Rain Dance (3 page)

Remembering how Gram had gone ahead of the cattle and riders every day to pitch tents and start the evening meal made Sam long for another week of lowing cows, doe-eyed calves, and endless days in the saddle. She could almost smell the bacon frying over Gram's morning campfires.

“So, are you going on the drive or staying home?” Jen asked suddenly.

The question jerked Sam's mind back into the kitchen. Jen didn't look pushy, but Sam knew her best friend wanted her to go so they could ride together.

“I still haven't exactly made up my mind,” Sam admitted.

Jen sighed, but behind her brightly polished glasses, her eyes were filled with understanding.

Jake had just stabbed a piece of ham in his salad. His fork paused halfway to his mouth and he glanced at Dad.

“We're leaving tomorrow at four in the morning,” he said.

“So are we,” Dad said. “Sam's still figurin' out if that buckskin needs help foaling.”

Jake gave a sympathetic nod. At least on horses, Jake and Sam agreed. He knew how excited she was about the coming foal.

“It
is
a tough decision,” Brynna said.

She flashed a sympathetic smile that Sam found
really irritating.

“It wouldn't have to be,” Sam said. She made sure her voice wasn't defiant, but it didn't keep everyone at the table from looking at her.

“I know,” Brynna said. “But I'm excited about going too, Sam, and I can't take any more vacation time yet. I took the week for our honeymoon, and I want to take time when the HARP girls are here.”

Brynna gave a small shrug, but it was clear to Sam that there was no way she would change her mind.

“Presents!” Gram said suddenly. “Let's go into the living room to open your gifts, dear, and we can have pie afterward.”

The stack of brightly wrapped presents was enough to distract Sam from her dilemma.

Gram loved shopping for clothes and she'd obviously gone back to buy the outfit Sam had spotted at Crane Crossing Mall a few weeks ago. Sam had no idea when she'd wear the short white skirt, matching sandals, and emerald green blouse, but who cared?

“Wow! You remembered! Thanks, Gram!” Sam bounced off the couch and gave Gram a hug before going on to the next present.

Brynna sat on the edge of her chair as Sam dug through the tissue paper–filled gift bag, then pulled out a red leather book with blank pages.

For a moment, Sam didn't know what to say. The book was beautiful, but what was she supposed to do
with it?

“You're getting to be such a good photographer, I thought you might like to paste in your favorite pictures, so there's no chance they get lost,” Brynna suggested.

“Cool,” Jen said with an owlish look. “And you could write captions under them and have a history of your life.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. She stood and gave Brynna a quick, one-armed hug, too. “It's a great idea.”

Her hand hovered over the big white box, battered and clearly recycled from some other gift. It was from Dad. The new chaps he'd given her for the Superbowl of Horsemanship race were supposed to be an early birthday present, so she hadn't expected anything else. She wanted to save this for last.

She picked the decorated envelope from Jen and found it was a gift certificate to her favorite Darton bookstore.

“I feel a shopping trip coming on,” Sam said as she hugged Jen.

“Here,” Jake said, shoving a box toward her. “This isn't what I wanted to give you, but it was the best thing I could think of.”

“With such short notice,” Jen murmured sarcastically. “I mean, where did Sam get the idea she could have a birthday
every year
?”

“Jennifer Kenworthy!” Gram's reprimand hid a laugh.

“Sorry, Jake,” Jen said, but the way she tossed one blond braid over her shoulder said she wasn't at all contrite. “How were you to know?”

For the thousandth time, she wished her two best friends would quit their sparring. At least they no longer expected her to take sides.

“Wow!” Sam said when she saw the box was filled with rolls of film. “I'll never have to worry about picking which shot I should or shouldn't take.”

“That's what my mom said,” Jake told her. “She said film comes out of the factory by the mile and a photographer should always take every shot she wants to take.”

When Sam stood as if to hug him, too, Jake slammed his spine against the back of his chair. Sam laughed. Jake wasn't into hugs.

