Untamed (6 page)

“Thanks for stoppin' by,” he told Jake. “I'll take it from here.”

“What?” Sam yelped. Was she some problem to be shepherded from one male to the next? She looked to Brynna and Gram for help, but neither said a word.

“Let me get this straight.” Dad's voice was so quiet, Sam had to lean forward to hear. “Some fella started shooting near you this afternoon, but you rode home, talked awhile real normal about Penny, had this”—he broke off, hand moving as if it could spin the right word—“private talk with me in the barn—then more talk at dinner—and you didn't think it was important to tell me about a man shooting horses?”

“That's just like lying, Sam,” Brynna said, summing up Dad's words.

“It's not! I was going to tell,” Sam insisted, but Dad was pacing, ignoring her.

“I even kept the shell casing,” she told him.

Dad stopped. Hands on hips, he stared toward the kitchen window. With only darkness outside, could he see anything besides his reflection?

Gram sat silent, shaking her head in disappointment.

“I wanted to tell the sheriff, and I already did,” Sam said. “He wants to talk with me tomorrow after school.”

Dad still didn't turn to listen.

“Then why,” Brynna said, “didn't you tell us?”

“I was afraid you'd be, like, overly protective, and not let me do stuff….”

“Sam, every time you've given good reasons for things you wanted to do, we've worked it out with you,” Brynna said.

Dad turned and his expression wasn't angry, just cold.

“Never would have believed it, but you were safer in San Francisco.”

Sam felt as if her flesh clamped closer to her bones, as if she could make herself smaller and disappear.

“Dad, no,” she said, but he met her eyes, daring her to say she'd ever been within yards of a gunman when she lived in Aunt Sue's city apartment. She hadn't.

“Get up to bed,” Dad ordered, and before he could say anything worse, Sam went.

H
ow could a horse make her so happy? Penny wasn't even her horse, but she lifted Sam's gloom just by being there.

The blind mare crowded against the fence of the pipe panel pen assembled next to the ten-acre corral and neighed a greeting to Sam.

She kicked up her heels and bolted in a run around her pen, delighted to have human company.

“Hi, Penny,” Sam crooned, and her smile widened when the sorrel slid to a stop, listening.

Penny tossed her head, flinging aside her forelock as if it, and nothing else, kept her from seeing.

“You are a pretty girl, and I'd stay to pet you, but I've got to feed the chickens before I leave for school.”

When the mare gave a disgusted snort, Sam checked the other horses. They pricked their ears in Penny's direction, looking curious, but nothing more.

Sam smiled. Putting the small pipe corral next to the ten-acre pasture would keep the new horse safe while the others got used to her. So far, it seemed to be working.

Sam's smile broke into a yawn.

Dallas, Pepper, and Ross had ridden out to check for calves at about five thirty. Sam knew because Blaze had been so excited, he'd barked and yapped, awakening her.

She must have dozed again, though, because, by the time she made it downstairs, everyone was up.

Then, she'd discovered that even though she was in trouble, feeding the hens was her only morning chore. Gram and Brynna had offered to do everything else.

Sam couldn't figure it out. The previous night, Brynna had tapped on Sam's door to say she was grounded until further notice. She'd refused to listen to Sam's excuses and warned that Sam would be lucky if there weren't other consequences for keeping such a serious incident secret.

Right now, the Rhode Island Red hens were studying Sam suspiciously, as if they didn't see her every morning of their lives. Each hen was the size of a feathered basketball. As soon as Sam began sprin
kling their food on the ground, they forgot caution. They rebounded off her ankles, fighting for the cracked corn, grain, and crumbs of cherry muffins left from breakfast.

Excited by the hens' squabbling, Penny sidled down the fence line. She crossed one hoof over the other with the grace of a dressage horse.

Moving into the darkness didn't frighten her, Sam realized. There must be a lesson in that.

“You and me, Penny,” Sam promised the red mustang.

She wouldn't let the unknown scare her, either. She'd missed hundreds of hours of hugging, scolding, and companionable silence with Mom. Now, she had a chance to learn more about Mom's life and no one would stop her.

After all, Dad had stopped short of saying he'd actually send her back to San Francisco. He'd been surprised and shocked, but Brynna had said she was only grounded.

She'd be very careful, but she still had to find out what had happened to Mom.

It was weird the way curiosity and sadness had stirred up long-forgotten moments.

This morning, the tart-sweet aroma of Gram's muffins had brought back a memory of Mom cooking.

In it, Sam felt herself waking from a cozy nap. She remembered toddling into the kitchen to watch Mom roll a pastry cutter through pale dough. Next,
in a way Sam had found magical, Mom had woven the dough strips over and under into a lattice crust for a cherry pie.

