Dawn Runner Page 6

  “There they are, Ace,” Sam said.

  Near the mouth of Lost Canyon, Sam caught a flash of something so bright, she squinted against the shine.

  She lifted her reins and wheeled Ace around. Sam touched her heels to the gelding’s sides and leaned forward in the saddle. As the bay took off, Sam’s brown Stetson flew back on its stampede string and she was smiling into the wind, leaving her shyness behind.

  Chapter Seven

  For over a century, the legend said, Lost Canyon had been haunted by the ghosts of murdered Indian ponies. But the sounds echoing from its high stone walls as Sam and Pam greeted each other must have cheered even those sad spirits.

  “Pam!” Sam shouted. In her hurry, her boot twisted in her stirrup. If Ace hadn’t been such a good horse, she might have fallen. But he was and she didn’t. The little mustang stood ground-tied as Sam rushed at her old friend.

  Somehow they managed to hug, talk, and jump up and down at the same time.

  “Your hair’s long again!” Pam said, shaking Sam by the shoulders.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re so much taller!” Sam said, tilting her head back as if it were the only way she could see up to Pam’s face.

  “Giraffe girl, that’s me,” Pam laughed. “Wow, you only come up to my collarbone! How funny is that!”

  “But you look just the same,” Sam said with satisfaction. She stepped back to take in Pam’s appearance. Though a twisted red bandanna held her cap of brown hair away from her face, it still sprang out in the every-which-way curls Sam remembered. Pam’s green eyes and freckles were the same, too.

  “You, too, except…” Pam licked her lips and tilted her head to one side. “There’s something different. You look older. No, that’s not it, but kind of…”

  “Capable.”

  Both girls turned to face Pam’s mother.

  Dr. Mora O’Malley had the same green eyes and brown hair as her daughter, but her hair was wound into a no-nonsense knot at the back of her head, thick glasses magnified her eyes, and she handled her height like a model.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Pam agreed. “You do look kind of in charge.”

  Sam shook her head. “It must be the boots,” she said, stomping to displace some of their dust coating. “Or maybe the muscles I’m getting from all the chores I have to do on the ranch.”

  “‘On the ranch,’ can you believe it?” Pam crowed as she squeezed Sam’s shoulders again. “You always talked about the ranch, your dad, the horses and stuff, but now you actually live there. I can’t picture it.”

  “You don’t have to. You can come over and see it with your own eyes,” Sam said.

  “That would be cool,” Pam said, and even though she nodded, Sam caught Pam’s eyes darting toward Ace. “Maybe Mom can drive me over while she’s doing her research.”

  “We could ride double on Ace,” Sam teased.

  “Pamela, you really should take this opportunity to learn to ride, if Sam’s willing to teach you,” Dr. Mora said.

  “Sure,” Sam began. She’d already begun wondering which horse Pam should use when her friend interrupted.

  “We won’t have time. Sam’s in school until three?” She looked at Sam for a nod. “What we need is to catch up on each other’s lives, Mom. You can’t do that on a horse.” Sam didn’t have time to point out they could talk and ride at the same time, before Pam went on.

  “Not when Sam would have to be giving me remedial lessons so I wouldn’t fall off. But we could shoot a few baskets and talk at the same time.”

  “Can you believe we don’t have a basketball hoop at the ranch? I didn’t have anyone to play with, so I just—” Sam shrugged.

  Basketball had been such a big part of her life in San Francisco, it was hard to believe she’d abandoned the sport. In San Francisco, she’d persuaded Aunt Sue to let her and Pam mount a basketball hoop on her narrow garage, even though her short driveways led over a sidewalk and into the city street.

  “No big deal,” Pam said. She looked up at the soaring rock walls, then down at War Drum Flats before gazing at the endless blue sky. “You really live in this place.”

  This magical place, Sam thought as she looked up, too. For a minute, she felt as if she’d been towed aloft by a balloon. She was floating, sighing with pride at the beauty surrounding them.

  “There’s nothing out here,” Pam went on.

  Sam felt as if someone had shot the balloon she’d clung to, and she hit the ground with a bump. She almost launched into a lecture about the wildlife and plants Pam was too blind to see, but then she stopped.

  “I love it,” Sam said.

