The Renegade (4 page)

As she put one foot on the rock, the Phantom turned to watch. When both feet were up, Sam bit her lip.

“Zanzibar …” She sighed his secret name and the stallion answered with a nicker.

A wild horse shouldn’t be so trusting. She wouldn’t try to climb on tonight.

But if she only did it once …

No night birds called. La Charla ran as quietly as unfurled satin. The entire world held its breath, waiting to see what she would do.

“Zanzibar, could I try? Please? You know I won’t hurt you.”

Sam leaned one palm on the stallion’s back. It felt smooth and muscular. She placed her other hand there, too, then smoothed her hands together along his back.

The Phantom sidled just out of reach. Sam felt her chest deflate.

“Not tonight?”

As if he understood her disappointment, the stallion lowered his head. His, lips whuffled along the ground as if he’d lost something, and Sam knew just what it was. For a minute, they’d both lost their good sense.

Then, just like the playful colt he’d once been, the Phantom surprised her. Head still lowered, he grabbed the ruffle at the hem of her nightgown and tugged until the ruffle ripped.

Then the stallion released the fabric and shook his head.

For the space of three heartbeats, he rubbed his velvet muzzle against her neck. He uttered a deep nicker that was so much like language, Sam tried to understand the words.

And then he trotted away. Light as a ghost horse, he drifted over a series of trails and shortcuts up the mountainside.

By road, the way to the Phantom’s valley took close to four hours. Riding Ace and following the
Phantom’s path, Sam had made it once in two.

She wanted to follow him. Instead, Sam watched the silver stallion until he was out of sight. She didn’t cross back to River Bend until even the sound of his passage had died into silence.

Finally, she walked home. With each step away from him, Sam felt a tearing in her chest. Her head believed it was time to go back to bed, to pretend the night hadn’t been interrupted by magic. But her heart knew better.

Together, she and the Phantom had woven a spell that let them read each other’s minds. And tonight, Sam had the awful feeling that the stallion had been saying good-bye.

S
he didn’t get caught returning to her room on Saturday night, but Monday afternoon was a different story.

Journalism was Sam’s last class of the day and her busiest. Mr. Blair expected the Darton High
Dialogue
to be a real newspaper, so he treated students like real reporters. If they didn’t turn in daily homework, meet deadlines, and follow the direction of student editors, they didn’t get “paid” with passing grades.

The classroom buzzed with the sound of tapping computer keys, rustling papers, and a ringing phone, but Sam often escaped to the photo lab.

Eerie red light that wouldn’t damage exposed film glowed over the darkroom sinks where Sam developed the film she’d shot for a story about overcrowded classes. Little string “clotheslines” held wet prints of Friday night’s football game.

In spite of the smelly chemicals used to develop the film, Sam smiled at her handiwork. Everything about photography was fun. She loved getting down on the football field, far closer than the fans and cheerleaders, and crouching to catch the action with her camera. When grunting players crashed into each other, the ground shook as it did when wild horses galloped.

Sam stared at the sink before her. There was a different sort of excitement to this moment. In an almost supernatural way, images turned from vague blotches into pictures.

It was quiet inside the darkroom. The revolving door, designed to keep light from invading, grated as it opened, acting as an alarm.

She was expecting the sports editor, who was itching to see if Sam had caught a particularly great run by a lumbering linebacker, so she didn’t glance up from her work when she heard the door turn.

“This seems a place where we’ll have a bit of privacy.”

The British accent gave her away. It was Rachel. Why would the rich girl want to talk with her in private?

Unless, Sam speculated, Rachel planned to get rid of witnesses to the disgrace of ripping her designer jeans and skinning her knees.

“what’s up?” Sam asked as she sneaked a glance at Rachel’s knees. It was easy to do since Rachel
wore a plaid sundress that barely reached mid-thigh.

But the uncertain red glow in the darkroom showed no harm to Rachel’s knees. Of course not.

“I want you to put some polish on my riding skills.”

“What?”

“Yelping isn’t necessary, Samantha, and there is some need for secrecy,” Rachel scolded.

Sam’s head was spinning. She would have been less surprised if Rachel had tried to drown her in the sink.

“You want me to teach you to ride?”

“I know the basics. What I need is practice under the eye of someone who can point out ways I can improve. This is important to me.”

