Untamed Read online

  The buzz of television laughter covered most of the conversation, but Sam heard a few words clearly.

  “She’s determined to go out there whether you want her to or not. At least if she goes with Jake, in a truck…”

  All at once the voice seemed closer, so Sam took a long step back to where Brynna had left her. She laced her fingers together and tried to look patient and angelic as Brynna returned.

  “There’s no use wasting my breath if you heard everything,” Brynna said as the door swung shut behind her. “I didn’t,” Sam insisted. “Just something about Jake and a truck.”

  For an instant Brynna looked skeptical. Then she nodded.

  “Okay. Caleb Sawyer called Luke Ely complaining that there were wild horses on his property right this minute….”

  Sam rose on her toes with excitement until Brynna motioned her to settle down.

  “And he mentioned that there were two kids on his property earlier today. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, so I’m not going to ask.”

  Sam swallowed hard, glad she was facing Brynna instead of Dad. Dad would have jumped to the correct conclusion, instantly.

  “He wanted Luke to come chase the horses off with a fire truck siren. He’s not running any cattle,” Brynna said. “That makes me wonder why he’s so obsessed with the trespass issue. It could just be he’s cranky, but I’m wondering if something else is going on.”

  Sam felt a little puff of pride. Brynna was discussing this with her, instead of with Dad.

  “A siren,” Sam said. “That’s not a real normal approach to a wild horse problem.”

  “Exactly,” Brynna agreed. “Just the same, I’ll send someone out tomorrow morning. Right now, though, Luke suggested that you and Jake go out and take a look.”

  Sam hugged herself with excitement, then whispered, “And Dad said it was okay?”

  Brynna held her hand out and tipped it from side to side. “Sort of,” she said quietly. “But don’t do anything silly or you’ll get us both in trouble.”

  “I’ll be an angel,” Sam promised.

  Blaze jumped up from his nap on the kitchen floor. He stared in the direction of the bridge, as if he could see through the walls.

  “That must be Jake,” she said.

  “Get a sweatshirt,” Brynna ordered.

  “It’s not—”

  “Angels do as they’re told,” Brynna said, eyebrows arched in reprimand.

  “Right.”

  Sam ran upstairs and yanked her green Darton High sweatshirt from the bottom of a stack of clean laundry, causing a clothing avalanche. She stampeded back downstairs so fast, Jake still hadn’t knocked at the door.

  Then she saw why.

  In the glow from the porch light, Brynna was showing off Penny. Holding the screen door so it didn’t slam and startle the mare, Sam watched.

  It was kind of weird that Jake was so much taller than Brynna. He always said he was six-foot-one-inch tall, but she’d thought he was exaggerating. Standing next to Brynna like that, he looked almost like a man.

  Of course, he destroyed the illusion by snorting, “If it’s not the tagalong kid.”

  “Shut up,” Sam requested as she jogged down the front porch steps.

  “Samantha, be nice,” Brynna reprimanded patiently.

  “He started it,” Sam said.

  “I guess I should actually thank you two,” Brynna said, looking from Sam to Jake. “I’ll never feel old, because you’ll never stop acting like children.”

  Jake squared his shoulders, but didn’t answer back.

  “Penny looks good. I’d like to see her in action,” he said, trying to sound mature. Then he jingled his truck keys like a lure and said to Sam, “Let’s go.”

  Since Jake shared the truck with his brothers, it was usually cluttered, despite the fact that he was a pretty neat guy. Tonight it was worse than usual. A huge mound of stuff hid the passenger’s side floor.

  “What is all this?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jake said as they rumbled across the River Bend Bridge. Then he glanced over and gave a short laugh. “Go ahead and put your feet down, Brat. You won’t hurt anything.”

  As they drove through the darkness, Sam thought the excursion was even more fun because it was a school night. In theory, she should be home studying, but she hadn’t even had to beg to escape.

  “How’s Star?” Sam asked.

  The paint filly Jake had caught on Indian lands, then ridden in a cross-country race, was one of the neatest horses Sam had ever known.

