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  At first Sam thought he was just being polite, but Kit’s eyes drifted to the stallion corral. What if he hadn’t been joshing with Jake when he suggested a wild horse showdown?

  She’d have to worry about it later, because Brynna was rattling off instructions, telling her and Jake to make sure the foals and yearlings were in pens up close where people could see them, to check that the corrals were labeled according to the horses inside, and to make sure each animal had a red and white rope loop holding a number around its neck.

  “And though I hate it, I guess you’d better make sure all the older horses—everyone over ten,” she added with a grimace, “are moved out of the adoption corrals. I think that’s already done, but Hugh left a few mature mares and a few burros from southern Nevada, and Norman figured it out.”

  “Why’s that a problem, now?” Kit asked.

  “Congress voted to pull horses over ten years old from the adoption program,” Brynna began.

  “That’s right. I heard about that,” Kit said, then paused next to a corral. “And these are the studs?”

  “Yes, though they’re not as feisty without mares to protect or show off for,” Brynna said.

  “That red boy’s a beauty,” Jake said, pointing at a bright bay stallion that was watching him with pricked ears.

  Kit nodded. “Have you finished roundups for a while?”

  Brynna made a hum of disapproval and her lips parted, but Kit rushed to explain.

  “I’m thinking, if I were to get a wild one, I’d want to imprint him as soon as I could.”

  It was only a small movement. Jake’s hands still hung at his sides, but when they tightened into fists, Sam wondered why.

  “That’s a good idea,” Brynna said. She tucked a loose tendril of hair back into her French braid. When she spoke again, it was in a halting, stop-start manner that was totally unlike her. “We have lots of horses here, too many, really….” Brynna shook her head. “I’d like to say we were finished with non-emergency gathers, but my associate…” She glanced toward the office. “Well, he has a different opinion.” Brynna’s sigh lasted a long time. “Just keep in touch, Kit. If we bring in more horses, I’d love you to have one of them.”

  “That’d be a first for Three Ponies,” Jake said.

  “Then it’s about time,” Sam told him, and turned toward Kit. “Your timing couldn’t be better, since everyone’s so glad to see you. They’re not going to say no!”

  “Don’t know about that,” Kit said. “Comin’ home for the holidays is one thing; moving back with two new mouths to feed is something else.”

  Jake looked down for a second and Sam saw his fists clinch tighter. She could tell Jake wanted to ask Kit which it was. Was he home for a visit or was he moving back for good? Sam didn’t understand the tension between the brothers, but maybe part of it was not knowing what to expect.

  It didn’t take Sam and Jake long to do the herding Brynna had asked for, and Sam left Jake walking around the corrals, checking out horses with Kit while she slung Ace’s reins around a hitching rail and walked toward Brynna’s office.

  It was quiet except for the hum of a computer.

  Sam slipped into the office unnoticed. The scent of dust and horses clung to her and she was about to walk back to Brynna’s office and slip into the restroom to wash up when she heard voices raised in an argument.

  At first Brynna’s words didn’t sink in, because her stepmother’s tone trembled on the brink of angry tears. That was totally out of character for Brynna at work.

  “…not my last day…”

  Of course it wasn’t, Sam thought. Brynna had extended her work time when she discovered Norman White was her replacement.

  “That was an informal request.” Norman White’s voice was level, but there was a gloating quality to it that Sam knew she wasn’t imagining. “And of course you’re welcome to stay on, but my wage as your replacement kicks in today.”

  Gooseflesh spread down Sam’s arms. He was giving Brynna a choice. She could finish up today and leave, or continue to work, taking orders from him.

  What would be the point? One more paycheck wasn’t enough to keep Brynna working for a man who didn’t know what he was doing, was it?

  The silence stretched out until Sam wanted to burst into the other room, but she didn’t. When Brynna spoke again, her voice was calmer.

  “My regional supervisor approved my leave and amended the start date,” Brynna pointed out.

