Moonrise Read online

  Leah Kenworthy was Jen’s mom. Sam was pretty sure she knew what Brynna was thinking—their protective Border Collie could have left the ranch in search of Linc Slocum’s hounds.

  “Hi Leah, sorry to call so early,” Brynna said. She chuckled, and Sam supposed Leah had said she’d been up for hours. “I’m almost ready to leave for work and just realized Blaze, our Border Collie, hasn’t been around for about twenty-four hours.”

  Brynna listened. She nodded and a look of relief came over her face. “I can hear them baying. That must be driving you crazy. Yeah, I know. We all put up with a lot, just so we can earn our daily bread. Well, we’d really appreciate it if you let us know if you do. Thanks.”

  “They haven’t seen him,” Sam concluded as Brynna hung up.

  “Right, and she told me the same thing you did, Grace,” Brynna said to Gram. “She chalked up his wandering to spring fever. Still, it’s good to know Linc’s hounds are still in their kennel.”

  Sam noticed Brynna’s eyes had come to rest on her, but she didn’t ask what her stepmother was thinking. If it was anything that would delay tomorrow’s campout, she didn’t want to know.

  Since no River Bend stock needed to be ear-tagged or branded, Dad had Sam practice on scrap leather.

  “It’s not the same,” Dad said. He handed her a tool that looked like a cross between a stapler and a hole puncher. “But it’s about the only way to practice.”

  Dad showed her how to load the tagger with River Bend’s tags. They were light blue and carried the initials RBR for River Bend Ranch, and the ranch telephone number.

  “Gold Dust uses purple tags,” Dad explained, “and Three Ponies still does it the old-fashioned way. They use an under-seven.”

  “Under seven?” Sam asked.

  Dad made a gesture next to his own ear. “Takin’ a really sharp pocket knife, they cut the underside of the calf’s ear. Two quick moves and there’s a distinctive ear shape.”

  Sam shuddered. She closed her eyes and sucked in her suddenly queasy stomach.

  Cowgirl. Rancher. Buckaroo. She wanted to be all three, but she had to admit the truth.

  “Dad, I’ll help Jen mark the Gold Dust calves with the purple ear tags, but Three Ponies is on its own. There’s no way I’m going to”—Sam held her hand out as if it gripped a knife—“do that.”

  Dad nodded. “Good thing, too, ’cause Luke’s downright picky when it comes to marking his stock.”

  “Why do we have to do things to their ears?” Sam asked. “They already have brands so that we know they’re ours.”

  Dad studied her for a second, but Sam didn’t get the feeling he thought she was being a wimp.

  “If they’re dirty, or covered with snow, or all bunched in together, it can be hard to read the brand,” Dad explained. “Now practice on this leather, and make your moves quick.”

  Sam practiced. Each time she closed the tagger, she did it fast.

  Although it probably wasn’t exactly the same, a painful memory affected her technique.

  She and Aunt Sue had been in a shopping mall near San Francisco when Sam had begged to get her ears pierced. Aunt Sue had given in, but the girl in the mall shop was a new employee. She’d looked more nervous than Sam had felt.

  “You might want to wait,” Aunt Sue had hinted, but Sam was afraid Aunt Sue would change her mind.

  “Now or never,” Sam had said stubbornly, and boy, had she been sorry.

  The hesitant girl had made three attempts before she got the tiny gold stud through Sam’s ear.

  Now, Sam closed the tagger with a decisive snap. No way would she leave a little calf with a tender, aching ear like she’d had.

  When it came time to practice branding, she at least knew how to do one thing right.

  Building the branding fire was easy. She’d made campfires, and this was the same.

  Dad lectured her some more while the branding iron, shaped in a backward F for Forster, heated in the fire.

  “The design on the iron has to be simple. Don’t want it blurred if the calf moves.” Dad paused and shook his head. “Since you’re learnin’ this for real, guess there’s no harm in telling you an example, sort of as a warning.”

  “I want to do it right,” Sam said.

  “Okay. Linc wanted a real complicated brand at first. He didn’t like Jed’s Diamond K, and thought he could put his whole name on his stock. That kinda detail calls for a real thin iron. Too thin. It sliced right through the calves’ hides.”

