Mountain Mare (2 page)

Not all,
Sam thought automatically. She knew a silver stallion that glimmered in the dark. Moonbeams flashed from his coat and sparked from his pewter hooves. Even in midnight blackness, he didn't look like other horses. The Phantom was the most beautiful animal on earth, and once he'd been hers.

But Ace was hers now.

Worry gnawed on Sam's nerves as anxiety for Ace spilled over to the Phantom.

Quit it,
she told herself. She just hadn't had enough sleep.

Sam studied the mountains rising like blue-black camel's humps against the dark sky. Her grasp of local geography wasn't perfect, but she thought the Pinion Pine camp was above Lost Canyon. That wasn't exactly part of the Phantom's summer territory, but the Calico Mountains were honeycombed with trails and passages known only to wildlife.

She couldn't imagine the Phantom venturing near
the scents and sounds of a big cattle drive. But he'd surprised her before, especially when he was trying to gather new mares for his herd.

But all the mares on this drive would have riders, right?

“—makes you think his pickup men would be wranglin' dudes?” Jake muttered.

Sam smiled, distracted by her best friends' sparring. They were too much alike, both experts eager to contradict the other.

Jake entered the trailer, released Ace, and backed him out while she was still just standing there.

Sam pretended she'd been thinking about Jake's question.

“I'm not even sure what a pickup man is,” she admitted.

“Good thing I was askin' Ace,” Jake said as the bay gelding stopped in front of Sam and swung his head around to nuzzle her pocket.

Sam closed her eyes and reveled in the flutter of the gelding's velvety lips and the alfalfa smell of him.

Forget it,
she thought.
Ace is mine 'til the end
.

“Pickup men are cowboys who work the rough-stock events, like bronc riding,” Jen explained. “They rescue rodeo cowboys off the horses and release the flank straps—”

“Oh, right,” Sam said. She took Ace's lead rope from Jake.

“There's more to a pickup rider's job than that,”
Jake said as he slammed the trailer doors and shot the latch into place. Then he turned to Sam. “Think you can handle things from here on out?”

“What about—?” Sam began, but then she stopped.

Even in the faint light and the shadow of his hat brim, she sensed Jake's brotherly look. It wasn't authority, exactly; it was more an attitude that said he'd probably need to bail her out and he was up to the challenge.

Sam glanced at the shadows moving around the camp. As the sky got a little lighter, there were more of them. She wished her childhood memory would kick in and she'd spot Hal Ryden, but she said, “Of course I can handle it.”

“And then there's Ace,” Jen joked as she pointed at the bay.

Ace's black-edged ears pricked toward the faint moos of penned cattle.

“He can handle it all without us,” Sam laughed, but her faith in the horse felt bittersweet.

The jangle of an old-fashioned triangle and a call to “Come and get it” made Silly snort and spook.

If Ace were more like Silly, Sam thought, she wouldn't have this problem. No one would buy the jumpy palomino to work with disabled children.

Seeing Jen distracted, Jake touched Sam's arm.

She turned immediately, trying to analyze his expression. A campfire highlighted the shelf of his
cheekbones, but left his eyes in shadow.

“Nothin's gonna happen 'til you get down off this mountain,” he said. “We'll—”

Jake made a vague gesture.

“‘Talk later'?” Sam asked with a laugh. “‘Have a discussion'? That's what people call it, you know. And they do it all the time.”

Jake ignored her teasing.

“
Adios,
” he said, then climbed into his truck and drove away with the horse trailer rattling along behind.

Jen was soothing Silly and gazing after the trailer's red taillights when Sam turned to look at the camp and saw two figures materialize out of the darkness.

“Samantha Anne Forster!” The voice boomed from the taller man. Sam couldn't see his face, but he wore a floppy, oversized hat that should have looked ridiculous, but somehow didn't. “Lord almighty, girl! You've grown up, but I'd recognize you anywhere!”

Beside him, looking pumpkin-shaped by comparison, the second man grunted, “And darned if she ain't welcome as a bedroll fulla rattlers.”

A
ce planted all four hooves. Even when Sam tugged for him to follow, he resisted her approach toward Hal Ryden and Linc Slocum.

