Gift Horse (6 page)

Sam glanced at Mrs. Santos for a clue. Mrs. Santos didn't give her one.

If Rachel thought a designer's fantasy of school-girl chic would improve Mrs. Santos' opinion of her, though, she was wrong. Mrs. Santos didn't even greet Rachel, just pointed a finger her way, motioned her inside, and kept talking.

“I imagine your fathers refreshed your memories regarding the school's community service policy.”

That answered her question. Sam sighed. At least she and Rachel were on equal footing in here. They'd both left their community service hours until the last minute. Without a pinch of dismay, Rachel slid into the chair nearest the principal and swiveled it so that her back was to Sam.

Sam didn't mind. Rachel had just saved her from admitting she didn't know what to do.

“My father and I did discuss it,” Rachel said solemnly. “We think a donation of cash might be more useful than a donation of time.”

Sam wanted to scream. Did the Slocums really believe they could buy anything? Mrs. Santos couldn't let Rachel get away with this!

Rachel kept her hands primly folded in her lap. Her nails glittered rose-gold. Her tapered fingers looked soft and pampered. More than anything in the
world, Sam wanted to see those hands sorting garbage in the Darton dump.

“I wouldn't expect you to suggest anything else,” the principal replied as she clipped a silver earring back on the ear she'd pressed to the phone.

“So that means you'll accept?” Rachel stood, smoothing the back of her skirt as if the meeting had concluded.

Mrs. Santos let the silence spin out. She must be considering it.

Then she chuckled. “Of course not.”

Sam didn't clap, but boy, did she want to. It was a good thing she didn't gloat, because Mrs. Santos' attention had shifted to her.

“We had a faculty meeting late yesterday afternoon to discuss our plans for students in your situation. I'd been hoping I could talk with you beforehand. I even sent you a note—”

“I never got a note.” Sam stopped when Mrs. Santos raised her eyebrows. “Sorry for interrupting, but I really didn't.”

“Mr. Blair tried to give it to you after class, but he said you were quite eager to leave school yesterday.”

Sam almost moaned aloud. This just got worse and worse.

Yesterday, while she'd been doing a good deed, trying to save poor Tinkerbell, her teachers had decided she was a slacker. It just wasn't fair!

Sam closed her eyes as Rachel explained she had
received the note, but she'd had an appointment after school yesterday that simply couldn't be rescheduled.

“This is awful.” Sam moaned. “I don't want my teachers to think that way about me.”

Rachel gave her a horrified look, as if confessing that your teachers' opinions mattered should be humiliating.

Sam didn't care what Rachel thought.

“Actually, they don't think badly of either of you,” Mrs. Santos said. “They think you're both leaders. You, with the underclassmen,” Mrs. Santos said, nodding at Sam. “And you with juniors and seniors.”

“They think Samantha…?” Rachel's lip-glossed lips pressed shut, but Sam knew what she'd been about to say.

And she agreed. How could her teachers think she was a leader when she was so afraid of going in front of the student council, she couldn't even think of a plan? Besides, she wasn't in any clubs, didn't participate in any activities except journalism, and when she'd tried out for the freshman basketball team, she hadn't made the last cut.

Mrs. Santos didn't explain. Instead, as the bell rang for class, she handed each girl a list.

“We'd like your help in putting together a major community project that will involve as many students as possible. Those,” she said, nodding at the lists, “are students who haven't turned in the forms stating their intentions.”

Crossing all of her fingers and hiding them behind
her, Sam stood, then summoned the courage to ask, “Do we still have to bring this project in front of the student council?”

Mrs. Santos must have noticed her quavery voice, because she nodded slowly, looking sympathetic. “You do,” she said. “In fact, Rachel will be abstaining from all community service projects votes until you two have come up with something.”

Rachel gave Sam a stare that actually seemed hot. It blazed between the two girls, but if the principal noticed, she showed no sign.

“And, of course, if you girls can't come up with something, you know my safety net project. That's all set up and ready to go.”

The dump. Looking for one bit of fun she could wring out of this morning, Sam glanced at Rachel to see her reaction. The rich girl looked frozen, except that her bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

Mrs. Santos folded her hands on her desk. She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Good luck, girls. Now you'd better get to class.”

They left the office side by side, neither speaking as they jostled across a campus now crowded with students.

When Rachel noticed Daisy and her other friends approaching, she veered away from Sam.

