Dawn Runner (2 page)

A
pparently Ryan had calmed down under Dr. Scott's quiet questioning, because he leaned casually against the barn wall, pretending to be unconcerned as the vet examined Shy Boots.

The vet lifted the Appaloosa, steadied him on his faintly striped hooves, and coaxed him into a paddock outside the barn. But the open space didn't tempt the colt to cavort in circles or nibble dandelions. In fact, he didn't do much of anything.

He'd changed a lot since the day Ryan had brought him over to play with her filly Tempest, Sam thought. Then, he'd bucked in high spirits. He'd chased and played hide-and-seek behind his mother. Now, Shy Boots turned his head away from the
humans and stared toward the range as if he knew where his mother had gone.

“Clinically, we'd diagnose his condition as ‘failure to thrive,'” Dr. Scott announced finally.

“I guess I'll need to talk with that woman Patty,” Ryan snapped. “Her precious burro Mistress Mayhem,” he pronounced the name almost scornfully, “is needed here, where she can take care of Boots.”

Ryan's attitude had just changed again. Since Sam had arrived, he'd gone from concerned, to irritated, to casual, and back to irritated. She and Jen knew he loved Shy Boots. Dr. Scott probably knew, too. So why did Ryan try to cover it up?

“If Patty didn't want to sell her burro two weeks ago, she won't want to now,” Jen told him. “Even if she loaned Mistress Mayhem to you, Patty would eventually want her back. Then Boots would lose her twice.”

“Right,” Ryan said curtly.

They faced the vet, waiting for his solution to the problem.

Dr. Scott pushed his black-rimmed glasses up with the back of one hand. He looked thoughtful. Sam knew he was about to come up with something, but the vet was testing Ryan's patience.

“Should I try to find his real mother?” Ryan demanded.

Dr. Scott must have been used to people turning emotional over their animals, because he pretty much
ignored Ryan and spoke slowly as he worked through the colt's situation.

“If Shy Boots were a human child—given his bumpy start—I'd say you'd be looking at trouble on down the line. But horses tend to bounce back from trouble. Once we clear up his physical problems, we'll probably see a big improvement.”

“What are his physical problems?” Ryan asked.

“I'm guessing he has an ulcer,” Dr. Scott said.

“Guessing?” Fear made Ryan's voice louder. “But you're not sure?”

The vet shrugged. “We could test him, but I'd rather not add to his stress. Ulcer treatment will do him good no matter what's wrong.”

An ulcer?
Sam stared at Shy Boots. Didn't people in high-pressure jobs, like heads of corporations or brain surgeons, get ulcers?

Sam moved her hands against her arms as if she were rubbing away a chill. Poor little horse.

This time Ryan didn't snap at the vet. When he did speak, his British accent seemed stronger than usual. “Because he feels abandoned, d'you think?”

“I can't read his mind,” Dr. Scott admitted. “But it's probably more physical than emotional. In the wild, horses spend almost all their waking hours grazing, then moving around looking for more grass, and grazing some more. His whole digestive system,” the vet said, nodding at Shy Boots, “is designed for a life of constant intake and exercise.”

When Ryan stayed quiet, the vet added, “Eat. Move. Eat again and move on to look for food, then eat some more.”

“I understood,” Ryan told him. “In fact, I was just thinking about his confinement and,” Ryan's cheeks flushed slightly, “his eating schedule.” He shook his head. Then his hands spread wide as something else occurred to him. “But many horses are kept in stalls and fed on a schedule.”

“And lots of 'em have ulcers,” Dr. Scott said. “I read a study not long ago that said plenty of race-horses and performance horses have ulcers, and so do most orphaned foals.”

“Does he count as an orphan?” Sam asked.

“Yes and no,” Dr. Scott said. “Yes, because he can't nurse every hour, getting nutrition the minute he needs it. No, because he was with his mother right after birth. In those first six to twelve hours, nursing babies don't get milk—”

“They get colostrum,” Jen said proudly.

Ryan murmured in agreement.

“That's right,” Dr. Scott said.

Sam raised her hand as if she were in class. “Excuse me. Since I'm the only one who doesn't know what col—whatever—is, could someone please tell me?”

“Colostrum is a liquid that's like fifty-fifty sugar and antibodies,” Jen explained.