At last, she opened Dad's gift, lifting the lid with reverence. For some reason, she knew this present would be special.

It was the tiniest leather halter she'd ever seen. The noseband was so small, Sam didn't think it would encircle her wrist. She knew Dad had made it himself.

“This is the softest leather I've ever felt.” Sam ran her fingers over the pale tan straps and looked at the careful stitches Dad had used to fasten them to glittering brass circles.

“Like satin,” Brynna said, reaching past Sam to touch it. She looked at Dad with such awe, Sam was
sure this gift was a surprise to Brynna as well.

But this meant…

Sam didn't ask, but her heart was pounding as hard as if she'd been running. Did this mean what she thought it did?

“It's nothin' to fuss over,” Dad said, and his cheeks reddened under his dark tan. “Pretty impractical, but I figured you had your heart set on keepin' that foal—”

Yes, yes, yes!

“—and that bein' the case, you'd better start workin' with it early to keep it from actin' like a jug-headed mustang.”

Sam ignored Dad's criticism and tried to think past the sound of her heart's pounding. Dad was giving her the foal.

The Phantom's colt or filly would be hers. Forever.

Suddenly, her decision to stay or go was simple.

S
am looked up from the miniature halter. Framed with lines caused by thousands of days of squinting into the Nevada sun, Dad's eyes were dark brown and serious.

“I'm staying,” Sam said with determination.

“Thought you might,” Dad answered, and though Sam knew he'd feel better having her where he could watch over her, Dad looked satisfied with her decision.

“This calls for a celebration!” Gram said.

Sam laughed aloud. So did Jen and Brynna.

Under his breath, Jake joked, “I'll say.”

“Not because you're staying home, dear,” Gram amended, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek. “Because I
don't have to ruin your party by telling you to high-tail it upstairs and start packing!”

“I'll help you with the pie,” Brynna said as Gram started toward the kitchen.

“I'll make coffee,” Dad volunteered.

Once they had the living room to themselves, Sam and Jake and Jen sprawled on the chairs and couches.

Cougar, Sam's tiger-striped cat, joined them, sniffing Jen's shoes and rubbing on Jake's jeans before settling on Sam's lap.

“I sort of envy you,” Jen said. “By being the only one here, you'll get the kind of vet experience I should be getting. Have you read those books I loaned you?”

“Cover to cover, more than once,” Sam said, glad she'd accepted Jen's library on horse husbandry. “But I won't really be alone. Don't forget, Mrs. Coley's coming over.”

“That'll be perfect,” Jen said. “She's lived on a ranch all her life, so she could help if you needed it, but she's not the sort to get in your way.”

Jen was right. If she had to have a baby-sitter, Mrs. Coley was a good one.

Helen Coley was a friend of Gram's. They attended the Darton Methodist Church together. Although Mrs. Coley was housekeeper for Gold Dust Ranch and chauffeur for Rachel Slocum—who was a princess in her own mind—Mrs. Coley never
let any of the Slocums dim her smile.

Mrs. Coley had made Brynna's wedding gown and Sam's bridesmaid dress, but Sam admired her most for another reason. The older woman liked mustangs. In fact, she'd named the Phantom's coal-black son New Moon one day when she'd seen him running with two other young stallions in a bachelor band.

“Could be worse,” Sam admitted, then rose to take Jake's empty pie plate. “Let me get you seconds,” she said. “You know you want more, and you'll never go ask.”

“You are so bossy,” Jen said, laughing.

“Am I wrong?” Sam asked Jake.

“No,” he said, but he tightened the rawhide string holding his hair back, as if he had to maintain control over something.

Sam heard Dad quietly talking to Brynna, so she paused before going through the swinging door between the living room and kitchen.

“That mare just isn't settling down,” Dad said. “That's all that worries me.”

“You don't have to—” came Jake's voice from behind Sam when she stopped walking.

She motioned for Jake to stay quiet while she eavesdropped.