“Just leave the bloody thing to me,” Rachel said, reviving her faint British accent to sound properly put-upon.

Sam could have taken that, but as Rachel was
surrounded by the perfume and popularity of her own little clique, she fluttered one hand in Sam's direction and added, “I'll tell you what to do.”

That was too much. And she didn't care what Daisy, Rachel, or any of those girls thought of her.

“Fat chance!” Sam snapped back. Hands on hips, she stood until Rachel turned around, her lips parted in disbelief.

“I beg your pardon?” Rachel accompanied the carefully spaced words with a glare. “What did you say?”

Wishing they hadn't attracted quite so many fascinated onlookers, Sam drew herself up to her full height and took a breath. “I said: Fat
bloody
chance!”

Sam thought she heard a few scattered cheers as she hurried off to class, but she wasn't sure. Mostly, she was wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

“S
o what are you going to do?” Jen Kenworthy turned to Sam as they rode the bus toward home. Behind her glasses, Jen's blue eyes rounded with curiosity and she twisted the end of one white-blond braid around her index finger.

“I'm thinking, but I'm not coming up with anything.” Sam leaned back against the bus window.

Jen studied her for a full minute. When she talked next, Sam wondered if her friend could read her mind.

“I know you've never been into the whole rah-rah student council thing, but now you'd better get into it.”

“Those girls hate us,” Sam protested in a whisper.

“They don't hate you, or me,” Jen said. “That
would mean that they know we exist. They have much more important things on their minds.”

“Like shoes,” Sam said, returning Jen's sarcastic smile. “And mascara.”

“Exactly,” Jen said. “But I'll tell you, if Mrs. Santos wants a dynamite idea for a community service project, you'd better come up with something. If she says you'll be sorting garbage, you will.”

Sam had a feeling Jen was right. “Since I've pretty much alienated Rachel, I guess I'm on my own.”

“I bet if you think of something good, she'll go along with you.”

But would she stand up and present the idea to the student council?

Sam sucked in a breath. She shifted her eyes away from Jen's face to look out the window. It was a pinto landscape this time of year. Snow shone white in every shadow. She wished something exciting would happen, right this minute, so she didn't have to confess she was a chicken.

She was terrified to speak to the student council, but while she waited, things only got worse.

Today in Journalism, while she typed a story, she'd also watched Rachel and her best friend Daisy. They'd called other students over to the desks they'd arranged in a corner of the room. Though they pretended to ask whether each student had sold an ad for the current edition of the Darton
Dialogue
, Sam had noticed a lot of stares directed her way. What if
Rachel was putting the word out that nothing Sam suggested would be acceptable to the student council?

“Why are you so worried?” Jen asked. “Your eyes are darting all over the place and your hands are actually shaking.”

“No they're not.” Sam tucked her hands under her thighs.

“Okay,” Jen said, reasonably. “Tell me when you're ready.”

Even Jen's unquestioning friendship didn't help. Sam felt boneless with fear. She didn't look around at the other kids on the bus. She tried to act normal.

Sam wanted Jen's help. She just wasn't sure how to ask for it.

She couldn't tell Jen what Rachel had said, because she hadn't actually heard her say anything. She couldn't tell Jen what Rachel had done, because so far, she wasn't sure Rachel had done anything more than act superior.

“If I thought of a good community service project, do you think Rachel would present it to the student council?”

Jen gave her a confused look. “Why would you want her to? If it's a good idea, stand up and take credit for it.”

Sam's spirits sagged. Jen wouldn't understand at all.

“If you want my honest opinion,” Jen added, “I don't think she'll do
anything
if she thinks it will make
you happy. From what you said, she's pretty embarrassed.”

“But you told me you thought she'd go along with any good idea I had.”

“And she will,” Jen said with a nod. “If you convince her it's in her best interest, and that she'd look good doing it.”

That would be a lot of work, Sam thought. And if she did nothing at all, the satisfaction might be just as great. A wicked vision swam toward the surface of Sam's imagination. She smiled as she pictured Rachel at the dump.

“It would almost be worth it,” she said savagely.

“Going to jail for murder?” Jen asked. “I don't think so.”

“No. It would be worth spending my entire spring break working in the Darton dump, just to see Rachel have a nervous breakdown because she had to touch something icky.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jen giggled. “Can I come?”

