Firefly (12 page)

The dogs must have been asleep, because their staccato barks were halfhearted. So was Gabe's grumble.

“Get out of my way, you little creeps,” he told Imp and Angel.

And from what Sam could hear, they did.

S
am's first thought as she wakened was that she must be camping.

Campfire smoke had swirled through her dreams and she wasn't sleeping in her own bed, that was for sure.

Then, she realized it was daybreak at Deerpath Ranch. Her back sagged with the curve of a hammock and her legs were bent at the knees, folded to one side. The twinge in her toes brought a smile and a warm feeling as she remembered the Phantom's wild majesty, but her next morning thought made her groan.

You'd better stay out of my way…Would it kill you to think about somebody else?

Sam opened her eyes and stared at the blue bowl of sky overhead, wishing it would fall. Why had she said those things last night? She was basically a nice person, but no one who'd been listening to her last night would believe it. And there was no way to unsay words you'd blurted out, no matter how sorry you were.

“I am definitely getting kicked off this ranch,” Sam moaned.

A horse snorted and hooves skittered as Sam sat up.

Since Calico, Ginger, and Judge were just looking forlornly into their feed bins, Sam was pretty sure it had been the colt who'd stood close enough to her hammock to be disturbed by her movement.

“Hi, sweet pony,” Sam said, then clucked to the colt.

He faced away from her, black tail swishing. This was a change. He'd decided she wasn't dangerous. He could turn his back on her and she probably wouldn't leap on him like a predator.

This was progress, but the wrong kind. Sam watched the colt sidle closer to the old saddle horses. She and Dr. Scott had made a mistake. They'd felt sorry for the colt because he'd been separated from his herd, but as long as he had a herd, why should he bond with her?

“Calico, Ginger, Judge,” Sam called to the horses. They raised their heads, then swung them hopefully
toward the barn and feed room. “If Mrs. Allen says it's okay, it's moving day for you three.”

Sam's stomach growled, but she fed the horses first and gave them fresh water.

As she added strawberry-kiwi Kool-Aid to Pirate's bucket, she noticed the colt watching. He blinked the white eyelashes of one eye and the sandy red ones on the other. It seemed to Sam that there was a rebuke in his expression.

“Don't worry,” she said quietly. “I know I'm not the one who usually does this. But it's you and me, now, good boy. Dr. Scott isn't here. I'm sorry.”

Once the horses were cared for, Sam hurried to Mrs. Allen's house.

Click click. Pant pant. Snuffle snuffle.

Sam heard Imp and Angel at the door before she opened it. Once she was inside, the dogs' flat little faces pressed against Sam's legs and they slobbered on her shins.

“Nice to see you, too,” she said, making her way into the quiet kitchen.

Even though it was already seven o'clock, no one, except the dogs, was awake. Mrs. Allen wasn't an early riser like Gram, or maybe she'd lain awake late last night, worrying over Gabe.

Sam poured herself a glass of milk and drank it while nibbling a granola bar from the box Mrs. Allen had brought with yesterday's groceries. She also thought about moving Mrs. Allen's saddle horses.
She should ask permission, but she only had a few days with Pirate and, as Dallas had said one morning on the cattle drive, they were “burnin' daylight.”

Sam threw each of the panting Boston bulldogs a piece of her granola bar, then wadded up the wrapper and threw it away.

“The worst thing that can happen,” she told the chewing dogs, “if I move the horses and she doesn't want them in with the mustangs, is that she'll make me move them back. Right?” she asked, but the dogs just gazed up at her, licking their lips.

 

Finding Calico's bridle and slipping it on the pinto mare was easy. The tricky part was releasing the three older horses while keeping the colt penned.

He neighed frantically and darted randomly toward the gate and away from it, unsure whether he was more afraid of Sam or of being left alone.

“This will all work out in the end,” she promised the colt.

The two pintos and the old bay milled around until Sam snagged Calico's reins and led her to a rock to mount.

She hadn't ridden barefooted, in shorts, for a long time. She'd done it all the time as a little kid, but now Sam felt wobbly and unbalanced.

She clucked her tongue and started herding the horses toward the mustang pasture. It would be easier if someone had gone on ahead to open the gate,
but she hoped the captive mustangs would shy away from all the activity long enough that she could open the gate and herd the saddle horses through without any wild horses escaping.

Inconsolable at being abandoned, Pirate neighed and raced along the fence. Back and forth he galloped, crying to the other horses to come back.

Hardening her heart, Sam told herself this was for his own good.

