Rain Dance (6 page)

W
ith a whinny that came out as a squeak, the foal tried to wobble to her feet but failed.

Sunny blinked at the commotion and stared at the foal beside her. The buckskin gave a low nicker. She looked at Sam, then stared into the corner of her stall.

Sam pressed her lips closed. She'd heard herself breathing hard, as if she'd been running.

Don't panic, she told herself. The books said many mares, especially first-time mothers, felt disoriented following their foal's birth.

Poor Sunny. Just minutes ago she'd been alone in her stall. Now a shiny black stranger kicked out at all angles and made little fussing noises.

When Sunny glanced at her again, Sam decided to disappear.

Mother and foal needed time to bond.

In the wild, Sunny would have gone away from the herd. Together, she and her foal would have learned everything about each other. Forever after, Sunny would have known the scent and shape of the foal she had to protect and the foal would know which mare to count on for food and protection.

Sam squatted next to the stall wall and peered through a narrow gap between two boards.

Exhausted from her struggle to stand, the filly trembled. She looked fragile and defenseless.

Rain hammered the roof. Outside, Sam could see raindrops pelting the ground.

The foal was safe and warm in the barn beside her mother, but how would she have survived outside?

The storm's moisture made the pine boards smell like Christmas as Sam stared into the stall to see Sunny sniff her foal's front hooves, then lick her pasterns, then lick as far as her neck would reach, up to the foal's knobby black knees.

The filly was so lightweight, she moved with the force of her mother's tongue, but she seemed to love the attention. When Sunny scooted closer, head extended, the filly mirrored her movements.

Sunny's golden nose was shaded with black around her nostrils and lips. When she touched her baby's muzzle, neither recoiled in surprise. In the lantern light, it was hard to see where one left off and the other began.

That's how it should be
, Sam thought, then wished the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Would she ever stop missing her own mother? She wanted to stop wishing she could say, “Hey Mom, look.”

Sunny lowered her head and lipped the filly's front legs, then licked them again. Her head bobbed as she did, then her eyelids drooped, her head nodded, and she slept.

Sam watched the foal survey her surroundings. Her tiny black head was about the size of Sam's fisted hands placed end to end. Her eyelids drooped, but instead of sleeping, the foal's head wobbled down, letting her lips touch the straw. Then her head tilted back, barely supported by her weak neck, to look at the rafters.

Take a nap, Sam told her silently, but the filly didn't. Like her father, she was on the alert.

Wind lashed whips of rain through the barn door. Despite the shelter of her stall, the birth-damp filly shivered.

“Time for a rubdown,” Sam whispered.

She unfolded the white towel from her foal kit, careful not to allow a molecule of dirt to touch it.

Dr. Scott had said that after mare and baby had bonded, it was safe to go in and rub the foal dry—if the mare allowed it.

Straightening her knees so slowly she felt like an old woman, Sam stood and looked at Dark Sunshine. The mare's eyes stayed closed.

The foal shivered again and pulled her gangly legs a little closer to her body. If she were too cold, she might stay down, curled up for warmth, instead of standing to nurse. Drying her wet coat would be a good idea.

Sam picked up the bran mash and slid back the bolt on the stall door. She'd use everything she knew about reading the expressions of horses, because she'd seen Sunny with ears pinned back and hatred in her eyes. Tired or not, the mare could wield her teeth and hooves with deadly accuracy.

Sam opened the stall door and slipped inside. She set the bran mash just in front of Sunny. The mare opened her eyes. Though her nostrils quivered at the hearty cereal aroma, she was more interested in Sam.

With weary exasperation, Sunny's expression seemed to ask, “Don't you think I knew you were hiding out there?”

Sam didn't answer, just moved carefully around the edge of the stall.

Never get between a mare and her foal,
Dad had told her.

Sam didn't. She kept the foal between them. Even then, Sunny's ears flicked backward. They weren't pinned and her eyes weren't narrowed. Yet.

“You're a good mom, aren't you, Sunny,” she crooned to the mare.

The buckskin lay just ahead of the foal nestled at her flank. If the mare stood or made a stronger threat, Sam was determined to run for it.

Rubbing the foal dry was optional, and Sam knew no one would come to her aid if she was injured.

“I promise not to hurt your baby,” she said, lowering to her knees, still watching the mare. “You trust me, don't you, girl? I've got to look down to touch her. So, if I do anything you don't like, warn me
before
I get trampled, okay?”

