The Wild One (5 page)

“Well, they'd better get over it,” Sam told Ace.

At noon, Dallas directed her to change horses. She'd need Ace fresh tonight, he explained, for nighthawking.

“You're a sight better rider than Slocum and he's next in the rotation after you.” Dallas glanced toward Slocum where he sat, smoking, on a red dun horse.

The sun's angle turned Slocum's belt buckle to dazzling silver and Dallas made a sound of disgust.

“I'd bet my next three paychecks he bought that trophy buckle in a pawnshop,” Dallas said, then looked Sam straight in the eye. “Sam, some things can't be bought. You were born to ride, so get out there and do it.”

Sam felt such a zing of surprise, she had to concentrate as Dallas went on.

“Jake'll wake you at midnight when he goes off shift,” Dallas said. “Get to bed early and rest up.”

Sam changed her gear to a roan mare named Strawberry and wondered if Ace would enjoy the break. Turned in with the group of spare horses, the remuda, he'd still walk along, trailing the herd, but no rider would tell him what to do.

Pulling her cinch snug, Sam thought about tonight. When Jake came to wake her, she'd make the most of the quiet time while the rest of the camp slept. She'd find out what had made him mad, even if she had to tickle it out of him, as she had in the old days.

Sam's heart lifted at that idea, then skyrocketed as she thought of something even better.

Oh, wow. For four hours, she and another cowboy would ride in opposite directions around the herd. They would pass each other only once in a while. If the feeling she'd had last night was real, the Phantom had followed her to the desert. Maybe he'd spot her, riding alone.

It was improbable, but not impossible. Dad had told her mustangs had hideaways and trails that no people knew.

The thought gave Sam chills. As soon as the first star of evening glowed in the sky, she'd wish her lost colt would come to her again.

S
AM TURNED UP
the collar of her fleece-lined jacket. She couldn't find her favorite black sweater, or she would have worn it, too. Saddle leather chilled her knees even through her jeans. It might be summer, but nights in the high Nevada desert were cold.

Ninety percent of your body heat escapes from your head, or so Dad had told her years ago. Sam tugged her Stetson down tighter and Ace sidestepped.

“Settle down, boy.” Sam adjusted her hat on its new string.

The leather strips, smoothly braided by Pepper, were knotted a couple of inches below her chin.

“Stampede strings,” Pepper had called them as he helped her attach them after dinner. “So you don't lose your hat next time.”

Smiling, Sam patted Ace's neck. Her watch said it
was after three. Ace should be tired. She couldn't imagine why he kept arching his neck, or why his barrel vibrated with a low nicker.

Then she saw the Phantom.

The desert floor stretched around him, level and smooth as a marble dance floor. The stallion snorted plumes of breath into the night. Starlight caught the dust, which drifted from each hoof to create a shimmering trail behind him.

Sam held her breath, joining in the silence. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, a silver dragon horse, spun of moonbeams and magic.

Suddenly, the stallion's low neigh shattered the quiet. He reared, shaking wild torrents of mane, then launched himself toward them, at a run.

He wasn't going to stop. From afar, he'd looked fine-boned, but as the stallion thundered closer, Sam saw Phantom had the broad, powerful chest of a mature stallion. He galloped straight for Ace, ready to ram.

“Go!” Sam leaned low on Ace's neck. She clapped her heels against his sides, asking, then
telling
him to run.

Even when she smacked his hindquarters with her palm, Ace only moved a few stiff-legged steps. Hopeless, Sam tried to discourage the stallion.

“Stop!” she shouted.

The stallion faltered a step, struck Ace a glancing blow, then turned to lay his muscled neck over Ace's back.

The horses stood together and the stallion's head was so close, Sam could have touched him—but she didn't. She was a little afraid. This must be some sort of dominance move, because Ace didn't fight.

The stallion was big. And this close, Sam couldn't deny he was real. He smelled like an animal who'd run long and hard. Though his hide glowed silver with an overlay of dapples delicate as gray lace, much of his fur was rough with dried sweat.

The horses drew apart. Together, they tossed their muzzles skyward. It must have been a signal of agreement, because suddenly, they were running.

With a peculiar rocking movement, the two horses ran side by side. Sam had ridden galloping horses before, but this was a faster gait, unnamed by man. Ace flung his legs out to their limits, and the stallion matched each movement.

I'm being kidnapped
, Sam thought. It would be foolhardy to jump, but she couldn't catch a breath.

Night wind roared into her face, sealing off her nose and lips, ripping the hat from her head and flinging it to the end of the stampede string, where it flew like a kite.

Ace ignored the gentle pressure on the reins. Sam increased the pull and settled hard in the saddle. Nothing worked. Ace was running away.

