The Renegade Read online

  “About the stunt you pulled,” Dad said. “Not about your penalty.”

  “I can’t ride the bus for two weeks,” Sam answered, “but I--”

  “Mrs. Santos is too soft,” Dad said.

  “Or,” Gram suggested, “she’s left the punishment up to us.”

  “That is punishment,” Sam insisted. She drew a breath to steady herself, but it came in all quavery. “Just so you know, I’ve arranged to ride with Rachel Slocum for those two weeks. Mrs. Coley will pick me up at the bus stop. Uh, Mrs. Coley says she knows you from church.”

  Gram nodded, but her eyes looked sad. “Seems you have no sense at all when it comes to that horse. Sakes, Samantha, how long has it been since you’ve known not to run into the middle of a street? That’s something a child would do.”

  “Shamin’ her’s not going to help,” Dad said. “The only thing that will is BLM taking that stallion off the range and shipping him somewhere for adoption.”

  Sam didn’t realize her hands had flown up to cover her heart until Dad looked at them.

  “You think that’s harsh, but it’s the truth. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m embarrassed by you, Samantha.”

  Sam closed her eyes.

  “And I’m scared for you, too.”

  “Dad, you wouldn’t have let him get hit by the bus, I know you wouldn’t.”

  “No. I woulda tossed a rock to spook him off the road, not run into the path of a bus.”

  It seemed so simple when Dad said it.

  “I didn’t think--”

  “That’s just what I mean,” Gram said. “You’re a smart girl, but that horse does something to you.”

  “You’re not doing him any favors,” Dad said. “You know how to think like a horse, so ask yourself what he’s thinking. Is he a pet or a wild animal? Does he trust you or his own instincts? Being confused in his thinking is gonna get him killed. Or captured.”

  Still standing, Sam swayed a little at the truth of Dad’s words. The Phantom had had two close calls. Though BLM tried to protect all mustangs, they had only a handful of rangers to patrol the whole state.

  Plenty of people had dreamed of catching the ghostly white stallion rumored to roam this range. But now they knew he really existed and Sam blamed herself for proving he was no myth.

  “That stallion is depending on you for his safety,” Dad said. “If you love him, let him go back to being wild.”

  “Okay,” Sam said.

  “To help you keep that promise,” Dad said, “you’re confined to this ranch. You go to school and home, and that’s it.”

  Sam didn’t ask for how long, but she thought of the Phantom coming to the river, waiting for her.

  “No slipping out at night, either,” Gram said. “Don’t make me keep watch, Samantha. It’s beneath you.”

  Sam felt as if all her energy had drained out of her fingertips, but she had one more thing to say.

  “If it’s okay, Rachel’s going to come over and start taking lessons tomorrow. The money’s for the ranch.”

  Gram started to protest, but Dad cut her off.

  “Thanks,” he said, and the simple word sounded almost like forgiveness.

  Thunder rolled and Ace neighed for attention as Sam shooed the hens into their pen. All day they wandered, picking bugs and worms from their hiding places. Gram said happy hens laid more and better eggs, and they rarely had trouble with hawks.

  Still, they didn’t seem to mind returning to their coop, which was shaded by an old cottonwood tree.

  The ranch yard was quiet once they’d fluttered back inside. Teddy was tied back by the barn, but Jake was nowhere in sight and Dad had ridden out on Banjo. Right after their talk, he’d mentioned a couple of steers with runny noses. He wanted to check them before nightfall.

  Another rumble sounded. At first, Sam thought it was more thunder. Or Dad herding steers across the bridge to be doctored. Instead, a white pickup truck was crossing the bridge. It looked like Brynna’s.

  Brynna Olson would be a welcome visitor today. Not only had the BLM manager been the first to suggest keeping the Phantom on the range to improve free-roaming herds, lately she could almost always make Dad smile.

  But as the truck drew nearer, Sam saw it wasn’t Brynna’s. This vehicle was newer, and its doors were decorated with gold stars trailing copper streamers and the words “Starr Rodeo Productions.”

  It must be Karla Starr, the rodeo contractor, but what could she want? They didn’t have Brahma bulls or unmanageable horses. By Dad’s decree, every animal on this place worked. Even Dark Sunshine and Popcorn were part of the HARP program, working to teach at-risk teenagers the patience needed to work with wild horses. So what would bring Karla Starr to River Bend?

