Golden Ghost (10 page)

R
yan Slocum rode tall in his English saddle. He swayed only slightly as Sky picked his way down through massive boulders that looked like a frozen avalanche.

“Are you all right?” he inquired. “I happened past and thought I heard a cry for help.”

Jen groaned with embarrassment, but Sam ignored her.

All of this weird stuff had an explanation. That explanation was Ryan Slocum. When the ghost town's school bell had rung yesterday to distract her and Jen, Ryan had rung it, then taken some back way out. When the beautiful Kenworthy palomino had inexplicably hung around Nugget, she'd been kept captive by Ryan. And the booby traps—

Sam's thoughts were stopped by a red wall of anger.

Although she was on foot and he soared above
her on the dark brown gelding, Sam shook her fist at Ryan Slocum.

“It's you!” Sam shouted. “Admit it!”

“I'm not certain I understand,” Ryan's lilting English accent only made his fake puzzlement more irritating.

“Oh yes, you do!” Sam yelled.

Brightness broke through the clouds, and afternoon sun shone directly behind Ryan's head. No matter how much she squinted, Sam couldn't quite focus on his face because of the glare. It made her madder still.

“Sam,” Jen's tone cautioned her friend not to go completely nuts.

It didn't help.

“Don't fall for this innocent act, Jen. I can't believe how brazen he's been!” Sam shook her head in amazement. “He's living practically next door to you, right on the very same ranch. The
Kenworthy
ranch, from which the last of the Kenworthy palominos disappeared, and all along, he's had her.”

Ryan sat his horse quietly, allowing Sam to hear the flaw in her argument.

“Uh, Sam?” Jen said quietly. “Rose has been missing two years. He's only been here two
months
.”

“I don't care,” Sam insisted. Thinking of the awful instant when she'd feared she'd fallen into a hundred rattlesnakes' hibernation den, she didn't back down. “You didn't just happen by here yesterday, did you?” Sam demanded. “You're the one who's been keeping
Jen's horse in that makeshift stall.”

Ryan sighed. “Actually, I thought that for an improvised pen, it was rather clever.”

He'd admitted it.

Sam whirled to look at Jen. Her friend's studious expression was better suited to the mysteries of mathematics than Ryan's revelation. True to his Slocum bloodlines, he was obviously an unscrupulous jerk.

In the silence that followed Ryan's admission, Ace's lonely nicker rang out from down below. With a cautious glance at Jen, Silly answered. Her call echoed from side to side in the ravine.

“In the old days, they used to hang horse thieves,” Sam snapped.

Ryan gave her the kind of half smile you'd give an amusing child.

“Shall we continue our discussion down below?” Ryan formed it as a question, but he was already leading the way.

Sam huffed. She would have stomped, too, but she didn't want to fall. She took a last look at the horse skull and ground squirrel corpse and wondered how they fit into all this.

Ace trotted around the corner of the schoolhouse to greet Silly.

So much for ground-tying
, Sam thought. But she couldn't blame Ace. A lot of strange stuff was going on and when Silly called, he'd acted like the social animal he was.

She didn't scold him; just let him touch noses with
Silly, then snagged his reins and followed the others back to Nugget's main street.

Once they were down, Sam walked right past Ryan. She couldn't help but notice that Jen lagged behind, nearer Ryan than she was to her best friend.

You'll see
, Sam thought.
Ryan Slocum may be cute, but he's a big fat liar.

Sam stood beside Ace. She stroked his neck as she watched slimy Ryan Slocum try to wriggle out of a full confession.

“Surely you aren't saying I've
rustled
your horse?” Ryan nodded toward Silly.

“Not that palomino,” Sam snapped. “The other one. Golden Rose.”

Again, Sam glanced toward Jen and waited for backup.

Jen tidied a few tendrils of her blond hair, tucking them back into her braids. She straightened her pink parka and wet her lips.

“I really have no idea what's come over her,” Jen said in a bewildered voice.

