Rain Dance (5 page)

D
ad and the cowboys hadn't left her very many chores, so Sam did as Gram had asked, watering the garden and plucking out the hopeful green weeds that had sprouted overnight.

While she weeded, Blaze found a patch of shade nearby and dug into the dirt with his nose. He lay down, leaving his muzzle there, eyes watching Sam.

She wanted to lead Sunny down to the La Charla. It was a short walk, just enough exercise for the weary mare, and the cool water would soothe the delicate legs that were supporting an extra burden.

As Sam worked her fingers into the earth around Gram's tomato plants, she watched the ridge. The lightning that glimmered in the west hadn't come again. At least not when she'd been watching.

Her brow was sweaty from the rare humidity of an approaching storm, and the cool river appealed to her, too. But was it safe? She wished she had someone to ask, but she didn't.

This was the downside of being in charge. If she stood beside Sunny through the safe delivery of a healthy foal, she'd get all the credit. But if something went wrong, she'd get the blame.

“What do you think, Blaze?” Sam asked the Border collie.

His white-tipped tail thumped and he raised his muzzle. Small clumps of dirt fell from it as he panted hopefully.

“Me too,” she said. “Let's go.”

 

She entered Sunny's pen from the barn. Last night she'd only led the mare in and out through the fence. It was important that Sunny knew she could be released into the pen from her stall. Sam wanted Sunny to stay calm during the birth and after her foal was born. Appearing from a strange entrance could startle her.

“Hey, girl,” Sam said, coming from the dark barn into the sunlit pen. “Want to play in the river?”

Sam stood still when the buckskin noticed her. Sunny took a dozen deliberate steps her way, but stopped just out of petting range.

“You feel safer when there's a fence between us, girl?”

The mare looked beyond her with such intensity, Sam glanced back over her shoulder.

There was nothing there but the hillside leading up to the ridge, covered with sagebrush and sun-bleached grass. There was no movement except for a few clumps of white prickly poppies that quaked in the faint, hot wind.

When she looked back, Sunny was studying her. Sam looked into the mare's eyes, glad to see that the wild loneliness was gone. She remembered when Sunny had looked vicious. Now she was only cautious.

“Jen's books say you can have mood swings just before you have your baby,” Sam said as she eased the green halter on the mare. “But I'm not seeing any.”

The mare jerked away. The lead rope snaked a few inches through Sam's hands before she gripped, but Sunny was only grabbing a mouthful of grass.

“I'll make you a bran mash when we get back, okay? Gram left me the recipe.”

She led the mare back through the barn, stopping in the big box stall. Last night, since there'd been no signs Sunny was on the verge of giving birth, Dad had advised Sam to leave the mare outside so she could still see the other horses while she got used to the new enclosure.

“Tonight, you're sleeping in here,” Sam told her.

The mare watched dust dance in the shafts of faint dusty sunlight sifting through the roof.

Their barn roof wasn't solid, either, but Sam knew the mare wouldn't be drenched in a downpour. Since
the earthquake, the entire barn had been repaired by professionals.

Overhead, a pigeon cooed. Sunny looked up. Her forelock fell away from her tawny face and she blinked.

“You don't look like a crazy girl anymore,” Sam told the mare.

Sunny sniffed as if the very idea was ridiculous, and Sam laughed.

“This foaling's going to be as simple as can be, right?”

This time the mare just leaned against the lead rope. When Sam gave a step, Sunny headed for the barn door, towing Sam after her.

Cool air wafted from the river. For a few minutes, Sunny was content to wade, but then she started acting funny.

“What do you want, girl?”

The mare shook. She dropped the shoulder nearest the water, then shook her mane. She struck at the mud and stepped back as her hoof hit a rounded river rock.

Suddenly Sam realized the mare wanted to roll in the mud. It was too rocky here, but she saw a bare stretch of shoreline.

“I don't know, girl,” she said, looking at the mare's unwieldy body.

But what could it hurt? Dr. Scott had said mares often got up and down many times while they were giving birth. She might as well practice.

It turned out she'd read Sunny's intentions exactly right. As soon as her hooves touched the cool, bare sand, the mare lowered herself with a groan.

