Run Away Home (17 page)

Now, without the filly to hold her, the buckskin mare chose freedom.

“She's branded,” Jake shouted to Sam. “You can't let her go!”

The BLM would just round her up again and charge the Forsters a trespass fee. With Norman White in charge, it was a sure thing.

Sam leaned forward in the saddle and clapped her heels to the Appaloosa's sides. Jeep leaped after the buckskin, understanding his job.

Minutes later, they had to slow down. The snow had deepened around them, and though they picked their way up the plateau at what was still a risky speed, Dark Sunshine kept drawing ahead.

Once, Jake stood in his stirrups. Was he judging the distance to the mare, deciding whether his rope would reach her?

Although she'd outdistanced Witch and Jeep, Sunny was falling behind the taller mustangs. Still, she refused to give up. Clots of foam flew from her open mouth. She lengthened her body and reached with her legs until her belly skimmed the snow.

They were almost to the mouth of the tunnel when Sam shouted, “We can't do this!”

At first she thought she heard Jake's answer.

But the echo between the treeless mountain face and the rock entrance couldn't have distorted Jake's
voice into such a mighty vibration.

When the sound changed from resonance into a
whup-whup-whup
that vibrated Sam's insides, the horses were terrified, but Sam was a little relieved. At least she recognized that sound. For a moment, she'd been afraid it was something even worse.

The helicopter's rotors whipped snow into a blizzard, blinding the horses, leaving them at the mercy of a pulsating sound that stalked them like a living thing.

The chopper bobbed up from the other side of the ridge. How could it make the boulders shudder and shake? Could they really be loosening and bounding down the mountainside?

The cornice! Sam stared up to see a fracture run from the frozen wave of snow to a lone tree, and then to a rock. Gradually the crack widened.

The Phantom screamed. Jostling and shoving, he shoved the stragglers on. His teeth clacked as he forced his herd to run faster. Sam knew the stallion would draw blood and stir panic if he had to, but she didn't see him.

She couldn't take her eyes from the slab of snow sheering off and sliding her way.

Jeep reared. Jake shouted at Sam. He leaned out of his saddle, and his gloved fingers spread wide, reaching for her, for a rein, for anything to make her safe.

Black amid the torrents of white, Witch swerved,
trying to keep Jake balanced. The mare bent almost double, fighting to keep the saddle beneath him.

It was the last Sam saw of Witch and Jake, because the sky was falling and so was she.

The warm leather saddle and frantic Appaloosa peeled away from her.

She collided with slick rock, then slid within inches of the last mares' hooves as they streamed into the tunnel. She stopped with half her body inside, then pushed up on her palms, determined to crawl if she had to.

But a sound behind her rang above the tumult of snow.

The Phantom reared, silver power against the white fury of snow. When he returned to the ground, Sam flattened herself against the wall of the tunnel, praying his hooves would miss her, praying the ledge over the tunnel's mouth would break the teeth of the avalanche and protect them both.

The stallion stormed past her and Sam staggered to her feet. Hunched over and veering from side to side on unsteady legs, she ran after the stallion, in case the snow could somehow follow.

At last, the cacophony of rock and ice ended. A few final boulders shook the floor beneath her. One more, and then nothing.

She was alone in the tunnel. She'd almost reached the valley when she dared to look back.

The white glare was gone. All sound was blotted
out by the ringing in her ears.

She was sealed into the tunnel by a thousand tons of snow.

Sam walked toward the hidden home of the wild horses. She was one of them now.

T
he valley's rock walls looked safe and solid and the stream ran quietly through sparse winter grass. Everything seemed peaceful, but the mustangs weren't taking any chances.

Blacks and bays, sorrels and roans crowded together at one end of the valley, ears pricked and alert as the last few boulders bounded down the mountain outside.

As Sam thought of the moments she'd stared up into the white death of the avalanche, unable to move, she decided the horses had been a lot smarter than she had. They hadn't tried to make sense of the onslaught of snow. They hadn't watched danger rush right into them and knock them on their bellies. The
mustangs, with legs flying and tails streaming, had headed for safety.

Even the foals had known to run first and think it over later, like they were now. They were a lot better suited for survival than she was.

Sam watched the horses until they decided the threat had passed. Then they drifted from the safety of their bunch. Some lined up along the stream to drink. Some ate the chilled grass and others sniffed at Dark Sunshine. But there were no squeals or nips to put the newcomer in her place.

A sense of peace settled over the valley. The horses were safe and they knew it. Only the Phantom was restless. He wandered among his mares and foals as if counting them.

The herd did seem smaller than usual, Sam thought. She didn't see the two blood bays that were always together. And what about the roan filly she called Sugar? She seemed to be missing, too.

Sam hadn't seen a single horse fall in the avalanche. Could they have been swept up into a BLM gather? Norman White had sworn the mustangs he'd captured hadn't been members of the Phantom's herd, but would he really know? If a few mustangs had wandered from their home band, Norman might have corralled them, thinking they were a separate herd.

Sam walked close to the stream once the horses had finished. She kneeled and drank.

