The Wild One Read online

  “Gram.” Sam’s throat felt tight, but she fought back tears. She didn’t need to look like a wimp already.

  Gram hadn’t missed a week of writing to her in San Francisco. Almost all the news Sam received from the ranch came from Gram.

  “Besides, Sam looks like a nice young lady. Not a weasel.” Gram touched Sam’s hair, reminding her of the mistake she’d made cutting it. “You’ll see that for yourself, Jake, when you’ve showered up for dinner and washed the dust out of your eyes.”

  Calling the midday meal “dinner” instead of lunch was one more thing Sam had forgotten.

  When Dad hefted her backpack and duffle bag, Sam wished he’d put them down. She could wait to get inside the house. She could wait to breathe the remembered smells of woodsmoke and coffee and to fling herself down on the patchwork-quilted bed she knew Gram had kept ready for her. She could not wait to see her horse.

  “Where’s Ace?” she blurted.

  “Let me drop these inside and I’ll show you.” Dad shrugged the backpack higher up his shoulder and walked toward the house.

  “You’re givin’ her Ace?” Jake shouted after Dad. “Ace?” Jake yelled again, but the screen door had slammed closed. “You gotta be kidding.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck, then faced Sam. He looked her over for just a second too long. Then said, “Ace’s smarter than you and me put together.”

  “Then he and I ought to do just fine.” Sam looked down at Blaze. Since the Border collie was begging her to rub his ears, she did.

  “Yeah? You’re quite some rider, are you, Zorro?”

  Sam looked up. She thought Jake’s eyes clouded with something like worry, but she must have misread his look. Jake’s joke had been aimed at her black tee shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers.

  “Excuse me.” Sam placed a hand against her chest and pretended to apologize. “Guess I’ve been in civilization so long I just plumb ran out of cowboy duds.”

  She didn’t mention she’d only ridden four times in two years, and all four times had been in a stable’s riding ring. She sure didn’t tell Jake he’d hit on the one thing she was really worried about.

  “You kids knock it off,” Dad said as he returned from the house. He sounded amused, though, not a bit mad.

  “I was only telling Sam how glad I am to see her.” Jake’s arm circled Sam’s shoulders. Although his voice brimmed with sarcasm, Sam felt a genuine warmth in Jake’s hug.

  This might turn into her best summer yet.

  Ace was runty. Fourteen hands at best, he stood alone.

  When Sam came to the fence, the other horses lifted their heads and swished their tails with faint interest. A little grass fell from their lips before they went back to grazing.

  Not Ace. If a horse could put his hands on his hips and look as if he were asking “And what do you want?” that’s exactly what Ace did.

  His hide glowed a nice warm bay and he had neat white hind socks, but a scar made a long line of lighter hair on his neck.

  “Ace!” Sam held out a hand and smooched to him.

  For a heartbeat, Ace was a horse transformed. His tiny head tilted sideways. His back-cast ears pricked up, black tips curving in. He pranced forward with the fluid grace of a dressage horse—until he saw that Sam’s hand was empty.

  Ace planted all four legs with a stiffness, which showed he was insulted.

  “Told you he was smart.” Jake laughed.

  “I wasn’t trying to trick him!” Sam said. “I just wanted him to come over and let me rub his ears.”

  From the ranch house porch, Gram clanged something metal against a triangle. She didn’t shout “Come and get it,” but they all hurried in for lunch. Except for Sam.

  She stalled, thinking Ace might come to her if the others left. She was wrong. Ace looked at her, shivered his skin as if shaking off a fly, and yawned.

  Mashed potatoes sat next to a mound of green beans fragrant with onions and bacon. Dad plopped a slab of beef on Sam’s plate. All this for lunch.

  Sam glanced around the kitchen. White plastered walls and oak beams made it cozy and bright at the same time. She wondered about the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall.

  “I know he doesn’t look like much, Sam,” Dad said. “But Ace is a great little horse.”

  Before she answered, Sam noticed Jake kept a sidelong glance aimed her way as he reached for a platter piled with biscuits.

  “I’m sure he’s super,” Sam said.

  It wasn’t that she minded Ace’s size. She was barely five feet tall, herself. She could mount a small horse more easily. But that scar. And his attitude…

  “What about that mark on his neck?”

