Rain Dance (8 page)

N
o monsters came at midnight.

Or two
A.M
.

Or four.

By the time Mrs. Coley woke Sam at six thirty the next morning, the mare and foal had slept and nursed their way through ten peaceful hours.

For Sam, wearing a pink T-shirt and lightweight sweatpants to sleep on the cot turned out to be more restful than the soggy socks and jeans she'd worn the night before.

Instead of waking to a shadow lurking above her as she had yesterday, Sam awoke to a whisper.

“Buttermilk donuts.”

Mrs. Coley was standing nearby holding a white
saucer and a blue mug.

“What?” Sam sat up so quickly, the cot wiggled, and Mrs. Coley had to step back.

She didn't move so far away, though, that Sam couldn't see the tender pastry circles with wisps of steam rising toward the barn rafters.

“If you're a ranch woman,” Sam said, yawning, “are you required to be a good cook?”

“It helps,” Mrs. Coley said, seating herself on a hay bale.

“What if you want to spend all your time working with horses and cattle and stuff like that instead?”

“You've still got to eat,” Mrs. Coley said. “Good thing about cooking is you're forced to practice every day. And the more thought you put into it, the better it tastes. Grace told me you've made a pretty good start on lasagna.”

Sam smiled, took a donut, and bit into it.

“Yummy,” she said, but she was thinking that Mrs. Coley might be right. Maybe she could do both, like her mother had.

“Your mare was my inspiration for the donuts,” Mrs. Coley said.

Sam laughed, confused.

“When I was a little girl, my favorite television show starred Roy Rogers and Dale Evans—the queen of the cowgirls,” Mrs. Coley explained. “Dale wore a fancy fringed leather skirt and rode a buckskin horse named Buttermilk.”

“Queen of the Cowgirls” was a title she wouldn't mind having, Sam thought, but she'd have to earn it after breakfast.

Sam took the blue mug, sipped, then licked a powdered-sugar-and-cocoa mustache from her lips.

“Thank heavens for Dale Evans,” she said with a sigh.

“You're certainly a lot more chipper than you were yesterday,” Mrs. Coley said. “Think you can handle the day alone?”

“Of course!” Sam said. A night's sleep had calmed her worries over cougars in the yard and prowlers in the house.

“I need to get back to the Gold Dust,” Mrs. Coley said. “Ryan surely would have called if he was concerned about the colt, but there was another little problem brewing yesterday and I'd like to be there to head it off.”

“Something to do with the horses?” Sam asked.

“Nothing like that,” Mrs. Coley said. “Rachel is bored.”

Sam wasn't surprised. The most popular girl at Darton High School probably felt neglected after a week of summer vacation. Without fans to fawn over her, Rachel would crave some other kind of entertainment. And her daddy wasn't there to give it to her.

“Gram always says if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all,” Sam reminded herself out loud.

“She's right, of course,” Mrs. Coley said. “And I do try to remember it's not entirely her fault that she is who she is. It's a matter of upbringing.”

Sam wasn't so sure. She thought of her first days at Darton High School. Rachel had purposely broken a camera with which Sam had been entrusted, then let Sam take the blame.

“Maybe,” Sam said.

Even if she'd been given everything she ever wanted, Sam didn't think she'd be that mean. Or that stuck-up. Rachel really believed expensive clothes, high-maintenance hair, and loads of money made her better than others.

“Since Linc's not there to drive her to Reno for a manicure and since I have other work, Rachel's harassing Ryan something awful.”

“Even she should understand that a baby animal needs looking after,” Sam said.

“You'd think that would be the case,” Mrs. Coley agreed.

“Ryan will stay with Hotspot and the foal,” Sam said, but she wasn't sure she was right.

Ryan was a nice guy, and handsome. Raised in England by his mother, he was smart, polite, and not nearly as stuck-up as his sister.

Jen had a serious crush on Ryan, but Sam wondered if he really liked Jen or if he was just going along with her. Sometimes it seemed Ryan lacked what Dad called “backbone.”

For example, he'd hidden Golden Rose, the long-lost Kenworthy palomino, when he knew she must belong to someone else.

