The Challenger (10 page)

A
s wind chased around the ranch house, Sam told herself the weather wasn't bad enough to delay Gram. More likely, something was going on at the Kenworthys' place.

Sam tried to distract herself by considering her soup and sandwiches. Now she understood Gram's frustration when she finished preparing a meal and no one showed up to eat it.

Come and get it or I'll feed it to the dog,
she'd heard Gram say more than once.

“You'd like that fine, wouldn't you, Blaze?” Sam asked, then moved to fill his food dish.

As she did, she heard Gram's Buick pull in.

Sam ladled soup into the bowls. She'd just placed them on the table when Gram came through the door and shut it against a cold gust of wind.

“I'm sorry to be late.” Gram slipped off her coat, noticed the neatly set table, and smiled. “I tried to call.”

“I was probably talking to Brynna,” Sam said as Gram sat down. “She wanted to ask me about the cougar.” Sam ate a bite of sandwich, wishing Gram would explain why she'd been gone so long. “They're having pizza.”

“Well, I think this is a fine dinner. Did you use a touch of dill in the tuna salad?”

“No, nothing special,” Sam said. She spooned up some soup, swallowed it, then lost her patience. “Was something wrong at Jen's house?”

“Not at all, honey. We were looking at the dress patterns Brynna and Helen Coley decided on for the wedding—for your dress and Brynna's. They're beautiful, and tomorrow after school Helen's going to pick you up, along with Jen and Rachel—”

“That's always fun,” Sam muttered, but Gram pretended not to hear.

“—and start pinning the dress on you.”

“What does it look like?”

“It's long.” Gram's fingers moved across her collarbone, as if sketching the gown's neckline. “And it's got—” she broke off, then gave up. “Really, you should see the picture for yourself. I'm no good at fashion talk. But the fabric rustles and it's a dark Christmas tree green that will be beautiful with your auburn hair.”

Sam smiled, then she thought of her homework. “Do you know how much I dislike algebra?” She groaned.

“I know your grade has improved. And I admire your hard work so much, I'll do these dishes so that you can get started on your studies.”

“Okay,” Sam said, but before she could zip open her backpack, the telephone rang.

Gram answered it, then held her hand over the mouthpiece. “If I'm not mistaken, it's the Slocum girl.”

“Rachel?” Sam asked. What could she want?

The only other time Rachel had called had been on the afternoon of Linc Slocum's big Brahma-Que. Then, she had asked Sam and Jake to pick up a bag of ice.

As she took the phone from Gram, Sam thought the chances were good Rachel hadn't called just to chat.

Sam was right. Rachel didn't pretend it was a social call. She didn't even say hello.

“You've got to decide,” she insisted as soon as Sam picked up the phone. “Should I buy Mocha?”

“Rachel, I don't know,” Sam began.

“You have to decide now. Tonight.”

“No, I don't,” Sam said, but curiosity ran neck-in-neck with her irritation. “What's the emergency?”

“Katie Sterling called from Sterling Stables and said they'd had another offer on Mocha, but she was giving me first right of refusal, whatever that means.”

“It sounds like, since you showed interest in the mare first, they're giving you a chance to beat whatever this other person has offered to pay for her,”
Sam said. “Have you asked your dad?”

“My dad doesn't care what I decide,” Rachel said. “It's Ryan.”

“Your twin?”

“Yes. He knows about horses, and he'll think I'm smart or stupid depending on—” As if she was embarrassed by her own honesty, Rachel broke off. “I've told you all this before. Just decide.”

“Rachel, I can't. You haven't ridden Mocha or handled her. All we know is that she's pretty. She might buck. She might bite. She might be barn sour.”

There was a moment of quiet from the other end of the line. Sam looked up to see Gram scrubbing the soup pot with a half smile on her lips.

“Barn sour,” Rachel repeated. “Is that a breath problem?”

“No. Lots worse,” Sam said, shaking her head. “It means you get on her and ride her for a few minutes, and when she decides she's had enough, she goes home. Whether you want to or not.”

“She thinks for herself, you mean,” Rachel said. “What's wrong with that?”