Her. Her
who
?

Jen couldn't be apologizing to Ryan for her, but it sounded as if that's exactly what she was doing. So, Sam stood up for herself.

“All that's ‘come over' me,” Sam said, “is the realization that he's been keeping Golden Rose in a stall in the Battle-Born Saloon, and he booby-trapped the entrance so that I fell.”

For the first time, Sam glanced down at the leg that had been quietly aching.

“He made me rip my newest boot-cut jeans, and I could have broken my leg, or my neck or…” Sam ran out of breath before she could finish.

Apparently all the facts she'd thrown at him convinced Ryan to surrender.

“The palomino mare is yours? The dark-skinned one that's been hanging about here?”

Jen's mouth was agape.

Why am I doing all the arguing here?
Sam wondered.
And why is Jen swallowing Ryan Slocum's lies?

Ace faced Sam, sending her equine ESP with his intelligent, wide-set eyes. If she hadn't been so angry, Sam would have laughed. Ace's expression urged Sam to keep after the unashamed horse thief.

“Don't give me that, Ryan Slocum,” Sam reprimanded him. “Rose wasn't ‘hanging about.' You kept her in that stall.”

“I thought she was a mustang,” he said, but Sam noticed he studied his rein hand as he said it. “I admit she seemed an awfully tractable wild horse.”

“And you dug that pit and—”

“I wasn't trying to steal her.” Ryan lifted his chin, then flushed to the roots of his shining coffee-brown hair. “Honestly.”

“Maybe you weren't certain she belonged to someone,” Sam said. “But I bet you suspected.”

“It doesn't matter,” Jen rushed in.

“Doesn't matter?” Sam yelped.

“I just want her back, so I can give her to my dad.” Jen sounded as if she might cry. Sam looked away.

The winter sun that had shone so brightly above the rim of the ravine looked cold and flat as an old dime. It was slipping down toward the horizon. As it did, Nugget fell into shadows and Sam could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees.

“Jen, we'd better get going,” Sam told her.

“Yeah,” Jen said, but she didn't mount up.

“Briefly, I'll tell you how it came about,” Ryan said. “Just after I arrived, I rode up here, exploring, and glimpsed the most exquisite palomino. She was almost Arabic in her lines.” Ryan paused when Jen nodded in recognition. “At first, it was difficult to get near her. She was running with another horse, a big piebald, probably a cold-blood, judging by her feathers.” Ryan gestured in the direction of his mount's hooves. “And the piebald was quite wild.”

A tingling sensation danced down Sam's forearms. She realized she was clutching one of her saddle strings as if it was the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees. She was getting a bad feeling from Ryan's description, but she had to be sure.

“Piebald?” she asked.

Absorbed by Ryan's story, Jen whisked Sam's question aside with a wave of her hand and muttered, “Pinto or paint, you know.”

Sam's fingers went numb as she held on even tighter.

“Until two weeks ago, they stayed together. Chums, you know, and then one day, I rode up here to find she hadn't eaten all the feed I'd left. And she was alone.”

As Ryan went on, Sam felt dizzy.

Golden Rose had been running with the big paint mare who'd become the Phantom's lead mare. Or had she?

The timing was right, but a lead mare was skilled at managing the herd.

Sam shook her head. Whatever her status in the Phantom's band, the danger remained. In all the months she'd been watching mustangs, Sam had only seen one free-roaming pinto mare with feathers like a draft horse.

And that mare was dead.

Sam kept her fears to herself as she and Jen rode toward home.

Even though she'd told Jen about the dead mustang, she'd been too concerned with her excitement over Golden Rose to do more than say it was too bad. Sam didn't want to crush her friend's excitement, or worry her unnecessarily. Tonight, Brynna might tell her how the big paint had died. If it was something contagious, then it would be soon enough to tell Jen.

When Jen twisted in her saddle to look back over
her shoulder for about the hundredth time, Sam couldn't helping looking, too. Ryan had told them that Golden Rose usually returned to Nugget at sundown, for her dinner.