“Some mustangs don't,” Brynna told Dad. “Her captivity hasn't been a happy one. The first person who adopted her all but ignored her. Then, as soon as she had the title, she sold the mare to that rustler….”
Brynna's voice was hard and angry.

Then, because Brynna remained quiet for a few seconds, Sam leaned closer to the door, closing her eyes to listen more intently. She barely had time to jerk her head out of the way when Brynna opened the door.

“Sam, come in, for heaven's sake. I can hear you breathing.”

“It's not Sunny's fault,” Sam said.

“Didn't say it was,” Dad answered calmly.

Sam felt herself blush. Dad had just given her the best present of her life. There was no way she'd quarrel with him. At least not tonight.

“Sometimes she seems content,” Sam said. “Like today, she was rubbing her head against me and she actually wanted me to pet her.”

“I really think that this time next year, she'll be fine,” Brynna said. “We've got two things working for us. First, the foal. I've heard from adopters that difficult mustang mares develop a sense of home where they foal.”

Sam hoped that would work for Dark Sunshine.

“And then there's the HARP program,” Brynna said.

“Brynna tells me you'll be working with the buckskin every day, kind of—what did you call it?” Dad asked Brynna. “Showin' the kids?”

“Modeling,” Brynna said. “Jake will be telling the girls how to handle the horse—or I will,” Brynna added, “and you'll follow directions first, showing them how, before they try.”

Sam nodded, looking forward to working with horses every day, but not with Jake in charge. He already thought he had the right to tell her what to do. On the other hand, he might be shy in front of the HARP girls, so it might work out all right.

“She shown any signs of trying to break out?” Dad asked.

“No,” Sam said slowly. “But she looks at the mountains a lot. Today we heard a horse neigh and she answered.”

She held her breath, but neither Dad nor Brynna looked concerned.

“That's natural,” Dad said.

“If she did get loose and went back to the Phantom's herd, what would happen?” Sam asked Brynna.

“Am I assuming you wouldn't put her out there on purpose?” Brynna asked pointedly.

“Oh my gosh, no,” Sam said. Even picturing Sunny's sad eyes as she looked toward the Calico Mountains, she knew she wouldn't do it.

What if the Phantom had another lead mare? What if she and Sunny fought?

“Never,” Sam said. “She doesn't need any more trauma, you know?”

Brynna and Dad agreed. They knew Sunny had been whipped into obedience, then starved so she'd act as a decoy, leading other mustangs into traps.

Thinking about it, though, Sam knew Sunny's worst suffering hadn't been the physical kind. Time
after time, when Sunny finally thought she had a family again, the trapped mustangs were loaded into a truck for illegal sale and she was left behind.

Sam remembered how Sunny's terrible, lonely screams had echoed through Lost Canyon.

“Okay, I'm convinced,” Brynna said, touching Sam's arm. “So if she happened to get loose and join up with a free-roaming herd, nothing would happen until we did a gather.

“Then, if she was swept up with other horses, we'd see her freeze brand, check our records, call you up and inform you how much you owed the U.S. government in trespass fees.”

“That better not happen,” Dad grumbled. “Your allowance for the next three years wouldn't cover it.”

Brynna raised her eyes as if making calculations.

“It might,” she said.

“I've gotta go talk with Dallas, then I'll check your foaling kit,” Dad said. “When you're finished with your friends, come on out. I think Dallas has something for you, too.”

“Really?” Sam said. “I thought he was out at Red Rock with Pepper and Ross. Why didn't we ask him in for dinner?”

“We did,” Gram said, handing Sam a refilled dessert plate for Jake. “He said he had too much to do before morning, but I believe I heard him mutter something about ‘rabbit food,' too.”

S
am watched her friends drive away. She wouldn't see them for a week, and she'd miss them.

She'd have plenty to do until they returned, though, and after that, they'd be working together with the HARP girls every day.

Right now, she wanted to see what Dad thought of her foaling kit. She started toward the barn, thinking the only good thing about heat and humidity was the way they magnified the smell of sagebrush. She took a deep breath. For her, that scent meant home.

