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  “Bayfire can do almost anything,” Inez said. “But actually, technology’s helped movie horses. In the early days, horses were considered almost expendable.”

  Expendable. Sam turned the word over in her mind, not certain what it meant. It sounded as if you could spend them like dollar bills.

  “In the old cowboy movies,” Inez went on, “if they needed a horse to fall, they’d whip him into a gallop, then run him at a trip wire.”

  Sam caught her breath aloud.

  “That’s sickening,” Brynna said. “They must have broken their legs.”

  “And necks,” Jake added.

  “Jake,” his mother said, with a settle-down gesture.

  “You’re right,” Inez confirmed. “Some horses died. I don’t know if it’s true, but legend says that at the end of filming the chariot races in that old movie Ben Hur, over a hundred horses had died or been destroyed.”

  “Since then, the humane societies have stepped in, haven’t they?” Brynna asked. Inez nodded. “They’re on every movie set or they notify a local vet to show up and do a check. That helps, but so does intensive training.”

  “Like you’ve done with Bayfire?” Sam asked.

  “Yes,” Inez said briefly. “And of course there are special effects, makeup, remote control animal robots, and stuffies.”

  Sam realized she’d been so interested as she listened to Inez, she’d actually eaten some of the horrid vegetables. And she wasn’t the only one who was fascinated. Dad leaned both forearms on the tabletop and Gram’s sandwich lay half eaten on her plate. Sam wanted to kick Jake under the table and say, “See?” She wasn’t the only one who wanted to know more about the movies.

  “Robots I understand, but what are stuffies?” Mrs. Ely asked.

  “Another Hollywood secret,” Inez said, sipping her tea.

  “Please tell,” Gram encouraged her.

  Inez sat back in her chair, head tilted to one side as she explained.

  “Let’s say the screenwriter describes a scene in which the horse has to slip on an icy trail and go hurtling down a mountainside. We might start with a stunt horse taking the fall, then cut in scenes of a life-sized stuffed model of a horse—sort of like a dummy—sliding down that hillside.” She paused to be sure everyone understood. Sam noticed that even Jake nodded. “So, we’d intersperse frames of the real horse acting like he’s struggling, with pictures of the stuffie. It can look pretty realistic.”

  “Wow,” Sam said. “Will you use those for this movie?”

  “Sure. Those scenes have already been shot for The Princess and the Pauper. Oh, they used retractable swords and jousting lances, too.”

  “Retractable,” Dad said, nodding. “Well, I’ll be. So, when it looks like a horse is gettin’ stabbed, really the blade’s goin’ back into the handle of the sword. Is that it?”

  “That’s it,” Inez said. Her smile said she enjoyed showing off the mysteries of her business. “Add that to the convincing wounds you can make with morticians’ wax and makeup and even though it’s all illusion and harmless to the horses, it can look pretty realistic.”

  “But you still have to train horses to do things that run counter to their instincts, like slamming into those retractable lances,” Brynna said.

  “True,” Inez said. “Some won’t do it, but any movie horse has to, at the very least, answer his name every time, without fail, and follow hand signals in case there are loud special effects. Everyone’s safety depends on that part of his training.”

  “We use lots of Quarter Horses for ranch work,” Maxine said. “Are there any particular breeds you folks use most?”

  “Thinkin’ of startin’ a sideline in movie horses, Mom?” Jake asked, and everyone laughed at his unexpected joke.

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Ely said, “but I was thinking of helping Grace clear the table. I guess I’ll let you do that, since you’ve got enough energy to tease me.”

  Jake didn’t complain, so Sam stood and helped him, but she kept listening so she could hear Inez’s answer.

  “My dad’s always used Arabs,” she said. “He likes to get them young, before anyone’s messed them up, or breed them himself. He says Arabs will do anything once they understand what you’re asking.”

  “And yet Bayfire’s not an Arab,” Brynna said.

  “No, Bayfire was a magnificent experiment,” Inez said, but in the seconds of silence that followed, the clink of Sam clearing silverware filled the kitchen and Inez’s smile faded.