Sam's feelings between fear and enchantment battled within her. She didn't dare fall. At this pace, she'd break an arm, leg, or ribs for sure. The sharp
and heavy hooves might miss her, but her head would crash against the desert floor. Again.

And yet, Sam couldn't suppress her excitement.

Eight hooves pounded like a tribal drumbeat. Night wind sang past her ears and pulled her hair. The scents of sagebrush and horse flooded her senses. This was the wildest adventure of her life. She only hoped she lived long enough to brag to Jake.

When the stallion put on a burst of speed and cut across their path, Ace followed. The ground beneath grew steeper and rockier. The Phantom swerved onto a secret trail.

If they turned back now, could Ace find his way to the herd? They'd galloped at least three miles, maybe five. Could she return alone, if Ace dumped her and traded his bridled days for life as a mustang?

As the stallion crowded in front, his hooves rang on smooth rock. If she could see her surroundings, Sam thought she'd wheel Ace and force him back toward the herd. But she couldn't see. They might be on the edge of a meadow or a cliff.

The darkness broke. Moonlight glowed on the stallion's muscled haunches, but just for an instant. The trail had become a tunnel. Stone grazed Sam's knuckles as Ace pressed against the rock wall on the right.

In a shaft of light, Sam saw the stallion's pale head lower. Ace ducked, too.

Just in time, Sam imitated them before a cold
stone ceiling scrubbed her shirt back and grated over the bumps of her spine.

Ace moved slowly, carefully, but the Phantom bolted ahead. The sounds greeting him told Sam exactly where they were, though she'd been here only in her dreams.

One neigh was followed by another, and another. A foal squealed and horses rustled through grass. The stone ceiling ended. When Sam stared up, she felt dizzy. It looked as if a huge bowl full of stars had been clapped over the top of this mustang hideaway.

She had only seconds to marvel, before Ace bucked.

“Steady,” Sam said, but she gave up without a fight.

As Ace came to a nervous stop, Sam knotted her reins together. Then she scrambled down, kicking free of her stirrups before he bolted away.

Dark horse shadows rippled against the moonlit cliffs, looking huge, then merging with the night. Sam knew it was too dark to try to leave. She didn't want to, anyway.

Sam worried about getting back to camp. She worried the cowboys would come searching, find her and call her worse than a tenderfoot. But Sam believed few humans would ever experience a night like this, and she wouldn't give it up.

As she settled against a boulder, hoofbeats told Sam that the Phantom was circling his herd, checking.
She heard a foal nursing and the quiet rushing of a stream.

Sam snuggled deeper into her coat. She felt surprisingly warm and satisfied. Ace was home. It was only fair she give him a chance to enjoy it.

 

Faint sunlight shone through Sam's closed eyelids, but she didn't open them. As soon as she did, the dreamy valley of wild horses would probably vanish. She'd be back in the tent she shared with Gram. Maybe even back in Aunt Sue's San Francisco apartment.

Then Ace whuffled his lips across her hand and Sam opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, let it out, and for the first time, she understood what it meant to “feast your eyes.”

She couldn't count all the mustangs, but she tried to memorize them. Bays and blacks, red sorrels and honey chestnuts grazed beside buckskins, duns, and grays. More lean and muscular than even hardworking ranch horses, they looked wild, but their coats gleamed with health.

As if he felt her watching, the Phantom strode forward, standing between Sam and his mares and foals.

Protective and wary, the stallion squared off, ready to fight for his family.

Sam knew she should leave. Dad and Jake were
probably looking for her and they could find this haven. Worse, Linc Slocum could find it—Dallas had told her that Slocum had the nighthawk shift after hers.

Sam stood and the mares scattered. Reins trailing, Ace moved along behind her, willing to carry her home. But Sam had to try one thing before she mounted up.

She walked toward the stallion.

“Zanzibar,” she whispered.

His neck arched until his chin bumped his chest, but his eyes stayed fixed on Sam. His ears strained so far forward, they nearly touched at the points. His skin shivered as if he felt the same goose bumps she did.

“Zanzibar, remember me?”

The stallion tilted his head, listening. A clump of silver mane fell aside, exposing a scar on his neck.

Pitying him for whatever accident had caused the scar, Sam held out her hand.

“Poor boy,” she murmured, but her move was a mistake.

Too much, too soon.

The stallion backed away. As his band scattered, Sam noticed a buckskin with a black dorsal stripe and a dun mare and foal, with dark slanted stripes on their legs.

They could be throwbacks to ancient horses. Prehistoric horses had such markings, but Sam didn't
know horses lived in this valley. Sam felt a surge of affection mixed with loyalty. She'd come here by accident, but now it was her duty to protect these animals and their home.

