by Terri Farley
“I can see how that might be so,” Dallas said. “Here, let me tote some of that for you,” he added, finally noticing her full arms.
As Callie put everything down, she spotted Sam.
“Sam!” Callie’s arms reached wide for a hug, and Sam was enfolded by silky sleeves and musky perfume. “I thought I’d beat you here. I just wanted to drop off my stuff, hook up the trailer, then hurry back for Queen. I know you’re eager to see her.”
“I really am,” Sam said. “It’s been since Christmas. I bet she’s changed.”
“When I look at pictures from that first week, I can really tell a difference,” Callie agreed. “She’s softer around the eyes and mouth, probably because she’s not in pain from that cracked hoof anymore. And I think she’s more at peace.”
At that, Dallas snorted in disbelief, but instead of arguing, Callie smiled. “Dallas agreed to help me hook up the trailer,” she said.
“Not because she offered t’cut my hair,” he said, tugging his hat lower on his brow. “Though it was a kind offer.”
“Let me take this,” Sam said, reaching for Callie’s suitcase and a brown paper bag. “And this—oof! What have you got in here?”
The bag was really heavy.
Callie’s eyes looked dreamy behind her glasses. “Cantaloupe,” she said, “and a big tub of vanilla yogurt. My favorite breakfast.”
Dallas recoiled. Sam was pretty sure the most exotic things he’d ever had for breakfast were the fried apple rings Gram had served one Sunday near Thanksgiving, and he’d sniffed suspiciously at those.
“Are you sure you can get it?” Callie said as she fished her Jeep keys from a pocket.
“Yeah, the weight just surprised me. I’ll put the bag in the kitchen and your suitcase in the downstairs guest room. It has twin beds.”
“Cool,” Callie said. “The flute can go on my bed, too, if you don’t mind.” Then she fidgeted with her keys. “I hate to leave you already.”
“Wait, do you think I invited you over here? I just wanted to see Queen. Go get her.” Sam used her head to gesture toward the Jeep as Callie laughed. “If you don’t see me when you get back, I’ll be out painting the fence.”
It only took Sam a few minutes to arrange Callie’s stuff in the room they’d share. Next, she hurried out to check the mangers for Ginger, Judge, and Calico. She found Dallas had not only been there ahead of her, he’d already backed Ace out of the trailer.
Sam imagined new responsibilities settling on her shoulders as she waved good-bye to Dallas and watched him drive away.
“We can do this,” she told Ace, then swung into the saddle and rode out to the spot she’d left off painting yesterday.
She finished off one can of paint and was ready to move onto the next can, but it wasn’t easy.
She tried to use the stir stick Mrs. Allen had given her to pop the top off the next can, but it didn’t work. Even when she tried to lever it off with the blade of the pocket knife she carried in her saddlebag, the lid stayed stuck.
“Saving money doesn’t always save time,” Sam told Ace where he grazed, ground-tied. His ears flicked in her direction, but he didn’t seem to have an opinion.
According to Mrs. Allen, the redwood-colored paint had been in her storage shed for at least ten years, probably longer. When Sam had noticed it was lead-based paint and asked if it was dangerous, Mrs. Allen had made a go-on gesture.
“Sure, it’s illegal now, but we’re not painting a baby’s cradle, Samantha.”
“But what if one of the horses cribs?” Sam asked.
“Mustangs don’t do that,” Mrs. Allen insisted.
Right after Tempest had been born, the vet had noticed bare spots of wood in Dark Sunshine’s stall and pointed out that she had been cribbing, due to stress.
“At any rate, people used lead-based paint for a hundred years and you didn’t see horses and cows droppin’ down dead.” Mrs. Allen had stood with her hands perched on the hips of her black skirt, staring at Sam, until she’d given up the argument and started painting.
But now, Sam couldn’t get the old lids off.
Because her fingertips felt flat from working to loosen the lids, Sam stood shaking them and staring off toward the Calico Mountains. She didn’t see the Phantom or any member of his herd, but she was pretty sure she saw the old burn Dad had mentioned.