  Along with curiosity, Sam felt a rush of excitement. For a long time, rodeo stock contracting had been a man’s world, but Karla Starr was breaking in.

  When Dallas walked out of the bunkhouse, Sam wished he hadn’t. Not only had the foreman told on her, she could tell by the way he fixed her with a grim look that he thought he’d done it for her own good.

  And now, he was horning his way in on Karla Starr, when Sam knew she could have handled the meeting just fine.

  The way Dallas moved was a reprimand for Sam’s irritation. He was in pain, and Gram had explained that his arthritis was aggravated by pinched nerves, a crushed disk, and vertebrae rearranged by a life he shrugged off as “rugged.”

  Now he stood near the truck door, and Sam thought he was trying to get rid of Karla Starr.

  “As Wyatt told you on the phone, ma’am, we just can’t help you.”

  The woman climbed out of her truck anyway. She bowed a little to Dallas as if he’d welcomed her.

  “Well, I heard through the grapevine that you’ve got title to a few mustangs, and sometimes they can make pretty good bucking horses.” Karla Starr flashed a smile toward Sam.

  “That’s true,” Dallas said, “but these horses are workin’ a special sort of job.”

  As Dallas described the HARP program, Sam studied Karla Starr.

  She was probably younger than she looked. About thirty, Sam guessed, but her body looked hard as a stick and her skin was leathery. Her eyes were a lively hazel, though, and they bounced from Dallas to Sam to the ten-acre pasture, taking everything in.

  And then there was her hair. Sam decided it was show business hair. It flipped away from her face in a sort of ruffle, and it looked as if Karla Starr had gone into a hairdresser’s salon with a shiny new penny, pointed to its pinky-bronze glitter, and said, “That’s it; I want my hair that color, exactly.” And it was.

  But it wasn’t her hair that fascinated Sam. The thin woman wore a black shirt with curlicues of fancy stitching across the yoke. Below that, slanting down from her collarbone, were twin rows of gold fringe that shimmered and swayed with her every movement.

  Sam knew that if she could run into the house and grab the glittering strand from her dresser, upstairs, she could prove the fringe on Karla Starr’s shirt matched the one she’d found at War Drum Flats.

  Karla Starr had been there, where the three bachelor stallions rolled in the mud, where Ace and Silly had shied with fear, but why?

  The address on her truck door said Mesa Verde, California, but Karla Starr had been spending a lot of time in this part of Nevada.

  “I see,” the woman said, then glanced at her watch. “But don’t rule me out. Even if you don’t have any now, I want to get dibs on any broomtails too ornery to use with children.”

  “Someone’s led you astray, Ms. Starr,” Dallas said. “We only have two horses for that program.”

  “Which would those be?” Karla Starr turned to Sam as if she’d just recalled she was there. “And you’re the young woman who can talk to wild horses.”

  Karla’s smile was warm and friendly, as if she wanted to give Sam a girlfriends-only hug.

  “That’s an exaggeration,” Sam said, wondering where she’d heard it. She pointed to distrac
t the woman. “The albino,” Sam said, “and the buckskin are mustangs.”

  “She’s a beauty.” Karla Starr’s eyes flicked over the horse. “Tiny for a bucking horse, though, and a little soft in the belly.”

  “She’s in foal,” Sam said.

  “Too bad.” Her, expression faded. She glanced at her watch again, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “In my business, there’s no such thing as a long-term investment.”

  “Aw now, do you mean to say you don’t breed bucking mares to bucking stallions?” Dallas asked.

  “Never. I buy rough stock, buck ’em out, and resell when they lose their edge. A mare might go through her entire rodeo career before that one’s ready for the arena.”

  Sam met Dallas’s eyes. Neither of them knew what to say.

  “And the albino?” Karla Starr raised one brow. “He’s tall enough, but he doesn’t have the look. Still, there’s no telling what he’d do in the arena, properly prepared.”

  “Properly prepared with drugs, shocks, burns--” Dallas used a casual tone for such horrors, but Karla Starr stopped him.

  “Of course not. Those are tricks from the old days.”