Ryan had never thought of training a mustang to race in the Superbowl of Horsemanship, either. But when he heard Jake planned to gentle a pinto running wild on tribal lands, Ryan had suddenly jumped at the idea. He'd talked Mrs. Allen into letting him train Roman, one of the mustangs from her wild horse sanctuary.

On the other hand, Ryan had spotted Tinkerbell's natural jumping talent, and that had helped give the draft horse a better life.

Ryan wasn't exactly dishonest, but would he have the guts to stand up to Rachel? Eventually his twin might wear him down and convince him it was safe to leave the new colt alone.

“I'll be fine without you, but I think you're right. Ryan could use someone else on his side,” Sam said.

“All right, then,” Mrs. Coley said. “I'll leave my cell phone here for you—”

“You don't have to,” Sam began, but Mrs. Coley made a dismissing motion with her hands, so Sam didn't argue.

“And you've had your talk with Dr. Scott,” Mrs. Coley went on, “so you know what today will be like?”

“He said mostly eating and sleeping for the horses,” Sam told her.

“Plenty of both,” Mrs. Coley agreed. She stood
next to the box stall and watched the mare and foal. “That little Tempest will want to be fed two or three times every hour. Poor Sunshine,” Mrs. Coley said, clucking her tongue as the mare sized her up, then blew through her lips, dismissing her as a threat.

A breeze blew in from outside. It smelled like rain.

“Are we supposed to get another storm?” Sam asked.

The early morning air was so warm that Sam wanted to replace her sweatpants with shorts, but high desert weather changed quickly.

“I really couldn't tell you, Samantha.” Mrs. Coley looked surprised at herself. “I've been so busy, I haven't had time to turn around, let alone listen to a weather report. I'll tell you what, though—when the telephone repair folks come out, ask them. If there's anyone who keeps an eye on the weather as much as a rancher, it's folks who climb electrified poles for a living!”

 

Overnight, Tempest had learned how to manage her legs. She bounced around the stall as if her black hooves were spring-loaded. When Sam turned the pair into the pasture, Tempest recognized it as her playground.

Sunny moved to the highest spot in the pasture. The small knoll was dry, though the rest of the enclosure had its share of marshy spots and puddles.

Instead of sticking to her mother's side as she had the day before, Tempest ran a loose circle around Sunny, then stopped. With her fluffy mane stirring in the breeze, the filly looked over her world.

Sam could almost hear Tempest thinking. Nothing bad had happened while she was running. And it had been fun.

She did it again. And again, then flopped down on the dewy grass to nap.

Sam went back into the barn to change the bedding in the box stall. It only took a few minutes, but by the time she looked into the pasture, Tempest was up and running again.

She was born with mustang memories, Sam thought. They told her that strong legs were the key to a long life.

Sweetheart neighed from across the ranch yard and Tempest dashed off, splashing through puddles as she taunted the old pinto to run after her. Soon the horses in the ten-acre pasture were running, too, and Sam wished, again, that Hotspot's foal was here to play chase with the black filly.

The fence line closest to the ridge trail must have been a little lower than the rest of the pasture, because the biggest puddles were there.

Black brush of a tail raised high, Tempest pranced over to one of the puddles, reared back on her hind legs, then rocked down, making a splash.

Dark Sunshine raised her head. Blades of grass
still clung to her lips as she trotted toward her baby. She restrained the filly with her nose, keeping her back from the slickest, deepest part of the puddle.

If a newborn horse could pout, Tempest did. Planting each hoof with her new power, she stomped back to the middle of the pasture and flung herself down for another nap.

The day went on that way and by late afternoon, Tempest had taught herself to jump. Tail high, she'd run a few circles around Sunny, then head off for a puddle.

Sam had never noticed that Sunny was shy of water, but she tried, time and again, to keep Tempest from running through it.

The filly defied her mother, leaping and clearing everything. When the barn's shadow darkened one section of grass, Tempest even tried to jump that.

In spite of her day of grazing, Sunny looked gaunt. It wasn't that she'd lost weight, exactly, but the mare's eyes looked sunken and anxious.

