The Wild One (4 page)

The warning irritated her, mostly because it was true. She'd been in the saddle for nine hours and Jake knew she wasn't used to it. As her boots touched the ground, her legs felt liquid and unsteady. She hated to use Ace for balance, but it was better than falling over backward.

The chores of checking Ace's feet, of unsaddling, and juggling that floppy gate before she turned him out, loomed like the task of climbing a mountain.

“I'll take him,” Jake offered.

“Fat chance,” Sam said. As she lifted her chin to look up at him, her hat slipped off her hair. She caught it and slammed it back on her head.

“If there's one thing I know, it's to take care of my horse before I pamper myself,” she said. “It doesn't matter how much I want to pry off these boots or wash my face. Ace comes first.”

For a minute, she thought Jake would give her a pat on the back. He didn't, but the satisfied look on his face was enough.

As Sam squatted to lift Ace's hooves and check them for stones, she felt so pleased, she forgot to worry about all the other cowboys she'd have to face at dinner.

T
HE JOSHING STARTED
after dinner, as Sam swallowed a last bite of peach cobbler. Dad stood with one boot on a tree stump, staring into the fire. Jake stood a few steps away, leaning against the chuck wagon. Sam sat perched on a rock between them.

She looked past the men eating around the campfire, off into the desert painted lavender by the setting sun. The herd was still restless, but a few mounted cowboys circled them, turning back cows trying to make a break for the familiar territory they'd left behind. The cattle wouldn't be left unattended for a minute, until they reached home pastures at River Bend and Slocum's ranch.

Sam wanted to do her part, but she felt tired down to her toenails. She hoped Dallas wouldn't tell her to “nighthawk.” If she rode four more hours tonight, she'd be facedown in her mashed potatoes by this time tomorrow night.

One of Linc Slocum's cowboys set his plate aside and looked her way. Named Flick, the man was renowned for his roping skill and his long, drooping mustache.

“That pony was doing his best to keep the herd together,” Flick said.

Sam couldn't pretend he wasn't talking to her. Everyone knew he was. And his comment awakened her to the reason Ace had kept bolting.

A cow pony was like a sheepdog. Ace's job was to keep the herd together. When that cow had stopped to lick her calf, Ace had thought she was lagging. Sam had been so set on controlling Ace, she'd stopped him from doing his job.

Apologies streamed across her mind, but she didn't utter them. This was a test. The cowboys were waiting to see if the city girl would act offended or burst into tears.

Neither.

Suddenly, Sam knew what to do. A cowboy wouldn't make a fuss explaining.

“Yep,” she said, nodding. “He was.”

Had she heard her father chuckle?

“Sam's been gone awhile, but she's on the comeback trail,” Dallas said as he whittled a stick.

Sam would bet everyone was remembering the accident.

Linc Slocum confirmed it. “Can't wipe out that mustang blood in one generation,” he said. “I heard
the horse that throwed you was a mustang.”

“Half,” Sam said, though she hated to give Slocum an instant of satisfaction.

“Range rats,” muttered Flick.

Sam couldn't resist answering that, too.

“You know
musteño,
the Spanish word ‘mustang' comes from, just means strays,” Sam pointed out. “So some will be good horses, and some ordinary.”

“Smoke, her colt's sire, was the best working horse I ever had,” Dad said. “He was a mustang. Same color as an iron skillet and just as tough. Smoke could stay out all day and be fresh at night. He was kinda wise, from looking out for himself on the range.”

“Seems to me there's a mustang you've been trying to put a rope on, Linc,” Jake said.

Slocum stood up, as if he'd been insulted. He made a big show of lighting a cigarette and threw his match on the ground.

Jake poured more coffee from the pot suspended over the campfire.

When Slocum figured out Jake wasn't worried that he'd offended him, Slocum gave a short laugh.

“That Phantom's the only one out there worth anything,” Slocum said.

Sam shivered. When she'd met Slocum, he'd known a surprising amount about Blackie. Could he suspect her lost colt had grown up to be the silver stallion?

“Those broomtails eat like vacuum cleaners,” Slocum complained. “I wish they'd take 'em all off the range and keep it for cattle.”

“Your herd looks fine, Linc.” Dallas stood and stretched. He started giving orders. “It's eight o'clock. Time for me, Jake, and two of your boys to give those riders a break.” Dallas gestured toward the herd. “If the night riders get sleepy, your fat, sassy heifers might lope out of here.

“Rest of you, turn in. Nighthawk shifts change at midnight and four.”