  “And so do I.”

  Sam smiled gratefully at Pam’s mother, whom she’d always called Dr. Mora, instead of Dr. O’Malley.

  “It’s beautiful country,” Dr. Mora said with a slightly reproachful glance at her daughter. “An oasis for the soul.”

  Pam’s eyelashes lowered. She jammed her hands into her pockets, then looked bashfully at Sam.

  “I guess it does take some getting used to,” Sam said.

  “Well if you love it, I bet I will, too.” Pam slipped her arm through Sam’s. “In fact, it’s already coming to me.”

  Sam gave a skeptical smile.

  “No, really. It’s pretty, but in a bleak kind of way,” Pam insisted. “Wide open, and so big, it’s kind of overwhelming and scary.”

  “Not as scary as some things,” Sam said. One city experience had become the yardstick by which they measured fright. She wondered if Pam remembered.

  “Like Chinese New Year?” Pam asked.

  “Exactly,” Sam said.

  Their eyes met in the memory of a night when they’d gotten separated from Aunt Sue and Pam’s mom. Squealing in mock terror at a line of dragon dancers, they’d wiggled through the crowd watching the parade, darted by a vendor selling savory pork buns, and jogged past dozens of incense-scented shops. By the time they ended up in an alley where teenage guys were competing to see who could throw lighted firecrackers highest into the night sky, Sam and Pam were no longer pretending to be scared. They were lost and terrified.

  After thirty minutes of searching, they followed directions from two little girls in kneesocks and school uniforms and crossed Grant Avenue to the worried adults. They’d been in big trouble. Their disappearance had gotten them grounded and restricted from television, the telephone, and each other for the rest of the weekend.

  Sam shook her head. She remembered so much, and yet she almost felt as if she’d been a different person then.

  Feeling a little shy, Sam leaned against Ace’s shoulder. He ignored her for a patch of sun-dried grass.

  Then Pam and her mother began lavishing him with pats.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Pam said, running her hand over Ace’s thick, glossy mane. “Do you brush his hair a hundred strokes every night?”

  “You’re going to make him conceited,” Sam said, but she and Ace both stood taller at the admiration.

  Watching her friend stroke Ace’s red-gold shoulder, Sam saw Pam liked Ace, even if she was in no hurry to learn to ride. And that was okay.

  “So, tell me again how you got to come out here,” Sam asked as Ace drew a surprised laugh from Dr. Mora by licking her hand.

  “I’ve been slicing apples,” Dr. Mora said, and her smile remained as she began to talk about her work. “A small grant—”

  “A grant is free money from some foundation or school,” Pam broke in.

  “Not exactly free. It pays my expenses while I work,” Dr. Mora corrected. “Anyway, this grant was listed in one of my journals last year. It funds scholarly study of little known Native American legends that recur in diverse cultures.”

  Sam repeated the words silently in her mind. She must be out of practice from a summer off, because it took her a minute to process what Dr. Mora had just said.

  Sam knew Pam’s mother was a cultural anthropologist. Besides being a college professor, she studied ancient civilizations and their myths
and folktales. She also wrote about them.

  “You mean, you find different tribes in different places that tell the same stories?”

  “Partly, but they don’t have to be Native American tribes,” Dr. Mora said. “For instance, there are tales of magical horses in Japan, Greece, Ireland…”

  “I get it,” Sam said. “And that’s what you’re studying? Magical horses?” Sam realized her mouth had opened in awe. “What a cool job!”

  “I agree,” Dr. Mora said. “I’ve been working on this paper for a while and I’m reaching the end of my research,” Dr. O’Malley said, “but the chance to study Native American stories and compare them to what I’ve already found was tempting, so I applied.”

  “And, as usual, she won the grant,” Pam said. She looked proud of her mother. Still, Sam knew Pam missed her mom when she traveled. More than once, she’d asked Sam to side with her, telling Dr. Mora she was gone too often for a single mother.

  “I could become a juvenile delinquent,” Pam had scolded her mother once, in front of Sam. But so far she hadn’t, and Dr. Mora took Pam along on her research trips as often as she could.

  Sam thought Pam actually had a pretty good deal.