  “Not so old,” Dallas said. “When I worked for Slim Perkins, he was the only man raising stock instead of buying outlaws and terrifyin’ them into bucking.”

  “I thought Slim Perkins was dead.” Karla Starr laughed.

  “He is, ma’am.” Dallas looked hurt.

  Why didn’t Karla Starr go keep whatever appointment had her checking her watch every couple of minutes? There was nothing for her here.

  “I can guarantee you my animals love to buck,” the woman said, as if realizing she’d alienated them both. “It’s play for them. Who wouldn’t like a job where he only worked a couple of weekend afternoons a month?” She winked at Dallas. “Wouldn’t take too long to get the cricks out of your back that way, would it?”

  Dallas wasn’t taken in. “These are lifelong cricks, ma’am, and I love my life the way it is. Just like these ponies do.”

  Karla Starr smiled as if she were indulging Dallas, then she looked past Sam and raised her auburn penciled eyebrows in surprise. “Well, now, who’s this?”

  Sam heard hooves right behind her. They were determined, but not collected like a horse under saddle. Even before she saw him, she knew it was Ace.

  “Hey, runt,” Karla Starr said, pretending to joke with the gelding. “What’re you up to? Is he just an old pet?” She reached to touch Ace’s nose and he swung his head away.

  “He’s one of the best usin’ horses on the spread,” Dallas said. “He’s a little spoiled, but--”

  “Babying animals ruins them,” Karla interrupted, grabbing on to something she and Dallas had in common.

  How had Ace escaped his corral again? Sam couldn’t figure it out, but when he nuzzled her palm, she let him.

  “You spoil him with sugar cubes,” Karla said.

  “Almost never,” Sam said.

  “He’s sayin’ otherwise.” Karla laughed, then sneaked another glance at her watch before looking toward the range.

  “He’s not supposed to wander,” Sam agreed. “But since school started, he hasn’t been getting as much work as he needs and he’s been getting out of his corral.”

  “An escape artist.” Karla looked at Ace with new eyes. “Usually means they’re pretty smart.”

  A torrent of wind slashed through the ranch yard and Karla’s copper curls blew in her eyes. She looked ready to go, and then Dad came loping across the bridge into the yard.

  “Now, there’s a horse,” Karla said.

  Dad rode Banjo, and the Quarter horse looked great. Collected and gleaming on his neck and shoulders, the gelding was all a working horse should be.

  Karla Starr could just eat her heart out, Sam thought, because Dad would never sell Banjo.

  “I should probably go, but I’d really like it if you could introduce me to your dad first.”

  Karla caught Sam’s questioning look and laughed.

  “I knew because you two look just alike,” she said.

  Sam motioned for Dad as he brought Banjo down to a trot. Dad looked impatient, displeased to have company, and downright peeved over Ace.

  “Mr. Forster, I’m Karla Starr,” she said before Sam could perform an introduction. “I love that gelding you’re riding. He’d make a great pickup horse--”

  “Excuse me.” Dad made an apologetic gesture. “Samantha, what is Ace doing loose?”

  “Dad, I think he’s figured out how to work the latch--”

  “That’s clear. I want you to fix it. And when you start those lessons tomorrow, use him. That horse is bored.”

  Karla Starr gave a between-us-adults chuckle, but Dad ignored her.

  Sam thought of Rachel hauling on Ace’s tender mouth and knew there was a better way to end his boredom. She needed to take him out and run him. She was grounded, but maybe Dad would agree--for Ace’s sake.

  A raindrop struck her eyelid. Sam blinked. Could those clouds really be ready to give them the rain they needed? A storm would excite Ace. He’d really run for her then.

  “I know you all are busy,” Karla said, “but I mean what I said. I’d pay top dollar for a horse like your gelding. He’s strong enough to carry one rider and pick up a cowboy when his bronc or bull ride is over.”

  “I’ll remember,” Dad said, but he was looking skyward and holding back a smile.

  Now, while he was pleased, Sam tried to ask.

  “Dad, I know if I took Ace out now, I could take the edge off his energy and he’d stay put.”

  Wind rushed through the cottonwood trees and the horses in the ten-acre pasture began to run.

  All at once, there was a tapping sound as rain hit the brim of Dad’s Stetson.