She must leave without startling them into a stampede. Ace stood nearby, apparently willing to go, but she'd misread his equine mind before. If he put up a fuss, the herd might run from the valley—right into Slocum.

Sam decided to lead Ace instead of mounting.

“Ace?” She patted her leg to get his attention. The gelding stepped forward.

His willingness tugged at Sam's heart. Ace still had welts from the bites in the camp corral. He couldn't want to return. Yet here, too, Ace was an outsider.

Sam caught the reins and vowed to talk with Jake about horse behavior. She'd help Ace if she could.

Sam moved as if she wore ankle weights. She had to go, but longed to stay. She stepped carefully and kept her eyes fixed on the passage ahead. That tunnel would lead her out of the valley. Ace lagged at the end of his reins as she led him.

Ace stopped, and Sam heard the thudding of other hooves. She looked back in time to see the Phantom touch noses with the gelding.

Entering the passage was easy, but the rock tunnel closed around her, dark and creepy. Sam blinked, wondering how Ace walked without hesitation.
She could see nothing. It smelled damp, like a cave. She imagined bats sleeping just overhead and her boots slipped on the smooth stone underfoot.

By the time Sam and Ace emerged from the tunnel, daybreak had turned the sky peachy-pink. The high desert lay silent and calm, but Sam wasn't sure what to do.

They stood atop a hill. Not a huge hill—it was about the size of three houses piled one on top of another—but it was steep and she could see no way through the sharp-edged shale covering it all the way down to level ground.

There must be a way down. In last night's darkness, the horses had jogged up with so little hesitation, they might have been traveling on a bridle path.

Sam decided to trust Ace. She swung into the saddle, gave the horse his head, and prayed he wouldn't fall.

As Ace started down, Sam stared between his ears and swayed in the saddle, trying to ride loose. Even when Ace's hoof made something skid away, starting an avalanche that sounded like a crash of dropped dishes, she didn't tell Ace what to do.

Dad had taught her horses were prey animals: Their brains believed that something fast and hungry was always lurking nearby. If a horse shied at a blowing branch, it was because a crouching cougar might have caused that movement. If a horse refused to cross a creek, it was because his legs moved slowly in
water and something on the bank might notice and come after him.

Horses knew pursuit could happen anytime. Speed was their secret weapon. They fought to stay on all four fleet feet. So Sam trusted Ace to pick his way down the hillside, safely.

Just the same, Sam didn't notice the approaching rider until she had reached level ground.

“Samantha!” Linc Slocum's bellow surprised two sage hens into flight.

Sam ran a hand over her short hair. Its tousled appearance was a dead giveaway that she hadn't just gone out for an early ride. Sleeping against a rock had left her hair mashed in some places, sticking out in wild swoops in others.

Sam hoped her hat would cover the worst of it.

“Where have you been?” Slocum yelled, when he was still a city block away.

Sam cupped her hand at her ear, as if she couldn't quite hear, giving herself time to think.

“Where were you?” Slocum asked. “If Jake hadn't said he knew where to find you”—Slocum smirked, glad to have proven Jake wrong—“your Dad would have sent out a search party.”

Sam still didn't answer, because she was distracted. With their horses just feet apart, Sam saw Slocum's big palomino chew at his bit. Foam had gathered at the corners of his mouth, and he rolled his eyes.

“This is pretty rough country for a newcomer,” Slocum added.

“I was born here, Mr. Slocum.”

“So, where have you been?” Slocum squinted past her, but Sam didn't turn to see if the silver stallion had followed.

If he had, she'd chase him away herself. The Phantom was one trophy Slocum would never have.

“I woke up and decided to go for a ride,” she said. That much was true. She hadn't mentioned
where
she'd awakened.

Sam's chin lifted as she waited.

“No one came to wake me for the four o'clock shift,” Slocum said. He sized her up, then looked Ace over. “I think you were out looking for trouble.”

“Sorry, sir.” Sam shrugged. “I wasn't looking for anything but the way back to camp.”

Slocum shook his head. “You expect me to believe that?”

Why was Slocum so suspicious? Sam wondered. Unless he was stalking the stallion by night, he couldn't know the Phantom had come to her. She wouldn't give Slocum any reason to think such a thing.

“I'm a lousy liar. Ask my dad.” Sam looked away from Slocum as another rider came toward them at an easy lope. “Or ask Jake.”

Sam watched Jake approach. Her friend rode with a fluid grace she could only admire. If she rode
for another fifty years, she wouldn't look that natural on a horse.

Jake's mount slowed, stopped. Jake flashed her a look that said she had some explaining to do.

“Morning, Sam,” he said. His voice was lazy.

“She says she was just out for a ride,” Slocum sounded like a tattletale.