Looking at her ragged reflection, Sam pushed the balaclava off. It had kept her warm, but it felt good to be free of the tight hood. She shook her head. Her auburn hair fell in ripples to her shoulders, as damp as if she'd just washed it.

Moisture from the snow had soaked through the hood and she wondered what had become of her old brown Stetson.

“I loved that hat,” Sam muttered to herself. Then, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, Sam stood up on shaky legs.

A snort made her jump, and she turned to see the Phantom standing about five feet away. Majestic and muscled, he watched her without blinking. If she didn't know better, she'd think his gaze accused her of something, and suddenly Sam knew what it was.

She had to leave.

She wanted to sit down and nap, but she couldn't.

She had to leave the valley before Jake decided she was trapped and told everyone in the county she needed help. He'd hate telling her secret, but he'd want her rescued no matter what it cost the Phantom. She knew Jake well enough to be certain of that.

Ranchers, Sheriff Ballard, volunteer firefighters, and others would follow Jake back here. They'd bring shovels, bulldozers, maybe even dynamite. The horses' haven would not only be discovered; it would be ruined.

Hurry,
Sam told herself. She had to find a way out.

The horses always came and went through the tunnel, and it was sealed with snow and boulders, maybe for good. The snow would melt in the spring, but the boulders wouldn't. Still, sky showed overhead. There had to be a path to the top edge of the valley.

Sam flexed her fingers as she looked at the steep rock walls. From here, they looked slick and smooth, but there had to be rocks she could use as handholds, and places where she could wedge her feet to climb.

Maybe she could escape in a way that the horses couldn't.

Do it now,
Sam urged herself.
Before it's too late.

The Phantom walked alongside her as she made a quick circuit of the valley, surveying the sheer cliffs. At last she saw a place to start. Even if Jake had already ridden for help, she'd get to the top and start walking along the road. When they saw her, the search party would turn back and leave the horses alone.

The stallion stopped when she did, watching as Sam looked straight up, the back of her head folding her collar, from the base of the bumpiest cliff.

“I don't know much about rock climbing,” she told the horse.

She could fall. Just like before, she could hurl through emptiness until her body slammed against the ground. Only this time she'd be falling from a mile-high rock wall, not Blackie's back.

But she had no choice…

The Phantom shied off, running back to his herd at the sound of more snow skidding down the mountainside.

Of course, I've got a choice,
Sam thought.

She could stand right here and wait to be rescued, endangering the horses she loved because she was a coward.

“Or I can just not fall,” she muttered.

 

Sam took a shuddering breath, wishing for some sign that she was doing the right thing. She'd welcome a hawk floating in that pale blue sky, or a sun dog—one of those rainbows around the sun. She wouldn't turn down even a blue jay's squawk, but there was nothing except her own determination to start her climbing.

“Too bad,” she muttered, but then she heard the Phantom coming back to her.

She filled her eyes with him, in case she never saw him again.

Sunlight sparkled on the his pale coat and fired his mane and tail with a sterling luster. Staring through his rumpled forelock, the stallion gave a low nicker. As clearly as if he'd spoken, he told her good-bye.

“You are the most wonderful horse in the world, and I love you,” Sam whispered.

The stallion pawed the ground. He lowered his
kingly head, then snaked his muzzle, face, ears, and neck under her arm. Then he flipped his head, ordering her to mount up.

“I wish I could.” Sam's regret didn't scare the stallion away. He leaned against her, lending her his warmth, but no matter how close he stood, the Phantom couldn't know how torn Sam was.

There was only one thing in the world she wanted more than a last ride on the Phantom. His safety.

She ignored the selfish voice in her mind that told her that one last ride would only take a few minutes.

It would also only take a few minutes for a well-meaning rescuer to blast through the tunnel, putting her horse, his herd, and their haven in danger.

Softly, Sam draped her arms around the stallion's neck.

“I can't,” she whispered. “I have to go.” Sam's tears wet the stallion's neck. “I didn't know, boy, that day we found Singer, but I couldn't have loved it more if I
had
known it was the last time.”

Sam gave herself one more moment surrounded by the Phantom. She saw and touched nothing but the silver stallion. Then she gave him one more hug and stepped back.

He lowered his head until his forelock brushed the ground and Sam turned away to start climbing. She moved as fast as she could, gulping mountain air to fuel each scaling step, and she only looked back once.

When she did, she couldn't see the Phantom, but
her twinge of regret only lasted a second.

There, right there, was Dark Sunshine. The small mare rolled in the winter grass, kicking black legs that shaded into buckskin gold, looking happier than Sam had ever seen her before.

Even though she'd miss her, Sam knew the mare was meant to be free.

 

Sam had never paid much attention to her fingernails, but thirty minutes later, she'd learned she could really focus on them when they were the only thing holding her to a rock wall. Bleeding and packed with grit, they hung on until she reached a shallow shelf where she could finally put both feet down next to each other.

She was almost to the top, but the muscles in her arms trembled like jello. Could she make it without a rest?

