Run Away Home (5 page)

Sam eased her saddle off and carried it to the tack room with Ace's bridle hooked over the saddle horn.

Much of Sam's tension drained away as she groomed her horse. She paid special care to avoiding Ace's ticklish spots—behind his elbows, under his belly, and especially his left flank—then cleaned his hooves and brushed him from poll to tail until not a single sweat mark remained.

Finally, Sam put all her grooming tools away, wrapped her arms around Ace's warm neck, and asked, “So what am I going to do, boy? Beg Dad to let me adopt the Phantom? That's not what either of us wants, but if that horrible Norman rounds him up, I can't let him go to someone else.”

Ace nodded, and though Sam knew he was only rubbing his chin against her back, it felt like the bay gelding, who'd once roamed the Calico Mountains with the Phantom, was telling her it wasn't such a bad solution.

Then, something else broke.

She and Ace were leaving the barn when a gust of wind shook the structure, slamming the door in their faces, and the little wooden horse Dallas, River Bend's foreman, had carved and stained with white shoe polish to look like the Phantom flew off the ledge where Sam had poised it for good luck. It struck her head and fell on the floor.

The collision with her head should have slowed the figure enough to prevent damage, Sam thought as it landed on the hay at her feet. She wasn't worried as she bent to retrieve it, until she saw that one thin wooden leg was missing. It had snapped off. Though the leg wasn't hard to find, when she tried to fit the two pieces together, they didn't match. Sam searched for a wood chip and couldn't find one. Even if she glued the pieces back together, the white horse wouldn't be the same.

First Jake's windshield had cracked, then the coffeepot, and now this.

As she tucked the wooden pieces tenderly into her jacket pocket, Sam decided it was a good thing she didn't believe in omens, because bad ones were piling up all around her.

Sam was in the kitchen, setting the table and breathing in the tomato, onion, and cream aroma of Gram's swiss steak and scalloped potatoes, when she heard the BLM truck drive up.

“Brynna's a little…” Gram's voice trailed off and she moved from the kitchen counter to look out the window in the door. She wiped her hands on her apron and stared.

“What is it?” Sam asked, but she was already beside Gram.

They both watched as the BLM truck backed up, then rolled toward the bridge and back over the La Charla River. Brynna walked across the ranch
yard, toward the house. Blaze bounced out to greet her, and Brynna ignored him.

That was totally unlike her, Sam thought. Brynna always had time to rumple the Border collie's ears. She hadn't crossed to the corral to greet her blind mustang Penny, either.

Sam heard the shower running upstairs. Dad was getting cleaned up for dinner. She wished he was here, now, because he was probably the only one Brynna would feel like talking to.

As she and Gram stepped back from the door, Sam noticed that Brynna lifted her chin and pinned back her shoulders before stepping up onto the porch.

“Last day of work,” Brynna said. She tried to put a chirp in her tone, but her voice quavered and her blue eyes were filled with tears.

“I thought you had two more weeks,” Gram said.

“So did I.” Brynna stopped, pressing her shaking lips together for a second before she could go on. “But the D.C. office phoned to say they were going with my earlier leave date, that he…” She lifted a hand toward the truck and Norman White, though they were gone. “He…,” she repeated, but she couldn't finish.

When Gram tried to wrap her in a hug, Brynna stepped away. “Please don't. I can't fall apart, and if you—”

“I understand,” Gram said, but she linked her
hands together as if it were the only way she could keep from comforting her daughter-in-law.

“He drove me home because I won't have access to a BLM vehicle until my leave ends. I think he didn't want me to have an excuse to drive up there and return it and get in his way.” Brynna gave a bitter laugh. “Can you believe the home office didn't even wait until Monday? Someone phoned to say I should take some time off to enjoy myself. As if I could, with him…”

Brynna shook her head once more, and then rushed for the stairs.

Sam's heart sank as she looked after her stepmother.