  “Speaking of amazing horses,” Gram said, suddenly, “Brynna and I saw some this morning in Darton.”

  Sam and Jake both stopped, as if they couldn’t focus enough while carrying dishes.

  “The school district’s trying to open a small riding therapy center,” Brynna explained.

  “For kids like Gabe, who’ve been in accidents?” Sam asked.

  “Gabe’s the grandson on one of our neighbors,” Gram explained to Inez. “He was in a terrible car accident that left his legs paralyzed. Thank goodness it wasn’t permanent. Working with horses has helped him toward recovery. Now he’s regaining movement in his legs—”

  “Thanks to Firefly, his adopted mustang,” Sam interrupted.

  “And a riding therapy program near his home in Denver,” Brynna added.

  Sam welcomed the memories of Gabe and Firefly, but how could Gram and Brynna have known about this new Darton program, when she hadn’t, Sam wondered. And why had they gone to check it out and left her behind?

  “Actually it was Gabriel who got me interested in this,” Gram said. “And then I talked with Amelia’s grandmother.”

  “Amelia?” Jake’s mother asked.

  “One of the HARP girls,” Gram explained. “Her grandmother wanted to buy Ace and donate him to a therapy program. It seems he’s just the sort of horse they look for—bomb-proof is what they call them.”

  “That pony still has a few tricks,” Dad said dubiously.

  “He does, yes,” Gram said. She tucked a strand of silvery hair back in her bun, and her eyes took on a determined look that made Sam a little worried.

  “The Darton program will be for children with a variety of problems,” Brynna explained. Sam couldn’t help noticing her stepmother was looking at everyone except her. “Sadly, most of the conditions are longer lasting than Gabe’s. But the horses seem to help with things like trunk control”—Brynna demonstrated by placing her hands on her rib cage and moving side to side as she might on a gentle horse—“cerebral palsy, things like that. The horses not only teach balance, but riders have to remember the process of putting on a helmet, how to put their feet in the stirrups, how to hold the reins—things like that.”

  Suspicious chills covered Sam’s arms with goose bumps.

  This was an awful lot of detail for Brynna to know without a purpose. And she couldn’t be thinking about donating newly captured mustangs for this. That just wouldn’t work.

  When had Gram talked with Amelia’s grandmother? And why?

  Sam glanced at Dad in time to see his sad expression.

  “What sorts of horses do they use?” Inez asked.

  “Kind, understanding horses,” Gram said. “They have to be gentle with a rider who sometimes can’t stay upright without volunteers walking on each side of the horse.”

  “In fact…” Brynna started, watching Gram as if she should finish the sentence.

  Here it comes, Sam thought.

  “In fact, I volunteered. Starting in September, I’ll be helping there two days each week.”

  Was that all? Gram was going to help out in the riding therapy program?

  Sam sagged against the kitchen counter.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” she offered, in relief.

  And Gram took her up on it.

  Chapter Nine

  “I think that’s great, Gram,” Sam said.

  She looked over her shoulder as far as she could with her hands still in the sudsy sink, then smiled, so no one would suspect
the twinge of selfishness she felt as she imagined coming home to an empty kitchen with no cookies and milk or, on cold days, cookies and cocoa.

  Still, she agreed with Jake’s mom when she said, “Grace, you’ll be perfect. You’re good with children and you know horses, but with all this”—Mrs. Ely’s hands spread, indicating all the duties of running a ranch—“do you have time?”

  “Lands,” Gram said, shaking her head. “It will only be a couple of days a week, but I see a lot of plusses to it. After the baby’s born, Brynna will want a little time for just the two of them—”

  Brynna made a little sound of protest, but Gram kept talking.

  “—and I feel like I still have something to contribute, old as I am, even if I do say so myself.”

  This time Sam turned quickly from the sink as she exclaimed, “Gram!”

  She didn’t think of Gram as being that old. It sounded like she thought other people thought she was useless!

  “Your hands are dripping soapy water, Samantha,” Gram said. “Be careful. We don’t want anyone to slip.”