  Dad’s description created an awful image of bawling, disfigured animals.

  “Why does he do things like that?” Sam demanded.

  “Ignorance,” Dad said. “He doesn’t know any better.”

  “Dad…” Sam said. She hadn’t meant to use an accusing tone, but Dad was being too kind in his assessment.

  “Okay.” Dad allowed the correction. “Linc Slocum doesn’t understand that the ranch has to come first, before everything else. Even family.”

  Sam blinked in surprise. She sure hadn’t expected Dad to say that.

  “Family changes, but each generation depends on the ranch,” Dad explained. “If we don’t treat it right, we’ll lose it.”

  Stiffly, Dad lifted the branding iron from the fire, blew on the ashy, backward F, then patiently returned it to heat some more.

  “Linc won’t ever understand,” Sam insisted. “He doesn’t depend on the ranch, or cattle, or even people! He counts on money to get himself out of trouble!”

  As Sam’s words exploded, she realized anger had been gnawing at her since Dad’s fall.

  Linc Slocum had been using those dogs for fun, but they could have killed Dad.

  And Linc didn’t care.

  She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not Dad, Brynna, Gram, or even Jen, but she wanted something bad to happen to Linc Slocum, something that couldn’t be solved with money.

  There were always consequences for her thoughtless actions. When would Linc Slocum have to pay—and not in dollars—for his mistakes?

  “Sometimes life ain’t fair,” Dad admitted. “Now, let me see you practice with this iron.”

  As quick as that, Dad had changed the subject.

  Or maybe he hadn’t seen it as a different subject. There was something in the way Dad handed her the heavy iron that said he expected her to fulfill her responsibilities to River Bend Ranch, fair or not.

  “It’s a waste of time and stress to handle a calf more than once,” Dad was saying. “By the time you nod off tonight, you’ll have learned how to vaccinate a calf, mark its ear, and slap on its brand, all in a few seconds. And it’ll be done ’til next year. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Sam said.

  She’d buckle down and work hard, but she still hoped Linc Slocum got what was coming to him.

  Like gold ore veining a gray rock, dawn sent spindles of light across the early morning sky.

  Sam and Jen had talked about using a packhorse to carry a tent, food, a roll of orange plastic fencing, the tagger, and branding irons, but they’d decided against it.

  The ride out would be fine, but what about the trip back?

  Herding a group of range-wild cattle that had been wily enough to escape the first roundup would be hard. Keeping them together would be even harder.

  The rope leading back to another horse would only get in the way if they had to gallop after a fugitive.

  So the girls packed only what was necessary.

  Despite their heavily laden saddlebags and the burdens tied on behind the cantles, both horses felt their riders’ excitement.

  Ace snorted and broke into high-spirited bucking as they rode out of sight of the ranch.

  “S-stop it,” Sam scolded, after a teeth-cracking jump and a swerve that nearly unseated her.

  Tossing her creamy mane, Silly neighed and shied away from Ace.

  “Oh yes, I know you’re terrified.” Jen pretended to sympathize with her palomino.

  Red Hereford cows and calves scattered at thei
r approach for the first two hours of their ride.

  The warm, windless morning allowed them to make good time to the section of range that hadn’t been searched for cattle.

  As they started up the foothills between War Drum Flats and Arroyo Azul, the terrain changed from alkali flats and sagebrush to pinion pines and hardy grasses.

  She heard the gurgle of a stream, but the area Sam thought she’d recognized wasn’t quite familiar.

  “I don’t remember riding here before,” Sam said.

  “It’s changed some,” Jen said. “There was a lot of damage from that last storm. Water rushed through there.” Jen nodded in the direction of a hillside that was still the color of chocolate milk. Swoops of earth had been shaped by powerful rains that had fallen the night Tempest was born.

  “Look!” Sam pointed. “A lightning strike brought that tree down.”

  The black scar on the tree trunk was almost hidden by fallen branches from the grove around it. The storm had lashed the branches loose, or maybe the fallen tree had brought them down with it.

  “Easy,” Jen said when Silly lifted her golden knees and snorted.