Popcorn and Dark Sunshine stood side by side in the ten-acre pasture. Though the mare only seemed to be tolerating the albino gelding, Sam smiled. Some days were like that, she thought. You just put up
with your friends because they were your friends.

At the gate to the pasture, Sam saw Dallas, the ranch foreman. Gray-haired and bow-legged, boots scarred from dust, brush, and stirrups, he couldn't be anything but a cowboy.

He smiled and nodded as she approached. Not only had Dallas known her since she was a baby, he'd helped her find the Phantom when Karla Starr, a dishonest rodeo contractor, had stolen him. Sam knew she could depend on Dallas like a second dad.

Since Dallas had slung Sunny's green halter and a lead rope over the fence, he must be planning to help her move Sunny to her new pasture. That'd be great, but right now Dallas was busy rubbing Amigo behind one ear.

Amigo had been Dallas's favorite mount, but now the sorrel gelding with the graying muzzle was retired. He closed his eyes and leaned into Dallas's touch.

“Happy birthday, cowgirl,” Dallas said, then he gave Amigo a last pat and dug into his pocket.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Now, it's not wrapped, so close your eyes and hold out your hand,” he said.

She did. Behind the dark of her eyelids she concentrated on a smell like fresh paint and the lightweight but solid feel of the object Dallas lay gently in her hand.

“Okay, you can look.”

Sam did, and saw Dallas had carved a perfect replica of the Phantom.

The palm-sized wooden horse stood proud. His Arab-shaped head lifted to sniff for danger. His high-flung tail drifted on a breeze. Sam had seen the silver stallion just like this, standing on a rim rock, guarding his herd.

“Dallas, he's perfect,” Sam said.

“A chunk of wood, whittled with a pocket knife and rubbed with white shoe polish is all it is,” he said, shrugging off her compliment.

“It looks just like him,” Sam protested.

“Well, it's partly your Blackie,” Dallas said, using the name Sam had given the Phantom when he was a foal and she was a child. “And partly another horse.”

“His father, Smoke?” Sam guessed.

“No ma'am, his grandsire, I'm pretty sure. Remember your dad talkin' about the Phantom legend, and sayin' there'd always been a fast, couldn't-be-caught white stallion on this range?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

“Well, I saw one of those legendary stallions long ago and he woulda left your Blackie in the dust.”

Dallas's eyes sparkled in his sun-seamed face and Sam knew he was teasing, but she still had to defend her horse.

“No way,” she said.

“Well, your gray is young yet,” Dallas admitted. “But I wish you coulda seen the stallion I'm talkin' about.

“I was driving to see my sister who lives way east of here on the other side of the Black Rock Desert….”

Dallas's voice took on a storyteller's cadence as he recalled that day. “I was drivin' along, admirin' the strange desert creatures and the mysterious black mesas that just rear out of the sand and stand alone. I was nearly to Agua Dulce, where my sister lives, when this horse materialized out of the playa. Same color as that white desert floor, almost as if it made him.”

Sam shivered. Many times, the Phantom had suddenly appeared, just like that.

“He was a fine-lookin' white stallion, all right, and there was no mistakin' he counted himself the outright
king
of wild horses.

“Of course, I wanted a closer look and since I had brand-new tires on my truck, I steered off the road and followed him across the range. The minute I did, darned if he didn't break into a
pace
. Not a long trot, or a lope, but that gait where both side legs take turns movin' forward and back. Just like those harness-racing horses.”

Sam nodded. She'd never seen a pacer, but she could imagine how one would look skimming across the white desert floor, alone.

“When he eased into that pace, he was like a bird flying just above the ground. He wasn't running from me. He was leading me on, I figured out later, hypnotizin' me with that smooth, easy gait.

“I followed him until I got thirsty and reached for the canteen sitting on the seat beside me. I slowed to take that drink, and darned if that stallion didn't stop
and wait for me! It was then I realized he was luring me off into the desert.”