Slocum tried to finish his argument over the sound of men putting tin dishes in the dishpan.

“It's pure luck it's been a wet year,” Slocum shouted. “With plenty of graze…”

When his voice trailed off, Sam thought no one noticed.

She was wrong. Later, Sam went to find Gram and found her tidying up. Gram looked glad for the company, but she tsked her tongue and nodded toward Slocum.

“This time last year, the closest he'd been to a cow was a T-bone steak.”

Sam laughed, and admired Gram's skill. She'd already set the chuck wagon back in order. Potatoes and onions sat in mesh bags next to a burlap sack of rice. Cans of fruit, beans, and coffee shared space with soap and first aid supplies. But there was much left to do.

“Can I help you wash dishes?” Sam offered.

“I don't mind doing them. My hands are a little stiff from driving. Warm water will feel good.” Gram smoothed her hand over Sam's chopped-off hair. “You'll have plenty to keep you busy this week without doing my chores, too. Might as well crawl into your sleeping bag now. I'll try not to wake you when I come to bed.”

As Sam moved away from the campfire, it got darker. Still, she knew Jake was following her before she made it to the tent she'd share with Gram.

Sam didn't remember noticing Jake wore spurs, but they rang in the darkness as he took long strides to catch up with her.

“What'd you do with your gear?” he asked.

“My—?”

“Saddle, bridle, saddle blanket?” Jake gave her ten seconds to think. “You left them on the ground, Sam. You're in charge of your own tack, so go pick it up, clean it off, and put it where you can find it.” Jake gave her shoulder a shake and Sam wondered how he could still have so much energy. “Nothing says ‘tenderfoot' like being the last one saddled up in the morning.”

Though she yearned for the warm cocoon of her sleeping bag, Sam borrowed a flashlight from Gram and found the spot near the corral, where she'd dropped her gear.

Crickets chirped as she shook out her saddle
blanket, turned her stirrups, and cleaned her bit. Suddenly, every horse in the makeshift corral threw a drowsy head up, ears pricked to attention toward the dark shape of the Calico Mountains.

Sam listened. The crickets had hushed, so she heard the movement of cattle, but nothing more.

It couldn't be Zanzibar. Gram had said they'd driven seventy-eight miles this morning, and traveling cross-country, they'd drive the cattle fifty miles back to the ranch. A horse couldn't cover that much territory in a day. One who could, had to be a ghost.

Sam's knees creaked as she stood, slowly and silently.

“Sam?” Dad's voice came through the darkness.

So much for quiet. Oh well, the horses had probably only heard a coyote or deer.

“Over here.” Sam picked up her gear, determined to take it into her tent for the night.

“How're you doing, hon?” Dad's voice told Sam he'd worried over her, but he hadn't let the other cowboys know.

“I'm fine,” Sam settled under Dad's arm as he took her saddle in one arm and hugged her against his side with the other.

“I wanted to give you time to get used to being home, but your grandmother said ‘no.' She said this would show our neighbors you were home for good, and that I, well, trusted you.”

Dad stopped walking for a minute, and Sam
wished she could see his face.

“Every calf will be worth his weight in dollars come market time. The sooner we get them home, the less chance harm can come to them.”

When she'd been eleven, Dad had never mentioned money. Or maybe money hadn't seemed important to her. Now, Sam heard the worry in his voice.

“I won't do anything to slow you down, Dad.”

“You're doing fine, Sam. It's just—” Dad cleared his throat. “Every small rancher in Nevada feels the land vultures circling, looking to buy failed ranches. We can't afford any mistakes.”

“No more tenderfoot mistakes,” she promised. “I'll watch you and Jake and the other hands and do what they do. I promise. You can assign me to nighthawk, even.”

“Dallas is the trail boss. He decides who does what.”

“Why? If you're the owner, shouldn't you be in charge?”

“We're doing this drive with Slocum,” Dad's voice turned hard. “In case of conflict, if the two of us claim an unbranded cow, for instance, we need a man in charge who doesn't stand to profit.”

Dad stood with her outside the little white tent and waited for her to understand.

“I get it,” she said, but a yawn clouded her words and Dad chuckled.

“Enough heavy talk. Hop in bed, sleepyhead. Dawn comes mighty early on the range.”

 

Next morning, Sam woke to the sound of lowing cattle.

She pulled jeans past aching muscles, yanked boots over her warm socks, and managed to devour a stack of hotcakes with maple syrup before she and Ace put on a rodeo.