I'm probably making this up,
Sam thought. She leaned against the fence, staring at the pair of horses. She ran her fingers across the top rail, back and forth.

She didn't want to call Dr. Scott and confess that Sunny looked even more nervous than yesterday. He'd been pleased with the care she'd given the horses and she didn't want to shatter his image of her.

She pushed off from the fence and walked toward
the house. She could feed Blaze his dinner, then decide about calling anyone.

As soon as she saw Mrs. Coley's cell phone sitting on the kitchen table, she called Gold Dust Ranch. Mrs. Coley would offer advice, but she wouldn't be condescending about it.

“Hello!”

Sam held the phone away from her ear. The lilting British accent was Rachel's and she sounded mad.

“Hi,” Sam said. “It's Samantha Forster.” She hated the fact that her own voice sounded hesitant, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “If Mrs. Coley's there, I'd like to speak with her.”

“So would I,” Rachel snapped. “I'd like to have a nice long conversation with her about her
duties
, while she drives me into town for a very important appointment. She, however, would rather muck about in the—” Rachel stopped suddenly her voice turned silky. “Samantha, I know you don't drive, but your friend, Jake Ely…?”

“Yes,” Sam said through her teeth.

“Has he taken himself off on this cow run?”

Sam smothered her laugh, but barely. “Cattle drive?”

“Whatever….”

“Yes, Jake is on the cattle drive.”

“Truly, why did I expect anything different?” Rachel asked under her breath. “He's never seemed entirely civilized.”

Sam tried to think of a single reason to be nice to Rachel. At first she couldn't, but then it occurred to her that someone had to tell Mrs. Coley she'd called.

“I'm sorry, Rachel,” Sam said, though she thought her tongue might shrivel up from lying. “But with both mares foaling, it's keeping us all pretty busy.”

“Don't I know it,” Rachel replied, but then she seemed to remember she was talking to an inferior. “Was there something I could help you with, Samantha? Certainly you didn't call to chat.”

Should she leave a message? Sam looked down at Blaze as if he could answer. His tail thumped the kitchen floor.

“Please tell Mrs. Coley I'd like to ask her a question about Dark Sunshine.” Sam decided to keep it short. There was no way Rachel could mess up a message of so few words, was there?

“Pardon me? Surely I misunderstood you. Why would you call our housekeeper about the weather?”

The weather?
Then Rachel's response clicked. Of course, she'd probably never heard of Dark Sunshine.

“You did misunderstand,” Sam began, but when she heard Rachel's insulted indrawn breath, she hurried. “Dark Sunshine is the name of a horse.”

During Rachel's few speechless moments, Sam heard the bass throbbing of a sound system. She pictured Rachel in her bedroom suite and knew there
was probably no chance the rich girl would call Mrs. Coley to the phone.

“A horse. That's even more amusing.” Rachel chuckled. “The little cowgirl is admitting she doesn't know everything there is to know about horses. I'm shocked.”

Sam felt her cheeks heat with a blush. That was really stupid, too. She didn't care what Rachel thought of her.

Sam pictured herself throwing the cell phone across the room. If she could be sure it would make a deafening squawk in Rachel's ear, it might be worth it. But since it wasn't her telephone, she just tightened her grip.

“Never mind,” Sam said. Why had she even called?

She was about to press the phone's disconnect button when Rachel gave a sigh so heavy, Sam thought she should have felt its gust.

Then, sounding totally put-upon, Rachel continued. “It would really be only a minor inconvenience to transfer your call to the stable phone,” Rachel said. “After all, if it means saving a dumb animal from your incompetence, how can I say no?”

S
am gripped the cell phone more tightly, took a deep breath, and concentrated on the view through the front window. Splashed above the Calico Mountains, she saw a royal blue sky stamped with storybook white clouds.

“Samantha, are you there?”

“Sure,” Sam said, proud she hadn't told Rachel her opinion on who was really the dumb animal. “Transferring me to the stable would be great.”

Mrs. Coley wasn't concerned about Sunny's nerves, even when Sam told her about the cribbing.