While much of the nearby terrain was covered with sagebrush, a swathe of land with a single pine tree in its center looked smooth and green. It was carpeted with cheatgrass and Ace was making a meal of it.
“These cans are like, fossilized,” Sam told Ace. This time he just swished his tail and kept grazing.
Frustrated because her day had just begun and she was already thwarted, Sam set her jaw, jammed her pocket knife blade under another lid, and leaned down with all her weight. She knew she could break her pocket knife, but she was sure the lid would budge first.
“I…will…”
Had it moved?
“…get…”
Was it coming loose?
“…this stupid thing…”
With a pop and a creak, the lid flipped off, just missing Sam’s nose.
“Ha!” she celebrated. “I got it.”
Sam painted, trying to finish three sections of the fence before she took a water break. She glanced up when thunder grumbled in some far-off part of the sky, and the hair on her arms stood up with static. She kept painting as the temperature climbed.
She’d forgotten her watch at River Bend Ranch, but Sam figured she’d been working for at least two hours when the crunch of tires turning onto gravel made her look up to see Callie driving slowly into sight with the trailer and Queen.
It must be nearly lunchtime. She deserved a break. Besides, she couldn’t wait to see the mare.
Sam tapped the lid back on the paint can, caught Ace’s reins, and swung into the saddle. He groaned, unwilling to jog with a full belly, but his long-reaching walk got them to the ranch just as Callie was backing her horse from the trailer.
Slim as a Thoroughbred, with barred legs, a stripe on her spine, and a coat the color of cinnamon, the mare tilted her black-edged ears toward Sam and Ace.
“She’s sizing you up,” Callie said.
Sam agreed. The red dun mare looked every inch a mustang queen. She’d been a worthy partner for the Phantom.
“She hasn’t forgotten she was the lead mare,” Sam said.
“It’ll be interesting to see how she does out there,” Callie said, nodding toward the huge pasture where the adopted mustangs roamed.
“Are you sure you want to turn her out? I thought she’d probably stay in the saddle horse pen. That’s where I’m putting Ace.”
“That’s what I’d do if I could ride her, but I can’t,” Callie said. “So I might as well let her have some fun.”
Sam drew a breath. She admired Callie’s faith in her relationship with Queen, but could Callie catch the mare after freedom’s energy had surged through her legs once more? Would the other mustangs welcome her? Or would they shun her as an intruder?
Sam smoothed her hand over Ace’s shoulder as her eyes strayed to the bite scars on his hindquarters. For a long time, Ace had been the lowest member of the saddle horse herd and he’d paid with strips of hide and hungry nights.
“I don’t know anything about the herd hierarchy, except that Roman thinks he’s the boss,” Sam hinted.
“She’ll hold her own.” Callie rubbed her cheek against Queen’s neck and the haughty mare leaned closer.
Since last winter, Callie and Queen had definitely formed a bond, Sam thought. The mare was an adult—probably a four-year-old, at least—and had never known human companionship, so their friendship was amazing. It just showed what could be created out of patience, love, and curiosity.
“Let me tie Ace, and we’ll turn her out,” Sam said.
As she led Ace toward Mrs. Allen’s barn, Sam heard Angel and Imp barking inside the house.
“Poor l
ittle dogs,” she mumbled to Ace. They wanted to come out and see what was going on. “They’ll have to wait until Queen’s out in the pasture, though.”
Ace glanced over his shoulder at the mustang mare and gave a snort that said he agreed that Queen wouldn’t tolerate the yapping uproar of little dogs.
Sam hurried. She loosened the saddle cinch, removed Ace’s headstall, and replaced it with the halter she’d brought from home. Next, she tied him outside Mrs. Allen’s barn.
“Sorry, boy, but you’re not done for the day,” she told him when his head swung around with a look of reproach. “We’ve got to go back out there and keep painting.”
Sam opened the gate into the sanctuary pasture so Callie could lead Queen through. The red dun mare nodded her head right, then left. She stood straight, breathing in the scents of everything around her.