And what about the way she'd talked to Gabe last night? Had that been for his own good, too?

Sam tried to remember everything she knew about Gabe. Early in his hospitalization, Mrs. Allen had told Sam that Gabe shifted between being angry and so sad, it broke her heart. She mentioned that he regretted taking his legs for granted and listed things he thought he'd miss, like skateboarding, kicking a soccer ball, and running to class when he was tardy.

She remembered, again, that during their one phone call, she'd asked Gabe “What's up?” and he'd answered, “Not me.” Although she'd felt stupid and insensitive at the time, now she could see that Gabe's dark humor could help him get through this. Besides, she'd said lots worse things to him last night.

Whinnying wildly, taking snorting breaths in-between, Pirate continued to beg the other horses to come back.

“No one is going to sleep through this,” Sam told Calico.

Just then, Sam heard the squawk of the rusty gate. She glanced back over her shoulder in time to see Gabe making his way toward her.

Wait. Her breath caught for a minute. No, she was probably imagining it, probably just wishing it were true, but it looked as if he was putting more weight on his uncast leg.

It could be true, but it might not mean anything, either. Yesterday Gabe had mentioned he had limited mobility in that leg. The other leg was shattered, and hadn't he said something about having a metal rod in it? But what did “limited mobility” mean? Was it okay for him to be putting more weight on that leg?

“What are you doing?” Gabe called after her now.

“Putting them in the other pasture so that I can work with the colt,” she said. Sam bit her lip. Gabe was following her anyway. Why shouldn't she ask for his help? “Want to open that gate for me?”

She'd almost asked, Can you open that gate? but a flicker of understanding told her to let him decide. There was a second of hesitation while he made up his mind. Then Gabe said, “Sure.”

Sweat beaded his upper lip by the time he managed to open the bolt, avoid the jostling horses, and keep his crutches pressed under his arms.

“Thanks,” Sam said as she slipped off Calico's bridle and gave the old mare a pat on the rump so she'd move off with the other horses.

Sam slipped through the gate and shot the bolt
home, then turned to Gabe. “It was a lot easier with your help. Doing it alone, I might not have gotten them all through at once.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful as he stared at the mustangs.

“I'm sorry that, last night—”

“Forget about it,” Gabe told her.

“No, really…” She almost went on, but she caught a look in his eyes that she'd seen in Jake's and Dad's and Dallas'. He just didn't want to rehash an emotional scene, so Sam swallowed her apology and told him about the captive mustangs.

Mrs. Allen had told him how she'd come to own the horses, but he'd never seen them before.

“That big liver chestnut—”

“And by that you mean ‘brown'?” Gabe asked.

“Well, yeah, dark brown. The one strutting over there is Roman. He thinks he's the boss. I don't see Belle and Faith, but see that black mare with the bright bay colt?”

“And by
bay
you mean brown?” Gabe teased again.

“A totally different shade of brown,” Sam insisted. “But, yeah. Those two are named Licorice and Windfall. That yellow dun,” Sam said, pointing, then added, “yellow, not brown, see her?—is named Fourteen and I don't know if her baby has a name yet.”

“
He
doesn't have a name.” Gabe's voice was flat. “How come?”

“The colt?” Sam asked, but Gabe shook his head.

Could he mean the Phantom? Was he thinking of what he'd seen last night? But then Gabe clarified what he meant by jerking his head back toward the ranch yard.

“Oh. Him?” Sam gave herself time to think. Pirate's wasn't a secret name like the Phantom's or Tempest's. The colt had never heard it whispered, and yet she was reluctant to share it. “No. Dr. Scott and I just figured it would be less confusing if we let his new owner choose a name.”

Gabe's lips shifted sideways. He looked kind of disgusted.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Doesn't it…not that I care. I mean, it's not like he knows the other horses have names and he doesn't. It's just…it seems…” He shook his head. “Man, I need to wake up. I can't even talk this morning.”

Sam wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily. “Seems like what?”

“Like if he
mattered
, he'd have a name.”

“Give him one,” Sam suggested. The words popped out of her mouth before she thought about them.

“No way. He's not my horse. Do I
look
like a cowboy?”

“It was just an idea,” Sam said. “But hey, I've got to get to work with him. We only have a few days. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I skipped it,” Gabe said. “It's not like I'm doing anything.”

“You're joking, right?” Sam asked. She looked at his forearms, tense with muscles where he gripped his crutches.

A trace of yesterday's cockiness crossed his face, but Gabe just shrugged. In fact, Sam thought he made kind of a big deal of that shrug, as if he were flexing those muscles, too.