  “The legend that brought me here centers on an archetype that recurs throughout the West. Besides, it’s a good chance to get you girls together.”

  “Isn’t she the best?” Pam said. She gave her mother a one-armed hug and leaned her head against her shoulder.

  “The best,” Sam echoed. She felt a tug of longing for her own mother, though she’d lived most of her fourteen years without her.

  Sam inhaled deeply and turned her attention to the O’Malleys’ camp.

  “This looks like home,” Sam said. She noticed a rock ring around neatly stacked sticks, ready to kindle into a campfire. Sturdy chairs—three of them, Sam noticed with a smile—sat near the fire ring, granite boulders provided decoration, and a solar-powered shower was just a few steps away.

  Though the truck had a camper shell, it was clear it only served as a place to sleep. Dr. Mora loved the outdoors, and her “living room” had the Nevada sky for a ceiling.

  Sam noticed the red-and-white plastic cover tacked on a wooden table that held a cutting board, knife, sliced apples, stacked yellow plates, and a camp stove with something bubbling in an aluminum pot.

  “We were hoping you’d arrive in time for dinner,” Dr. Mora said.

  “Well,” Sam began hesitantly. “Gram knew I was coming out to find you, so I don’t think she’d be surprised if I’m a little late getting back.”

  “Great,” Pam said, but then she looked around. “How can you even tell how long it will take to get home from out here?”

  Sam thought of tapping her watch, but there was no point in teasing Pam just because she was awed by the range. Sam couldn’t forget how embarrassed she’d been when she’d first returned to Nevada and the cowboys joshed with her about the gaps in her Western wisdom.

  “In a day, you’ll start recognizing landmarks,” Sam assured her friend. “It’s no different from learning to get around with street signs.”

  “If you say so,” Pam shook her head in disbelief.

  Sam felt at home as she sat in the O’Malleys’ extra chair, eating a simple dinner of vegetable stew over buckwheat noodles.

  “Eat up.” Dr. Mora nodded toward the plate of bread, cheese, and apples and added, “We’ve got plenty.”

  “That might be a good thing,” Pam said as her eyes shifted to look over Sam’s shoulder. “Is this like a favorite riding place?”

  “Not really,” Sam said, but Ace neighed a greeting just as Sam turned to follow Pam’s gaze.

  “I see him, too,” Dr. Mora said. “He’s been riding in from those salt flats almost since you arrived.”

  As Dr. Mora pointed, Sam spotted Ryan.

  “It’s a guy. Is he looking for you?” Pam asked in a teasing tone.

  “It’s Ryan. He lives on the ranch next to ours, but he’s just the friend of a friend.” Sam corrected Pam before she could get the wrong impression.

  Sky Ranger approached at a flat-footed walk. He didn’t sound winded, but Sam could tell Ryan had tapped the Thoroughbred’s spare energy. This was the first time she’d seen the horse exhibit more obedience than spirit.

  In fact, one of Dallas’s expressions—“his get-up-and-go got up and went”—crossed Sam’s mind. She hoped Ryan would ride a different horse for tomorrow’s search.

  “Is he a cowboy?” Pam whispered.

  Sam almost pointed out the English saddle and lack of a cowboy hat. Instead, she said, “No, he’s new here.”

  Pam looked interested.

  “Hallo,” Ryan greeted them, and when she heard his English accent, Pam looked even more intrigued. “I apologize for dropping in at dinnertime.”

  He could have ridden straight home instead of swerving from the trail that paralleled the highway, Sam thought. When she took in Ryan’s dusty clothes and face, and the faint droop in his shoulders, she knew he was as tired as his horse and hoping for a break.

  Dr. Mora didn’t disappoint him.

  “Nonsense,” Dr. Mora said. “We’re glad to have you here.” She was already up, getting Ryan a cup of water.

  Sam was about to introduce everyone when Ryan dismounted and, still holding his reins, grabbed the cup. He gave a polite nod, but drained the cup before speaking.

  “No sign of Hotspot,” he said quickly to Sam. “But I did see two apparently wild horses. A chestnut and a bay, both stallions, trotting with quite a sense of purpose through the sagebrush.”