Awareness rippled through Queen as she spotted figures so far out in the pasture they looked like toys. But when Callie unsnapped her lead rope, the mare didn’t bolt off after the other horses. Instead, Queen grazed.
Sam only believed the red dun’s lack of interest for a second. Queen’s pricked ears and the way she snatched mouthfuls of grass showed she was alert to the other mustangs.
“This is a nice place,” Callie said, and sighed as she looked around.
“I’ll give you the tour later,” Sam said. “But now, I should let Imp and Angel out. It sounds like they’re going nuts in there.”
As soon as Sam opened the door, the black-and-white dogs bounded out. Their toenails scraped on the porch, then clicked on the garden’s stepping stones. Finally, they leaped around the girls’ ankles, hopping up to lick any skin they could reach.
“Down, you guys,” Sam said.
The dogs stopped for a second. They snuffled through flat-faced nostrils, then turned all their attention to Callie while Sam thought about lunch.
“There’s a tree house not far from here. How about if we take our sandwiches out to it? I don’t think we’ll get rained on,” Sam said, looking upward.
Gray clouds spread overhead as evenly as a ceiling. Though the wind had picked up, tension lay on the air. Maybe the bees had been right and a storm was on its way.
“Great idea,” Callie said. “When we’re done eating, I’ll help you paint the fence.”
Sam knew she should protest that it was Callie’s day off, but she didn’t. The work would go faster and be more fun with company.
“That’d be great,” Sam said. “I’ll go make lunch.”
When she came back outside with the brown paper bag that held their picnic and tried to shoo the dogs back inside, Angel and Imp panted with rasping breaths and skittered out of reach.
Their round brown eyes stared beseechingly at Callie.
“Let’s bring them,” she said, and Sam agreed.
Angel and Imp followed obediently at their heels until they reached the tree house. Then, Callie climbed the ladder to the level deck, and held out her arms. Cradling Imp against her chest, Sam took three steps up the ladder, then passed the dog to Callie. Once Callie set Imp down, he wiggled his stumpy tail and barked, encouraging Angel to come join him.
Sam backed down the ladder, scooped up Angel, and ascended the steps again.
“Piece of cake,” Sam said as she passed the second dog to Callie.
From the tree house deck, Callie and Sam had lofty views of Deerpath Ranch and all of Mrs. Allen’s lands. Past the highway, the La Charla River flowed. They could make out the edge of the sanctuary pasture where its fence of freshly painted brown-red gave way to faded gray. Beyond that boundary, they could see stacked plateaus leading up to the Calico Mountains.
The girls munched their sandwiches and absorbed the stark beauty of the high desert land.
No bigger than a couple of loaves of bread, Imp and Angel lay between Sam and Callie. The black-and-white dogs refused all scraps and panted nervously, but they didn’t want to get down.
“You can see where I’m painting,” Sam said, pointing. “From down there, it seems like I’ve done lots more.”
There was something about Callie’s accepting tranquility that made Sam add, “I saw the Phantom out there yesterday.”
Callie’s smile lit her face. “I hope you know how rare that is, having a wild horse come to you like that.”
Sam ducked her head in acceptance. “He didn’t come right up to me, but we saw each other, and this is definitely part of his territory. Mrs. Allen has paintings of mustangs in her studio. She’s done a lot of them over the years.”
“Cool,” Callie said, still staring toward the mountains.
Sam didn’t add that Mrs. Allen’s favorite models these days were carnivorous plants. But Sam was pretty sure Callie would be just as accepting of that switch.
One of the things she really liked about the older girl was her tolerance of other people.
Sam had just an instant to notice the warmth of the little dogs pressing close to her thigh. Then they whined and flattened their ears as lightning tore the pearl gray sky.
Sam squinted against the brightness. She winced at the hissing crackle and a smell like gunpowder.
Before either girl could speak, thunder boomed.
“We’d better go inside,” Sam managed, but Callie was pointing.
At what? Sam stared, eyes skimming down the wind-fluttered sleeve blowing back from Callie’s wrist.
“What’s burning?” Callie asked.