Sam held the very end of the lead rope, to stay out of range of the mare's hooves as she rolled, splashing in the shallows.

With a huge sigh, Sunny lay on her side. Her eyes closed.

Sam stayed quiet. She rarely saw horses rest on their sides this way. She'd always assumed it had to do with survival. If you slept standing on your four legs, you'd be set to escape a predator. If you slept on your side, you had to get those long, gangly legs arranged, rock to your feet, and
then
try to outrun danger.

To rest like this, Sunny must be exhausted. Sam looked at the sleek, golden-brown shoulder and wanted to stroke it. She wanted to remind Sunny that the human hand could do more than hurt. Instead, she let her sleep.

While the mare dozed, Sam gazed across the rippling La Charla River. The cattle had been gathered and she saw no mustangs, but something told her the Phantom wasn't far away.

With luck, one of his older, experienced mares had become lead mare. According to Dallas, even Queen, the red dun, had been young for the job. And she was about five when the Bureau of Land Management had taken her, injured, from the range.

Sam tried to recall the Phantom's mares. She
closed her eyes, picturing a pair of blood bays, a sorrel, a buckskin, several dark bays, and a big honey-colored mare she'd seen up close. Too close.

On Dad and Brynna's wedding day, Sam had taken a spill on the range, and though much of the herd had split around her, the big mare had jumped right over her.

Far-off thunder rumbled and Sunny's ears twitched in her sleep. On the range, that sound would probably have been a sign to seek shelter. With another heavy sigh, the mare lurched to her feet and stared around as if she didn't remember coming here.

Mood swings didn't have to mean cranky and snappish, Sam guessed. Maybe Sunny's calm confusion counted, too.

“Let's go get the mud brushed out of your coat,” Sam said.

Back in the barn, the mare welcomed grooming as if it were a massage. Every few minutes, she grabbed a bite of the wheat straw, but she seemed tranquil.

Suddenly, though, her head rose and her eyes widened. Nostrils flaring, she moved toward the opening into the pen. She took determined steps, fully awake now, and Sam followed.

Sunny's attention focused on the ridge.

Sam thought of cougars, coyotes, and wild horse rustlers.

“You're safe, girl,” she told Sunny, but she wasn't so sure.

Sam glanced over her shoulder to see Blaze was dozing on the front porch. If Sunny sensed something threatening, Blaze would be jetting through the ranch yard after it.

Sunny gave two huffs through her nostrils, then nickered.

“I don't see—”

And then she did.

A tall copse of mountain mahogany made a spiky interruption to the ridgeline. Beyond it, she saw a flicker of white. What she saw wasn't prickly poppies growing on the hillside beyond this one, nor a wisp of cloud in the sullen sky. High on the ridge, where she'd never seen him before, stood the Phantom.

He was at least a mile away, but she saw the glint of silver as he arched his neck, and the glittering strength of his shoulder muscles in the strange summer light. He seemed to prance in place, showing off, but he moved no closer.

What is he doing here?

Not since the accident that had set him free had the stallion returned to River Bend Ranch.

Dallas had told her that some nights when she was in San Francisco and he'd been up late, sitting on the bunkhouse step, playing his guitar, he'd seen an iron-gray horse at the river. He'd thought it might be her colt. After a while, the horse had quit coming. He might have joined a mountain herd, Dallas had said. Or maybe, Dallas had joked, the horses disapproved
of the switch in music. Dallas had taken to playing the harmonica, because his arthritis made fretting the guitar difficult.

She'd seen the stallion many places, but never here. Still, his willingness to move around had probably contributed to his healthy herd.

Brynna said that a lot of wild horses stayed in one place, even when water and graze dwindled.

The Phantom moved from his hidden valley to a plain above War Drum Flats, and a streamside green strip in Arroyo Azul. But he shouldn't be here.

Sunny's ears flattened. Sam wondered whether she should touch the mare to comfort her. Just then Sunny's hind legs kicked in a signal that she didn't want company, even the Phantom's.

“Good girl,” Sam said. “It's the wrong time to run off and play. You tell him.”

Sam couldn't believe what she'd just said. She felt a frown tighten between her eyes.