“Rachel, she's not a person. She's a horse, and she's trained, or should be, to work
with
you.” Sam sighed, feeling sorry for any horse that became Rachel's. “And one
really
bad idea,” she warned, “is to take a smart, spirited horse and just lock her up. Are you willing to exercise her?”

“You're just being mean about this,” Rachel said,
“when you should be flattered.”

“I was flattered, at first,” Sam admitted. “But I'd have to be pretty silly to keep feeling flattered when you won't listen to my suggestions.”

“Well, I don't want to ride her in front of people.”

That must mean Rachel had been listening. Sam softened, trying one last time to help.

“Rachel, why don't you just tell Katie Sterling you are interested. Then, your dad would trust Jed Kenworthy's opinion, so maybe—”

“He doesn't need an expert opinion. He needs to know I
want
that horse. I'm the only one who cares if she's worth buying.”

“Fine. Then why don't you have Jed go over and check Mocha out tomorrow?”

“Because”—Rachel's voice rose in a sort of trill, and Sam wondered how a single word could imply the listener was stupid—“tomorrow, Jed's driving my dad to the airport so he can fly to New York. Some people yearn for civilization, if you know what I mean?” Rachel chuckled. “But then, you probably don't.”

Sam's feelings might have been hurt if she hadn't been so irritated. But she was.
Really
irritated.

“Rachel, I've got an idea,” Sam said. “Why don't you do whatever you want and so will I? Right now, though I can hardly believe it, I want to go do my algebra homework. See you at school.”

It took all Sam's self-control not to slam down the
receiver. She replaced it gently and stood with her hand on it, as if it might pop back up, with Rachel still chattering.

“I won't even ask what Rachel wanted,” Gram said, “but it sounded as if you did a fine job of staying polite.”

“She thinks she's a
queen
,” Sam fumed. “And if you don't hop to obey her commands, you're, you're—” She searched for a word. “You're
nothing
. Sure, I was polite, but what does that accomplish?”

Gram rinsed two spoons before she answered.

“I know it's tempting to give Rachel a taste of her own medicine, but there's something you should remember: bad deeds have a nasty way of coming home to roost.” Gram tilted her head as she met Sam's eyes. “So do good deeds. You just have to decide which ones you want returning.”

 

High winds blew in overnight. On Thursday morning, they seemed to have swept away Jen's low spirits.

Sam and Jen shivered and talked at the bus stop. They considered the white skies and hoped for sledding during winter break.

Once they were at school and headed for their lockers, Jen asked, “How did you do with those polynomials? I called to see if you needed help, but your line was busy forever. What were you doing, talking to Rachel?” Jen gave a self-mocking smile.

Sam wasn't sure how to explain. Jen was pretty sensitive on this subject.

“Well, actually…” Sam began.

Jen struck her forehead with one mittened hand.

“No, wait,” Sam said, then nodded down the hall.

Rachel clicked in their direction. She wore high-heeled boots, a sleek fudge-brown skirt, and a matching blouse that shimmered just a shade lighter. Her head was bent to hear the latest gossip from Daisy. Other girls, dressed more for nightlife than a snowy school day, tagged along. They looked as if they were hoping for crumbs of Her Majesty's attention.

“Really, Jen, you'll like this.” Sam held Jen's arm to keep her from veering off, then waited until Rachel was about a yard away. “Hi, Rachel, thanks for calling last night.”

The girls around Rachel stopped, shocked. Rachel kept walking, though an attractive little frown marked her brow as she gazed over Sam's head.

“Daisy, did you hear something like the squeak of a very, very small insect?” Rachel asked.

“I didn't hear a thing,” Daisy chirped, tossing her long blond hair. “But I see a most amazing sweater.”

The other girls giggled, nudging each other as they gaped at Jen's harvest fair sweater. Although Sam didn't appreciate the gold-and-pumpkin plaid as much as Jen obviously did, she figured her friend should be able to wear whatever she wanted without criticism.

“She must be wearing it on a dare. There's no other
possible explanation,” Rachel said. Then she and her entourage moved on in a cloud of mingled perfume.

Sam tried to let the comment pass. She tried to remember how Gram had cautioned her against bad deeds. But she couldn't let Rachel get away with insulting Jen like that.