My father rarely tracks my comings and goings
, he'd said,
So I'll wait for her and make sure the bars are up on the stall, so that you can return tomorrow. If you like, I'll try to help you halter her and lead her home.

As if she could read Sam's thoughts, Jen said, “Ryan's being pretty nice about this, under the circumstances.”

Sam couldn't believe Jen's generosity. “Under the circumstances, I think
you're
being pretty nice. Your family has been searching for that horse and he's kept her from you. Whether he knew she was yours or not, he's a horseman, Jen. He had to know she belonged to someone.”

Jen shrugged. “How could he tell? Are you positive you could?”

When Jen put it that way, Sam couldn't swear she'd be able to tell. But she still didn't trust Ryan.

“You have to admit the whole thing is pretty weird,” Sam insisted.

Jen's mouth curved in a sad sort of smile. “You know what I think? He's been his mother's perfect little English gentleman for years. Now, he's in the Wild West. So, he did something kind of naughty, and he got caught.”

What Jen said was possible, but Sam didn't agree.

Ears flicking sideways toward Lost Canyon, Ace shied. Inadvertently, Sam's legs tightened and Ace lunged forward. Silly joined him, and for a couple seconds, the horses moved with choppy, irregular strides.

Both Jen and Sam looked around. In this place of mirages and lost horses, anything was possible. Suddenly, they saw what the horses had sensed.

Hooves rang like slaps against the playa, as two horses exploded out of Lost Canyon. Cream and dusty brick-colored in the dusky light, they might have been primitive figures daubed on cave walls.

“It's her!” Jen gasped.

“With the Phantom.”

At first, Sam thought the stallion was driving the mare ruthlessly. His ears lay flat against his lowered head as he sped after her. But then the golden mare gave a playful buck. With ears pricked forward, she ran around a black boulder. Legs leaning in imitation of hers, the Phantom followed. Speed building, their legs slid to the side, but they weren't falling, just taking their zigzag patterns in another direction.

Suddenly, the palomino stopped. So did the Phantom, keeping a few yards between then. Both horses were breathing hard. Their ribs worked in and out as they watched each other.

Tail fanned, knees lifting, the mare pranced a few steps away, then turned her head to look back at him. With a snort, she stopped again, posed, and caught her breath.

The stallion struck out a slim, silver foreleg, then stood waiting for the palomino's next move.

She swished her tail and neighed, daring him to follow, giving him a head start before she took a single step.

Ears flat, eyes forward, he was after her. His mane and tail streamed like white silk.

The mare lunged up and over, hurdling nothing but air. She touched down to the desert floor in a clatter. Her back flattened until it seemed her belly must be skimming the white alkali dust as she galloped back toward Nugget.

They'd given no sign they saw the riders. For them, civilization didn't exist.

“Wow,” Sam breathed.

Once the horses were just a blur in the distance, she turned toward Jen. Her friend wore a strained smile. Sam thought she knew why. Jen wanted the mare and so, it appeared, did the Phantom.

“I hope she's having a good time,” Jen said. “But she's not going to be the mate of a wild bronc, even if he is your favorite horse in the world.” Jen urged Silly into a jog, then looked at Sam. “I hope that's okay with you.”

“It's fine with me,” Sam said. She stared toward home through the frame of Ace's ears. “But you might have trouble convincing them.”

O
nce Jen turned off toward Gold Dust Ranch, Sam's mind was filled with the Phantom. Her wonderful, brave, and beautiful stallion was safe and happy.

Whether Jen liked it or not, that was all that mattered to Sam.

“I
am
worried about the rest of the herd,” Sam told Ace as they jogged the last mile to River Bend.

The last time the Phantom had been without a lead mare, he'd taken over all her duties himself. He'd looked ragged and exhausted, but he'd kept his herd safe. So where were they now?