Sensing her there, Mom had looked up with a smile and beckoned Sam to come closer. And she'd gone, of course.

Sam imagined herself tucked under her mother's arm, safe as a baby bird under its mother's wing.

“Gonna be late if you stay there daydreamin',” Dad warned from the porch.

Sam's head snapped back. She'd almost forgotten she was standing in the middle of the ranch yard, but there stood Dad, dressed for the range. He wore leather chaps already, but he held a coffee cup and a wisp of steam curled into the cool morning air.

“Hope you took care of weighting down that tarp,” Dad said. “Supposed to be some weather blowing in this weekend.”

Sam glanced at the sky. It was clear and blue.

Dad didn't sound very friendly and he was just trying to remind her she was in trouble.

She'd like to blame Jake for telling on her, but the words had come from her mouth. And no matter how she tried to minimize what had happened, there was that rifle.

Unlike Gram and Brynna, Dad could hold a grudge for weeks. This mistake would crop up in every discussion, because, in his opinion, she'd placed herself in danger and then kept it secret.

He'd grounded her. She wasn't allowed to ride or go anywhere except school and, today only, Sheriff Ballard's office.

Sam sighed as Dad watched, stiff-backed, to see what she'd do next. Grounding, Sam feared, was only the beginning of her punishment.

He'd told her to hurry, and she'd better do it. She could take care of the tarp later. What she couldn't do was be late for school.

As Sam walked back toward the house, a single hen strutted away from the others. Searching for a tasty worm, she'd forgotten the first rule of prey animals.

“Stay with the rest of the flock,” Sam cautioned, fluttering her hands at the hen. “Get out there alone and something will eat you.”

The hen hopped off a few feet, rejoined the flock, and scratched the dirt with total concentration.

Sam couldn't brush her hands on her jeans before grabbing her coat. Today she wore a black skirt, a crisp white blouse, and little gold earrings. Her auburn hair curved into a shiny cap with a few too many waves and she wore a flick of Brynna's mascara on her eyelashes.

She wanted to look nice for her meeting with the sheriff, but she wasn't sure why.

Dad was still standing in the kitchen when she was ready to leave.

“I want you to think about something today,” he said.

Sam nodded and braced herself for more scolding.

“That calf of yours is near a year old and thinks she's a horse. That's natural after livin' with 'em for so long. With the rest of the cattle back down here for summer, it'd be a good time to turn her out.”

“Buddy?” Sam said.

Dad nodded. Of course she had no other calf. Buddy had been orphaned on the range and Sam had rescued and bottle-fed her in a cozy barn stall until she could eat grass and live in the ten-acre pasture.

“I know you feature yourself her mama,” Dad said with a half smile, “but think about it.”

Sam took a shuddering breath. It wasn't like she spent much time petting and playing with Buddy anymore. As the calf had matured, she'd kept more to herself. But every now and then, Buddy came when Sam called and stood for minutes, getting her head rubbed.

“I'll think about it,” Sam said.

As she left the house to begin her walk to the bus stop, her eyes found Buddy. In the back of her mind, Sam had always known Buddy would be a range cow.

She'd never thought about brushing and haltering the calf, taking her to a county fair to win best of show, but Buddy was pretty, and she might have won.

Her red-brown coat shone with good health. Her
white face wore an intent expression as it bobbed just above the ground.

“Buddy!” Sam called. “Hey, Buddy!”

The Hereford raised her head to chest level. Her pink nose was shiny as she looked in Sam's direction.

“Here I am, girl.” Sam waved a hand.

Buddy sneezed, flicked her tail, then resumed her search for green grass.

A thud and stutter of hooves made Sam's attention shift.

Ears flat and head extended, Strawberry made a short run at Penny, warning her she'd wandered too close to the fences separating them. The blind mustang shied and ran for the opposite side of her pen.

Sam's breath caught as the mare stopped just in time. A collision with that pipe panel would have hurt her badly.

Buddy would be fine, but Sam felt a pinch of worry over Penny. The sorrel mare was settling into her new environment, but her limitations couldn't be ignored. Brynna needed help watching over Penny.

Sam knew she should help. Brynna trusted her horse sense. And she would help, just not now. She had to go to school. Not right after classes, either, because she'd be grilling Sheriff Ballard for information. But soon.

 

May sunshine had coaxed swaths of dandelions to decorate the grassy quad at Darton High School.
Just like most other students, Sam and Jen were planning to enjoy lunch outside.

Jen wore new pink jeans with a turquoise tee-shirt and pink bows tied to the ends of her braids.

“Nice jeans,” Sam told Jen, as they waited in line at the snack bar window.