“So, are you just checking on my nutrition, or what?” he asked.

Sam shook her head. “I have to put the zinc oxide on the colt's face and I'm not sure if he'll let me.”

“The vet just said do it.”

“I know,” Sam said, puzzled. “But I don't think he's going to just stand still while I try it the first time,” Sam said. “And even though he's got a halter on, he's a big strong colt. I need a spotter.”

“What do you think I'm going to do if he tries to trample you?” Gabe demanded.

“Yell,” Sam said.

“Yell? Like ‘Shoo, you bad horsy'?”

“That ought to do it,” Sam said. “He's still pretty spooky and, really, except for movie horses and stallions whose mares are threatened, horses don't really charge that much.”

Sam tried to keep a smile from playing on her lips as she remembered the Phantom's mock charge last night.

She wasn't sure whether Gabe saw her expression or not. When Sam looked at him, leaning against the fence and rolling the tension from his shoulder, Gabe said, “He doesn't look anything like that white stallion, does he?”

“Yeah he does,” Sam said firmly.

“Naw,” Gabe insisted, but his green eyes narrowed, studying the colt as if he hoped she was right.

So, even though there was no way to be certain, Sam said, “They're father and son.”

“Wow,” Gabe said.

This time Sam couldn't smother her smile. She wished Gabe hadn't seen her with the Phantom, but it had given him a better of idea of the wildness Pirate had left behind.

“H
ow long is this supposed to take?” Gabe asked.

For an hour, Sam had been trying to get close enough to touch the colt. The sun had risen above the horizon and Gabe pulled at the neck of his long-sleeved T-shirt.

“It depends,” Sam said. She kept walking after the colt, letting him think she was talking to him as they continued their dance of stop and watch, advance and retreat. She was closer than she'd been all morning when he bolted away. Again. “This could go on for days, but I don't think it will.”

“Days?” Gabe asked. “Why?”

“All herd animals—pack animals, too, I think, like
dogs—are looking for a leader. You just have to prove you're the right one for the job. Some horses are harder to convince than others.”

“Yeah? So how do they tell if you're the right one?” Gabe sounded sarcastic.

Sam wasn't surprised that Gabe sounded skeptical. Dallas, River Bend's foreman, still resisted these ideas, too, and he'd worked with horses his entire life.

“Some people say that in the wild, the lead horse is the one that can make other horses move,” Sam said. She was picturing the Phantom herding his mares and thinking of Queen, who'd been his lead mare, until she noticed Pirate paid closer attention to her when Gabe was directly behind her. “Hmm.”

“What?” Gabe said, batting at the wave of dust the colt had raised as he bolted away. Gabe coughed, then muttered something about someone burning off nearby fields before he made a rolling gesture with his hand, so she'd keep explaining.

“I think it makes more sense, that a horse obeys a human if he—the horse, that is—doesn't get scared or hurt trying to do what that human asks him to do,” Sam said.

“Like a good coach,” Gabe said.

Sam hadn't been sure Gabe really cared, but at least he was paying attention.

“This guy,” Sam said, and when she pointed at Pirate, he began circling the pen at a trot, “wasn't very high in his herd hierarchy, so what Dr. Scott
said, about him being almost halter broken, makes sense.

“But Dark Sunshine, a buckskin mustang who's sort of mine, not only spent some time with the Phantom as a lead mare, but she's had some bad treatment by humans. She barely trusts anyone, and she's not completely halter broken even now.”

“How long have you had her?” Gabe asked in a dreading tone.

“About a year,” Sam said, but she ignored Gabe's groan, because she'd just seen what she was waiting for.

The colt stopped. His shoulders, neck, and head loosened and he walked a few steps in her direction.

“That's my good boy,” Sam crooned.

Quick as she could, she opened the tube of zinc oxide and let the colt catch the familiar scent. Instead of trying to grab his halter and confine him, she inched up to the young horse and lightly covered his burns with the cream.

He trembled at her touch and his legs shook, ready to carry him away, but he stood long enough that she finished. Then she stepped back. The colt did the same, bobbing his head.

“That's it for now,” Sam said. “You were a good boy.”

“Why not keep going? Clip on that lead rope thing?” Gabe whispered. “You had him doing exactly what you wanted.”

Sam opened the gate, slipped through, and stood beside Gabe.

“He's a baby,” Sam said. “And I wouldn't have worked him as long as I did if I hadn't had to get that sunscreen on him for his own good. Besides, it's always best to stop when the horse has done something right, not when you give up in frustration.”

