Rain Dance (7 page)

“D
arned if you're not floppy as a neck-wrung rooster,” chuckled the shadow.

The shadow was no stranger. Only Jake knew how she hated phony Western accents. Only Jake could sneak in while she was sleeping without Blaze biting his leg to the bone. Only Jake would tease her before she was even awake.

But Jake was supposed to be out on the cattle drive, acting as Dad's right hand.

“What are you doing here?” Sam moaned.

She closed her eyes, but it was no use. Her socks and jeans were wet from last night's puddle dance. She felt stiff and clammy.

“Was in the neighborhood,” Jake said.

“Funny.” Sam squinted up to see Jake's white smile in the dim barn.

“Some girls sit up and open their eyes when people drive twenty miles to see 'em at four o'clock in the morning,” Jake said.

Sam sighed so hard, she felt the exhalation through her toes. Maybe she
could
go back to sleep.

Jake gave the cot a kick. It was a very little kick, but Sam wanted to return the gesture. On his shin.

“What do you
want
?” Sam nearly shouted.

“Not a fistfight. I rode Nighthawk last night. It stormed bad. Amazin' electrical storm. Ask Pepper,” he urged. “Glad he saw it, 'cause who'd believe lightning could dance on a steer's horns?”

“What?” Sam managed to stand.

“True.” Jake raised his hand as if swearing. “Slocum's longhorns got red-eyed and crazy from it, but I don't know why they didn't drop dead.”

Stunned by his own out-of-character rambling, Jake closed his mouth and sat on a hay bale. When he yawned, Sam realized he'd been up all night, too, riding circles around a storm-spooked herd of cattle.

She'd be nicer to him if he gave her a chance.

But wait.

Last night. The storm.
Tempest!

“I must be brain dead!” Sam yelped. She'd seen the horses just a couple of hours ago and they had been fine, but she collided with the side of the box stall in her hurry to check them again.

As she peeked in, she saw Tempest stretch her legs and yawn.

“Jake, did you see?” Sam whispered.

Jake moved to stand beside her, but Sam couldn't take her eyes from the horses.

“Colt or filly?” Jake asked.

Sunny stood and shook the straw from her mane. Instantly, Tempest tried to do the same. She wobbled upright and balanced on her tiny hooves, but when she tried to shake her wispy mane, she fell.

“Filly,” Sam said quietly.

After a second try to imitate her mother, Tempest squealed in frustration.

“Her name is Tempest,” Sam told Jake, and a sideways glance showed her he was smiling.

“
Temper,
more like,” he said.

Jake kept the half smile as he watched, but Sam waited for him to ask how the birth had gone, whether she'd had any trouble, and wasn't she scared doing it all alone.

She tried to blame her fidgeting on her damp jeans and restless night, but Jake knew her too well.

“What's wrong?” he asked. He kept his eyes on the horses while he retied the rawhide strip holding back his black hair. “And don't say ‘nothing.'”

“You could say I did a great job for a kid alone,” she mumbled, then she looked down, embarrassed by Jake's expression.

“Seems to me the mare did all the work,” Jake
said. “Was there trouble?” Jake's hand was on the door bolt, as if he'd go in and check for himself.

There hadn't been trouble. She drew a breath and let it out, wondering why Jake was watching her so intently.

“If you don't want me to, I won't go in. But you don't want that filly turning into a one-person horse.”

Sam swallowed hard. In her heart, that was exactly what she wanted. The Phantom was like that, but he was elusive and free. She never knew when she'd see him. Tempest would be with her every day.

“Oh, never mind,” Sam said, then touched her hair. When it was as long as Jake's, she'd probably just tie it back, too. Now, she could tell it hadn't dried in its usual smooth curve.

“How bad is it?” she asked when she caught Jake's smirk.

“Kinda like noodles when you boil 'em dry and leave 'em in the pan.”

Sam glared at him. If he couldn't be nice, it wouldn't be her fault for snapping back. But she didn't.

Tempest's suckling and the faint grinding of Sunny's teeth against the wheat straw was peaceful.

When she didn't respond to his teasing, Jake gestured toward the house.

“I knocked,” Jake said.

He'd settled back into his usual verbal shorthand. From “I knocked,” she was supposed to figure out
that Mrs. Coley hadn't answered the door, and neither had Sam, so he'd come down to the barn to see what was happening.

At least, that's what she thought he'd meant.

“Mrs. Coley never got here,” Sam said. Then, realizing that sounded ominous, she added, “Last I heard, Hotspot was about to foal and Mrs. Coley didn't want to leave Ryan on his own because he seemed kind of nervous.”