What if the Phantom had come for
her
? What if he knew the other humans were gone, that she was alone and he needn't fear capture?

She couldn't let him venture onto the ranch that had once been his home. His presence would agitate Dark Sunshine. The mare didn't look eager to join him, but what if she changed her mind? Sam imagined herself trying to restrain Sunny as she tried to escape. And if she did break out, Sunny couldn't run with him. She'd strain, then fall
behind. Nothing about his visit would be good for the foal.

And there was danger in letting the Phantom come to a civilized place. He'd been captured before when he'd grown too trusting.

Don't come down here
, Sam told him silently.

He stood so statue still, Sam's eyes darted to the clouds above the ridge. White thunderheads sculpted with silver were mounded behind him. When the Phantom's mane lifted on the breeze, it blended with the clouds.

Hypnotized by the mustang merging with his surroundings, it took Sam a minute to realize what she heard.

A quiet crack, then another. Plopping sounds, then patters. Rain began to fall on dry grass, fence posts, Sunny, and Sam.

The stallion turned. His tail drifted like a swan's wing, and then he was gone.

Sam stayed beside Dark Sunshine. She didn't speak, didn't pull on the lead rope or coax the mare to do anything. Sunny had discouraged the stallion. She'd done what was best for her foal.

Sam watched, knowing the mare would show her the next step.

Suddenly the mare flinched and glanced back toward her belly. The foal had probably kicked inside her, Sam decided, when Sunny swished her black tail and fell to grazing.

“Time for that bran mash?” Sam asked quietly.

In response, Sunny lifted her head. The single-minded concentration with which she'd been eating during the last two weeks seemed to have faded. Now, she followed Sam back into the barn.

Sam closed the gate to the small pasture and locked it. She turned on the overhead lights so Sunny would be used to them by the time they were necessary. Then Sam left for the house.

She'd measured out the bran, grated carrots, and oil and begun steaming the mash when there was a crackle of lightning. The kitchen lights flickered. Sam stopped, waiting to see if they'd lose power. When they didn't, she proceeded with the recipe just as Gram had shown her.

She was concentrating so hard, she jumped when the phone rang.

“Sam, I'm sorry I'm so late.”

It was Mrs. Coley.

Sam glanced at the kitchen clock, surprised to see it was four o'clock. Weeding and spending time with Dark Sunshine had soaked up most of the day. The way the sun had hidden behind the clouds all day had fooled her.

“That's okay,” Sam said. It probably wouldn't be polite to say she hadn't noticed, so she added, “I've been busy.”

“You haven't seen that white stallion, have you?”

Sam caught her breath. Dozens of thoughts rico
cheted through her mind, but they all felt the same.
Something's wrong.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“We saw him on the ridge up behind the house,” Mrs. Coley said. “And since it runs behind your place, too, I thought I'd check. You don't want to lose that buckskin mare at this stage.”

Sam agreed, but then she heard an adamant male voice saying something in the background.

“Ryan would like to talk with you, Sam,” Mrs. Coley said, and something about her tone held a warning.

“Okay—”

“Samantha, we have a problem.” Ryan's voice was clipped and tense and very clearly implied the problem was hers to fix.

W
e
have a problem.

Sam exhaled. For some reason, her mind didn't search for the way Dad or Gram would handle this. She thought of Jake.

When things went wrong, Jake didn't show it. He looked relaxed, almost sleepy. That made people around him calm down.

I can do that
, Sam thought. She closed her eyes and made her voice lazy.

“What problem is that?” she asked.

“That ‘Phantom stallion'”—Ryan's tone was condescending, as if he were talking about a cartoon hero—“is up to his old tricks.”

Take a deep breath, Sam told herself. She pictured
Jake with his eyelids half lowered.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Indeed. He's trying to steal domestic mares again.”

“Wait just a minute!” Sam snapped. “What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I'm talking about,” Ryan began.

“You weren't here when that hammerhead stallion came sneaking around trying to assemble a harem,” she accused. As an angry flush heated her skin, she knew the Jake technique would never work for her.

“Blaming another stallion is a fairy tale—”

“I saw him with my own eyes. I photographed him—”

“Yes, yes, I've heard all about it, but I have a valuable mare—” Ryan's voice broke off.