“Makes sense,” Gabe said.

They both turned, then, at the sound of the wrought-iron gate.

“Do you think that just needs oil?” Gabe asked.

“I have no idea, but it looks like your grandmother's delivering breakfast.”

Sam was right. Mrs. Allen carried a pink plastic bowl that held little silver pouches, napkins, and paper cups full of orange juice.

“Breakfast burritos,” she announced. “Formerly frozen and not nearly as good as what Grace would whip up,” Mrs. Allen said to Sam.

“They're delicious,” Sam said, chewing the first spicy bite. “I didn't know I was so hungry.”

At first Sam thought Mrs. Allen was frowning because a stiff breeze threatened to snatch the paper napkins away. But then Sam noticed that though she'd finished nearly half of the burrito and most of her juice, Gabe's burrito and juice still sat on the tray.

Of course he couldn't hold himself upright and eat and drink at the same time, Sam thought. The complications just kept coming.

“Gabe,” Mrs. Allen said. “Let me help you.”

“Thanks, but I'm not hungry.” His voice was tight. Still, Sam noticed he wasn't looking at the tray, but at the colt.

Pirate's knees buckled, though his head was raised and his eyes rolled white.

“Oh my heavens, what's wrong?” Mrs. Allen asked.

The colt's red coat had turned dark along his flanks.

Sweat, Sam thought. She'd seen this before.

“He has these—spells.”

“I know that's what Brynna said.” Mrs. Allen sounded worried, as if this looked worse than what she'd expected.

Pirate's knees straightened. His mane lifted on a hot wind and his nostrils flared, closed, and flared again. His lips moved anxiously as if he would tell them what was wrong.

Froth gathered in the corners of his mouth. He took a few stuttering steps, then staggered.

“He's scared to death.” Gabe barely choked the words out.

He was right.

Panic overwhelmed the colt, sending him bolting into the fence. When it held under his assault, he swerved, hooves scrabbling for traction and failing because of the sharpness of his turn.

He slammed flat down on his side. His slender
legs flailed, determined to rise and escape whatever terrified him. He lurched upright and his ears flopped, one back, the other to the side.

“He's not supposed to overheat. Where's the hose?” Gabe asked his grandmother. She pointed, and he looked at Sam. “We're supposed to wet him down.”

Sam started toward the hose. She turned the water on and the sudden splattering caught the colt's attention.

“Wait,” Sam said. “I think—”

The colt's shaking slowed to a quiver. He swung his head from side to side as if shuddering from the touch of cobwebs.

He stared at the water and his heaving breaths quieted.

“Mrs. Allen, can I have this?” Sam reached for the plastic bowl without taking her eyes from the colt.

“Of course.” Mrs. Allen grabbed everything from the bowl and held it steady while Sam filled it with water.

“The scraper's still in that box,” Gabe said. “And the sponge. Is that what you're going to do? Sponge down those big veins the vet talked about?”

“If he'll let me,” Sam said. She gathered the sponge and bowl and returned to the corral.

The colt shied and paced to the far side of the corral, then loosed a worried neigh to the other horses.

“If he doesn't knock this off in a minute, I say we squirt him down,” Gabe said, and it was clear to Sam that he wasn't angry. He was worried.

Then, as they both watched, the horse's skin shivered. He shook his head, making his black mane dance, then seemed to relax.

“So that's what you and Dr. Scott meant by
loco
,” Gabe said.

“That's it, but he's okay now,” Sam said in a singsong voice. “My big boy's just fine, isn't he?”

Again, Sam noticed the colt focused on her best when she passed near Gabe. For some reason Pirate was more interested in him than her. So she stood in front of Gabe, babbling nonsense, until the colt allowed her to squeeze the sponge over his neck and legs, letting the water dribble down and cool him. When he nipped at the scrapers, Sam used her hands to rub the excess water off his coat.

“Now walk him around,” Gabe ordered.

“Well, I know that's what the vet said.” Sam tried not to sound impatient. “But it's not that easy. I'd have to get a lead rope on him and convince him to follow me. Just give me a minute.”

Impatient and clearly worried, Gabe moved closer to Mrs. Allen.

Although Pirate's hind hooves stayed planted, his front hooves tracked Gabe's movements.

“Do that again,” Sam said. When Gabe didn't respond, she decided bossing him around wasn't the
best approach. “I'm sorry to ask, but please move someplace else along the fence line. I don't know why, but—” Sam broke off, shaking her head.