  “Fine, I guess,” Jake said, but Sam noticed his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “You ‘guess’?” Sam said, but Jake ignored her.

  “We’re supposed to head toward Antelope Pass,” he said. “And turn left on some dirt road.”

  “Jake, why are you just guessing how Star is?”

  “I turned her loose, back where she came from.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say.

  Jake switched on the truck radio. The reception wasn’t very good. She made out a country tune, but not its lyrics.

  “After all your hard work…”

  Sam pictured Jake running through the night after the horse. Jake sticking to Star’s pinto back through a watery bucking frenzy. Jake, hair streaming like a warrior, riding Star at a full gallop across the range.

  “Was it because Witch was jealous?” Sam asked. She imagined Jake’s big black mare threatening the small pinto. “Or because you won’t have time to work with Star this summer?” She took a second guess when he didn’t respond but he just gave a slight shake of his head.

  Sam waited a full minute before she finally shouted, “Jake! Why did you set her loose?”

  “The point wasn’t to get a new horse.” Jake pressed his shoulders against the seat back, trapping his buckskin-bound hair behind him. “I was supposed to show some adult skills and I did.”

  “I know,” Sam said, knowing her voice sounded weak.

  The radio’s static grew too loud to speak over, but Jake didn’t turn it off.

  Sam was glad. Something about what Jake said disturbed her. As they drove toward Antelope Pass, she considered telling him about her mother’s note.

  Maybe later, she thought. As the static faded and a chirpy voice praised a new brand of chewing gum, another idea crossed her mind.

  “Hey, maybe Star will go back to the Phantom!”

  Jake shrugged, but Sam thought something like jealousy crossed his face.

  Five minutes later, Jake hadn’t given a single indication he was irritated. Then, he slammed on the brakes.

  “This is stupid. I can’t get over there without ripping out the oil pan on this truck.”

  The truck idled as they stared across the rocky, pitted terrain.

  Sam didn’t see any grass-tufted pools of water shining in the headlights’ beams.

  “Is this the right way?” Sam asked.

  “This is how Dad told me to go,” Jake said. “But since you’re a ninth-grade expert on everything…” Jake’s sarcasm trailed off as he watched her. “Do you know another way?”

  Sometimes Sam thought Jake’s tracking skill was related to psychic ability. Not that she believed in mind reading, exactly, but now, as he’d watched her, Jake’s whole attitude had changed. He seemed to know she’d been out here today.

  So she tried to sound totally casual.

  “On horseback, I think you can cross Aspen Creek, then ride up toward Snake Head Peak and get there.”

  Jake stared out the windshield, leaning forward until his chest pressed the steering wheel.

  On the horizon, blacker than the night sky, Sam saw the rock formation that looked like a snake.

  Cautiously, Jake eased the car ahead, then turned right on a dirt road that was little more than a trail cut by hooves.

  How had Mom driven out here in her clumsy VW bus? Sam puzzled over the question until Jake stopped again.

  “Ther
e they are,” he said.

  After a few impatient minutes, Sam spotted the herd. Night light made them all shades of gray. She couldn’t find the Phantom or identify any individual mustangs, but there were about twenty horses, the right number for the Phantom’s band.

  “They’re on his property, all right,” Jake observed.

  On the hermit’s property, he must mean. That meant trouble for the horses. How could Jake sound so unconcerned?

  “Don’t tell Brynna,” Sam said. “Promise me.”

  “If she asks, of course I’ll tell her,” Jake said.

  “Look, they’re not hurting anything. That Caleb guy isn’t running any cattle and the pronghorn don’t mind sharing, so why should you tell?”

  “Because Brynna and my dad trusted me to do this,” Jake said. His tone indicated he had no choice. “When people, like, respect you, you can either disappoint them or measure up.”

  Gosh, Sam, don’t you know anything? Jake didn’t say it, but he might as well have, and his superior attitude made her mad.