A little flattered, but still confused, Sam asked, “But why?”

“Did I not say this was important to me?”

“That’s not really a reason.”

“Let’s say
that
information is available on a need to-know basis.” Rachel smirked. “And no one--certainly not you--needs to know.”

“Then you don’t need my help,” Sam said. “Hire someone who does it for a living.”

She turned back to her work. The print in the sink was almost ready when Sam realized temper had dictated her words.

What a mistake. Slocum would probably pay her big bucks to teach his princess to ride.

“But I want you to work with me,” Rachel said.

That made Sam look up. The reddish light made Rachel’s lower lip look even glossier as she pouted.

“You don’t even like me.” Sam noticed Rachel didn’t rush to correct her. “And you don’t like horses.”

“I must find a way to make this work.” Rachel mused to herself. She steepled her glittering bronze fingernails together and pointed to Sam. “You don’t have to be very good, just inexpensive.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t have much experience at kissing up, do you?”

“You needn’t act insulted. We both know I could have a superb horse master. Which you are not. However, I must clear purchases over a certain amount with my father.”

“So, do it.”

“I would.” Rachel’s face brightened. “Except this is a surprise.”

It made sense, Sam supposed. Still, she didn’t want to hang around with Rachel. Even in a corral.

Rachel was selfish, conceited, and rude. Sam admired nothing about her. Then she flipped her fingers through her own growing-out cap of hair and looked at the smooth sweep of Rachel’s. Almost nothing.

“The only people who’d know about it wouldn’t matter,” Rachel said.

That meant Gram, Dad, Jake, and Jen. How
could Rachel believe they didn’t matter? And even if she believed it, why would she say it?

“But Jake doesn’t like me,” Rachel went on sounding incredulous. “And if he should hear I made the tiniest mistake, it would be just like him to tell his gang of friends--not that I care what
they
think,” Rachel hurried to correct any conclusion Sam might jump to. “But word spreads.” Rachel’s smile said she felt a little sorry for herself. “Some of us are always the focus of other people’s attention.”

Yeah, it’s real tough being you, Sam thought. But she didn’t say it. She was too busy trying to figure out what Rachel was up to.

The story didn’t hang together. Sure, Linc Slocum would be happy if his daughter fit into his Western fantasy, but Sam couldn’t believe Rachel cared about pleasing him.

“You know that becoming a good rider means work, and getting your hands dirty, maybe even sweating,” Sam said.

Rachel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead she put on an even more superior tone. “May I be blunt, Samantha?” She didn’t wait for permission. “This drought has been tough on all the small ranchers and it’s bound to get worse. Some will certainly lose their property. The pay I give you for this may not help a lot, but the good opinion of my father will.”

Someone in the other room tapped on the revolving door and shouted, “Sam? Got those photos yet?”

“In a minute,” Sam called, but she was thinking about what Rachel had just said.

This didn’t fit with Rachel’s personality, either. She cared about makeup and MTV, occasionally about winning a school election, but not about weather and agriculture.

“Why would you be paying attention to the drought?”

Rachel gave a half-smile as she walked her fingers along the edge of the developing sink. “Just how do you think my daddy got so rich? You don’t know, do you?”

“No, I don’t. How?” Sam asked.

“Keep wondering, little cowgirl.” Rachel patted Sam’s cheek and headed for the door. “But don’t take too long. The title ‘Best in the West’ will be mine by June.”

Even though she hated to do what Rachel told her, Sam kept wondering all afternoon. It probably slowed down her after-school chores, too, because by the time she had Ace saddled to go ride with Jen, Dad and the hands were riding in from the range and dusk was hovering over the hills.

All four men looked tired and unhappy.

Ace gave a little buck as Pepper and Ross turned their horses out into the big pasture. Usually, they’d tease her. Today, neither seemed to notice. Dallas rode by on Tank. Too weary for a greeting, he just
raised a hand and smiled.

Dallas’s smile wasn’t really for her. It was for the horse he was leading, his old gelding, Amigo. The bay’s muzzle was frosted with white and his eyes looked hazy, but he was the best horse Dallas had ever owned. The only horse he’d trust with his life, Dallas always said.

And that’s why, on the gelding’s twenty-fifth birthday, he’d been turned out to pasture. Only once in a while did bad range conditions force Dallas to bring him in.