Sam dabbed the soft terry cloth at the foal's eyes and nostrils until they were clean.

The black filly didn't struggle and Sunny didn't protest. After one quiet minute, Sam released the breath she'd been holding. Some books said gentle contact with a foal during its first hour could make it friendlier to humans its whole life long.

“And that means you need to stay with me,” Sam whispered as she caressed one satiny ear. “Because if you decide to go hang out with your dad, you'll discover that not all people are kind.”

As she rubbed the filly's inky neck, Sam wondered whether the Phantom had come this afternoon not to steal Dark Sunshine but because he knew his foal was about to be born.

This was no time for wondering. She had to focus on Sunny and this tiny horse. No matter how gently she massaged, the foal's little head wobbled. The filly was so delicate.

As Sam stroked her short, smooth back, the foal watched with curiosity, but when Sam touched her flank, instinct reminded the filly she was a mustang.

Twig-thin forelegs stiffened, her head ducked in protest, and she let out a high-pitched squeal that made Sam's ears ring.

Eyes clamped on Sunny, Sam scooted away from the filly. One knee back, then the other, then the first one, until her boot sole hit the side of the stall. Slowly, Sam stood.

Sunny's black-rimmed ears tipped forward. Way forward.

Sam knew she should escape while the mare was still trying to puzzle things out.

Quality time with her new horse could wait.

Sam almost made it to the stall door before Sunny rocked to her feet with a groan.

Sam's hand had already drawn the bolt when Sunny swung her head forward into Sam's shoulder.

“I get it,” Sam said. She slipped from the stall and closed the door instead of standing to rub the bump she knew would bruise. “You think it would be a good idea if I visited from outside.”

Sam had read that foals saw all large objects as pretty much the same, but as soon as the black filly saw Sunny stand, she seemed to realize she was hungry.

“You know your mama,” Sam said.

The filly placed her front hooves far apart and pushed with her back legs, trying to stand.

Her dainty ears flopped out to each side. Sam really hoped they wouldn't stay that way.

Her little whisk of a tail stuck straight up, as if she thought it was a critical part of balance.

Were those long legs supposed to look so rubbery? They seemed to bend at many angles, not just at the joints.

Poor little thing
, Sam thought as the foal finally balanced on four trembling legs. Her shiny black muzzle reached toward Sunny, stretching as far as her new neck would allow, but the mare actually moved a step away, to begin eating the bran mash.

“Sunny!” Sam whispered. “That's mean.”

Sunny ignored them both and began chewing her bran with pleasure.

Maybe that was the way nature meant the mare to act, because the foal didn't give up. Concentrating as if she were trying to do algebra, the little black filly moved one front leg, then the other, then used a little buck to make her hind legs catch up.

Once, her legs quivered so hard, Sam was sure she'd fall, but the filly's head came up, her ears pointed at her mother, and she swayed forward until she ran into Sunny's side.

Then she turned her head to nurse. Sunny's head lashed around, ears flattened, and her teeth clacked on the air.

Surprised but not discouraged, the filly swayed on her unsteady legs and gave it another try. This time Dark Sunshine let the filly nurse while she went back to the bran mash.

Sam sighed in relief as the filly's tail swished from side to side.

“Looks like it's dinnertime for you two. I'm kind of hungry, myself,” Sam said.

She glanced at her watch. It was nine o'clock. No wonder she was hungry. The horses would probably be fine if she ran into the house, grabbed something, and ran back.

She stared at Sunny and her foal, feeling as if she'd forgotten something.

“Tepid water,” she said quietly. Dallas had told her the mare would be thirsty after she gave birth, but should be given tepid water because cold water might give her stomach cramps.

Sunny hadn't been nosing around her bucket yet, so Sam guessed she still had time to heat some water and mix it with what the mare already had.

Sam crept away from the stall with Blaze behind her.

“You've sure been quiet,” she said, petting his black-and-white head. As they stepped out into the summer night, she knelt and hugged his neck. “Thanks for keeping watch.”

Blaze tolerated her hug for a minute, then wagged his tail, wriggled loose and bounded into the ranch yard, barking.

In the ten-acre pasture, Amigo, Popcorn, and Sweetheart reacted by racing in mock terror across the field.

The storm had moved east. Lightning glimmered
over the Calico Mountains. Here, all was quiet except the vines fluttering against the trellis Gram had built in the garden. When they bloomed, they'd be morning glories and scarlet runner beans.