  “Wait. How do you know the pronghorn don’t mind sharing?” Jake asked, giving her a suspicious glance.

  Sam ignored his question. She was still stuck on him bragging about how much Brynna trusted him.

  “How do you stand yourself,” Sam asked, “being so mature and all?”

  Jake didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he asked, “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  She gestured as if brushing aside his question, because suddenly she’d realized she had to ask his opinion about something important.

  “Do you think wild horses compete with antelope for food?” she blurted.

  He was quiet for a minute, not quite ready to give up their squabble, but Sam knew he’d think about what she’d asked.

  “No. They eat different stuff most of the year,” Jake said. “Do you think Caleb wants the horses out of here because of the antelope?”

  “Maybe,” she told him. “I’ve heard he’s a poacher. If he hunts pronghorn year-round, he might be worried that the horses’ grazing area overlaps. Don’t you think?”

  “Where’d you hear he was a poacher?”

  Sam was about to show him her mother’s note, when the horses began to drift away, soundless as smoke.

  The flat grassland looked bare for a minute. Then something big appeared. Headlights stabbed through the darkness and moonlight rolled on a windshield.

  Was it Caleb Sawyer? Didn’t hermits stay home? That’s what made them hermits, right?

  The headlights bounded over the rough terrain, coming closer.

  What if the hermit was driving out to see if Luke Ely had sent someone? What if he came right up to Jake’s truck and looked inside?

  Sam thought of the shell casing.

  If this was the shooter, he might have seen her gathering evidence and carefully bagging it. A clammy warmth settled over her as she realized Jake was accelerating, actually hurrying to meet the other vehicle.

  “Stop!” Sam urged. “Don’t go over there.”

  What if Caleb Sawyer had used binoculars to see her clearly? If he drove right up beside them, she just knew he’d still have that rifle.

  “Sam, what’s wrong with you? Don’t grab my arm when I’m driving,” Jake snapped. “I might crash.”

  “You will crash, if you keep going toward him, ’cause that guy’s got a gun.”

  “Sam, three-quarters of the ranchers around here have rifles. I’ve got one at home. Relax.”

  “But he uses it!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  To convince Jake to stop being foolhardy, she’d have to tell him the truth.

  “Today,” she blurted. “I saw him use it today. He was trying to shoot horses and he wasn’t trying to miss me, okay? He doesn’t care if he hurts people.”

  “Mighta been nice if you’d mentioned this to me before, Brat,” Jake commented in a strained but level tone.

  “I’m mentioning it now,” Sam moaned. “Please, let’s get out of here before he recognizes me!”

  Jake cranked the steering wheel hard right and spun the truck around. The fact that he’d taken her warning to heart should have made her feel better. Instead, she was even more scared.

  Sam leaned forward as if it would help the truck speed across the range. Suddenly the tires hit a series of mud ruts, which had dried into ridges that were as hard as concrete. They bounced in jerky jolts until the truck veered right, jarring Sam’s head against the passenger window with a sharp crack.

  As if she could hide from the pain, Sam closed her eyes. The darkness welcomed her. If she could only stay there, for a minute…

  Chapter Eight

  Sam felt dizzy.

  She heard a loud stomp. Was it Jake putting on the emergency brake?

  A click. Jake releasing his seat belt?

  Then Sam sensed something scrabbling toward her. Her eyes popped wide open.

  Jake loomed over her in the dark truck.

  “Are you okay? That was your head hitting the window, wasn’t it? I don’t even believe this.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, pushing at his chest. “Back off, can’t you? Is he still after us?”

  Jake ignored her question and her shoves.

  “You’re supposed to avoid another blow to the head,” he said as one hand pushed aside her hair and his fingers explored her temple.

  It was creepy, the way he felt gently for cuts or blood. It was stupid, too. Those injuries would mean nothing if the hermit caught up with them.

  “Forget about my head, look!”

  The headlights were still coming. They cut crazy, slashing patterns through the darkness. Sam squinted as a spotlight shone from the top of the blocky, black-and-white vehicle. Was it stopping?