  “I’m sure he did, but I’m just following regulations, and my most recent communications with Washington, D.C., say that I begin work as director of Willow Springs Wild Horse Center at one minute after midnight, tonight.”

  “Norman, I took my boss at his word,” Brynna said, and Sam heard her shuffling papers now, as if this conversation was merely a nuisance. “I’ll go on leave in two weeks, not tomorrow. I have work to finish up.”

  Neither Brynna nor Norman were admitting their real motives for being in charge. Norman said he was just following regulations. Brynna said she had too much work to leave now. In fact, each thought the other was dead wrong in their method of running Willow Springs.

  In this second silence, Sam heard a crackling sound. A nearly empty carafe had been left in the coffee maker. It was still turned on and the quarter-inch of brown liquid was baking. Sam would have rushed to turn it off if Norman hadn’t started talking again.

  “It’s time to give yourself a break, Brynna. This job is getting too personal for you.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Brynna said. The paper shuffling stopped, but her tone stayed cool as she added, “Could you give me an example?”

  “We could begin with your bias against Linc Slocum and in favor of that gray stallion in the Calico Mountains,” Norman said.

  “Linc Slocum’s applications have been denied because of two documented violations of the harassment and negligence clauses in the 1971 Free-Roaming Wild Horse and Burro Act. I can print you a copy of those regulations,” Brynna offered.

  Sam wanted to applaud until Norman corrected Brynna.

  “You know that law was revised. It’s in limbo now. And when I checked your files, I saw an awful lot of notes on pretty purple paper. Using a cheat sheet from your teenage stepdaughter kind of escalates your treatment of Mr. Slocum to a vendetta.”

  They were Sam’s notes, but she’d done her research in online government documents. Maybe the purple paper had been a mistake, Sam thought, but he couldn’t deny what she’d written was accurate.

  “Norman, are you aware of the other charges pending against Slocum?”

  “The uproar over that Gypsy boy?” Norman said carelessly. “That’s not part of our evaluation process and, well…” He gave a humorless chuckle. “You might not want to put yourself into the position of the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “I don’t follow you, Norman.” Brynna’s voice grew quieter and something in her tone reminded Sam of the day she’d seen Brynna strap on her service revolver and tug on a drab olive SWAT team cap to go after horse rustlers.

  “I mean,” Norman’s voice rose as if he were struggling for patience, “you should have either brought in that feral gray stallion—for crying out loud, everyone knows he was bred and born on your husband’s ranch—and paid the trespass fees going back four years to the time of his escape, or put him up for adoption.”

  “There’s BLM precedent for releasing horses that could improve herd bloodlines,” Brynna said.

  “Sure, that’s the reason you stated, but the horse is a troublemaker, and you were only thinking—”

  “Thank goodness you’re here to explain what I was thinking,” Brynna cracked, but Norman didn’t swerve from his tirade.

  “You only left him on the range because he’s a personal pet of your stepdaughter’s who thinks the notion of private horses running free on public land is romantic and stirs the soul.”

  “Your timeline’s a little out of sync, Norman. Samantha wasn�
�t my stepdaughter when that determination was made.”

  “Exactly.” Norman broke the word into three distinct syllables. He sounded as if he believed he’d sprung a trap.

  “Once more, I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell out what you’re thinking,” Brynna said, “because I’m not following you.”

  For a minute it was so quiet, Sam hoped Norman had really heard himself and figured out that he’d overstepped his prized professionalism.

  “Just what are you implying?” Brynna asked.

  “Certainly not that you used that gray to please Samantha and catch Wyatt’s attention.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Brynna said.

  “I agree. I’m certain your emotional instability is more recent, linked to hormones and your pregnancy.”

  Emotional instability?

  Sam waited. She couldn’t imagine what Brynna would do next.

  “Norman, I’ll hang my decision on the BLM in Washington. I’ll e-mail a request for clarification and proceed accordingly. In the meantime, we’re just going to have to agree we have different approaches to this job.”