Had he heard how much he sounded like his father? Did he realize he'd tried to disguise his feelings with talk of money?

In the minute they were both quiet, Sam heard the patter of rain turn to a steady downpour. A rumble of far-off thunder sounded like a lion's growl.

“I just thought,” Ryan said, finally, “it would be wise to notify you of the stallion's presence, since you, too, have a mare in delicate condition.”

Ryan hadn't exactly backed down, but he hadn't tried very hard to change her mind, either.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I'll keep my eyes open.”

Her lips had parted to say good-bye when Mrs. Coley came back on the line.

“You can see why I've been delayed getting back to your place. He's very nervous,” she said quietly.

“I guess I understand,” Sam said.

“Hotspot's overdue and she'll foal tonight. I'm sure of it. I'm
not
sure he's up to dealing with her alone.”

Panic mixed with Sam's pride that Mrs. Coley thought she
was
up to dealing with a foaling mare. She'd counted on having an experienced adult as backup.

Not even an adult. Jake would have been fine, or Jen….

“I know you're new to this, too,” Mrs. Coley said. “But your buckskin comes from a long line of hardy mares. They gave birth on the range, in spite of snow, sandstorms, and hungry predators, then returned to the herd and moved on.

“Hotspot's parents were probably raised in stables more luxurious than our houses. Besides, horses are in your blood, Sam.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, though she found herself peeking at the gummy bran mash so she wouldn't feel embarrassed by the praise.

Blaze lifted his head and sniffed, deciding whether her concoction was something he wanted to sample.

“Now, you call me for anything at all,” Mrs. Coley said firmly. “Unless we run into trouble with this mare, I'll be over there before you go to bed.”

 

Low-hanging clouds and rain made the afternoon feel like evening. Sam left the kitchen lights on, since it might be full dark by the time she returned from the barn.

Hands covered in oven mitts, Sam jogged from the house to the barn, carrying the mash. She was soaked. Her hair was plastered to her head, but the bran mash was still hot by the time she got across the ranch yard.

As soon as she saw Dark Sunshine, she forgot all about the bran mash except to set it down and start shucking off the mitts.

The barn was dim, but she could see the little buckskin staring painfully at her side.

Sam flicked on the overhead lights. The switch didn't move. It was already on. So why were the lights out?

She moved back to the barn door and squinted through the rain at the house.

She was positive she'd left the kitchen lights on, but the house was dark.

Sunny pawed furiously with one hoof. She kept watching her side, then walked a tight circle around the box stall.

It was then that Sam noticed the damp bedding in
one corner of the stall. The bag of waters the foal had lived in for eleven months had been ruptured by the foal's eager movements. It was ready to be born.

Elation and alarm rushed through Sam. Very soon, she would see the Phantom's foal!

“Here we go, girl,” she told Sunny, then Sam sat down to wait.

 

When Sunny lowered herself to lie in the wheat straw, Sam realized how much she was squinting. Dallas—and all the books—had said it was important to watch the mare closely. Foals could enter the world in all sorts of contorted positions, which usually required a vet's help. The sooner you noticed, the safer the baby would be.

Sam jumped up and retrieved the lantern Dallas had left in the tack room. She pumped the handle, lit the wick, then adjusted a silver knob until a bright, steady flame illuminated the stall.

Blaze had followed her to the barn. He sniffed disapprovingly at the scent of lantern fuel, but Sunny didn't notice.

Still resting on her side, the mare closed her eyes. Her legs folded, then extended. With each thunderclap and sizzle of lightning, she jerked awake.

“It's not that close,” Sam whispered to the mare.

Then, to comfort herself, she used the little formula Gram had taught her.

With the next flash of lightning, she counted
slowly. “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand, five—”

Boom!

According to Gram, each time you got to five thousand, the lightning was one mile away. As Sam considered what that meant, she swallowed hard. And another boom sounded.

To cover the furious sounds outside, Sam sang. She tried cowboy songs, but every one she could remember was depressing. “Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie” wasn't what a mustang wanted to hear. Neither was “The Streets of Laredo,” though a cowboy, not a horse, lay dying in that song.