Dad drew alongside Sam, on Banjo. His face was grimed with dust.

“Gettin’ kind of a late start,” he said.

“I know, but I’ll be back in time for dinner. And my algebra homework.” Sam made a face and Dad managed a smile. “I spent a lot of time with Sunny,” she told him. “I don’t know if she’ll ever settle down.”

They glanced toward Dark Sunshine. The mare seemed determined to make Sam wrong. She grazed with the saddle horses as if she’d been born among ropes and fences.

Across the yard, Blaze gave a sharp yap and ran circles around the cowboys as they stomped dirt from their boots outside the bunkhouse.

It was a sight Ace saw daily, but he shied as if Blaze were a werewolf. Sam slipped in the saddle. Embarrassed, she steadied herself.

“Quit that,” she scolded Ace.

“It’s a lot of work taming a mustang,” Dad agreed. “They’re always lookin’ for trouble. And if it’s not there, they’ll imagine it.”

Sam knew he was talking about Ace as well as Sunny. Dad might be right, but mustangs had to take care of themselves on the range. Of course they watched for danger.

“If you plan to keep that buckskin, gentle her. Otherwise, what’s to keep her from passing her wildness on to her baby? Or coming at us hoof and teeth if she needs help foaling?” Dad shook his head. “You better plan on handling the young one all the time.”

“You bet,” Sam said.

Her heart went zinging skyward at the thought of a wobbly-legged foal with Sunny and the Phantom for parents.

“No daydreamin’,” Dad said. “Go work the
loco
out of Ace and get back here in time for dinner. I smell fried chicken, and I’m hungry enough to eat it all, then lick the platter clean.”

When she finally met up with Jen, Sam’s mind was spinning.

She didn’t like keeping secrets from Jen. They were best friends, and that meant sharing everything.

Well, almost everything. As Ace and Silly zigzagged around clumps of sagebrush, Sam decided she and Jen did the same. They detoured around a
few private spots. Jen knew Sam had found the Phantom’s hideout, but she didn’t ask where it was. And though Sam knew Jen’s parents fought too much, she didn’t ask for details. Both girls considered those topics off-limits--unless there was an emergency.

In the darkroom, Rachel had said there was “some need for secrecy” about her riding lessons. She’d mentioned gossip, and that wasn’t a problem with Jen. But what if Rachel was really worried about something else? Sam felt like growling. It wasn’t that she felt loyal to Rachel, but this wasn’t her secret to tell.

Sam abandoned her thoughts as a shadow suddenly crossed between her and Jen. Both girls looked up.

A red-tailed hawk soared overhead. The bird’s rasping scream gave Sam chills. She’d never heard anything like it in the city. The sound was everything she’d missed about Nevada when she lived with Aunt Sue in San Francisco.

“Let’s follow her,” Jen said. Blond braids flapping and glasses slipping down her nose, Jen set Silly into a lope.

The girls rode together, keeping the bird in sight to see where she’d nested.

“If she drops a feather, I get it,” Sam said.

“For a good luck charm or something?” Jen asked.

“It’s almost Jake’s birthday.” Sam paused. Jen
was listening hard, frowning to hear over the clattering hooves.

“Jake wants a feather for his birthday?” Jen asked.

“No.” Sam laughed. “But how cool would it look braided into Witch’s mane with the new headstall I got him?”

“Wow,” Jen agreed. Then she frowned. “She’s getting away.”

They galloped, rushing into a wind that tasted of sagebrush and rabbitbush and something tangy Sam couldn’t name. The horses ran side by side, surging after the hawk.

If a russet feather fell, Sam knew she would give it to Jake, but she longed to keep it for just a while. Holding a little piece of wildness--not stolen from an animal, but freely given--always filled her with quiet wonder.

But the hawk didn’t care what Sam wanted. After leading them on a swooping path toward War Drum Flats, the red-tail made a shrugging motion with her wings, banked upwind, and disappeared into the evening sky.

“We’ve lost her,” Jen said.

“I know, and I’ve got to get home.”

“Me, too. D’you want to let these two drink a minute before we go?”

“Sure.”

The horses followed a well-worn path past a
tumble of boulders, toward a dirt road that paralleled the highway. Few vehicles used the road, since it dead-ended near the narrow mountain trail up to Lost Canyon.

The pond was in sight when Jen’s palomino reared.