Cheered by her evil thoughts, Sam sighed. “Whatever happens, I've got to come up with something. If I mess up just a little, Dad won't let me keep Tinkerbell.”

Jen bounced on the bus seat and squeezed Sam's shoulders. “Do you even believe this? We both have new horses to play with!”

Sam bounced in return and her dark feelings vanished.

When she thought about Tinkerbell, it was like taking off sunglasses. The whole world looked brighter.

“How's Golden Rose coming along?” Sam asked.

“She's doing great. Mom, Dad, and I are handling her every chance we get. She'll let me pick up her feet, halter her, brush her tail, whatever. In two weeks, Dad's going to try her under saddle.”

“That's quick,” Sam said. Just two weeks ago, she and Jen had found Golden Rose living in a ghost town. The mare had been missing for years. “I don't know how much training Tinkerbell has had. It'll be fun to find out.”

“Do you think he'll be there when you get home?” Jen asked.

“I hope so.”

 

But he wasn't. Sam hurried home from the bus stop. She moved as fast as she could over old snow that had hardened into ice. Planting her feet to keep from slipping, she jogged against the icy wind, only to find a chore—instead of a horse—waiting for her.

Pepper, River Bend's youngest cowboy, stood near the hitching rack outside the house. Sam was still trying to catch her breath to ask if he'd heard anything about the new horse, when he ordered her to help with an outdoor task.

“Dress warm and get on back down here,” Pepper said.

“For what?” Sam asked.

If Pepper's headgear was any indication of what he wanted her to do, it involved a trek to the North Pole. Beneath his Stetson, Pepper wore a wool hat with earflaps hanging down.

“I'd rather freeze than look like some hound dog,” she told him.

“You may get the chance,” Pepper said. “Your dad wants you to help me out at the stock tanks.”

“No, I've got to wait for Tinkerbell.”

Pepper grimaced at the name. “He figured you might say that. You can wait out there, is what Wyatt said.”

“Out there” meant the snowy, windswept range.

“I don't know,” Sam said, trying to sound helpless. “What kind of help could you need from me?”

“Listen,” Pepper lowered his voice and glanced toward the bunkhouse. “Dallas's arthritis is acting up something awful. Your dad doesn't want him doing this chore with me and it'll go lots faster with two of us.”

“Of course I'll help,” Sam said, ashamed she'd tried to shirk a chore that might actually hurt Dallas. “But there's water in the tanks, and the cattle come drink from them. Isn't that pretty simple?”

Pepper chuckled and rubbed his gloved hands together as if anticipating big fun. “While you're in there, make sure you grab some gloves.”

There was no point arguing, so Sam hurried. If she dawdled, Dad might make her leave after
Tinkerbell had arrived.

Sam zipped through the kitchen door. Her cold cheeks burned from the warmth inside. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies and the sound of the clothes dryer tumbling would have made a great welcome home, if she hadn't been in such a rush.

“How did it go, dear?” Gram asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Sam said, scooping up the chocolate chip cookies Gram had arranged on a plate for her after-school snack. She kept talking as Gram followed her up the stairs.

“Tonight after supper, we can brainstorm some ideas with Brynna,” Gram said. “Mrs. Santos didn't forbid you to do that, did she?” Gram asked as Sam wiggled into her long underwear.

“No,” Sam said, voice muffled by each layer she pulled on. “While I'm gone you'll watch for Tinkerbell, right?” Sam said as her head popped free of her turtleneck.

“From your description, I don't think I could miss him,” Gram joked.

 

Heater blasting, Pepper drove the hay truck off the main road, then bounced over frozen ruts toward the winter range. It wasn't that far south, but there was a drop in altitude. At least that's what Pepper told her, but to Sam the gray-brown hills and snow-clumped sagebrush looked the same as the range closest to the ranch.

Once they stopped, Sam discovered why Pepper had tossed an axe in the truck bed. They were going to break the ice off the stock tanks.

“This is one reason the cattle are wandering off,” Pepper said. He peered at what was probably a frozen surface, while Sam stood shivering by the truck. “Stay back, now.”

“Don't worry, I will.”

Pepper shrugged his shoulders inside his jacket, then bent his neck side to side, loosening up before he swung the axe. The first time, it struck with a dull thud; the next time, with sort of a glassy clunk.

