The Challenger (5 page)

“I'm still here, Ace. Still trying to learn to keep my mouth shut and my feelings to myself. I can't even tell my best friend what I'm thinking.”

Sam pulled her legs up against her chest and clamped her arms around them. She rested her chin on the shelf they made and listened. She didn't leave the safety of the barn until she heard the green camper bumping away, across the River Bend bridge, and dusk had fallen, turning everything a hazy shade of gray.

S
am's guilty conscience woke her at four
A.M
.

It was stupid, and she knew it, but what else could it be? She'd mistreated her best friend. Not accidentally, but on purpose. That's what had her staring toward her ceiling when it was still too dark to see.

She'd finished her homework last night, so school worries weren't keeping her awake.

She hadn't had a bad dream, though thoughts of Moon, injured and alone, and the about-to-be-orphaned cougar were nightmarish enough.

She wasn't cold. She didn't have sore muscles or a cough or a headache to keep her from sleeping until her alarm clicked on at six o'clock.

Nothing was wrong except that she had only three hours to decide how she'd face Jen at the bus stop and apologize. The worst part was, Sam wasn't sorry.

Sure, she regretted their quarrel, but she still thought Jen's dad was wrong. The cougars shouldn't have to die and Jed Kenworthy shouldn't help Slocum kill them.

Sam rolled onto her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to kick free of the sheet wrapping her like a mummy. If she kept thrashing around, she'd wake Gram or Dad and then she'd have another set of problems.

She sat up carefully, hoping her mattress wouldn't creak. She wiggled her feet free, then tiptoed across her room to pull on jeans, a flannel shirt, and heavy socks. She laced on her gym shoes and started downstairs, where she put on her coat.

The only one who'd welcome her at this time of the morning was Ace. And, she admitted to herself, even that was iffy.

As Sam left the house and closed the door quietly behind her, she decided to stop by the feed room and get a scoop of grain, just in case.

Ace nickered before she reached the barn, and though Sweetheart snorted and turned her tail toward Sam, the little bay gelding
was
happy to see her.

“Hey, pretty boy,” she whispered.

Ace nickered again as she entered his pen.

Long ago, Jake had told her it just made sense to pet horses in the same places they groomed each other, and he was right. As Sam rubbed Ace's neck,
the horse sighed with pleasure.

“So, Ace, do you think I'm a city girl?”

Ace stamped one hoof.

“I don't think so, either. I only spent two years in San Francisco. Jen knows the numbers don't support what she's saying, so why would she say it?”

Ace shifted his weight toward Sam. She rubbed harder.

“And she told me to grow up.” Sam paused as Ace shook his mane. “Okay, something like that. And I'll tell you the truth, Ace, I don't want to ask her what she meant.”

Sam worked her fingers through the gelding's coarse black mane. “Know what I think? That I should save those cougars myself before Linc has a chance to kill them.” Sam let her words hang for a moment. “I should do it myself,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself it was the right thing to do.

At the bus stop, she and Jen would make up. None of their squabbles lasted longer than overnight. After each of them apologized, she'd ask Jen to meet her after school. Together, they'd ride the ridgeline, looking for cougar tracks. When they found the mother and cub, they'd bother them a little. Not enough to terrify them, but just ride after them a little and hope the cats took off for the high country.

Slocum wasn't likely to follow the cats into bleak, snowy terrain where the riding was cold and difficult.

All at once, Sam felt sleepy. It just figured. She'd
only been out of bed about fifteen minutes and her body had decided it was nap time. If she hurried, maybe she could catch more sleep before her alarm rang.

“'Bye, boy.” Sam kissed Ace on the nose, slipped out of his pen, and jogged toward the house.

Before she was halfway there, a commotion of clucks and a flurry of feathers erupted inside the chicken house.

Sam stopped. What was that? She peered toward the coop. Had something moved?

No other animal was inside the chicken house now, or the hens would still be squawking, but she'd seen something like a wave of black near the fenced chicken yard.

Sam continued cautiously. If she were a horse, a dog, or almost anything but a human, she'd have better night vision. She opened her eyes as wide as possible, then squinted. Nothing was there.