Darn. Sam could have bitten her tongue. Jake and Ryan had been rivals since the day they'd met. She'd just given Jake one more weakness to add to his list of reasons to scorn Ryan Slocum.

“That so?” Jake pretended not to gloat, but his tired brown eyes had turned lively. “Brynna told me she talked to Mrs. Coley and they were fretting over the chance the road would wash out, but not—what's that smell? Somethin' on fire?”

After one instant of panic, Sam realized Jake had caught the chemical scent lingering from the burned telephone lines.

“Not anymore,” she said. “Lightning struck the telephone line.”

Jake had walked out of the barn to stare up at the damaged pole almost before she finished. His eyes measured the distance between the barn and the pole. Maybe now he'd give her credit for what she'd done.

“Have you notified the phone company?” he asked, walking backward while he stared up, trying
to see how much of the wire was burned, she guessed.

“Well, I would have, but I have this little problem. The phones are out because the lines were on fire.”

“Why are you so touchy?” Jake looked mystified.

“It's nothing,” Sam said. “I guess I'm just tired.”

She watched Jake's expression. If he dared to tell her he'd been up all night, too, she'd scream.

“Let me help you feed,” he said, gesturing at the horses and chickens.

“I can do it,” she said, because all of a sudden she'd noticed Jake was limping.

Ever since the fall that had broken his leg, he'd been in pain whenever he overstressed the leg or when it rained. He'd never admitted that, of course, but why else would he limp?

Sam scolded herself.
You jerk
. Even though Jake had been up all night, riding in the same conditions that had contributed to his injury, he had come to check on her.

“Thanks for coming by,” she said, and though she was only trying to show her appreciation, she saw Jake's face close like a slammed door. He thought she was trying to get rid of him.

“You make me crazy, Jake Ely,” she said, and gave him a punch in the arm.

That
he understood.

Jake shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Ground's all turned to slurry, so we're taking the herd across higher ground, through the mountains.
Before we got too far out, I wanted to see that foal. Had a feeling the storm would bring her early.”

Sam tilted her head sideways, trying to read Jake like she would a horse, but he hid his feelings too well. Had he come to check on her or to see the foal? She couldn't tell and she figured it didn't matter. In fact, she hoped he'd come to see the foal, because she could take care of herself.

“Better get back now,” Jake said, walking toward the faded blue truck he shared with his brothers.

Watching Jake's wide shoulders and faint limp as he moved away, Sam felt instantly lonely.

“I'm going to turn them out in the pasture for the first time,” she said. “Want to watch?”

Jake stopped and passed his car keys from one hand to the other.

Blaze bounced to his side, panting in excitement as if he might go for a ride in Jake's truck.

Jake gave the dog an idle pat, then asked, “Dr. Scott been by yet?”

“No one has. Except for you,” Sam said.

“That buckskin bein' the way she is, I'd keep her in the stall till the doc's had a chance to check her.”

Sam nodded slowly. Sunny was cautious around the vet at any time. Right after foaling, she might be even more leery of him.

Leaving Sunny in the stall, within easy reach of the vet, was a better idea.

Why hadn't it been hers?

Jake shooed Blaze back and pulled open the truck door. Its squeak almost covered his next words.

“But she's your horse,” he said.

“That's right!” Sam snapped. Jake didn't say anything, but she saw him stiffen.

On her first day back on the ranch, Dad had told her she'd missed a good chance to keep her mouth closed. She'd missed a lot of chances since then, including now.

She'd always resented Jake bossing her around, but it stung more because of what Dr. Scott had said. Jake was Dad's right hand.

She wasn't.

As Jake backed up the denim-colored truck, Sam waved. He held one hand out the driver's window in response. It wasn't quite a wave, but almost.

What did that mean?

Sam sighed as the truck clunked over the bridge.

Jake wasn't a horse. She shouldn't have to study his outside to figure out what was going on inside his head.

Still, what she'd read in his gesture made her happy. Jake hadn't ignored her wave. That meant he wasn't totally irritated by her jealousy.

“In fact,” Sam told Blaze, “I'll bet you a dog cookie he didn't even know I was jealous.”

The Border collie ran a circle around her and Sam decided she could take that as agreement.

S
am had fed all the horses, refilled their water troughs, tossed cracked corn and chicken scratch out for the hens, and refilled the lantern with fuel.

Dawn lightened the sky to a hazy coral that promised another hot day and Sam couldn't face it. She knew she'd feel better after she had breakfast, but she'd eaten all the oatmeal cookies the previous night, the thought of peanut butter made her stomach turn, and she didn't have the energy to walk to the house.