“Something like that,” Dr. Scott agreed, smiling at
Jen's knowledge. “But the main thing is, it helps young animals fight off disease.”

“Fine then,” Ryan said. He sounded as if he were brushing aside his earlier worry.

“However,” Dr. Scott said in a cautioning tone, “first-time mothers don't always give their young enough of it, and he's reached the age when the positive effects start wearing off.” In the sudden silence, they all stared at the vulnerable colt. “But I don't think we need to worry about that. My advice—” Dr. Scott paused to look at Ryan.

“Yes, please,” Ryan urged.

“—is to kill two birds with one stone. Put him on open pasture with another horse so he can do what horses do, moving around at will, nibbling at grass, staring at butterflies, and napping. He'll avoid long periods of fasting—that's tough on his tummy—and he'll be feeding in the proper position, with his head down and throat”—Dr. Scott's hand moved up his own neck—“extended. That'll take care of his physical need for exercise and his emotional need for company.”

“Just a moment,” Ryan protested, then looked sort of sheepish. “I do spend quite a good deal of time with him.”

“I meant equine company,” the vet said. “And it would be best, 'til he shakes off his blues, if you limited human contact.”

“Why is that?” Jen asked.

“Sometimes it helps to let creatures return, as much as possible, to what they've been doing for millions of years,” Dr. Scott said. Then he shrugged, adding, “And it's an easy step to try first.”

Ryan's arms crossed hard across his middle. He looked cold-eyed and determined. He wanted to reject the idea of not spending time with the lonely colt, and Sam understood.

“But Shy Boots has imprinted on Ryan,” Sam said, remembering the days Ryan had refused to leave Hotspot and her colt. “Won't that be hard for him?”

“Maybe at first,” Dr. Scott conceded, “but he needs the company of other horses, needs to learn what they do and how they respond to their world, if he's not going to be a misfit.”

Ryan exhaled and his arms dropped to his sides. “Clearly, that's not what I want.” He looked away from the vet and stared toward the pastures. “Now,” he said, and cleared his throat loudly, “our next chore is to select the perfect companion.”

“I already know,” Jen said.

“Not your Silly,” Ryan protested, referring to Silk Stockings, Jen's beautiful but skittish palomino mare.

“No, not my Silly.” Jen stuck her tongue out at him. It was such an uncharacteristically childish gesture that Sam, Ryan, and even Dr. Scott laughed.

When Jen pointed to a pasture across the ranch,
indicating the graceful sorrel grazing closest to them, Sam followed her gesture. But she wasn't prepared when Jen said, “Princess Kitty.”

Chills rained down Sam's arms.

Princess Kitty had once lived at River Bend Ranch. Sam's ranch. The mare had been sold to the Kenworthys right after Sam's accident because…Sam's next breath caught, and she drew another one, despite the tightness in her chest. Because Dad couldn't stand to look at Princess Kitty since she'd given birth to the horse who'd injured Sam. Princess Kitty was the Phantom's mother.

So why hadn't Dad sold Smoke, too? Dad's gray mustang had been the Phantom's father. Sam shook her head. Why should she try to unravel Dad's emotions, when she couldn't even figure out her own?

Right now, for instance, she felt totally protective of the mare as Dr. Scott and Ryan discussed her suitability as a companion for Shy Boots.

“She's a pretty thing,” Ryan said, looking the horse over with considering eyes. “And I have heard them call to one another in sort of a conversational way.”

“Some people believe in something called breed recognition,” Dr. Scott said, “and I'd have to say that Kitty's conformation is pretty close to Hotspot's.”

Sam had never noticed before, but the vet was right. Although Princess Kitty was probably a full hand shorter than Hotspot, she had the same fine-legged,
lean-bodied running Quarter Horse body.

“Will she know how to conduct herself around a foal, though?” Ryan asked. “That's rather critical. If she should get short-tempered around Shy Boots—”

“She's had a foal,” Sam interrupted. “She's the Phantom's mother.”

Dr. Scott gave a surprised sound and tilted his head.

“You don't say?” Ryan said, incredulously. “Your fabled silver stallion has a little brown hen of a mother?”

“Ryan!” Jen wailed, and despite her bandages, she swatted him on the shoulder.