Sam hadn't come up with any ideas by the time she arrived home. And then she saw Brynna, leaning her chin on crossed arms as she watched the horses in the ten-acre pasture. Brynna knew more about mustangs than just about anyone.

At the sound of Ace clopping across the bridge,
Brynna turned. As she did, her red ponytail whirled. In jeans and a bright blue sweatshirt, Brynna should have looked cute, for a stepmother. Instead, she looked troubled.

“I'm glad to see you,” Brynna called to Sam.

“You are?” Sam said. She drew rein so that Brynna could fall into step beside Ace.

“Can I talk with you while you rub him down?” Brynna asked.

“Sure,” Sam said, though Brynna's tone made her wary. “You can go first.”

Brynna's face brightened, but she didn't rush into a conversation.

Inside the barn, she watched as Sam stripped off Ace's tack and gave him a good rubdown, trying to dry his coat completely.

“You could be a Popsicle pony if it gets as cold tonight as it did last night,” Sam told Ace.

Though they hadn't crossed much snow, Sam checked Ace's feet for ice balls. While she did, Brynna forked hay for the gelding.

“Thanks,” Sam said. “Dad always feeds lots of hay in the winter.”

Brynna's sigh moved her whole body. Sam didn't get it. It wasn't as if she'd said something mean.

“Yep,” Brynna said. “That's what they need to keep going when it's cold.” She leaned the pitchfork against the wall, then rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them. “Do you pack any of that
white grease in his hooves when it's snowy?”

“Sure. It's in the tack room if you need it,” Sam said, giving Ace a pat.

Brynna's hands perched on her hips and she shook her head. “I guess there's not much you can learn from me.”

Sam laughed, then realized Brynna was serious.

“Your gram clearly doesn't need my help with cooking,” Brynna began.

“Gram doesn't
need
anyone's help cooking,” Sam said. “But that doesn't mean she doesn't want it sometimes.”

“And she keeps the books, and Wyatt schedules chores for the hands….”

Sam thought of listing things she did for Gram, like grating cheese and coring apples, but Brynna was still talking. As she did, Sam figured out that Brynna hadn't stayed long at work today. Instead, she'd been hanging around the ranch, trying to figure out where she fit in. And she still hadn't come up with an answer.

“Between them, Grace and Wyatt could run the ranch alone.”

“Dallas helps,” Sam put in.

Brynna's scowl told her she'd said exactly the wrong thing.

“See?” Brynna demanded. “I'm useless around here.”

This was weird. Upside-down kind of weird.
Usually adults built up kids' self-esteem, not the other way around.

“Well, I could use your help figuring out what's going on with the Phantom,” Sam said.

“His lead mare, you mean?” Brynna shook her head. “I haven't heard from the lab. It will probably be Monday before I do.”

“Not just that. There's this other problem.”

“Sam, you don't have to make up things to confide, just because I'm having a little pity party.” Brynna gave a melancholy smile. “I'll shake it off in a minute.”

Sam wasn't so sure of that. In fact, she'd never really thought about the word
forlorn
, but she was pretty sure that was the expression Brynna was wearing.

“This is something I really want to know,” Sam insisted. She had to be careful, though. She wouldn't mention seeing the Phantom today, because that would lead to talking about Rose.

“Okay then,” Brynna said, leaning forward just a bit. “Ask away.”

“I saw Phantom last night—and not in my dreams,” Sam interrupted herself when Brynna raised an eyebrow.

“Then where?” Brynna's tone was definitely parental.

“Don't do this split-personality thing to me,” Sam said, laughing. “I don't want you to act like my
stepmother right now. May I
please
talk to Brynna the biologist?”

“Don't push it, Sam,” Brynna said, but the teasing had obviously lightened her mood.

“Okay. I saw him again, this afternoon, between Lost Canyon and War Drum Flats. Both times, he was without his herd. Why do you suppose that is?”