He kept at it while she gazed across the range. It was bleak and empty. There wasn't a road or car in sight. Still, if Mr. Fairchild's horse van came near, the pale expanse of winter desert might show it, or she might hear its engine.

He'd promised to come today, but she didn't know what the weather was like out in Mineral.

More than once, she'd heard that the desert's basin and range surface led to “microclimates.” So, although the sky overhead was blue and clear with just a few snowflakes sprinkling down, there could be a blizzard forty miles away in Mineral.

As if to prove the notion, a gust of wind screamed across the range and struck them full force. Sam staggered a step at its impact. Then she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Pretty soon, it'll be your turn,” Pepper said, as he hefted the axe again. “That'll warm you up.”

Sam looked at the glittering axe head. In a blurry silver swathe, it crashed down once more. She was strong, but not tall enough to get the right angle to crack the surface of the ice. Pepper stopped, placed the axe back in the truck bed, and shucked off his coat. “Now,” he said, using his shirt-sleeve to wipe his perspiring forehead. “I'll move down to the next tank while you clear this one.”

Sam stood on tiptoe. Big gray chunks of ice floated like icebergs in the water. Her gloved hands closed in fists. He couldn't mean what she thought he did.

“Clear it?” she asked.

“A deicer would be better, but we don't have one. For now, you and me are it.”

For ten minutes, Sam concentrated on picking out the ice chunks and throwing them on the ground. When she looked up, she was surrounded by cattle.

They looked like prehistoric beasts, only redder and curlier. Pink-rimmed and watchful, their eyes looked weak. Their white faces ended in ice beards formed by drool. The poor things were wishing she'd hurry.

“You are thirsty, aren't you?” she asked.

Range-wild, the cattle rolled their eyes and swayed, but they stayed put. Usually, they'd make a run for a place beyond the sound of her voice.

“All done,” she said, then followed after Pepper.

She continued throwing the chunks onto the frozen ground until she heard him grunt. When Sam looked up, Pepper stood there, axe dangling from one hand, eyes on the range.

“Freeloaders,” he said.

Mustangs clustered in a cleft between two gray hills. They stood only two or three abreast, so it was hard to see all of them, but Sam recognized them from the Phantom's herd, and she was pretty sure he stood in the back, glowing silver.

The wild horses weren't grazing. Heads up, they stared as if they'd been hypnotized. They were hungry and thirsty, too. Only the tantalizing scents of hay and water held them near the humans they feared.

“They're not freeloaders,” Sam tried to shout, but her teeth chattered. “I d-did some of the w-work. And I s-say they can drink from our t-t-tanks.”

Pepper stared at her. Sam glared back, feeling her father's stubbornness dancing along her nerves. Pepper had better not laugh, because she was serious.

“You're not workin' hard enough if you're still so sassy,” Pepper said. Then, before he turned back to his work, he pointed. “That a new one?”

A young bay stallion with a mane that stuck up like a Mohawk haircut shuffled restlessly on the fringes of the Phantom's herd.

“It's Spike,” Sam said in surprise. “He was in a bachelor band with Moon and Yellow Tail. He's never been with them before.”

“Must be four years old, at least,” Pepper said. “I'm surprised Phantom's letting him hang around.”

In his woolly winter coat Spike didn't look like much of a threat. He looked awkward and gawky.

Bellies rounded with foals, the mares moved slowly, ears twisting toward the cattle. The adolescent horses stayed close to their mothers, heads bobbing against the mares' lean flanks, tails swishing as if the snowflakes were flies.

“They're just killing time 'til we're out of here, then they'll come down to the hayracks.” Pepper sounded disgusted.

“Wouldn't you? There's not much to eat in the mountains and most of the grass has been killed off by the cold.”

“Just the same,” Pepper said.

Sam knew what he meant.

River Bend Ranch couldn't afford to let the horses devour the hay that had been carefully bred to have thin stems and lots of leafy green nutrition. They'd worked hard to get that hay matured in the heat, harvested, baled, and into the barn before it was ruined by thunderstorms.

“Don't tell Dad you saw them,” Sam said.

“'Course I'll tell him,” Pepper snapped as if she'd insulted him. “He's my boss. This ranch is my responsibility, too. Got no job if it goes under.”

Although the highway was miles away, the sudden racket of tire chains carried to them, just as Sam had hoped.

The herd huddled closer together and the Phantom crowded forward, placing himself between the noise and his family. But he didn't urge them to run.