  “The freeze brand?” Jake held his butter knife in midair, and Sam knew she’d surprised him.

  Sam looked from Jake to her father.

  “That’s what it is,” Dad agreed. “Ace is a mustang. He used to run with the herd you saw today.”

  Gram made a hum of disapproval, but Sam didn’t try to decipher it.

  “After wild horses are rounded up and vaccinated, they’re branded with liquid nitrogen,” Dad explained. “That freezes the skin temporarily, the horse’s fur turns white and—”

  “Really? He was wild?” Sam’s mind replayed the gelding’s attitude. Ace hadn’t been rude. He just had pride.

  A stab of disloyalty deflated Sam’s excitement as she remembered her lost colt.

  “I wonder if he could’ve known—” Sam hesitated. “If he could’ve run with Blackie.”

  “That’s a fool thing to say.” Jake rocked his chair onto its back legs.

  “It’s not, is it?” Sam appealed to her father.

  Dad blew his cheeks full of air and shook his head.

  “Jake, put all four chair legs back on the floor, if you please,” Gram ordered.

  Jake’s chair slammed down, but his face was flushed crimson. Did he hate her for losing the horse they’d worked so hard to train? Or did Jake’s blush mean what Linc Slocum had implied: some folks blamed Jake for Sam’s injury?

  It didn’t matter. The accident had happened years ago. She wanted to know where Blackie was now.

  “What about that stallion we saw turning the herd away from the helicopter?” Sam’s hands curled into fists. She kept them in her lap. “That was the Phantom, right? What if Blackie’s running with the Phantom?”

  Were they just going to let her babble until she ran out of breath?

  “Now, Sam, first off, there’s no such thing as the Phantom. There’s been a white stud on this range as far back as I can recall. Dallas—you remember Dal, our foreman?”

  Sam nodded, but her fists tightened with impatience.

  “Well, he claims sometimes, when he’s up late playing the guitar in front of the bunkhouse, he’s seen a shadowy horse just across the river. He thinks it’s the Phantom, drawn by the music.” Dad shrugged, but Sam felt chills at the picture his words painted.

  “Folks always call him the Phantom. But it’s not the same horse year after year. He’s a…” Dad put down his fork and rotated one hand in the air. “You know, like a local legend.”

  I know that, Sam wanted to interrupt, but Dad was trying to be nice, so she just listened.

  “There’s fast blood in one line of light-colored mustangs, that’s all,” Dad continued. “They haven’t been caught because they run the legs off our saddle stock. Not because they’re ‘phantoms.’”

  “But aren’t white horses unusual? I mean, maybe it is the same horse. Maybe he’s really old.” Sam cut a green bean into four neat sections.

  “Remember Smoke, Blackie’s sire?” Dad asked. “That old cow pony was a mustang and he was dark as Blackie when he was a yearling. He turned gray by age five, but he was snow white by the time he died last spring.

  “That’s the way it is with most white horses, if they’re not albinos, and that’s all there is to this Phantom.”

  So quick that it startled them all, Gram stood up. She lifted the coffeepot, pou
red a cup for Dad, and set it before him.

  “Who wants dessert?” Gram went to the counter and came back with a pie. She placed it on the table.

  “I don’t know.” Sam wondered if she could eat another bite.

  “No excuses, young lady.” Gram’s thick-bladed knife split the golden crust. She served Sam along with everyone else.

  “And second, Sam,” Dad watched her over the top of his coffee cup, “we’ve watched for your colt and haven’t seen him. With all the trouble these horses are into—”

  “And Linc bein’ loco to catch the Phantom,” Jake added.

  “What he thinks he’ll do with that stud is beyond me,” Dad said, shaking his head.

  “Wyatt, it’s clear as glass what he intends.” Gram sat down with her own pie. “Linc Slocum moved out West to play cowboy. He bought a ranch. He hired men to teach him to ride and rope. He bought clothes to look the part of a working buckaroo, but he only looks like he’s wearing a costume.

  “Folks still see him as an outsider,” Gram said, mostly to Sam. “So he wants a wild white stallion that stands for everything he can’t buy.”

  “Capturing the Phantom won’t change what folks think of him,” Jake said.