Mindful of Jake's warning, Sam was first to catch her horse and saddle him. Even in the crowded corral, in half-light, Ace was easy to find. He cowered in the far corner, facing the other horses.

Soon, she found out why. She smoothed the saddle blanket on his back and gave his flank a pat. Her hand came back, sticky with blood.

“Oh, Ace, poor baby.” She pressed her cheek against the gelding's neck as she remembered Witch lunging at Ace with bared teeth.

In spite of the bites, Ace still had the spirit to try puffing his stomach against the cinch. When that trick didn't work, he kept his teeth closed, refusing the bit.

“You're like a little kid who refuses his vegetables,” Sam whispered as she slipped her thumb into the corner of Ace's lips to lever open his jaws.

Once Sam mounted, Ace settled down. Since the other cowboys were just finishing breakfast, she considered what to do.

What if she rode up to the chuck wagon and asked Gram for a cup of coffee? She didn't really like coffee, but it might look cool to sit there on Ace, with one of those blue-speckled mugs.

That was how Sam came to be right near the chuck wagon, where everyone could watch, when Ace bowed his head between his front hooves, kicked out his hind legs, and began to buck.

As her chin flew forward to strike her breastbone, Sam's hat flew off. It cartwheeled right under Ace's nose. He reared as if it were a demon and Sam's head snapped back. Then he did it all over again. Sam heard voices as if someone were switching between stations on a radio.

“Sam—

“Ride 'em—

“—away from the—”

“Holy Hannah, hang on!”

The loudest voice was the one in her head.
No more tenderfoot mistakes
. She must stick to Ace no matter what.

As Ace began running, Sam tightened her reins. But when she saw he meant to jump the campfire, she gave him his head.

Up, stretch, over.

In a flurry of hooves, he headed for the tents. Before he reached them, Ace bucked some more. Brown hide, gray dirt, blue sky, she caught swinging
views of the world before memory told her what to do.

Sam leaned back, grabbed the right rein, and pulled it toward her hip. Ace couldn't help turning in a circle. He didn't like being dizzy, and finally stopped. For a minute, his legs stayed braced apart. His sides heaved with effort. Then, he shook like a wet dog, swished his tail, and waited, ears up, for directions.

For a minute, Sam wondered what to do.
Jake.
As temporary wrangler, he'd be over by the corral. Maybe he could explain why Ace had chosen this morning to go insane.

Dallas gave an approving nod as Sam and Ace passed. Another cowboy winked. Pepper handed Sam her hat. She must have done all right. At least that's what Sam thought until she saw Jake.

“Jake?”

Down on one knee, he didn't look up from checking a horse's pastern, even though he must have heard her voice.

“Hey Jake,” she said again, aware she sounded breathless.

“Don't talk to me, Samantha.”

Sam froze in surprise. Even though she hadn't fallen off, she'd committed some awful tenderfoot sin.

“Why are you mad?” Sam felt a clutch of guilt. “Was it—Did I pull on his mouth too hard?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“If you think I was mean to him—” Sam pictured the scene all over again. “Honest, I couldn't think what else to do.”

Jake wouldn't face her. Staring at the back of his head told her nothing.

When Jake looked sideways, she followed his glance. At a distance, she saw Dad, tight-lipped and white-faced. They were both mad, though she'd hoped to make them proud.

Confused, Sam rode over to Dallas. As the trail boss, he handed out work assignments. Maybe he'd explain where she'd gone wrong.

Sam only had time for a sigh, before Dallas began talking.

“You did fine,” Dallas said. “Don't pay Jake and Wyatt any mind. You scared 'em, that's all.”

Sam didn't think that made sense, but Dallas hadn't asked for her opinion.

“You and Ace came to a fork in the road,” he said. “And you took charge.”

“Thanks, I—”

“That's that. Now, you ride drag again. You've got a bandanna. Today, wear it. And if Ace wants to cut off strays, you let him.

“You know how to ride, Sam, but that fall's made you skittish. Just keep your reins low and loose in your left hand, and let the palm of your right hand rest on your thigh. Sway with him and he'll do the rest. You're not going to fall.”

Sam took Dallas's advice to heart and the second day of the drive was better than the first. It was a breezy day, but hot enough to roll up the cuffs of her pale blue shirt.

She and Ace had reached an agreement. Sam went along for the ride as he dropped into a low, stalking-cat posture to turn back cows. In return, he followed her directions on everything else.

The compromise turned yesterday's stiff trot into a smooth jog. Relaxed, Sam wondered if Dallas was right about that other thing. Had her wild ride scared Dad and Jake because they still worried over her accident?