Was it their fresh green smell wafting on the breeze, or Gram's English lavender, Sam wondered as she picked her way toward the dark house.

She'd have to grab the flashlight from on top of the refrigerator as soon as she got inside, but outside the long summer dusk was just ending.

Puddles the size of ponds reflected a blue-gray sky streaked with indigo clouds and sprinkled with stars.

Shining overhead and reflected underfoot, the moon looked like a pearl.

The balmy night and the new life in the barn behind her filled Sam with exhilaration.

The Phantom's foal had been born healthy and beautiful. Sunny had come through the birth, happy and strong.

Sam held her arms out to each side and started to spin. No one was watching as she whirled, turning the ranch into a smear of colors as rainwater splashed her jeans.

She'd stood guard over the horses, helped where she could—and she'd done it all alone. Dark Sunshine trusted her as never before. And the new filly was hers.

Sam spun faster in a dance of wild celebration.

“I did it!” she yelled as Blaze barked at the sky.

She'd worry about her muddy boots tomorrow.

T
he ranch house kitchen was dark and still.

Sam froze before closing the door behind her. Something was moving upstairs.

She quietly lifted the telephone receiver. Still no dial tone, but she hadn't expected any. She'd only hoped for it.

Her elation forgotten, she grabbed the flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. She slid the switch to
ON
and a golden beam lit the kitchen. Thank goodness Gram always kept it filled with fresh batteries.

Sam started toward the door into the living room, then stopped. Why should she go looking for trouble?

The hermit of Snake Head Peak was mostly harmless, and he'd never been to River Bend Ranch,
so she had no reason to think it was him. Flick, the wild horse rustler she'd stolen Dark Sunshine from, was in jail. At least, he was supposed to be.

Sam listened intently. What she heard wasn't footsteps. It was more of a slither. Gram had warned her to watch for snakes in the garden…

Suddenly, the sound turned familiar.

Sam pushed open the door and played the flashlight's beam on the staircase. She heard padded paws jumping from one step to another. Cougar passed through the shaft of light, eyes glowing green.

“Meow?” Cougar inquired as he came into the dark kitchen.

“You silly kitty,” Sam said, whisking him from the floor and into her arms. “You scared me.”

Cougar gave Sam's cheek one rough-tongued lick before he struggled to get down. Sam let him jump from her arms.

He paced in front of the refrigerator.

“I'll get you some milk,” she said. “But if the power stays out much longer, it won't be cold.”

Sam pushed her soggy hair away from her face as she remembered Gram had left the refrigerator well stocked with food because she wouldn't be there to cook.

If Gram were here, she'd put the food into a cooler so that it wouldn't spoil. Sam groaned. If the power wasn't working, neither was the pump. Whatever water was in the pipes was all she'd get
from the well until the power came back on.

Was that her responsibility, too?

“I don't think Mrs. Coley is coming. Hotspot must be foaling,” she told Cougar.

The brown-striped cat rubbed his face on the refrigerator, pointing out Sam's tardiness in supplying his milk.

“In a minute,” she told him.

Even if they were short on water, she'd use what they had for Dark Sunshine. She just had to heat it a little so that it would be tepid.

Sam ran some water into the teakettle, set it on the burner, and turned a dial. A little blue-gold flame spurted into view, looking cheery in the dark kitchen. At least the gas stove worked when the power was out.

Next, she opened the refrigerator door to get some milk for Cougar, and the lights came on.

“Yay!” she cheered as the cat threaded between her ankles.

Sam switched off the flashlight and put it back on top of the refrigerator. As she poured the milk, she hoped the power would stay on. Being the one in charge was fine, but she only wanted to be in charge of the fun stuff. Like the horses.

As soon as she'd taken the chill off the water, Sam picked up the kettle and a brown paper bag. She'd loaded the bag with some bread, a jar of peanut butter, a knife, and some of Mrs. Coley's cookies.

Blaze crossed from the bunkhouse steps, to fall in at Sam's heels.

“No one home over there?” she asked the dog.

Blaze divided his time between the ranch house and the cowboys' bunkhouse, eating meals in both places, so he was clearly disappointed.

“I forgot to feed you!” Sam said. Blaze usually ate dinner at the same time as everyone else on the ranch. And since she hadn't eaten tonight, she'd forgotten the dog hadn't, either.

She sucked in her breath, feeling guilty, then juggled everything so that she could dig into the sack. She dropped a piece of bread on the ground and tossed him an oatmeal cookie, which he caught in midair.