Amigo, Sweetheart, and Popcorn called to Sunny, but she didn't answer. In the wild, she would have been far away from her herd, protecting her foal from being stepped on or investigated too enthusiastically.
Sam figured Sunny's silence was her natural yearning to keep her hiding place secret—even if it was just across the ranch yard.

The barn was still cool, so Sam sat on the cot. Head forward, she positioned the heels of her hands to keep her eyelids open.

When Blaze began barking, she didn't even try to guess why.

“Good boy,” Sam told him, but Blaze had bounded from the barn.

Past the rooster's crow and the splash of paws in puddles, Sam heard the diesel purr of the blue Mercedes-Benz. Mrs. Coley was back.

Sam felt a little dizzy, but she stood up. Maybe her kind neighbor had brought food.

“Lands, Jake was right.”

Dressed in jeans with a blue bandanna tied like a headband around her short gray hair, Mrs. Coley looked a lot peppier than Sam felt.

Together, they shaded their eyes and studied the telephone pole that had burst into flames the night before.

By daylight, Sam saw the black scorch near the top of the pole. It wasn't that far from the barn. If there had been more wind and less rain the previous night, she and the horses could have been in the midst of a disaster.

“When it became clear I wasn't going to get back here at any reasonable hour,” Mrs. Coley said, “I
tried to call you. Your line was busy, busy, busy. Now I know why.” Mrs. Coley looked apologetic. “But I just figured you were talking to a friend. So I thought you were fine—which of course you are.”

Mrs. Coley looked so relieved, Sam couldn't wait to show off Tempest.

“Want to come see my new baby?” Sam asked proudly.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Coley said, and she slipped her arm through Sam's for the walk to the barn.

“Did you say something about Jake?” Sam asked while they walked.

“That boy is so responsible, it's hard to believe he's not grown,” Mrs. Coley said with an admiring tsk of her tongue. “After he left here, he came by my place and called the phone company and Dr. Scott, then told me all about your new little one.”

“I was going to see if I could use your cell phone when you got here,” Sam said softly.

Sam knew she was just feeling sorry for herself. Time and again, Dad and Gram and Brynna had told her they were proud of her, that they trusted her. But it never seemed to last.

Just last week they'd congratulated her for finding Daisy, the orphaned yellow calf, but then Brynna had insisted she be tested before she was allowed to ride Popcorn.

“…your dad was downright sensible to leave the ranch in your care,” Mrs. Coley was saying. “You're doing a fine job.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. She felt herself blush.

So what if Dr. Scott had said Jake was Dad's right hand? She had no reason to complain.

“Tell me about Hotspot's foal,” Sam urged as they detoured around the flock of scratching hens.

“He had a tough time coming into this world, but he's a cute little thing. Gorgeous bright bay coat, knee-high stockings in front. I wouldn't be surprised if he develops a nice Appaloosa blanket like his mother.”

Sam smiled. Again, she told herself she hadn't really believed that Linc Slocum would give her Hotspot's “mongrel” foal.

“He doesn't look like the hammerhead?”

“No sign of his sire anywhere about him,” Mrs. Coley said. “In fact, you remember what a big brute that blue roan was?”

“I do,” Sam said. She recalled the horse's huge hooves thudding on the Phantom's ribs and his square teeth clamping on the stallion's white neck during their violent battle. The Phantom had beaten the hammerhead, but it hadn't been easy.

“If anything”—Mrs. Coley lowered her voice and looked around as if someone might overhear—“this little fella is something of a runt.”

“But I bet Ryan loves him.”

“Oh my, yes. He's got the mare's papers all spread out in Linc's study and he's brought in books of literature, searching for just the right name.”

If Ryan had staked his claim on the colt, there was no way Linc Slocum would take him away. It
was for the best, Sam supposed, but Tempest and the little Appaloosa would have had a great time charging around together.

As soon as they entered the barn, Sam saw Dark Sunshine holding her head high, staring over the stall wall at Mrs. Coley.

“Is she a good mama?” Mrs. Coley asked quietly. She offered Sunny the back of her hand to sniff, but the buckskin backed away, keeping her body between the humans and her foal.

“The best,” Sam said. “And you'll see, if she ever moves, that Tempest is really pretty.”

“You must have done everything right,” Mrs. Coley said, “because first-time mothers can be spooky. Now,
Tempest
,” she repeated. “That's a literary name, too, isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Sam said. “Is it?”

“I think so,” Mrs. Coley said, tilting her head as she tried to see past Sunny. “It's a play by Shakespeare and I think it starts with a gigantic storm.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “I was thinking of a tempest in a teapot.”

“That's even better,” Mrs. Coley said, then she laughed as the black filly tottered past her mother's tail and pretended to stare at the far wall. Tempest's eyes rolled to show the whites and she kicked out her hind legs.