“C'mon, boy,” Sam said.

Had the little mustang turned stubborn? Maybe he'd make a terrible therapy horse after all.

But Sam knew that wasn't true. His refusal to move showed his brains. Ace had learned that chaos cropped up when he was near Linc Slocum.

Sam reached her other hand up the reins to exert pressure closer to his bit. “I don't blame you,” Sam whispered to her horse. “But, c'mon.”

“Now the herd'll get through for sure,” Hal Ryden said, and though he was joking, Sam heard a
real welcome in his words. “I can't tell you how glad I am to have you here to help.” His smile took in both girls.

Apparently he hadn't heard Linc's remark about her, Sam thought. When Ace finally lifted a front hoof as if it were heavy as an anvil, then followed her with grudging steps, Sam took a better look at the man who'd been Dad's boyhood pal.

Hal Ryden stood at least six feet tall. He wore a black Western shirt with tiny teal-colored script that read
RYDEN RODEO CO
., but everything about him said he was a real cowboy.

His walk gave him away.

Sam couldn't explain how Hal Ryden could stride with loose-jointed grace
and
hard-hammered stiffness, but Dad moved the same way. So did Jen's dad. That buckaroo's gait came from thousands of hours in the saddle and a few being thrown from it.

Hal Ryden had the broad shoulders and raspy voice of Gram's favorite actor, John Wayne, but the warmth in his manner, as he led them closer to camp, was all his own.

“Samantha, honey, step over here closer to the fire so I can get a better look at you.” Hal Ryden didn't add another word, but he hesitated.

Had he been about to say she looked just like her mother?

Instead, he touched Ace's neck with admiration.
“Nice-lookin' pony, from what I can see. Got a mind of his own. Clever, is he?”

Sam glowed at the compliment. Hal Ryden's job was handling horses and cattle, and even
he
thought Ace looked smart.

“Way too clever,” Sam said, liking the man already. Then she realized she hadn't introduced Jen yet. “And so's my friend—”

Hal Ryden's laugh interrupted. “You'll have to excuse me,” he said, patting Jen's shoulder. “Askin' after a horse before a young lady? That's unforgivable.”

“Not at all,” Jen said politely.

Sam could see Jen's manners were switched on high, despite the hour and where they were. Jen's respect for Hal “Ride 'Em” Ryden showed in the reverent way in which she extended her hand to shake his.

“I'm Jennifer Kenworthy, and I'm pleased to meet you.”

“Jennifer's dad is my foreman.” Sam had almost forgotten Linc was there until he cut in.

“Jed Kenworthy is a good man,” Linc continued. “Jennifer here is a dandy little rider, too, and that palomino is full of cow sense, even though she's a little skittish. I'm sure they'll both do the Gold Dust Ranch proud.”

Sam actually blinked in surprise. Linc Slocum's compliments were so rare, she felt suspicious. That
might not be fair, but when Jen met her eyes, Sam knew she'd had the same reaction.

“I'm sure they will,” Hal said. “Now, why don't you go on and get yourself some breakfast, then saddle up, Linc?”

“Well…,” Linc said, hesitating.

“You go on, now. I need to talk business with my new hands.”

Looking as if he felt a little left out, Linc gave his belt a determined lift. The silver buckle pressed a fist-sized dent in his belly. He cleared his throat.

When the rodeo contractor showed no sign of changing his mind, Linc made the best of his banishment.

“Thanks, Hal,” he said. “Your crew serves up some fine meals.” He sniffed the air. “Yessir, I plan to eat so much of that maple-smoked bacon, you'll be wantin' to check me for a curly little tail.”

Hal Ryden stared after Linc Slocum, then bumped back the brim of his hat.

“Ladies, you know that man. Where
does
he get those sayin's of his?”

Sam shrugged. “I know why, but I never thought about where,” she said, and looked to Jen.

“It's mystifying,” Jen said. “I'd guess he got them from old Western novels. You know, like Zane Grey? But he's never given any indication that he reads.”

“I'm not criticizing,” Hal said. “Wouldn't be any
cattle drives like this, or maybe even rodeos, if folks didn't long for the Western way of life. Then I'd have to get a desk job.”