“Hey, Rachel,” Sam said, and Rachel glared back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I hope you don't pay someone to come up with your snotty remarks, because if do, you're getting robbed.”

The girls twittered on down the hall. The farther they got, the more confused Sam felt. Why had Jen, who always had a comeback, kept quiet?

“Does that answer your question about what great friends I am with Rachel?” Sam asked Jen.

“Oh, yeah. And it was lots of fun,” Jen said, but her expression seemed to ask if Sam knew what she'd gotten herself into.

“Why are you giving me that look?” Sam demanded.

“Well, I can't help wondering how much
more
fun it's going to be after school.”

Now it was Sam's turn to hit her brow in dismay. Jen gave Sam a one-armed hug, then a gentle push toward history. As she walked, Sam tried to figure a way out of riding home in the same car as Rachel.

Maybe there'd be a blizzard and they'd all have to stay at school. If so, she'd make sure to slip out of journalism, so she wouldn't be trapped with Rachel.

Maybe there'd be a flood and all of Darton High
would be evacuated to a Red Cross shelter in Sacramento. If so, she'd offer to clean out lavatories, rather than stay near Rachel.

Maybe there'd be an invasion of space aliens….

Almost anything sounded better than reality. She couldn't stand the thought of being confined in the backseat of the Slocums' Mercedes when Mrs. Coley picked them up to drive Jen, Sam, and Rachel to the Gold Dust Ranch today.

 

After school, Sam and Jen stood waiting. Gulls spun in a flock above the Darton High parking lot, but Mrs. Coley was nowhere in sight.

“People always say that means a storm at sea,” Jen mused as she looked at the gulls. “But that's a long flight to come to a place as cold as this. I think I'd stay at the beach and wait out the rain.”

“They're just cruising over the parking lot for the leftover lunches,” Sam said. “Or the remains of students who've been stared to death by Rachel.”

“I bet she's not looking forward to this forced neighborliness any more than we are,” Jen said.

Sam had to agree. “There's Mrs. Coley.” She pointed as the blue Mercedes-Benz rolled among the student cars.

“Let's go,” Jen said.

They bolted toward the car. Once there, they greeted Mrs. Coley, slid into the backseat, and fastened their seat belts.

When Rachel arrived, she didn't say a word. She
sat in the front seat and waited for Mrs. Coley to take her home.

On the way to the Gold Dust Ranch, Mrs. Coley entertained Sam and Jen with descriptions of the dress Brynna had picked out for Sam to wear as maid of honor.

Apparently, the pattern for the dress was a tricky one. Mrs. Coley joked about how long it had taken her to make even a “rough draft” of the dress. Rachel sat like a statue, ignoring the whole conversation.

Sam had only been to the Gold Dust Ranch three times since the Slocums had moved in, and the last time she hadn't really noticed the grand entrance to the ranch because she'd been worried about Rachel. Linc Slocum had declared her missing, and Sam and Jake joined the search party—but Rachel, of course, had been fine.

Now, Sam was impressed all over again by the soaring iron gate, which swung open at the touch of a remote control button inside the Mercedes.

The car rolled along a paved road, past flower beds planted with some kind of bright bush that had survived the cold. Farther on, white wooden fences lined pastures filled with healthy livestock.

On the right, Sam saw Danish Belted and blue-black Angus cattle. Next came a fenced field that held a dozen Brahmas, including the brindle bull named Maniac.

On the left, a herd of Shetland ponies roamed a rolling pasture. One ran along the fence, and his
shaggy charcoal mane looked as full as a lion's.

The Shetlands were so cute and fuzzy, Sam wanted to give one a hug. In the next minute she felt a stab of worry. The ponies wouldn't be much of a match for even an inexperienced cougar.

Up ahead stood the foreman's house. The log cabin had been the Kenworthys' when the ranch was still the Lazy K, before hard times forced them to sell out to Linc Slocum. Sam thought it looked cozy and perfect for the high desert setting.

Mrs. Coley paused to let Sam and Jen out.

“I'll be back in a few minutes, girls,” Mrs. Coley said. “As soon as I drop off Rachel.”