Amigo had stood quietly listening, but now he whuffled his grassy lips down Sam's forearm and gave her hand a nudge.

“Keep going,” she urged Dallas as she petted the old horse.

“Well, I decided not to let that horse have any more fun at my expense,” Dallas chuckled. “I drove on to my sister's house and when I told her about the stallion, she gave a yelp. She told me I'd seen the ghost horse. Folks around those parts said he'd punish those who tried to catch him and he did it by losing them in the desert.”

“So you were really lucky,” Sam said, turning the little carved horse in her hands.

“Not that I believed that story of my sister's,” Dallas added. “She's always been sorta gullible.”

Sam turned the story over in her mind for a minute. Logic told her a horse wouldn't really do that, but she remembered one night during last year's cattle drive when she'd peered from her sleeping bag to see Slocum and his Thoroughbred Sky returning, beaten, from pursuing the Phantom.

“Still,” Dallas went on, looking down at the carved horse, “I tried to give this little critter that same ‘don't-you-dare' attitude he had.”

“The Phantom does that sometimes,” Sam said.

“And that's exactly why,” Dallas said, handing
Sam the green halter, “you're gonna be all over his filly and not give her a chance to grow up wild.”

Filly? For a minute Sam thought Dallas was talking about Dark Sunshine. Then she realized he meant the foal.

“Filly?” she asked. “You think Sunny's going to have a filly?”

“Oh yeah,” Dallas said, as if he had no doubts. “I can tell by the way she's carryin' it.”

Sam looked past Amigo across the ten-acre pasture. She had a clear view of Sunny's rounded belly, but it gave her no clues to the foal's gender.

“Have to be a little more experienced, I guess.” Dallas gave her a wink, then reached for the wooden horse. “How about I tote this and you go catch her?”

Dark Sunshine watched Sam come. She leaned against the fence, head held low with weariness, and though Popcorn still stood plastered to her side, the mare didn't fuss and nip to drive him away.

“Hey, pretty horses,” Sam crooned as she approached.

Popcorn's head bobbed up and his blue eyes watched Sam. The albino was turning into a friendly and interested horse. He wanted to learn and he loved approval.

“Popcorn, I'm sorry I've got to take your friend,” she told him as he nudged her shoulder. “But she needs a place of her own to have her baby. Guess what, though?” Sam whispered, and both horses
pricked their ears at the sound. “I'll take you for a ride while we're home alone.”

Sam glanced back over her shoulder. Only the horses had heard.

She shouldn't have to sneak. After all, both Jen and Brynna had ridden Popcorn and he'd done fine. And neither of them, Sam thought with a smug smile, had ridden a wild stallion whose legs blurred like molten silver.

Sunny let herself be haltered and led from the pasture, in spite of Popcorn's protests and Sweetheart's forlorn neighs.

“They must wonder what's happening to all their friends,” Sam said as she led Sunny through the gate Dallas held open.

Sunny stiffened a little at Dallas's nearness, but she didn't shy or refuse to go forward. That was progress.

“These horses'll be callin' back and forth all night long,” Dallas grumbled. “I don't know what Wyatt was thinking, moving her tonight when we have to be on the road by four tomorrow morning.”

Sam tried to look sympathetic, but couldn't help thinking that even if the bustle of Gram, Dad, and Brynna woke her in the morning, she could roll over and go back to sleep. That would be heavenly.

The foreman shook his head, gave Amigo a good-bye pat, and walked alongside Sam toward the barn pen.

Dad came out to meet them, but he didn't open
the pen gate. He tilted his head, warning Dallas to let Sam do it alone.

Cowboys were just like horses, sometimes, communicating with signs, not sounds.

Alone in her pen, Sunny walked along the fence line until she had a good view of the ten-acre pasture. She whinnied. Three other horses returned her cry.

“Here we go,” Dallas muttered.

Sunny walked around her pen, head bobbing from side to side, eyes taking in each post and rock. She launched into a trot, but it only lasted a few hammering steps. Then her eyes and lips tightened in an expression Sam recognized as a wince.