“I don’t see—”
And then she did. Skinny red arms offered up a crazy, twisting white thread.
That’s what it looked like until Sam’s brain made sense of what she was seeing.
The red arms were the branches of the single flaming pine tree. It stood in the middle of the swathe of cheatgrass and the twisting white threads around the tree were smoke.
The lightning strike had started a fire.
Suddenly Dad’s words slammed through Sam’s brain.
“If a fire starts on the flat and gets a western wind behind it, it’ll race over the range and those canyons will act like chimneys.”
Chapter Five
“Go, go, go!” Sam shouted, but when Callie hesitated before climbing down from the tree house, Sam went first.
Barely looking behind, Sam stepped down on a ladder rung. A sudden wind, so strong it seemed determined to trip her, swirled around her legs.
“We’ve got to call the volunteer fire department—”
“Before the fire reaches the sanctuary,” Callie finished.
With a flash of guilt, Sam realized she’d been thinking of the Phantom. She’d pictured flames licking through brush-filled gullies and narrow ravines, chasing the mustangs, when there were horses—even Ace!—in danger right here.
Her feet stopped and Sam held her arms up.
“I’ll take one of the dogs,” she shouted.
“Okay,” Callie said, and passed one of the wriggling Boston bull terriers to Sam.
“Angel, sweetie, be still,” Sam crooned as the dog’s slick fur slipped in her fingers. She managed to clamp the dog against her chest with one hand as she held to the ladder with her other, but when Sam’s foot reached downward, Angel decided she’d had enough.
Her small jaws clamped a warning bite on Sam’s wrist.
“Hey!” Sam yelled, more surprised than hurt. Her grip must have loosened, because Angel writhed free. Sam grappled for the dog, but Angel was already falling.
She hit the ground with a yelp.
Two rungs above Sam, Callie had Imp pinned between her arm and ribs. She looked back.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said, “But Angel—”
Sam’s voice broke off with a cough, but her feet kept moving. She reached the ground in time to see Angel stand, shake the dirt from her coat, and begin barking.
As soon as Callie reached the ground and released Imp, the dogs scampered two laps around the tree, then raced for the house.
Sam and Callie took off
after them, but when their shoulders brushed for the second time, Sam realized they were both staring toward the fire.
Orange flames danced amid the smoke. The winds warred for control, blowing both fire and smoke from side to side.
“The horses are penned,” Sam gasped, remembering the barn fire at River Bend Ranch. Trapped and forgotten inside the high-sided round pen, Dark Sunshine had screamed to be freed. “Should we let them out?”
“They’re safe for now,” Callie said. “If the fire truck comes…”
Sam nodded and kept running. The firefighters would be busy fighting the blaze. Loose horses would just add to the confusion.
“Just run,” Callie shouted.
“I’ve gotta…” Sam bolted toward the barn where Ace rolled his eyes and jerked at his halter rope.
Her knot was holding, but she couldn’t leave him tied. Anything could happen.
“Ace, it’s okay boy.”
The gelding’s whinny said he knew very well that nothing was okay.
Sam tugged the loose end of her quick-release knot and ran toward the corral, towing Ace. He followed but his steps veered from side to side, and when she opened the gate and he saw Calico, Ginger, and Judge trotting nervously around their pen, Ace refused to enter.
“Ace!” Sam shouted. “Knock it off!”
Then Sam closed her eyes in frustration. At herself.
Wise from his years on the range, Ace knew the scent of smoke meant danger. He’d learned, too, that when humans acted frantic and out of control, there was trouble.
Callie had run inside to call the fire department. What would it hurt to comfort Ace, just a little?
“Sorry, pretty boy,” Sam said. As soon as she let the rope fall loose between them the horse stepped nearer.
Ace turned his head aside, but one eye watched her. His lips moved as if grumbling what he thought of her craziness.
“Just go in with them, Ace,” Sam said, but then the wind shifted, bringing smells of heat and smoke. Ace’s nostrils widened and closed, and Sam’s mind raced ahead. “Maybe in a few minutes I’ll ask Callie to give you a ride home.”