He shook his head and gazed toward the graying horizon.

“Now, as it concerns you two, Wyatt tells me you can handle a herd of range-wild cattle on your own, so this corral-bred bunch should be simple.”

Jen gave a quick laugh. “How big a herd?”

“We only have a hundred head—”

Sam sucked in a breath. She and Jen had handled a herd of six grown cattle and four calves. They had been wild enough to elude capture on earlier roundups, but still, ten was a lot different than one hundred.

“—rest of the stock was trucked to the fairgrounds, so this drive is just for fun. We'll get the tricky part done by early afternoon. I have some seasoned riders along who'll keep the dudes out of your way,” Hal assured them. “Dudes think they're helping, but mainly they're just harassin' those cows.”

Glad for the darkness, Sam felt a blush heat her cheeks. Only last year, she'd been the one “harassin'” the cattle. Not only that, she'd actually caused a stampede.

“It's taken Ace all year to teach me to just hang on and let him do his job,” she admitted.

“That's the sign of a good workin' horse—lettin'
you stay aboard until he shows you what he can do,” Hal said.

“Mr. Ryden?” Jen asked, clearly thinking of something besides Ace. “After we get down off the mountains, are we taking them along the highway?” Jen asked. Her head was tilted to one side as if she were picturing the approach to Darton.

“For a little bit,” Hal said. “But mostly we'll use side streets. The Sheriff's Department has put up barriers and roadblocks, and they offered help with crowd control if we need it.”

Sam imagined a parade route with cheering crowds on each side as cattle stampeded down the street.

“Now, since we'll be taking them right into the fairgrounds and it's not every day someone brings a herd through town, we need to do something about your duds.”

Sam didn't follow his logic, and neither did Jen.

“Duds?” Jen looked down at her jeans and the pink-and-green plaid flannel she wore over a brighter pink T-shirt.

The outfit was very subdued for Jen, Sam thought, and her own clothes were practically monochromatic.

“Isn't this okay?” Sam asked, considering her blue shirt and blue jeans.

“Didn't you two ever play dress-up?” Hal asked, grinning. “We have lots of extra duds for the rodeo
grand entry—you know, at the very beginning? When we wear matching gear, it makes quite a splash.”

“But, if we're really working today…,” Sam began carefully.

“I won't put you in anything that'll slow you down,” Hal said. “Y'see, ladies, we're goin' for the look you'd wear in a Western Pleasure class at a horse show. Nothing too fancy. Real cowboy gear—chaps, gloves, vests, and such—with a touch of color. Black and blue-green are my trademark colors, mostly because they look good on any horse.”

Sam hadn't thought about using color to complement a horse's coat for a long time, but suddenly she thought of the soft halter she'd fashioned for Blackie from a red flannel nightgown.

Sam smiled at the memory. The scarlet noseband and cheek pieces had framed his dark eyes and set off his ebony coat and inky mane, making him look magical. The Phantom had been an incredible horse, even as a yearling.

She blinked herself back to the present. Black and teal would look great against Ace's bay coat and Silly's palomino one, but…

“Not to be nosy, but since we're not in the arena—” Jen began as delicately as Sam had.

“Why do you care what we wear?” Sam finished.

“I want you girls riding point—right up front, you
know?—when we bring the herd into town. With any luck at all, you and your ponies will make the six o'clock news
and
the front page of the paper!”

 

Fifteen minutes later, Ace and Silly were tied to a Ryden Rodeo Productions trailer while Sam and Jen ate breakfast.

“You'll need it,” Hal Ryden had said.

So they sat side by side on a log bench. They wore black fringed chaps and matching vests over blue-green shirts. Their gloves were the same lightweight black leather, styled like gauntlets, with more fringe from wrist to mid-forearm. The girls had taken them off while they ate.

“I don't know whether this is cool or embarrassing,” Jen said quietly.

“Me either,” Sam said.

They kept their eyes on their tin plates of biscuits covered with ham gravy, and sipped cups of orange juice.

The modern chuck wagon's sideboard had offered sausage, bacon, hash brown potatoes, and eggs every way you could imagine—scrambled, fried, ranchero-sauced, and baked in a cast-iron quiche pan with Swiss cheese. But Sam and Jen had settled for something quick.