“Mares are exhausted after carrying all that extra weight around for months. When their foals are lively, it can wear them out.”

“Okay,” Sam said. She frowned at Blaze as he scratched at the kitchen door.

“You just came in,” she mouthed at him, but the Border collie ignored her.

“…sound a little skeptical, Sam, and I don't blame you,” Mrs. Coley was saying. “I also trust your instincts. Why don't you go out and examine her yourself? I'm sure you won't find anything, but it may even calm her.”

Sam noticed she was nodding as she asked, “Should I just run my hands over her like Dr. Scott does?”

“Brushing her would be better,” Mrs. Coley suggested. “She expects that from you.”

“Got it,” Sam said. She wanted to get out there now. Besides, Blaze had started digging at the bottom of the kitchen door. If he scratched the white paint, Gram would notice.

Using her shoulder to clamp the phone to her ear, Sam used both hands to give Blaze a push away from the door.

“One more thing, Sam,” Mrs. Coley said. “Be very careful. You're on your own there. If you let yourself get hurt, you won't be any good to those horses.”

Suddenly Blaze broke into a yodeling bark.

“I understand,” Sam said, raising her voice. “See you later.”

“Yes, you will,” Mrs. Coley assured her. “But what's wrong with that dog?”

“He just wants to go out,” Sam said impatiently.

“Is someone coming? Don't hang up until you check.” Mrs. Coley sounded just like Gram.

Sam pulled back the curtain on the front window, then felt a twinge of guilt.

“Sorry, Blaze,” she apologized to the panting dog. Not only hadn't she believed him, but now she was going to lock him inside. “Mrs. Coley? The telephone company people are here. I guess I'd better go show them the damage.”

 

Any other day, Sam would have stopped to watch the woman rising up the telephone pole. Ponytail swinging, equipment strapped around her waist clanking, she jabbed the spiked soles of her boots into the pole as she climbed.

But it wasn't a normal day. While Blaze barked like crazy from inside the house, Sunny decided this intruder could be dangerous.

Teeth bared and ears flattened, Sunny tried to herd Tempest away from the strange, climbing creature. When the mischievous foal tried to dart past to see what was happening, Sunny's teeth clacked in warning.

Convinced by the near-miss to stay back, Tempest stood just behind her mother, watching her stand guard.

Sam eased open the outside gate. Maybe she should start brushing Sunny now. Often the mare relaxed into the grooming as if she were being massaged.

Not this time.

Sunny whirled to face Sam and the danger in the buckskin's body language would have been clear to anyone.

As soon as Sam withdrew and bolted the gate, Sunny advanced toward the telephone pole.

Head high, ears pricked forward, Sunny crossed to the middle of the pasture. Even when she stopped, her legs were poised to charge.

When the repairperson kept climbing upward, Sunny seemed convinced her warning had been heeded. Herding Tempest in front of her, the mare returned to the box stall.

Sam didn't recall leaving it open, but she must have. She needed to pay closer attention. Sunny had escaped from River Bend Ranch once, during the fire last October, and she probably remembered. If something scarier than a pole climber appeared, she might make a break for freedom again.

Even though bolting both stall doors made Sam a little jumpy, she did it. If Sunny came after her, she might have time to climb out of reach.

Although Sunny calmed in the safety of her stall, Sam still haltered and tied her.

It wasn't necessary. As soon as Tempest rested in the straw, Sunny's head drooped and her ears flopped sideways. Her right hind hoof rested on its tip as she waited for Sam to groom her.

“That's better, isn't it, girl?”

The hot weather, combined with the stress of birth, meant that Sunny was shedding. Big time. Before Sam had finished going over the mare, both the air and the body brush were full of buckskin hair.

Sam brushed the mare's chest delicately. Faint scars remained from the night last fall when she'd battered against the round pen, trying to flee the fire.

What a nightmare
, Sam thought. She remembered turning all the horses free from the ten-acre pasture so they could escape the flames. But Dark Sunshine had been in the round pen. By the time she heard the mare's screams over the sound of the sirens, Sunny had been panicked, unaware she'd cut her chest trying to break down a round pen made to hold mustangs.