  “And it’ll land him in jail if the Bureau of Land Management finds out,” Dad added.

  Sam fidgeted with her napkin. Linc Slocum gave her the creeps.

  “If Blackie joined a herd headed away from here, it would be for his own good,” Dad said, then swallowed his last bite of pie.

  Sam thought for a minute, counting up the years. Blackie would be almost five by now. A stallion. With his mustang bloodlines, he could survive in the wild.

  “Blackie’s got a herd of his own, now,” she said and crossed her arms. “That’s what I think.”

  By the time Sam left the table, the snap on her jeans was pushing against her stomach. She felt stuffed and a little sleepy, but she could hardly wait to go ride Ace. Still, she tried to be polite.

  “Want me to wash dishes?” she offered, then crossed her fingers. Please let Gram refuse.

  “No, you better go try out your horse.” Gram stacked the dishes.

  Sam knew it wasn’t fair to leave Gram indoors, while she, Dad, and Jake escaped into the June afternoon.

  “Maybe I’ll unpack first.” Sam fidgeted near Gram’s elbow.

  “Don’t do that.” Gram slipped the plates into a sink full of soap suds. “It’ll just be a waste of time.”

  “Don’t unpack?” Sam bit her lip. “Why not?”

  Jake slid his chair away from the table with a screech. “You won’t be staying long. That’s why not.”

  Chapter Three

  SAM COULD HAVE SWORN the roast beef wiggled in her belly. What did Jake mean when he said she wasn’t staying long?

  “What Jake means,” Gram said, “is we’ll be leaving in the morning, so it makes no sense to unpack and repack.” Gram watched Sam with gentle eyes. “I’ll help you go through your clothes, though, and make sure you have what you’ll need.”

  “Need for what?” Sam’s shout surprised her as much as it did everyone else.

  “Wyatt!” Gram tied her apron strings with a jerk. “Don’t tell me you didn’t explain.”

  “It was a surprise.” Looking embarrassed, Dad turned to Sam. “We’re moving the cattle from their winter pasture near the Calico Mountains up here to River Bend for the summer. It will take about a week and a half, because we do it the old-fashioned way, on horseback.”

  “It’s easier on the calves,” Jake added.

  “Besides,” Dad said, “it’ll be a good way for you to get to know Ace and get back into the habit of riding.”

  “About ten hours a day!” Jake laughed.

  Sam swallowed hard and returned his idiot grin, but she wasn’t at all sure she was up to such riding. If only Jake hadn’t said it like a dare.

  Gram gave Sam a gentle push toward the door. “With all that riding ahead, you’d better get acquainted with your new horse.”

  Like Sam, Ace had good manners. Sam bridled Ace as Dad watched and the gelding accepted the bit as if it were candy-coated. He didn’t puff up his belly when she saddled him, either, or move off while her left foot fumbled for the stirrup.

  Sam and Ace circled the pasture with precision. Walk, jog, lope. The little bay made her look like an expert. All she had to do was stir her legs and the horse moved as she asked. And he was a mustang? Jake and Dad must be joking.

  “You know what this is like?” Sam whispered, and the gelding’s ears flicked back to listen. “Like you’re just baby-sitting me, Ace.”

  Sam drew back on her reins and Ace stopped. He didn’t shift from leg to leg, didn’t pull against the bit. He did turn his head, noticing that Dad and Jake had walked away from the pasture fence. Bored stiff, probably.

  Far off, Sam heard a neigh. Ace tossed his head and looked toward the foothills. Sam looked, too. She saw nothing, but Ace vibrated beneath her, nickering. Sam collected her reins an instant before Ace lunged from a standing stop into a full gallop.

  Oh, no. Sam crashed back against the high Western cantle. Her teeth clacked together. She grabbed handfuls of Ace’s coarse black mane and tried not to lose her stirrups.

  The horse ran faster. Surely Ace wouldn’t crash through the other horses clustered near the fence. Would he?

  Sam leaned low against his extended neck and inched her hands down the reins, closer to the bit. As she remembered the last time she’d galloped this way, her pulse pounded in her neck. This time, she would not fall off.