  Ace’s nostrils worked loudly, then he turned, ears pointed back the way they’d come.

  What did the horses sense? Sam met Jen’s eyes. They both knew it was smart to pay attention to animals’ warnings.

  Silly fought her reins, eyes rolling. She took a few steps that would have become a run if Jen hadn’t turned her in a circle.

  “It’s just wind making those pine needles ripple,” Jen said to comfort her horse.

  “Jen, it’s not windy,” Sam said.

  “I know that,” Jen said under her breath. “Do you think I’m going to tell her there’s something alive hiding under those fallen trees?”

  Goose bumps raced down Sam’s legs and chilled her, despite her leather chaps.

  “I have a feeling she’s about to find out anyway.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hounds surged up the hillside from behind them.

  Sam looked in time to see the dogs’ noses rise from the ground. Ears streaming back from their faces, the dogs ran silent and swift.

  “Silly,” Jen talked to her horse in a warning tone. “You know those dogs. Easy, girl.”

  Ace knew them too, but he didn’t like them. With the dogs still half a mile away, Ace struck out with both hind feet as if he’d send them bowling back down the hillside if they came a step closer.

  Pine needles rushed. Branches bobbed. Pointed hooves hit wood. All at once a huge buck, his many-pointed antlers held high, thrust up from the camouflage of the fallen tree.

  Both horses shied, but the hounds cried as one, running faster, rejoicing at their success in flushing prey from his hiding place.

  Golden legs striking the air, Silly slewed sideways, avoiding the dogs as Ace’s head darted forward in threat.

  The dogs ignored the horses.

  In a single leap, the buck cleared the fallen branches, touched down, then moved like magic ahead of the dogs. Once, he stopped to look back at them. He aimed ears shaped like cupped palms toward the dogs, as if he’d never heard anything like their baying.

  And, Sam guessed, he probably hadn’t.

  “Run, you stupid thing!” Jen yelled.

  The buck did, gliding away with all three dogs after him.

  “It’s what they’re trained for. It’s not their fault,” Sam muttered as she rubbed Ace’s neck. “I’m trying to remember that,” she told Jen. “I’m going to tell Brynna and she’ll turn that fool in.”

  Sam looked back toward River Bend Ranch. If it wouldn’t mean an end to their campout, she’d return to report Linc Slocum to Brynna now. Or maybe Sheriff Ballard. How cool would it be if he put Linc Slocum in jail?

  “Jen, why would Linc turn them loose again?”

  Silly answered instead. Her floating, friendly neigh shattered the quiet that had settled as the dogs moved off.

  Jen followed Sam’s gaze, then twisted in her saddle to gaze in the same direction as Silly.

  Jen sighed and pushed her glasses farther up her nose.

  “Speak of the devil,” she said. “I guess you can ask him yourself.”

  Golden Champagne, the biggest of the Kenworthy palominos, was nicknamed Champ. He was earning that name now, as he continued toward Sam and Jen, in spite of Linc Slocum, who sawed a severe, silver-mounted bit back and forth in Champ’s mouth.

  Sam’s anger grew hotter. If the palomino followed his rider’s directions, he’d be slogging through the downed branches the deer had just abandoned.

  Instead, Champ used his horse sense to keep his rider safe, and paid for it with a sore mouth.

  “What’s all this carryin’ on up here?” Linc bellowed.

  Linc wore a brown shirt with gold piping, full-length, fancy chaps with his name branded on them, a long duster better suited for a Hollywood cowboy, and brass spurs with sharp rowels.

  Sam’s anger was about to boil over, when Jen noticed her.

  “Down, girl,” Jen whispered to Sam.

  “I am so mad at him. My dad, the dogs, the way he treats Champ…”

  “You’re hyperventilating,” Jen said quietly. “That could make you pass out.”

  Sam’s breaths came fast and loud, as if she were pulling in enough oxygen to tackle Slocum from the saddle. Oh, how she wanted to do it.

  Slocum yanked his reins, jerking Champ to a stop. Then, Linc raised a silver whistle to his lips. His cheeks ballooned out and turned red as he blew.