  “Somethin’ to contribute,” Dad said slowly. “Besides keeping the ranch accounts, payin’ the bills, helpin’ plant the crops, the garden, known’ when to breed and gather livestock, and cookin’ a few tasty meals along the way?”

  “That’s enough, Wyatt,” Gram said. “Perhaps you and Samantha are right that I’ve no reason to feel at loose ends, but it just seems that Sweetheart and I aren’t doing all we could. We have something to give outside our little ranch world.”

  Sweetheart? Sam was about to ask Gram what Sweetheart had to do with anything, when Inez spoke up and Sam realized the trainer had been listening just as attentively to this family talk as they had listened to her descriptions of the movie business.

  “I think that’s incredibly generous of you, Mrs. Forster,” Inez said. “It would be a better world if more people thought like you do.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Gram said modestly. “All I do know is that I have an angel food cake sitting over there, and strawberries sweetening, and if I don’t hurry and whip the cream, everyone will be wanting to go to bed before we’ve had dessert.”

  Once they were full of the sweet summer dessert, they all walked out to the corral to see Bayfire.

  “My reason for living,” Inez said, dipping an arm toward the stallion.

  “What?” Mrs. Ely yelped.

  “What I meant was, my reason for living in my camper every time he’s in a movie,” Inez amended.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Ely said, as if that made far more sense.

  “I’m still not exactly clear on what’s wrong with him,” Brynna said.

  “He’s not acting like himself,” Inez said, repeating what she’d told Sam earlier.

  Brynna gave a patient smile. “I’m a biologist and I guess that makes me sort of literal. What do you mean by ‘he’s not himself’?”

  “He’s bored, just moving through his behaviors by rote, and once in a while”—Inez paused, glancing at Sam as if she knew she’d remember the bite—“cranky.”

  “You told me that much on the phone,” Brynna said. “I guess I’m wondering if you’ve worked up a training strategy to put the spirit back in him.”

  “I’m considering several things,” Inez said, “but I’ll take suggestions. You see, most of the actors’ work is finished, but Bayfire’s major stunt is still ahead. If that sparkle he’s famous for doesn’t show on film, the director may reshoot the scene with another horse.”

  “He looks lively enough,” Maxine said.

  Bayfire’s eyes swept over them as they stood outside his corral. His ears and nose pointed at Inez, but he sidestepped and turned his head, as if considering the others from different angles would make them less of an audience.

  He wasn’t lively. He was concerned, Sam thought.

  “Here now, nothing to worry about,” Dad told him gently, but the furrows over Bayfire’s eyes grew deeper and he looked even more anxious.

  Even now, Inez wouldn’t exactly focus on the stallion’s attitude.

  “Since our location manager spotted the perfect non-waterfall to shoot our jumping over the waterfall stunt,” she said, pretending confusion, “I thought I’d take the next couple days to accustom him to the terrain and costuming.”

  “He has to wear a costume?” Jake asked

  “Plastic armor, some caparison, you know, that kind of fluttery skirtlike stuff you see on knights’ horses in movies. He’s learned to ignore smoke and explosions, cameras, and swords, so that’s no problem.”

  “Really?” Brynna said. “I’m impressed.”

  “In Redcoat’s Daughter, he had to strut in a manner that suited the arrogant general on his back, then carry Violette—playing the general’s daughter—through a war scene, and find her on the battlefield after she’d fallen.”

  “I remember that! And that was your horse,” Maxine Ely said. Admiration filled her voice, even when she added, “Though there were some historical inaccuracies—not your mistakes, of course—it was a really touching scene. It makes me tear up just thinking about it.”

  “Thank you,” Inez said. “And though I give Bayfire most of the credit, please do tell Violette when you see her. She had a bit to do with it.”

  “I want to see that movie!” Sam said.

  Jake gave a sarcastic moan.

  “It wouldn’t do you any harm to watch a quality movie,” his mother said.

  Jake shook his head, not about to quarrel like a kid in front of witnesses, but Sam could almost read his mind. She’d bet he was thinking of Violette’s rudeness, her rumpled hair and clothes, and wondering where “quality” fit in.