With her braid bouncing between her shoulder blades, Brynna looked like a distraught teenager.

“Careful on the stairs,” Gram whispered, and Sam wondered why she bothered, because Brynna couldn't possibly have heard.

D
inner was a little late that Saturday night.

When Brynna came downstairs holding Dad's hand, her pink thermal shirt was stretched to its limits over gray sweatpants and her eyelids were red from crying, but her wet hair was fragrant with shampoo and she no longer trembled.

Forks clinked on plates. Teeth chewed. Throats swallowed. And every time Sam thought she could stand the silence no longer, Dad frowned at her.

What did he think she was going to say? Gosh, she didn't want Brynna unhappy any more than Dad did. Not only did she care for her stepmother, but Brynna had been the only one standing between the Phantom and capture since the day they'd met.

Finally, Brynna drew a shaky breath and said, “Norman's proposed a fifty percent reduction of wild horses on the range.”

Sam closed her eyes.

“He thinks this winter will have a bad impact on the horses' habitat, especially in the Calico Range. That contradicts my research, which shows the horses going into winter strong enough to stand up against the weather and then benefiting from the high moisture content in this winter's storms, which will mean huge growth in rabbit brush, bitter brush, and all kinds of bunchgrass.”

Brynna was a biologist, Sam thought. Her opinions were backed up with facts. So, why didn't Norman believe her?

“How will they decide who's right?” Gram asked.

“Coin toss,” Dad muttered.

“I hope not,” Brynna said, smiling at Dad's loyalty. “I'm home for a while, though, and rather than harassing my Washington contacts every day, I'm going to help you with weaning Tempest,” Brynna said, nodding to Sam. “You with holiday baking,” Brynna said to Gram, then turned to Wyatt. “And you with some of Pepper's chores, since we're letting him go home for two weeks.”

Sam wanted to beg Brynna to help her make emergency plans for the Phantom, but she'd wait a little while. She wanted to save his whole herd, too, but that seemed impossible. Her only choice, if they
brought him in, was to take money from her college fund to pay the stallion's adoption fees.

And I
will
stand up to you over that,
Sam thought, looking at Dad.

Misinterpreting her glare, Dad sat back from the table and fixed her with steady eyes.

“About the weaning,” he said. “I'm still planning on loading that buckskin up first thing tomorrow morning and taking her to Clara's pasture, where she's out of sight and sound of Tempest. She can run around with Teddy Bear, Jinx, and those two yearlings.”

“I know,” Sam said. She looked down at the food on her plate without appetite.

“Dallas is right about it being the kindest thing,” Gram said. “If we put her in the ten-acre pasture where she and Tempest can see each other, there'll be no end to the neighing and crying. If we make the separation quick and final—by that I mean just for three weeks, of course—it's like ripping off a Band-Aid. It will only hurt for a minute.”

Sam had heard Dallas's Band-Aid comparison more times than she could stand, but she just nodded.

Brynna gave a little sniff, the only sign of her earlier tears, before she said, “Tempest has been doing great with the creep feeder. We don't have to worry about her nutrition.”

That part was true. Sam was happy that Dad had constructed the feeding pen with an entrance just big
enough for Tempest to get in and eat, but too small for Dark Sunshine to follow. Day by day, the foal had become less dependent on her mother's milk, so she'd really only miss her company.

Loneliness would be bad enough, Sam thought, and suddenly she knew Tempest wouldn't be the only one missing Dark Sunshine.

“May I please be excused to go out and visit them?” Sam asked. “I promise to do the dishes when I get back.”

“Go ahead,” Dad said. Though he sounded gruff, Sam knew he understood.

“Take your time,” Brynna told her. “Your Gram and I can handle things in here.”

 

It was nearly dark outside.

Sam hunched her shoulders against the wind and jammed her hands into her coat pockets as she crossed the ranch yard. If all the predicted storms blew in, she wouldn't be going anywhere without a hat, gloves, and scarf, as well as her jacket.