  A loud popping sound came from the overheated coffee carafe as it cracked. For an instant, Sam wondered at the coincidence of Jake’s broken windshield and the broken coffeepot. But either Brynna or Norman were bound to come investigate the sound, and Sam didn’t want to be caught sitting there, eavesdropping, when that happened.

  She tiptoed quickly to the door and slipped outside, unseen, but Brynna’s voice rose so sharply from inside that she heard her ask, “What’s that sound?”

  Cracking coffeepot? Tiptoeing boots?

  No. Something throbbed from overhead, compelling Sam to look up into the icy blue sky. She saw a glint of metal.

  “Norman?” Brynna asked.

  “It’s a chopper.”

  “A chopper?”

  “One of our contract pilots is doing a flyover of canyons and valleys.”

  Sam stared up, watching the helicopter’s rotor blades flash silver, gold, and silver again.

  “It’s just an observation,” Norman told Brynna stiffly. “For now.”

  Chapter Four

  If Kit and Jake continued their sibling rivalry while driving her home to River Bend Ranch, Sam didn’t notice.

  Once she’d loaded Ace into the trailer beside Witch, she thought of nothing but the conversation she’d overheard between Brynna and Norman White. As if her mind hid a tape recorder, she played it over and over again, studying each word for tone and hidden meaning.

  She’d been confused by Brynna’s attitude when she’d come out of her office to have Sam and Jake sign the paperwork that would result in them getting paid for their two hours of work. Bustling and looking as capable and calm as ever, Brynna was either a really good actress, or she was confident the BLM would keep her on so that she could supervise Norman White for two more weeks.

  Brynna’s feelings had to be hurt, Sam thought, as Jake steered the Scout through Thread the Needle, headed for the highway. Trained as a biologist and long respected in a traditionally male job, Brynna prized her reputation for logic and levelheadedness. Being called emotionally unstable was a stinging insult.

  And Norman White must be convinced the BLM would come down on his side, or he wouldn’t have a helicopter pilot searching canyons and valleys. Sooner or later, he’d do another gather, and his comments about the Phantom made it clear which herd area he’d start in.

  Together, Jake and Kit turned their heads to stare at her. Had she given a heavy sigh or made some squeak of distress? Sam didn’t know, but she made an excuse, anyway.

  “I was kind of dozing,” she said. The excuse didn’t make much sense, but she couldn’t tell them about a conversation she shouldn’t have even heard.

  “Ticked off at old Norman?” Jake asked.

  “Of course!” Sam blurted. “He wants to take more mustangs off the range, but all he knows about is numbers. What’s the average age and number of horses in a bachelor band? What’s the foal production rate of a mustang mare and the correlation between that and how many mouthfuls of food she’s had?”

  The explosion of words surprised Sam. She wasn’t very good at keeping her emotions inside when she was around Jake. Even having Kit for an audience didn’t seem to work.

  “Sorry,” she apologized to Kit.

  The older Ely brother lifted his shoulders in a shrug, then asked, “Aren’t those things good to know if you’re deciding to bring horses in?”

  The question stopped the whirling of Sam’s mind.

  “They are,” she admitted, “but he’s—” Sam broke off and stared at the faded knees of her jeans, trying to think of a way to explain. “He doesn’t feel anything about them. It’s like, he doesn’t even know they’re living things. To him they might as well be”—Sam searched her mind for an example—“like checkers, and he’s just trying to get as many as he can so that the board is empty.”

  “No heart,” Jake told Kit. Sam couldn’t tell what the faint smile on his lips meant until he added, “Bet he’s aiming to round up your favorite wild bunch.”

  “How did you know?” Sam asked.

  “Chopper,” Jake said. “And it takes more to get you stirred up than it used to, ’cept when it comes to that gray stud.”

  Kit made an interested sound. Jake gave a quick shake of his head, but Sam’s mind veered away from both of them.

  What if Norman White convinced the federal government to bring in the Phantom and his herd? How could she save her horse?

  “Wouldn’t mind seein’ one of our wild bunches. It’s been a while,” Kit said to Jake. “Don’t suppose you know where you could scare one up on such short notice?”