“On sale at Mix n Match at the mall.” Jen dismissed the compliment, but Sam could tell it pleased her. Then Jen made a shy announcement.

“I hope you won't mind riding home on the bus alone today.” A smile tugged the corners of her mouth, though Jen looked as if she were trying to suppress it.

“No, I—”

“Because Ryan's giving me a ride home!”

“Wow.” Sam forced herself to sound excited.

She didn't share Jen's infatuation with Ryan Slocum. Probably that was a good thing. It would be disastrous if they both had a crush on him.

That would never happen. She didn't trust Ryan Slocum. She knew it wasn't fair to judge him by the rest of his family, but she couldn't help it.

“He said he had errands in town all week, and…” Jen paused to sigh. “He might pick me up every day after school.”

“Sounds like a romance to me,” Sam joked, even though she didn't like the possibility much. She and Jen had their best talks on the long bus rides home.

As they turned with treats in hand, Sam's spirits
perked up. Just for today, Ryan was actually helping her. Now she wouldn't be the one leaving Jen to ride the bus home alone, while she went to talk with Sheriff Ballard.

Being careful not to spill the chocolate milk shake that she called lunch, Sam swerved around a patch of bright yellow dandelions. They reminded her of the daisies Mom had stuck into her braided hair.

Sam pictured her own hair. It was almost long enough to braid. Would it bother Dad if she copied the hairstyle she'd seen in photographs of Mom?

“They're weeds, Samantha,” Jen said as Sam tiptoed around more dandelions. “You can step on them.”

“Don't want to,” Sam chirped, pointing her toes as she danced between them.

“Why are
you
so happy?” Jen asked. She considered Sam in a raised-brow side glance. “I thought you were grounded.”

Jen was right. She shouldn't be happy. Misery would probably kick in after today.

Sam glanced at her watch. In less than two hours, Sheriff Ballard would pick her up and take her to the police station. Most people wouldn't see that as a treat, but…

“Hello?” Jen said. “Anybody in there?” She pretended to knock on Sam's head, then snatched her hand back as if she'd done something wrong.

“Just spring fever,” Sam said. “I think it's affected my brain.”

“You shouldn't make jokes like that,” Jen whispered. Her tone reminded Sam of yesterday's creepy feeling.

“What did you hear?” Sam demanded, but she knew it was Rachel's gossip.

Jen could have pretended she didn't know what Sam was talking about, but she didn't.

“Rachel's saying—and Cammy is repeating it like an echo—that you're having a delayed reaction to the head injury. Most people don't believe them. It's just the rumor of the week, you know?”

“What kind of ‘delayed reaction'?” Sam asked, though part of her didn't really want to know.

Jen puffed her cheeks out like balloons, then sighed. “She says you're having trouble talking—which is obviously not true,” Jen said, smiling. “And walking….”

As Sam looked down at her feet, she bumped into one of the big green barrels that served as campus trash cans. At once, she steadied it, to keep it from falling over.

She should have laughed. She tried to, but amusement stuck in her throat. Instead, she glanced around to see if anyone was watching.

“You're no clumsier than usual,” Jen diagnosed. “And the other thing, about logic—I know it's because of your mom.”

“
What's
because of my mom?”

“Your obsession with the note.”

Obsession
wasn't a very nice word. Sam bristled, but she couldn't get mad. Jen was the only person on this campus who understood her.

So she tried to explain. “That note is the only key to this mystery.”

“Have you considered,” Jen said, slowly pushing her glasses up her nose, “that it might not be a mystery?”

“Of course it is,” Sam insisted. She shook her head as if she could shake off Jen's doubt. “Look, I've never done one nice thing for my mom. Not that I remember,” she hurried to add. “It's almost Mother's Day and finding out about this horse and pronghorn thing, and Mom's death—well, I'm doing it for her.”

As she finished, Sam expected sympathy.

Instead, Jen crossed her arms and tapped her toe. She bit her bottom lip, as if fighting for patience.

The bell to end lunch rang. Students hustled by. Still, Jen watched her with judging eyes.

“Or,” Jen said, finally, “you could forget the past, and do something nice for your Gram and Brynna.”

Sam couldn't draw enough breath to talk past her fury. Jen stood there, twisting one white-blond braid around her finger, ready to take Sam's anger when she could finally dish it out.

“You're my friend. You're supposed to understand.” Sam looked around wildly. “I understood your
obsession
, when you were catching Golden Rose and trying to get your parents back together.”

“Enough,” Jen whispered, and Sam knew she'd gone too far.

Now people were staring. And wondering if what Rachel had said was true, since only a crazy person would be acting like this out in the middle of the quad.