Keeping a watch over her shoulder, Sam continued toward the house. As soon as she opened the door, the kitchen light came on. Sam jumped back. Of course, it was just Gram, wearing a red robe zipped up to her neck, looking at Sam in surprise.

“Good morning!” Gram said as she flicked on the oven. “You startled me.” She ran water into the coffeepot, set it to heat, then asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” Sam said. There was no sense mentioning
the turmoil in the chicken house. “I just couldn't sleep.”

“Hmm,” Gram said. “I wonder why.”

Sam noticed Gram hadn't really
asked
why. Still, Sam sagged into a chair instead of going upstairs. Her eyelids were heavy, but she couldn't help but watch as Gram darted around.

Gram opened the refrigerator, removed two pans of bread dough that she'd left rising overnight, and slipped them into the oven. They'd be baked and ready for butter and honey at six-twenty, the time Sam usually came down for breakfast. Sam wished they were ready now.

Next, Gram ground coffee beans in a hand mill and poured them into the old tin coffeepot. Finally, she made Sam's lunch and slipped it into the backpack Sam left hanging by the door.

By then the coffee was ready. Gram poured herself a cup, sipped it, then tilted her head while she looked at Sam.

“I know it's not your usual, but what about a cup of coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and maybe a piece of apple pie?”

“Oh, yes.” Sam practically growled the words. Last night, after her fight with Jen, she hadn't been hungry for much dinner.

Smiling, Gram cut two triangles of pie. She gave Sam a pink pottery mug of pale coffee, then sat down across from her. Just then the heater came on, filling the kitchen with warmth.

“You didn't have any pie last night,” Gram observed.

Sam sipped, giving herself time to think. Why shouldn't she tell Gram what had happened? She couldn't come up with a single reason.

“Jen called me a city girl and told me to grow up.”

“She did?” Gram's eyebrows rose. “Now, I wonder what made her do that.”

“Am I?” Sam asked. “And aren't I pretty mature for thirteen?”

“I think you're a grown-up thirteen,” Gram said. “But Jen's more adult than you.” Gram raised one hand to stifle Sam's protest. “She's had to be, dear. It was very hard for that family when they lost the ranch.” Gram stirred her coffee, though she'd already drunk half of it. “I don't think I'd be telling tales if I said that living under Linc Slocum's thumb has caused problems in Jed and Lila's marriage. On the other hand, Wyatt and I have protected you from everything we could.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Oh, money troubles, our little spats, conflicts between the cowboys…” Gram's voice trailed off, then she met Sam's eyes. “So, yes, I'd say Jen's had to be more grown up.”

Gram was distracted by sudden clucking outside. “Is Blaze bothering those hens? He hasn't been himself since Jed brought those hounds over.”

“I think Blaze is in the bunkhouse. I didn't see
him.” Sam wished she had. Something was sniffing around the chicken coop, and Blaze would have flushed it out of hiding.

Sam's fork cut through the lattice crust of her pie. The first bite tasted so good, she didn't want to ask about Jen's “city girl” remark, but Gram hadn't forgotten.

“While I don't think anyone's justified in calling you a city girl, it's not such a bad thing. I wish—” Gram gave a sigh, took off her wire-framed glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I do so wish you could have seen your mother the first day she came to this ranch.”

“
She
was a city girl,” Sam said. “I know that.”

“Oh, she was. Her makeup was perfect and her hair curved just so. She had manicured nails, too. Louise was as citified as they come, but it was love at first sight when she set eyes on River Bend.

“Your father met her in college, of course. He thought she just liked the idea of ranch life, so when he brought her out here, it was sort of a test.”

“That's not very nice,” Sam said.

“Not very,” Gram agreed. “But Wyatt had a hard time believing she was real.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, you might have noticed that ranch folks hide their feelings some. Happy, sad, or mad, we don't make a scene.” Gram let her words sink in, as if she knew Sam had been thinking of this very thing.
“But Louise…” Gram tsked her tongue, smiling. “That girl always wore her heart on her sleeve, and Wyatt just didn't know what to make of it.”