  The light was so blindingly bright, she didn’t see the figure until it was at the driver’s side window.

  “You kids okay?” Sheriff Ballard shouted.

  Sam touched her chest, trying to slow the thud of her pounding heart. This must be how a rabbit felt when it had been chased by a coyote, then escaped into its burrow.

  Jake opened the door on his side of the truck.

  “Jake Ely, right?”

  Sam guessed the sheriff recognized Jake for the tracking help he’d given the police once.

  “Yes, sir,” Jake said. He didn’t look surprised when the sheriff shone the beam of his flashlight inside.

  Sam squinted against the brightness. With her eyes almost closed, she said, “I’m Samantha Forster.”

  “Wyatt’s girl, and you’ve got your seat belt on, so that jouncing didn’t hurt you much. Am I right?”

  Before Sam could say anything, Jake did.

  “She banged her head against the window.”

  And here came the flashlight again. Sam closed her eyes against light so bright the blood vessels in her eyelids shone sizzling red. Her head felt fine, but her retinas would probably never be the same.

  “Looks okay,” the sheriff said. “But you’ll want to tell your dad you got a bump, make sure nothin’ comes of it.”

  “I will,” Sam promised. That was a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to. She’d just hope she didn’t have to have it in front of Jake.

  He was as protective as a bear with one cub, and just about as easy to reason with. Sam started to shake her head at the silly comparison, but when she did, she felt dizzy all over again.

  At least Jake wasn’t watching when she winced.

  “I notice your rack,” the sheriff said, nodding at the gun rack that spanned the truck’s back window. “Got a rifle in here?”

  “No,” Jake said. His face stayed expressionless, but Sam heard the insulted tone in his voice and Sam knew Jake thought he was being accused of something.

  Sheriff Ballard must have noticed that tone, too, but he didn’t try to make Jake feel better. With his shaggy brown hair, mustache, and alert eyes, the sheriff gave the appearance of a trapper, waiting patiently for Jake to step into a s
nare.

  “Reason I’m here is on account of an anonymous call saying someone was plinking at wildlife out this way,” the sheriff explained.

  Sam held her breath for a second. How could there have been a call? She and Jen had been the only ones out here, hadn’t they? The hermit wouldn’t report himself.

  If she didn’t tell the sheriff she’d been out here, Jake might. She shot him a quick glance.

  Oh, yeah. Jake’s eyes said he’d definitely tell.

  “There was,” Sam admitted.

  “Was what?” the sheriff asked.

  “Someone shooting at mustangs and antelope,” Sam said.

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Not a very good one,” Sam admitted. When the sheriff stood there, waiting, she added, “Good enough to know it wasn’t anyone I recognized.” Still, Sheriff Ballard stayed silent. “It was a man.”

  “You didn’t see a vehicle, I suppose?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t one, or a horse.”

  “The call didn’t say much, either,” the sheriff said. “Not enough to go on. We’re having it traced, though, so maybe we’ll get something more from the caller.”

  Sam bit her lip. Could it have been Jen? It would be like her to report something dangerous, but why had she made the report anonymously?

  “I saved the shell casing,” Sam offered. Both the sheriff and Jake looked at her with amazement. Had she said it wrong? “You know, the brass thing that goes around the bullet?”

  “That’s the shell casing,” Sheriff Ballard said, nodding. “You picked it up?”

  “In a plastic baggie,” Sam said.

  Sheriff Ballard shook his head and laughed. “Just when I get irritated with TV folks for making police work look fun and easy, something like this happens.

  “And you still have it?” he asked.

  “At home,” Sam blurted.

  The sheriff chuckled again.

  “If I picked you up after school tomorrow, do you think you could give it to me and we could go to my office for a talk?”

  Sam almost cheered. This was exactly what she needed. Professional help. She’d bring Mom’s note along, too, and since the sheriff was taking her seriously, she’d bet he’d help unravel the snarl of trouble her mother had been investigating.