Gabe didn't wait for an explanation. Using his shirt sleeve to rub perspiration from his face, Gabe winced as if his arms ached, then moved a few yards along the corral fence.

“He's following you,” Sam said.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Allen said. “He is.”

“It's a coincidence,” Gabe said.

His own grandmother ignored him. “Do you think it's because he's only been around Dr. Scott, and they're both men?” she asked.

“You're
both
nuts,” Gabe said, but Sam thought he was flattered by the colt's attention.

“He's definitely following you, but I don't know why,” Sam said.

Sam didn't care, either. She just knew that this was going to make taming the colt a whole lot easier.

 

After spending an entire day as the colt's sole focus, Sam thought Gabe would be happy. When Dad and Brynna had called the previous night, she'd told them everything was fine. Dr. Scott had also called, to see how the colt was coming along, and she'd told him that the colt thought Gabe was fascinating and they were both happy.

But Gabe wasn't.

The next morning, she was adding Kool-Aid to the colt's water when Gabe made his way past the
rusty iron gate to stand beside her at the corral.

Gabe didn't say anything at first, just tapped his fingers on the crossbars of his crutches. He kept doing it until Sam looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“My friend Luis just called,” Gabe told her, but he didn't quit tapping.

“Great!” Sam said, but then she met Gabe's green eyes. “Not great?”

Gabe shrugged, and then he kind of swayed between the two crutches. Sam got the impression he'd be tapping his foot if he could.

“What did he say?” she asked him.

Gabe shrugged. And started tapping his fingers again.

Sam finished filling the water bucket and gathered an armload of hay for the mustang. When Gabe figured out she wasn't going to beg for details, he finally told her about his talk with Luis.

“He and Yogi are going to help coach a little kids' soccer team and they want to know if I can do one third of the practices.”

To Sam, this sounded like good news.

“You can, can't you?” Sam asked.

“I'm going to miss this entire soccer season,” Gabe said.

“But these are—what? Elementary school kids? You know enough to coach them without playing this season, right?”

“Of course, but the thing is, I'm a forward. Even
if my legs come back all the way, it's going to take a long time until I can run like I used to.”

Sam cast about for a comment that would cheer him up.

“I don't know that much about soccer, but could you be a goalie? I mean, they don't run as much, do they? And they throw a lot. You're building up a lot of strength in your arms.”

Gabe started to say something, then stopped. For just a second, Sam saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes, but then it was gone. Gabe shook his head in disgust, as if no one could fill in the gaps in her knowledge of the game he loved.

When Gabe started tapping the crossbars on his crutches again, Sam wanted to reach over and grab his fingers, but the iron gate creaked and his grandmother saved him.

Mrs. Allen bustled across the ranch yard holding a leash in each hand. Imp and Angel strained ahead of her, headed for the orange truck. The two Boston bulldogs clearly weren't used to walking on leashes, and it suddenly came to Sam that Mrs. Allen was trying to keep the dogs from bounding around Gabe's ankles, as they surely would do unrestrained.

“I'm running into Alkali for milk,” Mrs. Allen said. “I bought all those groceries the day before yesterday and forgot milk. Now we have only a cup or so left. I don't know what I was thinking. Will you kids stay safe while I'm gone?”

Mrs. Allen looked so pointedly at Sam—not Gabe—that Sam answered, “Sure.”

“It's not like we're
going
anywhere,” Gabe said.

Mrs. Allen's eyes and lips drooped. She looked so sad, Sam thought, but only for a second.

“Well, you're
going
to adjust your attitude while I'm gone,” Mrs. Allen said. “I'm sure you don't remember this, but your grandfather had a perfect description of the way you acted when you were pouting.”

Sam sucked in her breath.
Pouting
was one of those words a sixteen-year-old guy would probably resent.

“I'm not—” he snarled.

“He said you were squirmy as a worm in a bed of ants,” she interrupted.

“That's disgusting!” Gabe said.

Sam thought of the twitching and tapping he'd been doing since he talked with Luis and decided it was actually a pretty good description. But she decided not to say so.

After Mrs. Allen drove away, Gabe and Sam didn't talk.

Together they stared at the mustang.

“I'd rather have something wrong with my face than my legs,” Gabe said.

Sam shivered, but she kept looking at Pirate as she asked, “Are you sure? Your face is the first thing everyone notices about you.”

“Like these crutches aren't that noticeable?” Gabe asked with a bitter laugh. “You could've fooled me. Sorry,” he said, then. “It's not your fault and it's a waste of time to talk about it. No one's going to give me a choice.”

Sam didn't know what to do. How could she help Gabe?