“A little junk food won't hurt you,” she told the dog, and he must have agreed, because he tagged along more closely than before.

As soon as she entered the barn, Sam looked into the box stall.

Lantern light turned the wheat straw pale gold around the horses. Legs folded, head tucked to her chest like a baby bird, the black filly slept beside Sunny.

“It's okay, girl,” Sam said when the mare's head jerked up. “I'm giving you a little water.”

She could feel Sunny's eyes following her as she tipped the kettle and added water to the bucket.

Before she had time to back away, the mare stood
and drank in great gulps. Sam petted the sweat-stiff hair on the buckskin shoulder. She'd brush Sunny tomorrow, after the mare had rested. Now she'd leave her alone.

Still standing, Sunny watched Sam bring the cot from the tack room and set it up.

When Sam finally sat on it, the mare settled down, too.

She stood foursquare over her foal, each leg a protective post, though her head hung low in weariness.

Sam sat cross-legged on the cot and spread peanut butter on the bumpy whole wheat bread. It was past her bedtime and she should be sleepy, but she wasn't.

It was time to name the filly.

Everyone in her family would have suggestions, but Sam wanted the foal to know who she was now.

If she'd been a registered horse with papers showing her ancestry, the filly probably would have inherited a name.

Let's see, Sam thought. Her mother was Dark Sunshine, her father the Phantom. Or Blackie.

Sam shook her head. She'd been a child when she named the mighty stallion
Blackie
. It had never occurred to her, then, that he'd grow up to be the cloud-white charger she'd seen today. That proved that she needed to think before selecting the filly's name.

Dark Sunshine's parents were wild, so they'd
probably never been named. The Phantom's parents were Princess Kitty and Smoke. Sam turned those names over in her mind.

According to Dallas, Smoke had been part of the Calico Mountain herd, sired by the pacing white stallion who'd lured him into the Black Rock Desert.

A sudden flurry inside the stall told Sam the filly was awake again. Sunny gave a low nicker and Sam peeked into the stall in time to see the foal rise. This time she was up and standing almost at once.

“Good job,” Sam whispered.

Testing her legs, the filly kicked out her back hooves and fell.

She was a wild little thing, Sam thought as the filly regained her feet and nudged Sunny.

Frisky and Frolic were good names for a filly, but not for the sleek, swift mare she'd become. Sam liked the sound of Ebony, but she'd learned her lesson about naming a horse for a color that might change.

She could give her a Nevada name like Sage, Tumbleweed, or something that recalled the night she was born.

Hey, yeah,
Sam thought.

Stormy? Gale? Whirlwind? Lightning? Thunderclap? Those were better, but still not quite right.

As if in agreement, the filly took a shaky step in Sam's direction, lifted her tiny nose, and whinnied. The effort might have knocked her down, if her tail
hadn't been braced against Sunny.

Sam laughed.

“Don't you know mustangs are quiet?” she whispered. “They give signals with their ears. They don't yell.”

The black filly gave a snort, then bobbed her head.

“You're sassy, all right,” Sam said, and she was reminded of something, maybe something Gram had said, but she wasn't sure what.

She grabbed a cookie from the sack and munched it while the foal had a second dinner.

Sassy didn't suit her.

Lots of noise and excitement in one little place
, Gram had said. A tempest in a teapot. And a tempest was a storm.

Sam smiled at the filly.

“What do you think of Tempest?” she asked.

The little horse stared back with matching intensity. Then she wobbled to the other side of her mother and considered Sam past her mother's tail.

Tempest
, Sam thought, settling back on the cot. She liked the name just fine. Maybe she'd sleep on it.

 

Sam woke during the night to the sound of a car passing on the highway. For a second, she thought Mrs. Coley must have finally arrived, though her watch said it was one
A.M
. She really hoped nothing had gone wrong with Hotspot.

She woke again at two forty-five. This time she
heard tiny hooves pelting wood. When she held up the lantern, she saw Tempest had worked herself into a corner of the stall. She butted her head against it until Sunny stood next to her and used her own head to guide the foal back into the middle of the box stall.

Tempest had tried to insist she could get through the corner of the stall through pure stubbornness.
Just like every other creature on this ranch
, Sam thought.

When Sam finally awoke for real, she thought it was because the lantern had gone out and the barn felt cold in the predawn gloom.

All that was true, but when she managed to get her eyes completely open, she realized she'd really awakened because a shadow had fallen over her face.

Someone stood beside the cot, watching her sleep.