  Wind whipped Ace’s mane into Sam’s eyes. He was running away. Sam pulled the reins tighter, afraid she’d hurt his mouth. Ace ignored her. Then she tugged.

  As if they’d run head-on into a brick wall, Ace stopped.

  Sam slipped forward. The saddle horn poked her stomach, but that was all that kept her from sliding down his neck like a kid going headfirst down a playground slide. Thinking fast, she wrapped her arms around Ace’s neck. Tight.

  When Ace coughed, Sam made herself uncoil one arm. She really hoped no one was watching. Finally she took the other arm from around the gelding’s neck.

  Drawing a deep breath, she sat up, straightened her reins, and flexed her fingers. Her hands might be shaking from the pressure she’d applied to the bit, but she was pretty sure she was trembling because Ace had scared her half to death.

  Could she ride this horse for ten days, with witnesses?

  Beyond the pasture, near the barn, Jake waved. Sam pretended not to notice. No way was she going to take a hand off the reins to wave back.

  Ace stamped one hoof and slung his head around to look at Sam. His big brown eyes glowed with intelligence and an equine sense of humor. For the first time, she noticed the white star high on his forehead.

  “I apologize for thinking you were boring.” Sam dismounted, keeping a grip on the reins. Her knees wobbled as she rubbed the gelding’s warm neck. “You’re a good boy, Ace.”

  The horse tossed his forelock to cover the star, then he followed obediently as Sam led.

  Dismounting in the middle of the pasture might be silly. Leading Ace back to the barn, instead of riding him, might confirm Jake’s opinion that she was a wimp. Still, there was no way in the world Sam would risk another one-horse stampede. Ace had proven he had the pride of a mustang.

  A white quilt decorated with a patchwork star covered Sam’s bed. The mattress was perfect—not too hard, not too soft. The pillow wasn’t too puffy or too flat. Still, Sam couldn’t sleep.

  The full moon turned her bedroom wall into a movie screen. At least, that’s what she’d thought as a child. Sam remembered staring at it, imagining stories in her own private theater.

  In the best one, Blackie had worn the red and green Christmas ribbons she’d plaited into his mane. Together, he and Sam had rescued Mrs. Ott, her teacher, from stampeding buffalo. Sam had been too young to know that Nevada had no buffalo.

  Sam stared at the wall, tryin
g to recall the exact shape of Blackie’s face. And then she knew why she couldn’t. In the stories she’d told herself at night, she’d called the colt by his secret name.

  A secret name, Jake had confided, was a code between human and horse. It would bind the colt to her, so that even in darkness, he’d know her. But horses heard many words, so the secret name had to sound like no other.

  Zanzibar. Though the name was too fancy for a ranch horse, it had been their secret, and the colt had answered to it.

  Down the hall, Dad and Gram slept. Outside Sam’s window, the river sighed and coyotes called from the hills. They yipped, barked, then joined in a community howl.

  Sam tried to enjoy the coyotes’ wild song, but their nearness frightened her a little. One more thing she’d have to grow used to. Her bed sheets twisted around her legs. She kicked loose and rolled over on her stomach.

  It wasn’t late, but they’d leave for Red Rock, where Dad’s cowboys were holding the cattle herd, by six A.M.

  Sam reached for the wristwatch she’d left on her bedside table. Its numbers glowed in the dark. Ten o’clock. What would Aunt Sue be doing? Since it was summer, she’d have no papers to grade. She might be watching the news or reading. Maybe worrying about Sam.

  Sam missed Aunt Sue for many reasons. The strongest was because she was Sam’s mother’s sister, and the closest Sam would ever come to knowing her mother, who’d died so young.

  She’d been almost five when Mom died in a one-car accident. Skid marks showed she’d swerved to miss an animal, and her VW bug was upside down near an antelope migration area.

  Sam remembered how Mom’s auburn hair looked in braids with daisies stuck through the ends. She remembered her laughing and clapping in excitement. And later, she remembered someone saying, “Louise just shoulda hit that critter,” and someone answering, “Louise always had too big a heart.”

  Sam rolled back over and pulled the sheet over her face. She listened to her eyelashes tick back and forth.

  She had a horse. She had Jake to remind her how to ride like a buckaroo. She had Dad. Why couldn’t she be satisfied?