“But she passed Dad's test.”

“Land, yes. They hadn't even gotten out of his car when Wyatt's old dog, Trixy, came streaking across the yard with a face full of porcupine quills.”

“Oh, no!” Sam couldn't keep her hands from flying up to cover her nose and mouth. “Dogs have such tender noses, too.”

Gram nodded. “Your father didn't bother calling the vet. Not because he was cruel, mind you, but because it was the third time Trixy had pulled that stunt.”

“And she got quills in her face every time?” Sam gasped in disbelief.

Gram grimaced and nodded. “Even inside her mouth.”

“Why didn't she learn?”

“Who knows? But this was the last time she did it. In minutes, your mother, in her pretty blue dress and sandals, was helping Wyatt tend Trixy.” Gram stared at the kitchen wall as if it showed a film of that day. “Wyatt held that big brown dog between his knees, keeping her still. Louise used pliers to jerk those quills out, while tears ran down her cheeks. She was so softhearted, but she was tough, too. She pulled every one of those quills.

“And when they were all finished and Trixy came over and licked your mother's face? She fell on her
knees and hugged that dog until Wyatt didn't know what to do.

“From that day on, Trixy was as much Louise's dog as she was Wyatt's. More than once, I heard him joke that he only married Louise to please Trixy. Yes, I imagine you're a lot like your mom was at your age. She was a city girl, but she wasn't squeamish. She did what had to be done.”

Sam and Gram finished eating with only the refrigerator's hum to fill the quiet. Upstairs, Sam's clock radio started playing and Dad's feet hit his bedroom floor with a thump.

“I better go brush my hair,” Sam said.

“Could you collect eggs for me first, since you're already down here?” Gram had gotten up to peek at her bread, so she didn't see Sam wince. “Your father's not much for pie-and-coffee breakfasts, and he might as well have his eggs fresh.”

“Okay,” Sam said. She took a basket from the kitchen counter and turned on the porch light before she went outside.

The night had faded to gray and the Calico Mountains were outlined purple against the horizon, but Sam felt nervous approaching the chicken coop.

Why didn't one of the cowboys open the bunkhouse door and let Blaze out? The hands were always up by now. Maybe they were eating breakfast, but if she could hear the dog scratching the door, so should they.

Then, when she was just a few yards from the chicken coop, Sam heard something else. A movement like a big snake, or a thick rope being whipped across the ground. She'd never heard the sound before. She froze, staring through the chicken wire at something dark hiding on the other side.

The porch light reflected in two large amber eyes.

It's not a big animal,
Sam told herself as she studied the white-rimmed mouth that was open, but very low to the ground.

Across the yard, the bunkhouse door opened.

“Go on then, you crazy cur.” Pepper's voice was muffled by a yawn, but Blaze leaped from the doorway, flying over the wooden stairs. The dog hit the ground running.

Sam heard a low yowl and knew what she'd been watching, and what had been watching her. A cougar.

Should she shout and try to scare it away? Should she tackle Blaze and try to keep him from being hurt?

Too late. Dirt spat from beneath huge padded paws and the yellow eyes vanished. But Blaze followed right behind.

“Blaze!” Sam shouted. “Come back here!”

Dad was on the porch, making a whistle more shrill than anything Sam had ever heard that early in the morning.

It worked.

Sneezing the dust from his nose, trotting as if he'd filled his paws with stickers from the cold morning
ground, Blaze came back and picked his way toward the porch.

“What's got into that dog?” Pepper called from the bunkhouse.

“I don't know,” Sam yelled back.

She hated lying, but she would not give anyone a reason to hunt down that cougar and orphan its kitten.

She took a deep, steadying breath and opened the chicken yard gate. Her hands shook as she gathered the eggs. There weren't many. Had the cougar been skulking about all night, making the hens too nervous to lay?

When she'd searched all the nests and come up with only three eggs, Sam quit looking.

She opened the gate and headed back toward the house, then noticed Dad was still standing on the front porch. He petted Blaze in an absentminded way, and he kept staring toward the ridge.