  Ace tossed his head up, nostrils eager for the rain-sweet air. Then he neighed so loudly Sam covered her ears.

  “Please, Dad?”

  “Get him tacked up and run him into the wind,” Dad said. “But just for a little while.”

  “Thanks--”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank your loco horse, and take Jake with you.” Dad gestured toward the barn where Teddy Bear was tied. “Get after it, and don’t be late for dinner. I’m sure Ms. Starr will excuse you.”

  “Of course.” The woman slid her fingers into her pocket and withdrew two business cards. “Sam, people would pay good money to see Ace do what he’s getting in trouble for.”

  Then, looking at Dad, she added, “I don’t love my animals, I let them feel useful.” Then she handed him the second card. “Just in case you change your mind.”

  There was something flirty in the gesture that made Sam wish Brynna Olson were there.

  Dad nodded politely, and Karla Starr was already driving away when Sam noticed the dog in her truck.

  An Australian shepherd stared through the truck’s back window. Its one white eye made the dog’s stare eerie.

  For close to an hour, the dog had stayed silent in the truck cab. If Karla Starr didn’t love her animals, how had she trained the dog to be so patient?

  Sam didn’t want to know.

  “C’mon, Ace.” She led the gelding by a handful of mane.

  Sweetheart was kicking fence rails in the barn corral. Out in the small pasture, Amigo arched his neck and pranced like a stallion ready to do battle. Teddy Bear, tied to the hitching rail, jumped back against his reins as Jake hustled out to plop Sam’s saddle into her arms.

  “I heard what he said, and this is a fool idea.”

  “Jake, he’ll be fine. Ace always behaves.”

  Jake ignored her, shaking his head as he frowned after Dad.

  “All I can think is that he was so glad you all got away with all your fingers and toes, he went loco himself.”

  Sam smoothed on Ace’s saddle blanket. “What are you trying to say? I don’t get it.”

  “That Karla Starr gives me the creeps,” Jake said. “She’s after something.”

  “It’s
just like you to see a competent business-woman as a threat,” Sam told him, even though she didn’t trust Karla Starr, either.

  “Competent? Is that what you call it?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. Without being asked, Ace opened his mouth for the bit.

  “And she didn’t give you the creeps?”

  “Okay, it did bother me when she was sizing up the mustangs as bucking prospects.”

  “And flashing her business cards around.”

  “That didn’t bother me,” Sam said.

  “It did,” Jake said, “but you won’t admit it. I listen to my instincts.” Jake pulled Teddy Bear’s reins loose from the hitch rail and mounted. “Want to know why?”

  “No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  Sam rode beside Jake. By silent agreement, they kept the horses to a walk as they crossed the ranch yard.

  “One night, I was trying to get to sleep. I was tossing and turning, feeling like bugs were crawling on me. I knew it was my imagination, ’cause I wasn’t camping, just lying in my own bed. Finally one of my brothers--Nate, I think--yelled at rife to settle down.

  “I did, but I kept feeling like something was trailing on my arm. Really quiet, ’cause I didn’t want Nate to beat the tar out of me, I kind of flipped my arm to the side.”

  Even now, Jake shuddered.

  “Something hit the floor. Nate came roaring out of bed and I turned on the light, and there was this ugly black scorpion scuttling across our bedroom floor.”

  Rain was falling for real now, and Sam pulled up the hood on her slicker.

  “You get the point, Brat?” Jake said.

  “Yeah, yeah, instincts,” Sam, muttered.

  Jake rode close enough to grab Ace’s cheek piece. Because it was Jake, Ace didn’t shy, only stopped and flicked his ears in curiosity.

  “No, the moral of that story is: if you think something is creeping up to do you harm, don’t wait till it fills you with poison.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rain came in sheets, wavering iridescent in the dusk. The sagebrush glowed silver-green as sunset sifted through thunder clouds. The land Sam had known all her life looked alien and exotic.

  Jake took the lead, and Sam let Ace follow at a gallop. The wind whipped something past Sam’s face. She thought it was a wildflower stalk, until Jake turned to look back over his shoulder. It must have been Jake’s leather string, the one he used to tame his long hair, because his black hair looked more like a mane than ever, blowing warrior-wild in the wind.