“She didn't fall this time!” Sam said. “She must
be getting stronger!”

“And pretty feisty, too,” Mrs. Coley said. “I think you're going to want to keep your hands on this one, make sure she doesn't turn wild on you.”

 

Dr. Scott arrived not long after Mrs. Coley had finished feeding Sam pancakes and hot chocolate for breakfast.

The young vet was pleased, overall, but as he stood in the stall examining the horses, he lectured Sam about making sure the mare got plenty to eat and plenty of rest.

“Keep her in her own pen for at least two weeks,” he told Sam. “And watch her.”

“What's wrong?” Sam asked.

“Nothing serious, but I think she's a little nervous.”

“Really? I didn't even have to hold her for you this time.”

“I know, but look over there,” the vet said, pointing at a place where the wooden stall had been chewed white. “She's been cribbing. It's no big deal, but she hasn't done it before, has she?”

Sam shook her head. She shouldn't have let other people cluster around the stall—not Jake, not Mrs. Coley, nobody.

“Will it make her sick?”

“Unlikely,” he said. “It's like biting fingernails is for a person, but it's not a sign we want to ignore.

“Most of the chemical cures that you spread on the wood to make it taste bad aren't things I want her eating while she's nursing. They'll go into her milk and end up in the foal. Just not a good idea.

“But that's the only bad news,” Dr. Scott said. “The foal looks great and Sunny will be fine. Let's do something fun to distract the mare from her worries.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

“So far, the only world this little one knows is her stall. Let's turn them out into the pasture.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sam said. She slipped into the stall with Dr. Scott and the horses.

“Whoa!” the vet said. Even though she was a small horse, Sunny knocked him from her path as she bolted forward.

Halfway through the stall door, Sam stopped. “What happened?”

Dr. Scott ignored her for a full minute. First he waved his arms, backing the mare away from the door, showing her she was not allowed to knock him around.

Then he soothed the mare with kind words and explanations. Finally he looked up and nodded in Sam's direction.

“She never noticed that before, I'll wager.”

“Noticed what? The stall door?” Sam asked. “I've taken her in and out this way. And through from the pasture, too.”

Closing and bolting it behind her, Sam stood inside
the stall and stared at the door. Nothing had changed. There were no splinters, no horse hair snagged on a board, nothing that should have startled Sunny.

“I don't see anything, either,” the vet assured her. “But she's looking at it differently. Must be because of the foal.” He shook his head. “You came into the stall that way last night when you dried off Tempest, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “But nothing bad happened when I did, so I don't think she's remembering that.”

Dr. Scott scratched his head. “So maybe it's not that she realized something could get in.” He looked up at Sam, frowning. “Maybe she just discovered she could get out.”

The suggestion gave Sam chills.

“I'll keep it bolted,” she promised.

Together they haltered Dark Sunshine, then Sam took the lead rope.

“I'll hold Tempest while you go on ahead,” the vet said.

Tempest was so small that, even though the filly was standing, Dr. Scott's arms could encircle her from chest to hind legs.

“Why are you holding her back?” Sam asked as she started toward the pasture.

“It's not likely, but just in case Sunny gets out there and starts kicking up her heels, glad to be outta this stall…”

“Got it,” Sam said.

One kick like that could kill Tempest. Sam bit her lip. She had a lot to learn. She just hoped none of her mistakes cost the horses pain or suffering.

Once the two were freed in the grassy pasture, they didn't run. Tempest stuck to her mother's side as if she were attached with Velcro. Her head just reached Sunny's ribs and it stayed there as the buckskin explored the enclosure, grazing with half-closed eyes.

“Shall I leave them out here?” Sam asked.

“I think so,” Dr. Scott said. “They've got shade. Tempest can look across at the other horses, the chickens, and Blaze, learn a little bit about her world.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “But I'm putting them in before dark.”

To Sam, the horses seemed too exposed. She kept picturing the cougars that had prowled the ridge the previous winter. Those particular cats were gone now, but what if more were nearby? She should have asked Jake to check for paw prints.

Fragile and shining like black satin, Tempest stood between Sunny and the fence closest to the ridge trail, where the cougars had come down. An adult cougar could leap the fence.

With nightmarish logic, Sam decided a cougar couldn't carry the foal back over the fence. But she wasn't sure. The big cats were amazing athletes. And someone—Brynna, Jake, or Dad—had told her that
colt meat was a cougar's favorite.

“You're shivering like it's January, not June,” the vet said. “They're gonna be just fine.”

Sam only hoped he was right, because if she'd learned anything living on a ranch, it was that anything could happen.