“I'm joking,” he assured her as he stepped out of reach. “Didn't I just say she was pretty?”

But another thought made Jen turn toward Sam.

“Sam,” Jen said as if she'd suddenly remembered something, “she had another foal, too.”

“She did?” Sam yelped.

Her imagination sprang into action. She pictured a half-brother or sister to the Phantom, a silver shadow to run alongside him on the range.

“Where is he?” Sam blurted. “Or she?”

“Sold,” Jen said in gloomy certainty. “Gone away—somewhere…” Jen shrugged. “Kitty foaled when we were trying to hold onto the ranch by selling off everything that would bring us a dollar.” Jen blushed under Ryan's stare. “It didn't work, of course, and Kitty went as part of the ranch when we sold it.”

“But what about the foal? Who bought her? Or him?” Sam asked.

“My parents might remember, but I don't. That year was…” Jen paused, searching for the right word. When she settled on one, Sam would bet it didn't come close to describing the despair of losing a ranch you'd worked and sacrificed for. “It was kind of crazy around here. I just remember one day there was this little baby horse with floppy ears and the next day there wasn't.”

Floppy ears? Sam thought of her beautiful ivory stallion with pricked ears delicate as a desert Arabian's, but before she could grill Jen for more details, her friend added, “She was in foal a third time, too, to Sundance, but not for long.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“I don't know,” Jen admitted.

“It just happens that way sometimes,” Dr. Scott said. “I wasn't here, of course, but there could've been a serious birth defect in the foal or, if things were as stressful in her environment as Jen says, Princess Kitty might have just miscarried.”

In the moment of quiet, Sam realized this was her chance to get to know the Phantom's mother. She'd bring Jen her homework every day and check on Shy Boots and Princess Kitty at the same time.

But Ryan's thoughts had veered in another direction.

“If I'm going to limit Boots's human contact, I
might as well go out and find his mother straight away,” Ryan said. “It will be safer than letting BLM bring her in, herding her with helicopters, running her over rough terrain with dozens of other horses.”

Ryan's musing expression cleared as he shot a quick glance at Sam.

“You're right,” Sam told him. Just because Brynna, her stepmother, worked for the Bureau of Land Management didn't mean she was blind to the dangers of horses running, frightened and full-out.

“Someone will still need to keep an eye on him,” Dr. Scott said, nodding toward Shy Boots.

“If they both came to River Bend, Gram would be there during the day and I could work with them after school.” Sam's words rushed out in excitement. “That would be incredibly cool. Boots could play with Tempest again and I bet Dark Sunshine would…” Sam's voice trailed off as she wondered. “Well, she got along great with Hotspot, so she'd probably do fine with Kitty.”

“That mare's still pretty wild,” Dr. Scott said, and Sam knew the vet was being generous. Dark Sunshine was beautiful, but she'd been damaged by confinement and abuse.

Before Sam could make excuses for the buckskin mare, Jen interrupted.

“Same problem as before,” Jen insisted. “He'd just get settled and then he'd have to be separated from Tempest and Dark Sunshine. Unless Ryan is
willing to give you Shy Boots.”

“Which, I am not,” Ryan put in.

A few minutes' more discussion brought them all to the same conclusion. Jen and her mother Lila would look after Shy Boots while Ryan searched the range for Hotspot.

“That's great,” Jen said, then asked the vet, “Is there any reason we can't put Kitty and Boots together right now, in his paddock?”

“Other than the fact that you're weak as a kitten and your mother will have my hide for keeping you out here?” Dr. Scott asked. “Not a one.”

“I feel fine,” Jen insisted, but Sam noticed her friend was leaning against the corral fence as if she needed it for support. “I've been in the house resting all day. I'm not going back in there until we try this experiment.” When she saw the vet hesitate, Jen pressed her advantage. “If I'm going to be supervising these horses, I want to make sure they get off to a good start.”

“Fair enough.” Dr. Scott sounded resigned, but he still shot a quick look at the house.

“I'll get Kitty,” Sam volunteered, before he could change his mind.

She left the others and walked toward the barn. She'd already noticed the mare wore a sand-colored nylon halter, so Sam only grabbed a lead rope and a bucket from the barn. She poured in a scant scoop of grain that would shift around, making a tantalizing
sound inside the bucket.