sam didn’t know where to start, but she didn’t ask for help. Instead, she tried to think like a cow. She started at the downed rails and rode through every gate that stood ajar, zigzagging on a path that led toward open range.
The afternoon’s breeze had turned into a cold night wind, but Sam wouldn’t turn back for a jacket.
Buddy could be lost. Her soft fur could be snagged on barbed wire. Those delicate legs could be trapped between rocks in a ravine.
The calf was a baby, too young to be out alone. Whatever happened to her, Sam would be to blame.
When Sam heard a quick series of yips, she stopped Ace. She watched the gelding’s ears. They swivelled forward, locating the coyotes, but he didn’t turn skittish, so Sam rode on.
Dark clouds blew across the moon’s surface, dimming light that might have helped her search. Sam stopped, and stared into the near-darkness. Dad must be terribly angry to let her come out in the dark, alone, where anything could happen.
Ace heard Buddy first. The gelding froze, head level and ears pricked forward.
Sam heard the calf bawl, but then the sound cut off. Why?
With nightmarish uncertainty, Sam rode another step. Stopped. Rode a step. Turned her head to listen. She couldn’t give up, but she couldn’t tell where Buddy’s cry had come from, either. Finally, she trusted Ace.
“You’re the one with the cow sense. I’m just a tenderfoot.” Sam rubbed the mustang’s neck. “See if you can find her, please?”
She gave Ace his lead and he stepped out with confidence. Soon, he trotted through the darkness, jumpy but unafraid.
Two coyotes had Buddy cornered. With her tail flat against a fence post and her head lowered for a charge, the calf did her best to protect herself.
It wasn’t good enough.
One coyote rushed in to nip the calf’s flank. When Buddy faced her attacker, the other coyote darted for her shoulder.
“No!” Sam shouted. She clapped her heels against Ace’s sides and sent him running forward.
The gelding liked nothing about this. Not the calf bawling toward the sky. Not the coyotes, who’d paired up and backed off a few yards. The gelding slowed into a shambling gait, but he didn’t refuse to run between the calf and the coyotes.
When Buddy saw yet another monster, Ace, bearing down on her, she sprinted past.
The coyotes followed the calf.
“Stop it! Go on, get away!” Still holding her reins, Sam slid from A
ce’s saddle. She picked up a rock and heaved it.
The coyotes dodged, then stood watching her. Moonbeams broke through the clouds, spotlighting them for a moment. Absolutely doglike, the coyotes stood watching, heads tilted, confused by Sam’s screaming.
“Get out of here!” Sam’s voice rasped this time.
She was breathless and scared, and the coyotes knew it. They trotted only a few steps before looking back. Sam tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt. The coyotes probably thought they could take Buddy away from her. And they were right.
Desperate, Sam held her arms out wide, flapped them, and rushed forward.
Apparently, the coyotes didn’t want to try their luck against a crazy person. They broke into an easy lope and didn’t even break stride as they ducked under a fence. Before Sam’s eyes, they disappeared on the sage-spotted plain.
At last, Buddy recognized her. The calf meandered closer, snuffling, then leaned against Sam’s legs. All she had to do was get the calf up across Ace’s saddle, and it would be a short ride home. Dad would be proud of her. Or at least not quite so angry.
And she’d do it. In a minute.
With one hand, Sam rubbed Buddy’s ears. With the other, she held her reins, so she couldn’t cover her mouth when she yawned.
“You don’t care, do you, Ace?” Her words came out in a muffled roar and suddenly, Ace was done cooperating.
He backed to the end of the reins. His ears tilted out, until he looked like a mule. When she lifted Buddy and staggered forward, Ace continued backing, shaking his head.
“C’mon, Ace,” she puffed, but the gelding refused to stand.
When Sam tripped and fell on top of the exhausted calf, Ace snorted and pawed the ground.
Sam struggled back to her feet and faced the horse. She shouldn’t give in to him. If she did, he’d learn misbehaving got him what he wanted. But Sam was too tired to fight.
She wanted to be home, warming the backs of her legs in front of the fireplace, before she crawled into bed.
“Okay, you win.” Sam took the rope from her saddle, settled a loop gently around Buddy’s neck and led her home.
Buddy’s bottle was in the barn, waiting. Once she had suckled and fallen asleep, Sam brushed Ace and turned him loose in the pasture. Then she got furious all over again at the coyotes.