  Sam nodded, guessing he’d seen the bachelor stallions Mrs. Coley had named Spike and Yellow Tail. Before she explained that to Ryan and told Pam about Hotspot, her thoughts drew up short. Ryan’s hands were shaking. She noticed it at the same time as Dr. Mora.

  “Another cup of water?” Dr. Mora asked, taking the cup to refill.

  “Yes, thank you,” Ryan said. He flashed an embarrassed glance at Sam. “I fear I made a tender-foot’s mistake. I neglected to bring along a canteen, but I didn’t want to waste time going back to the ranch for one.”

  “It’s been a hundred degrees,” Sam scolded. “Getting dehydrated, passing out, and having to run after your horse would have wasted a lot more—” Sam clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw Dr. Mora’s amusement. “Oh my gosh, I sound like my dad.”

  The others laughed and Ryan admitted, “But you’re right.” Then, refreshed by his second cup of water, Ryan squared his shoulders and took in Pam and Dr. Mora with his smile. “I’m Ryan Slocum, heir to the Gold Dust Ranch, but more recently from Nottingham, England.”

  He’d charmed them both, Sam thought, and once Ryan had loosened Sky’s girth, slipped his bit, and tied him to a stunted pinion pine, Ryan continued to win them over.

  “I wouldn’t think of evicting you from your chairs,” he said when Dr. Mora tried to give him her seat. Instead, he sat carefully on a boulder. “But I will allow myself a taste of that wondrously aromatic dish you’re cooking.”

  While he ate Dr. Mora’s stew, Ryan explained how he’d come to be here. He told how he’d lived with his “mum” and become an accomplished equestrian, riding competitive jumpers, between taking rigorous courses at a British boarding school.

  “Once I graduated, I decided to come to Nevada to spend time with my father and twin sister…yes, thank you, I will have a slice of bread. It looks lovely.”

  How did he manage to look so poised? Sam wondered. He balanced his cup and yellow tin plate, used the side of his plastic fork to cut a roly-poly red potato, and continued to conduct a conversation.

  Sam decided it must be the sort of thing you learned at boarding school, because she’d already dropped her spoon once and had to blow a bug off her bread. And she was sitting in a chair.

  “Did your twin go to the same school in England?” Pam asked.

  “No, Rachel’s a year behind me. She’s been schooled in the States,” he said. Whe
n Sam pointedly cleared her throat, he added, “No cause-and-effect implied, of course. My sister’s strongest interests do not lie in the classroom.”

  He could say that again. Rachel Slocum was more interested in makeup and MTV. Because she was her rich father’s princess, she got everything she wanted, from a red sports car to a horse she’d never ridden. Now, her sights were set on a music career.

  Ryan’s expression dared Sam to say something critical about his twin, but Sam kept quiet.

  Looking a little relieved, Ryan asked, “What brings you ladies to Lost Canyon?”

  “I’m writing a paper about legendary horses. It’s called ‘From Sacrifice to Saint: Complementary Legends of the Wild Equid.’ It may sound dry and academic,” Dr. Mora said, “but it’s not—”

  “Of course not,” Ryan said.

  “—especially because I’m scouting contemporary sightings of a magical horse. It carries the sun on its back, bringing light to the world each morning—”

  The plastic fork almost broke in Sam’s grip. A horse haloed in morning sun floated across her memory.

  “—stories told in places all over the world,” Dr. Mora was continuing. “Some say it’s a ghost whose only escape from darkness is at daybreak. Other tales claim it’s a normal horse bewitched into the service of a sun god—”

  Not magical. Not bewitched, Sam thought, just fleet and half wild.

  “—one of the places where these stories recur is right here, around Lost Canyon,” Dr. Mora finished with a nod.

  As Ryan allowed his mannerly disbelief to break into words, Sam would bet she was the only one to catch his teasing look.

  “And what do they call this creature?” he asked. “The Phantom Stallion?”

  Any other day, Sam might have worried about the same thing, but not today. Her stallion wasn’t the legendary horse Dr. Mora was describing.

  “No,” Dr. Mora said with a wave of her hand. “That’s a separate legend altogether. This horse is generally thought of as a mare, like Epona in Britain. Unlike Epona, the white mare, this horse is parti-colored—dappled or spotted like the Chinese Tiger Horse—and she’s called Dawn Runner.”