“Maybe no one's staring at us,” Sam suggested, making sure she didn't drop a blob of gravy on the expensive chaps.

“You think I'm going to look up and check?” Jen answered.

They listened as snips of conversation swirled around them. Voices wondered if the last day's terrain was as challenging as rumored, if their backs would hold out, if someone would take photographs, and if real cowgirls always kept to themselves.

Hearing that, Jen's fork paused at the same time as Sam's.

“I guess these outfits really aren't too fancy,” Sam said, and Jen understood instantly.

“That's what I was thinking,” Jen responded. “They'd think we're entertainers of some sort, if we looked that flashy.”

“Celebrity cowpokes,” Sam teased as Jen sipped her juice.

Jen's short laugh and muttered “Yeah, right,” made her cough as she swallowed. She shook her head and added, “I don't think we'll be too hot, either. Hal Ryden's a real cowboy at heart. I don't think he'd handicap us just for looks.”

Sam nodded as her mind veered back to meeting Hal Ryden.

“Do you think he heard what Linc said about me? Like, how unhappy he was to see me here?” Sam asked.

“If he did, he probably thought Linc was joking,” Jen said.

“You know, I have plenty of reasons not to like
Linc Slocum,” Sam said, “but why does he hate me?”

“Do you want those reasons in alphabetical, chronological, or random order?” Jen joked.

“No, really,” Sam said, glancing up to see Linc drinking coffee with a knot of other riders. “What did I do?”

Jen drew a deep breath, as if this recitation would take plenty of oxygen.

“Provided information that prevented him from adopting the Phantom, took a photo that kept him from forcing BLM to capture the Phantom after he offered that reward for the stallion that stole Hotspot,” Jen went on, counting on fingers that sprung out from holding her plate. “You uncovered his skulduggery with Karla Starr and the whole Brahma bull scheme—”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said as Jen prepared to continue.

“Definitely not okay,” Jen contradicted her. “Every time you turn around, you find him making a fool of himself.”

“How is that my fault?”

“It's not,” Jen said, then she elbowed Sam and nodded toward Slocum. “But he's probably afraid you'll tell his new friends about it and give him away.”

Sam lifted her eyelashes enough to see that Linc was trying to be one of the gang with Duke Fairchild, Katie Sterling, Hal Ryden, and some other people she didn't recognize. The ones Sam could see from where
she sat were all smiling politely, but she'd bet they weren't taken in by Linc Slocum's forced friendliness.

“He's almost pitiful, isn't he?” Jen said as she watched.

“No, not after what he did to the Phantom,” Sam said.

As long as the stallion wore the scar Linc had inflicted, she couldn't feel sorry for the man. Besides that, Sam couldn't help being jealous. She should probably sell Ace to benefit those she loved. Linc Slocum was so rich, he never did without anything he wanted.

Just then, a woman moved away from the group. Hal Ryden walked with her, and Linc Slocum tagged along.

Sam and Jen stood up as they approached, and even though Hal lowered his voice, Sam heard him warn Linc. “That was a right colorful expression, about the bedroll full of rattlers, but Samantha's the daughter of one of my oldest friends and I surely do hope you were jokin'.”

Before Sam's mind processed what her ears had overheard, a friendly voice interrupted.

“Samantha Foster, isn't it?”

The fresh-faced woman who'd walked over with Hal wore a red bandanna neatly knotted over a white shirt. Her blond hair looked stylishly windblown and Sam was pretty sure she was wearing makeup despite the time and place.

“Sam
Forster
, yes,” Sam corrected gently. “Hi.”
Sam was on the verge of recognizing the woman when she introduced herself.

“Lynn Cooper,” she said, “I'm a reporter for KVDV-TV?”

“I know,” Sam said. “Wow, it's great to see you. Jen, she did the story about Tinkerbell and the earthquake!”

“Right!” Jen said, smiling. “I remember.”

“‘Tinkerbell and the Earthquake.' I just wish I'd thought to call it that,” the reporter said, laughing. “It's nice of you to remember.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam asked. “It helped Tinkerbell get a home.”