  Sam didn’t hear a challenge in Kit’s words, but once more, Jake did. Abruptly, he steered off the highway to follow a bumpy trail, then took a series of back roads—left, another left, and then right, to cut across a swampy spot. Sam was surprised Jake tried it with the horse trailer. She guessed he knew what he was doing, but by the time he stopped, somewhere behind River Bend Ranch and Three Ponies, near their shared boundary, she felt queasy.

  “I’ve got to get out for a—” Sam broke off. She’d been about to admit she was feeling carsick. Alone with Jake that might have been okay, but it wasn’t with Kit sitting there. “I’d like to get out and stretch my legs for a minute.”

  Kit bailed out of the Scout, grimacing as he used his other hand to balance his cast.

  Sam walked away from the brothers to stare across an open plain that unrolled toward a column of gray granite backlit by a pale winter sun. It was Snakehead Peak.

  In the trailer behind her, Ace and Witch shifted. Sam heard a faint rumble of faraway thunder.

  “Forgot how sudden it can go cold here,” Kit complained. “Has me thinking fond thoughts about rodeoin’ in Arizona.”

  This spot was pretty in spring. Sam remembered antelope and wild horses grazing together here. Now, the cold breeze felt ominous.

  Cloud shadows moved over the sagebrush and what was left of the bunch grass. Sam let her eyes unfocus, searching for movement. She wished she would see the Phantom.

  “Most days they take a doze by that brush,” Jake was telling Kit. “But this change in weather’s got ’em worried.”

  Sam searched for the brush Jake was talking about, but she didn’t spot it or the mustangs until a breeze set their manes blowing.

  There! The herd stood with their tails to the wind, eating voraciously, snapping at band members who wandered too close.

  Winter was here. Snow scented the wind and the mustangs concentrated on gobbling all the calories they could hold before seeking shelter.

  Only the Phantom wasn’t eating. He’d frozen to attention, eyes staring across at Sam.

  The stallion stepped away from the other horses. His sudden move made the herd look up in alarm. Keeping his head higher than the others’, the stallion neighed just as the clouds let a sunbeam pass through.

  “H
ow ’bout that?” Kit muttered.

  Alone, Sam would have gone to the stallion, but now she just watched.

  His ears tilted forward and his neck arched. A gleaming streak, bright as molten metal, followed its curve. Chin tucked, he bobbed his head, nodding an equine assurance Sam didn’t understand, just before crosswinds caught his mane, tail, and forelock and he was surrounded with a corona of silver.

  Sam heard Kit catch his breath as the Phantom pranced in place, showing off for her, though his herd returned to grazing. Then the stallion lowered his head, thrusting his muzzle in her direction before jerking his head to one side.

  She was the only one in the world who knew what he was doing. If she’d been close enough, the stallion would have lowered his head beneath her arm, encouraging her to come for a ride. He pawed then, teasing her until Jake and Kit moved closer.

  Then the Phantom’s ears flattened. He burst into a contained gallop, making a circling rush around his band.

  In moments, he’d arrived back exactly where he’d been, staring across the open space at the humans. He pawed the ground in four rapid, striking movements and his possessive snort carried to them.

  Mine, he seemed to say. He waited for them to make the next move—if they dared.

  Wordlessly, Jake and Kit began backing toward the Scout, and Sam decided she should join them.

  You win, boy, Sam thought, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. As she backed away after the brothers, her heart reached out to the stallion, pulling the connection between them thinner with each step.

  Zanzibar, she thought longingly, but she wanted him to graze, to stay strong for the cold winter ahead, and she knew he wouldn’t lower his head to eat while they stood watching him.

  When the Scout’s door creaked open, Kit said, “Needs oil,” and the spell was broken.

  As soon as they were settled with seat belts fastened and Jake was driving away, Kit said, “The way he was dippin’ his head and kind of bowing reminds me of Sittin’ Bull—”

  “Don’t tell her that story.” Jake shook his head in disgust.

  “—and the dancing white stallion,” Kit finished.