Not only were her muscles strained and quivering, she was panting. And shivering. Sam tried not to think how much colder it was getting, the higher she climbed. At least the sun had been on this side of the valley. The snow had melted off, and though the rock was wet, it wasn't icy. She stamped her feet, hoping improved circulation would help her climb the final vertical slab.

A shower of gravel spit down on her head. She cringed away from it, then looked up, right into Jake's face.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” he said at her gasp.

“How long have you been there?” Sam asked.

“A while,” he said. “I didn't want to break your concentration.”

Why did she suddenly feel an irresistible urge to look down, to see how far she'd climbed? The temptation was too much for her. Before her chin grazed her shoulder though, Jake sucked in a breath.

“I wouldn't do that,” he said. “Take this, instead.”

Jake lowered his rope to her.

She was really losing it, Sam thought. The sight of Jake's rope was as comforting as a light in the window, leading her home.

“You know how to tie a bowline knot,” he said.

It wasn't a question. Sam
did
know. She just couldn't remember. Maybe it was a lack of oxygen that made her think it was better to brush off Jake's offer than admit she'd forgotten.

“I'm not going to fall. I've made it this far without the rope, and I can finish on my own,” Sam said.

“No—”

“Yes,” Sam insisted.

“Well, I'm kinda scared. I've
been
kinda scared. Just do it for me, will ya?”

Heartbeats couldn't drown out every other sound on earth, could they? If Jake was scared, there was a good reason she should be, too.

“Okay,” Sam said, catching the end of the rope.

“It'll give me something to do if you let me talk
you through it,” he said. “Now, put the end around your waist. Then take the loose end in your right hand and lay it over the top of the rope that's coming back up to me.”

Suddenly, the motion felt familiar.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said. “Then I kind of flip that into a loop and—I know! This next part is where you pretend the end of the rope is a rabbit going around the tree and over the hole….”

“Up outta the hole, Sam,” Jake cautioned.

“I'm being careful,” she assured him. “I won't dash my brains out on the rocks below.”

She jerked the knot tight and looked up for Jake's approval, but he didn't waste any time saying “atta girl.”

Jake's hands gripped the rope. His sleeves were pushed up and his forearms looked strong.

He wasn't going to go jump on Witch and let the Quarter Horse pull her up and over the ledge.

The two of them were doing this alone.

“Ready,” she told Jake through chattering teeth, and then it was easy. He pulled as she edged her way up to the rim. With a final lurch, she was over the top, facedown on blessedly flat ground.

As soon as she'd stopped hyperventilating, Jake urged her to stand up. Then he herded her away from the edge, toward Witch.

Sam took a few steps, then stopped.

“Did you see my hat?” she asked.

“Yeah. It's buried under about a thousand tons of snow,” Jake said. “I was just glad your head wasn't in it.” When Sam recoiled, he added, “Maybe you'll get a new one for Christmas.”

Sam nodded, walked a few more steps, then stopped again.

“Is Jeep okay?” Sam asked suddenly.

“Fine,” Jake said.

“Really?” Sam asked.

“Really. No scuffs, no bruises. He just took off for home.”

“Okay,” Sam said, but Jake sounded a little strange.

“Don't worry none about givin'
me
heart failure,” he went on. “Just fret over that rattailed Appaloosa.”

“It's not like I planned this,” Sam said, but Jake held up a hand for her to halt.

Sam nodded. She felt a little light-headed. It would be a good idea to save her breath until they reached Witch.

When they did, Jake swooped the mare's reins up off the ground and asked, “You gonna be like this for the rest of your life?”

“Like what?” Sam asked, watching Jake shrug on the jacket he'd left hanging on his saddle horn.

He swung into Witch's saddle, kicked his boot free of the stirrup, and offered his hand to help Sam up.

“Guess that answers my question.”

Far from looking angry, Jake wore a lopsided
smile that struck Sam as hilarious. A shout of laughter burst out of her, and it was followed by unstoppable giggles. When she realized she was laughing alone, everything seemed even funnier.

Finally, Sam caught her breath enough to talk. Hands on hips, she said, “You wouldn't like me any other way.”

“Put your boot in the stirrup and swing on up behind me.”

“Admit it,” Sam said.

“Samantha, just get on the horse.”

She did, but as she locked her arms around Jake's middle and pressed her cheek against his jacket, Sam was still laughing.

 

The kitchen table at River Bend Ranch was crowded with pecan pies when Sam walked in. And they had company.

For some reason, she hadn't noticed Mrs. Allen's truck, if it was parked outside. She'd hugged Dad and felt him looking over her head, meeting Jake's eyes in one of those man-to-man looks that meant they'd be talking about her after she left the barn.

She'd hugged Tempest, too, but the filly had switched her tail in boredom as Sam told the filly her mother was gone.

Finally, Tempest stamped her hoof, narrowly missing Sam's boot toe, and squirmed loose to go annoy Ace.

Now Sam stood in the warm kitchen.

“Sam, are you all right?” Brynna asked, wide-eyed.

“Sure,” Sam said, running her hands over her hair and brushing at the brown mud that was smeared all over her shirt. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“That's all right,” Gram said slowly, and Sam could feel her grandmother's eyes follow her as she moved into the living room.