As soon as Sam stepped into the barn, she felt sure those storms would come. Moisture in the air always brought out a Christmas tree smell from the pine boards. The smell reminded her of the rainy night she'd stayed with Dark Sunshine through her labor and delivery of her foal. And though it was probably silly, instead of turning on the barn lights, Sam went to the tack room and retrieved the lantern
she'd used for gentle illumination on that night.

A golden glow swung around Sam as she returned to the stall. Dark Sunshine and Tempest both crowded close at her arrival, but Sam couldn't help noticing the different expressions in the horses' eyes.

Tempest's eyes glowed with excitement, because Sam brought food and fun into her life. When Sam didn't rush into the stall to give her a filly massage, Tempest rocked into a half rear and squealed excitedly.

“In a minute, baby,” Sam said, “And you be careful. You're getting to be almost as big as your mama.”

Dark Sunshine was just over thirteen hands tall, and her black-shaded legs were delicate as a doe's.

As Sam slipped inside the stall, the buckskin's wide-browed face nudged her shoulder, but then Sunny stepped back.

Beneath her black forelock, Sunny's eyes were watchful, always expecting the worst.

You've never been happy here,
Sam thought, but she didn't say the words, because there had been moments after Tempest's birth when Sunny's longing neighs toward the mountains had stopped. And once, at the river, she'd had a chance to flee with the Phantom and she hadn't.

Sam stepped closer to Sunny and slid her hands over the mare in long, loving strokes.

It wasn't Sunny's fault that she was cautious. The first time Sam had seen her, the mare had been
dehydrated and half-starved. Used by wild horse rustlers to lure other horses into a trap, she'd been left behind, blindfolded, time after time.

Sam had saved her—she guessed
stolen
was more accurate—but the mare had been beaten and traumatized. Fear had made her so vicious, no one could get close enough to remove her blindfold. When the red bandanna had finally fallen off, the mare's panic had made Jake guess the mare had been kept in a dark stall for most of her life.

Watching her whirl with flattened ears and flared nostrils, he'd said, “She's half scared you'll put her in the dark, and half scared you'll bring her into the light.”

Sunny's spirit might have healed if a terrible barn fire hadn't struck River Bend Ranch. All the other horses had been freed to run from the flames, but Sunny had been forgotten in the round pen. By the time Sam remembered her, the mare's chest had been bloody from pounding against the log rails. Then the mare had stampeded after the other horses.

On another night, Sam's heart would have sung to see Sunny passing all the bigger horses—first Tank, then Sweetheart, Strawberry, Ace, and even long-legged Popcorn—but it hadn't been a beautiful sight. Terror had spurred the tiny mare to race for the lead.

“And it was so sad,” Sam whispered, “when the Phantom brought you back.”

Sad but amazing, too, Sam thought.

After guarding the buckskin jealously for weeks, the Phantom had returned her, driving her with snapping teeth back across the river to the ranch, where she'd get the human help she needed to heal her cuts.

Sunny had never stopped longing toward the Calico Mountains. So, a few weeks before, Sam had gone with Dad to check every post and crosspiece of the fence around Clara's pasture. The mare should be safe there. Even if she wanted to escape, her slim legs were too short to launch her over the rails to freedom.

“You might like being with Jinx and Teddy Bear,” Sam told Sunny. Totally unaware of Sam's melancholy, Tempest nuzzled her neck with tickling whiskers. “And I'll stay with your silly girl.”

Sam wrapped her arms around the little buckskin's neck, buried her face against her black mane, and breathed in its leather and straw sweetness. Though Dark Sunshine struggled against the hug, Sam gave her one more squeeze.

“Tempest will be safe with me,” Sam promised, and then she let Sunny pull away.

 

On Monday afternoon, Sam thought she was probably seeing things.