  Sam snugged her reins, staying in touch with Ace’s mouth in case he bolted. She didn’t hear the whistle, so she was pretty sure Slocum was blowing a high-pitched tone to summon the dogs. She didn’t know if the horses could hear it.

  Next, Slocum unhooked a bag hanging from the horn of his silver-mounted saddle. Swaying, he hefted the bag with both hands and upended it.

  Chunks of meat tumbled out onto the ground.

  “Sam?” Jen’s voice penetrated Sam’s anger. “If you pass out, I’m not carrying you home.”

  Sam guessed that meant she was still hyperventilating. She pressed her lips closed for a few seconds before she answered.

  “I’m okay. I won’t say…much,” she promised.

  Ace, for one, didn’t believe her. Anger must have telegraphed down the reins, because the bay mustang sidestepped stiffly away from Champ as the palomino touched noses with Silly.

  The whistle had worked. The dogs came bounding back.

  With a satisfied smirk, Slocum slipped the whistle back in his pocket and turned to Sam and Jen.

  “I suppose you girls are gonna tell on me,” Slocum said, not sounding a bit embarrassed.

  Sam searched her brain for something to say. Nothing she came up with was right.

  She stared up the mountain, hoping for a glimpse of the white-tailed buck escaping.

  When she turned back, Linc’s face wore a gloating look as he watched the dogs swirl around Champ’s legs. They gulped the meat until only one fist-sized hunk was left, then the black-and-tan one, Shirley, turned on the others with a snarl. They jumped back, tails wagging low, and let her choke it down.

  Slocum patted the rifle in his saddle sheath.

  “I could’ve let them run him to a standstill,” he bragged. “Or gotten ’em to chase him back into that box canyon he came outta.” He jerked his thumb toward a shady defile below.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Jen said quickly.

  Slocum didn’t seem to notice her level, lifeless tone as he went on.

  “I would’ve sent Ryan out with you two,” Slocum continued. “But he’s obsessed with that mongrel foal. He’s actin’ like a danged nursemaid.”

  Sam didn’t remind Slocum that he’d promised the foal to her when he’d discovered his expensive Appaloosa mare was in foal to an outlaw stallion named Diablo.

  She didn’t mention the mongrels’ sire was a valuable endurance champion, either.

  Sam only said, “F
oals can take a lot of time and attention, especially when they have first-time mothers.”

  Too bad her polite efforts were wasted on Slocum.

  He actually gave a snort before saying, “There’s something unmanly about the way he hovers over it.”

  “No,” both girls protested.

  Sam noticed Jen’s voice had an even sharper edge than hers.

  When Sam glanced over, she saw Jen was gripping the saddle horn so hard, her knuckles had turned white.

  Jen and Ryan weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, but almost. Still, Jen found the control not to interrupt Linc’s ranting.

  “I’m having Hotspot bred back before long,” he said, “sending her over to Sterling’s stable, to their Appaloosa stallion Cloud Cap.

  “My son says the mare’s too nervous,” Slocum’s voice took on a mocking, high-pitched tone. Then he actually spat into the dirt and all three dogs looked up in surprise. “That stud’s the only horse around with bloodlines to match hers and I’m done listening to my boy’s whining.”

  Sam had never liked Ryan more than she did in that moment.

  She’d bet Ryan was right. He’d been exercising, watching, and coddling Hotspot since he’d arrived from England. He’d know if it was too soon for the mare to be bred again.

  She crossed her fingers, hoping Ryan won this battle with his father.

  “Mr. Slocum, are you taking the dogs home now?” Sam asked. “Range cattle are kind of spooky to begin with, so they’re difficult to herd.”

  “Yeah,” Slocum said. “So, what’s your point?”

  Jen tried to force a smile, but it faltered. Sam could almost see her switch to using her brain instead of her manners.

  Jen pushed her glasses up her nose before she explained, “The range cattle, being feral, might hide if they hear the dogs.”

  “Gotcha,” Slocum said. “I plan on takin’ them away. It’s my plan, though, and it’s got nothing to do with you or your cows, Forster.”

  Sam met Linc’s eyes. He didn’t match her attempts to be polite, so why should she even try?

  “Got ’em under control,” he boasted, looking down at the dogs. “They’re loyal to me now.”