Sunny's skin shivered as if shaking off a fly, and she took a step back when a voice shattered her serenity.

“All done!” shouted the telephone repairperson from outside. “You're back in business.”

“Thanks,” Sam called quietly.

She wanted to shout out a question about the weather as Mrs. Coley had suggested. She wanted to go out and say thank you and good-bye, too. But her first priority was Sunny. She had to keep the mare calm, so she just listened as the truck drove away.

As it did, Sam realized she didn't know exactly what she was checking for on Sunny's body. Still, she hadn't found any bumps or abnormalities so far.

“How about if I just skip your tummy and flank this time?” she asked, when she was about done.

Sunny was often ticklish. Since she was feeling short tempered and Tempest was sleeping within range of Sunny's hooves, Sam wouldn't take a chance on the foal being accidentally kicked or trampled.

Finally Sam untied the lead rope and slipped the mare's halter off. She rubbed behind Sunny's ears where the headstall had left a sweat mark.

For an instant, Sam thought that was what caused Sunny to wheel. Sam barely had time to get out of her way and flatten herself against the front of the stall.

As Sunny darted toward the door to the pasture, she hopped over Tempest as the foal became aware of her mother's alarm and bolted to her feet.

Nothing she could do would work to calm the mare, so Sam edged toward the fence and began climbing. There was no way she'd take a chance of opening that gate. Sunny could push right past her.

Sam made it over the side of the box stall without the mare paying any attention.

Wide-eyed, the mare listened. Sam couldn't hear anything. Was Sunny fearful, threatening, or just protective of her foal?

Sam left the barn and stood outside in the quiet ranch yard, searching for whatever had attracted the mare's attention.

The white stallion drew her eyes like a magnet.

With eager hoofbeats, the Phantom descended the hillside. Neck arched, tail held high, he nickered, acting like the pet she'd known years ago.

But he wasn't safe here, and he could be a danger to Tempest. She had to make him go.

Sam stayed still. The stallion's pricked ears told her he was curious. If she called his name or welcomed him, the Phantom would come to her.

Even though he was nearly a mile away, Sam heard him snort.

From Ace, that sound usually meant “hi” or “look at me.” With the Phantom, it was hard to tell.

Did Sunny hear him? Sam didn't know, but hooves struck the inside of the box stall.

“No!” she shouted. If Sunny broke out, the stall would be ruined, which would be a disaster.

Sam doubted she could fix it well enough to hold the horses again. Worse than that, Sunny would have learned she could break out.

Neither the Phantom nor Sunny took her shout as a threat. Sunny neighed from inside the barn and the saddle horses joined in.

Sweetheart, already agitated by Tempest, raced up and down the fence, hooves thundering like Sam had never heard them before.

The Phantom started down the trail. Was the lure of two mares—Sunny and Sweetheart—too great for him to resist?

I have to stop him
, Sam told herself.

Her brain agreed, but her heart remembered how hard she'd worked to regain his trust after his imprisonment by Karla Starr. They'd come a long way since then. The stallion had allowed her to ride him.

Slam!
Was that the sound of Sunny's hooves? Stallions could be dangerous to foals. Didn't the buckskin know that?

Or were Sunny's neighs angry, meant to drive him away?

“You can't stay!” Sam shouted. She grabbed the lead rope she'd draped over the fence earlier. Spinning it, she skirted the small pasture and started up the ridge trail.

Confused, the Phantom turned his head to one side.

If he'd charged her back, Sam would have welcomed it. If he'd shied and bolted in surprise, that would have been all right. But the mighty stallion was bewildered.

The trail before her turned hazy. She blinked back her tears, but still tripped on the uneven footing and rocks as she ran up the trail.

Don't be stupid,
she told herself.
There's nothing to cry about. You're doing the right thing for him, for Sunny, for Tempest.

By the time she stopped to rub the back of her forearm across her eyes, the Phantom was gone.

The only movement on the trail was ruby-barked
mountain mahogany, still waving from the mustang's passing.

Only as she trudged back to the barn did she realize why her chest ached. Why, if she'd done what was best for the horses, did it feel like the worst thing for her?