It would make sense that she was having hallucinations. No one on River Bend Ranch had been able to sleep Sunday night, after Dark Sunshine had been taken away and Tempest had realized she was truly alone.

Sam had fought dozing off in class all day. She'd longed to, but it was a good thing she hadn't. Every teacher seemed determined to jam-pack the last few days of class before winter break with all the work that hadn't been accomplished the rest of the semester.

After school, Sam had trudged up the steps and onto the school bus, but the driver had turned up the heater as they'd driven along, and Sam had finally fallen asleep.

Slumped against the shoulder of her best friend Jennifer Kenworthy, Sam had only just started awake when the bus driver put on the loud air brake and jerked to a halt at Jen and Sam's stop.

“C'mon, sleepyhead,” Jen had said, shrugging her shoulder under Sam's ear.

“Huh?” Sam had licked her lips and looked around the bus. Several people seemed to be staring at her. “Did I just yell? Is that why everyone's staring at me?”

“Yeah,” Jen said, lifting Sam's backpack along with her own, “but I think it was the drooling that really caught their interest.”

“You're awful,” Sam muttered. She kept her eyes downcast as she followed right behind Jen, practically stepping on her heels.

“Me?” Jen said. “I wasn't the one snoring.”

“Really?” Sam asked, horrified, as she hopped off the last step and watched the yellow bus depart.

“No, not really. Here, take this,” Jen said. She helped Sam shrug into her backpack, then started walking. “And hey,” she said, looking over her shoulder and motioning Sam to catch up, “just before you fell asleep, I asked you to go ride with me this afternoon and you made some excuse involving Kit Ely.” Jen waggled her white-blond eyebrows suspiciously. “It got kind of garbled because you were babbling against my sweater.”

Sam blinked, stared at the range spreading away from them, then hefted her backpack higher and hurried after Jen.

“Oh, yeah! Let's ride tomorrow. Because, since Kit is a Darton High graduate and he nearly made it to the National Finals Rodeo, Mr. Blair thinks I should interview him. I already called from Journalism class and I'm going to ride over there this afternoon.”

Jen gave a breathy imitation of a wolf whistle, then added, “Cool! And are you taking pictures, too?”

“You have a boyfriend—”

“Just
looking
, Samantha—”

“—and though Kit Ely is cute—”

“Guys over twenty are handsome, attractive, or maybe even
fine
-looking, but not cute,” Jen corrected.

“That's my point,” Sam said, but a yawn erased most of her sarcasm. “Kit's twenty-five or twenty-
seven, something like that, and he's way too old for you.”

“Uh-huh, whatever, as long as he still has all of his teeth.” Jen pretended to brush away Sam's advice.

Laughing, they'd nearly reached the spot where Jen cut left toward Gold Dust Ranch and Sam walked on to River Bend, when two things happened at once.

The powder-blue Mercedes driven by Mrs. Coley to take Rachel Slocum back and forth to school passed them and Rachel ducked out of sight. Next, a mechanical racket roared across the range.

Turning practically in a circle to find the source of the sound, Sam asked, “Am I hallucinating?”

“Doubtful,” Jen said. Raising the frames of her glasses by their hinges and repositioning them, she gazed after the Mercedes. “I saw Rachel playing duck-duck-goose, plus I hear that noise. And, though I've read of mass hysteria with shared hallucinations, they occurred during the Middle Ages and were attributed to a mold peculiar to rye bread. Still, we
did
both eat in the cafeteria—”

“Shut up,” Sam said, grabbing her friend's arm. “Look!”

A black helicopter bobbed up over the ridge to their right, bringing with it a hurricane of dust. Jen cupped her hands over her glasses. Sam held down her wind-crazed hair and tried to keep the blowing dirt out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.

The chopper was so low to the ground, Sam could see two men in the cockpit. The pilot wore mirrored sunglasses and the man beside him pointed excitedly, stabbing his index finger downward, straight at Jen and Sam.