Weren't there any cheerful cowboy songs? Wait, maybe she had one.

“Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine, you are lost and gone forever…”

No. Definitely not.

“Sorry, girl,” Sam apologized as Sunny launched herself back to her feet.

Sam wanted to call Mrs. Coley, but why should she? Sunny was behaving exactly as Dad, Dr. Scott, and the books said she should.

More restless than pained, Sunny kept moving around, trying to stay comfortable as the foal positioned itself for birth.

All at once, Blaze bounced to his feet. In the same instant, Sam felt the hair on her arms lift as if she'd taken off a staticky sweater. Then, the air turned
blue, the barn shuddered, and—
boom
!

Sam's ears ached as if she'd been thrust to the bottom of a swimming pool.

Sunny's eyes rolled white. She braced her legs and neighed. Outside, Amigo, Popcorn, and Sweetheart answered with frightened calls.

Sam swallowed the scream in her own throat.

Get a grip,
she told herself. It was a lightning strike and a thunderclap. Close. That's all.

Once the sounds had rolled into silence, Sunny's fear appeared to vanish. Her attention turned inward again. She had her foal to think about.

But what had caused that blue flash? Lightning hitting the house? The bunkhouse? A cottonwood tree that would flare into flame and set everything else on fire?

Sam peered cautiously from the barn doorway and Blaze leaned against her legs. Sparks gnawed along the power lines, bright as Fourth of July fireworks. But not for long. As she watched, the electrical fire sputtered, then disappeared, extinguished by the rain.

“It's okay,” she told Blaze. “The power's already out and now the fire is, too.”

Sam had only taken a couple of steps away from the barn door when another thought popped into her mind. What if that wasn't a power pole?

She stared at it again. How could she tell the difference between a power pole and a telephone pole?

It didn't matter, she told herself. She either had
telephone service or she didn't. Running to the house to check would make no difference.

None.

But she had to know.

Sunny was flicking her tail and stamping her hind hooves as if she wanted to kick.

“I'll be right back, Sunny,” Sam promised. “I won't stop for anything. I'll pick up the telephone, listen, and hang up. I promise.”

The mare didn't care. Her eyes were wide but her attention was turned inward.

Sam ran. She splashed through the puddles. She felt exposed, as if a lightning bolt were aimed right between her shoulder blades.

I'm halfway safe,
she thought as she clattered up the front porch steps and into the kitchen. Crossing every finger, she closed her eyes and lifted the receiver.

Nothing.

She replaced the receiver and lifted it again. Still no dial tone. It
had
been a telephone pole. There was no way to summon help.

Run. Responsibility crashed down on her, and each drop of rain told her to hurry. Dark Sunshine had no one to count on now except for her.

Sam burst back into the barn and pushed her dripping hair away from her face to see Sunny lying on her side, legs straight and stiff. Contractions rippled over her belly.

“I'm here, girl,” she whispered to the mare. “That may not sound like much, but I know everything books and cowboys can teach me, and I love you.”

As if in response, Sunny half stood. Her front legs trembled with effort and she gave Sam a beseeching stare.

Then, with a slither and a thud, enclosed in a silvery cover, the foal was born.

A celebration started in Sam's head, but she pushed it aside, being sensible.

Clear the membrane from the foal's nose, eyes, and mouth.
That's what the book had said. Sam pulled on rubber gloves, but before she could do anything else, a flurry of sound came from the stall.

She could sort of see through the translucent covering.

Legs thrashed and a little head flung from side to side. Sunny looked back in amazement as slender, black legs kicked and a tiny, slick body bucked on its side.

Ten minutes.
The books said the foal might try to stand in ten minutes. This time, the books were wrong.

Free of the silver covering, the storm-born filly struggled to stand.

Now Sam could see her whole body. She had a tiny dished face and huge, luminous eyes. She was satiny black without a speck of white.

Sam realized one of her rubber-gloved hands was
pressed against her chest, but her heart had already gone out to the filly.

She'd never seen anything so wonderful. So beautiful.

Only once
, her memory chided.

And then Sam remembered.

The tiny black filly looked just like her father.