“She's too far along for that to feel good,” Dad said. “Carrying an extra hundred pounds mostly in one spot is gonna slow her down.”

It didn't keep Sunny quiet, though. As Sam sorted through the foaling kit, reciting the use of each item for Dad's approval, she raised her voice over the noisy horses.

“Here's Dr. Scott's phone number, and a pad and paper to write down observations, so that I can answer his questions.”

Dad nodded.

“I've got sterile cotton, Ivory soap, and I put a bucket with a lid in by the stall. Here are my plastic gloves…”

Sam described the supplies, ending with a white terry cloth towel.

“…and a fresh towel with no scent, so that when I dry off the foal, she'll still smell like a horse, not fabric softener.”

“She?” Dad asked, smiling. “So you've decided it's a filly, have you?”

“Dallas did,” Sam told him.

“Well then, you'd better start thinking up filly names,” Dad said. “He's usually right.”

Dallas touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment, then held up a lantern he'd retrieved from Blackbeard's Closet.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and Dallas smiled at her enthusiasm.

Even though she'd had to clean Blackbeard's Closet for punishment pretty recently, the cabinet was still so crammed full, opening the door guaranteed an avalanche of miscellaneous stuff.

“Likely as not this storm will blow past us and you won't lose power,” Dallas said. “But in the old days, before we had that fancy overhead lighting, this is how we watched a mare in labor. I'm puttin' this in the tack room, just in case.”

Dallas shrugged off her thanks and dug into his pocket for the white wooden horse. He regarded it for a minute.

“Tell ya what I'm going to do,” he said, then stood tall and reached his arm over his head. “I'll put him up here.”

Sam frowned in confusion as Dallas balanced the
carving on a board above the barn door, but then he explained.

“If a horseshoe's good luck, a whole horse outta be ten times better.”

“Thanks,” Sam said again, but Dallas was already walking off on some errand of his own.

“Old cowboys can be sorta superstitious,” Dad said, shaking his head.

Sam made a small sound of agreement, as Dad went on.

“We need to talk about a couple other things, in case things don't go as planned,” Dad said, leading the way to the tack room.

Sam realized she was holding her breath. She liked being trusted, but she wasn't sure about taking on
this
much responsibility. Dark Sunshine had already had a tough life. She shouldn't have to depend on a beginner to help her through this.

“Now don't worry,” Dad said. He must have read her worried expression. “Horses have foaled for a million years or so without help. Sometimes folks just mess things up instead of helping, but since this is Sunny's first foal, you need to be prepared. Giving birth can be scary for young mares.”

Dad pointed to the green halter she'd taken from Sunny's head.

“Keep her halter at hand. That way, if she won't let the foal nurse, you can try to hold her still. If she fights you, ask Helen Coley to help you put on a
twitch. She'll know how.”

Sam stiffened at the suggestion.

The twitch was a short, smooth stick with a soft loop of cord at one end. When a horse refused to stand still for the blacksmith or vet, its top lip could be inserted through the loop. Then the stick was twisted.

That was only supposed to distract the horse. Sam touched her own lip and twisted. It didn't hurt much, but she sure didn't like it.

“If she still won't stand without kicking at the baby, you need Dr. Scott.” Dad's eyes locked on hers. “It's vital that the foal drink the mare's milk. It will give her the nutrition she needs to survive.”

“Got it,” Sam said, but she was imagining the cozy pictures of mares and foals she'd seen in Jen's books, and hoping Sunny would simply cooperate.

Blaze yapped from the ranch yard. Then, mouth open and tail wagging in a wide circle, he frisked into the barn just ahead of Brynna.

Her stepmother still wore her work clothes. Her red braid was unraveling over the shoulder of her khaki uniform, but her smile showed above the stack of folded blankets she carried.

“I'm so glad I remembered these before I got into bed. I have a habit of doing that,” she confided. “Once I pull up the covers and close my eyes, my mind kicks into high gear.”