  “Anyway, before we try jumping him over the place where they’ll computer-generate the trickle into a roaring waterfall, I need to work with Bayfire. I’m hoping to shake him up a little and remind him who he really is.”

  “If anyone can help you with that, it’s these two. I know they’re just kids, but to lots of people, not just their biased parents, they are horse wizards,” Mrs. Ely said.

  Jake looked at his mother in astonishment and Sam could only grin.

  “Okay,” Inez said, and Sam noticed there was still a reserve in her voice. “My plan is to relax him and work on a little muscle conditioning.”

  “And socialization,” Jake put in.

  Sam frowned at Jake. Couldn’t he tell Inez didn’t want to talk about Bayfire acting vicious?

  “What’s that about?” Brynna’s voice was mild, but Sam saw her stepmother tense up.

  “It’s not like he needs a party,” Inez joked.

  “Jake?” Brynna asked.

  “He’s been acting a little rough,” Jake said, darting a look at Inez.

  “And nipping,” Inez admitted.

  Though that was a huge understatement, Sam was glad Inez had owned up to that much. Brynna’s knowledge of horse behavior might really help.

  “How old is he?” Brynna asked.

  “Five,” Inez said carefully.

  Nodding, Brynna turned to watch the horse for a few minutes.

  “It’s a male vice,” she said finally, and Sam noticed her stepmother flashed a look at both Dad and Jake, daring them to contradict her. They didn’t. “If they’re raised with other colts, they usually get it out of their system. Or at least they understand the consequences.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked.

  “If you bite, you get bitten back,” Brynna said. “But, if it hasn’t been a problem before, I’d guess something else is going on. What do you think, Wyatt?”

  “Stallions this age get to thinking they need harems of their own,” Dad suggested.

  “But I keep him busy and he’s incredibly well trained,” Inez protested.

  Brynna bit her lip and Sam could tell she was trying not to contradict Inez.

  But Brynna’s studies meant she linked most behavior—human and animal—with primitive impulses.

  When Brynna c
rossed her arms above the bulge of her baby, Sam saw the “we’ll wait and see” expression on her face. Brynna didn’t believe training could overcome instinct.

  Where was the Phantom?

  As Sam lay in bed that night, staring at the swoops and bumps in her plaster ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking of the wild silver stallion who’d once been her own. Had those been dust wisps she’d seen along the ridge top that morning just before she’d seen Jake? Had they been stirred by the stallion and his herd as they climbed the stairstep mesas and hid in the pinion and sage thickets?

  What if Violette’s aerial acrobatics had stirred up the mustangs?

  Maybe the Phantom would come to the river tonight. Sam shivered at the thought. Every moment she spent with the wild horse was a gift.

  But the plane could have had the opposite effect, too. The snarling, swooping thing could have spooked the mustangs. The Phantom might have decided to elude the strange mechanical creature by returning his band to the security of his hidden mountain valley.

  Sam rolled on her side and stared at her white curtains. The light wind billowing them inward was chilly.

  Summer was ending. Wild animals usually came down from the cool mountains to graze the lower, warmer range in winter.

  She didn’t know the altitude of the Phantom’s valley. She’d ridden to it, heading sharply uphill and steeply downhill, squeezing along a tunnel that cut all the way through a mountain. The horses had sought refuge there in all weather.

  Of course it wasn’t a magical place, even though it felt like it. She’d heard Gram talk to her gardening club friends about microclimates, though. Sometimes, due to air currents or something, one little piece of earth could be warmer than the land around it.

  Sam yawned, but she wasn’t sleepy.

  She missed the Phantom. A lot.

  Sam sat up in bed, pulled her knees against her chest, and circled them with her arms. She longed to hug the stallion’s neck as she had when he was a colt. But he was an adult now, and wild, and if she could just sort out her thoughts, she had a feeling that he could help her figure out what was wrong with Bayfire.

  The Phantom and Bayfire were stallions of about the same age. They lived in totally different worlds, of course. Still, what if Brynna was right? Maybe the nature of horses didn’t change all that much because of where they lived.