“The obvious answer is that he's lost his herd to another stallion,” Brynna's tone was entirely unconvinced. “But it's winter. Stallions aren't out sparring for harems.” Brynna's eyes looked unfocused as she twirled the end of her ponytail, thinking. “Still, the Phantom is sort of a rogue. I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just that the usual rules don't seem to apply to that horse.”

Brynna was right. The Phantom wasn't entirely wild, but he certainly wasn't tame. Sam thought of people who had wolf dogs. Their wild and tame natures were always battling for control. Maybe that's how it was for the Phantom.

Would it change anything if she told Brynna about Golden Rose?

Sam rocked back on her boot heels. Jen wouldn't like it. This was Jen's secret. Only she and Ryan knew about it, and though Jen hadn't made her take a vow and sign her name in blood, she knew her friend expected that level of secrecy.

More than anything, Jen wanted to surprise her parents.

As she met Brynna's eyes, Sam realized her stepmother had been studying her.

“He doesn't look like he's been hurt, does he?” Brynna asked, misinterpreting Sam's silence.

“It's not that,” Sam said.

She'd bet Brynna wouldn't tell a soul about Golden Rose. She probably wouldn't even confide in Dad if Sam begged her not to. After all, they were building a family relationship, right?

Besides that, Dad wasn't much of a gossip. She couldn't imagine him calling Jed up or moseying into Clara's Diner to chatter about Jen's secret.

“If you're having a private conversation with yourself, that's fine,” Brynna said, “but if I can help, I will.”

“Let me think a minute more,” Sam said.

Sweetheart slung her head over the fence dividing her stall from Ace's. She stretched her muzzle in what she must have known was a vain attempt to reach his new serving of hay. Then she nickered pitifully.

Sam gave Sweetheart more hay, while, mentally, she tried to arrange her words so that she wasn't really telling Jen's secret.

“How long does it take for a domestic horse to become feral?” she asked, finally.

“I guess it would depend on the horse. Age would be a factor, and—”

“No, I mean
legally,
” Sam said. “Could a horse that's been running around loose for a couple years still be your horse?”

“Do you mean the Phantom?” Brynna asked incredulously.

“No.” Sam's frustration built. Brynna knew darn well she wanted the Phantom to run free forever. “Look, if I tell you something, can you not tell anyone?”

“If it puts you in danger—”

“It's nothing like that. It's not even about me.”

“Give it a try,” Brynna said, “but I'm not making any promises.”

“Jen and I found a horse that's probably the Kenworthys' missing palomino. Her name is Golden Rose and she's been gone for two years.”

Great. Just spill the whole thing,
Sam scolded herself.

“Really.” Brynna didn't say it like a question at all.

“Yeah. She's been loose a couple years and I'm wondering if the Kenworthys can still claim her.”

“I'll call Jed—” Brynna began.

“No, no, no! That's the worst thing you could do. Jen wants it to be a surprise.”

Brynna looked disapproving, but she answered Sam's question just the same. “My best advice would be for her to locate the bill of sale, or registration papers, something with an exact description of the horse. After this long, she'd better be prepared just in case someone contests ownership. For instance if someone”—Brynna didn't name Slocum, but Sam knew it was just the sort of thing he'd do—“talked the sheriff into making an inquiry or tried to claim her.”

That sounded sensible, and not too hard.

Since she'd told Brynna everything else, Sam added, “The mare came from Mexico. She's a Moorish palomino and she was supposed to be the cornerstone of their palomino breeding program.”

“She sounds valuable, and though I'm not familiar with Mexican horse registries,” Brynna admitted, “I wouldn't be surprised if the mare has a lip tattoo or a small breed mark, like a brand.”

“She might. I've only seen her from a distance,” Sam said, but she wanted to rush into the house and call Jen.

Brynna's hint that Linc Slocum might get in the middle of this worried Sam. Ryan Slocum seemed nice, but Sam still didn't trust him. He'd been riding up to Nugget, caring for Golden Rose. Anyone could tell he'd planned to gentle the mare and keep her.

If Ryan was anything like his sister and father, he'd find an underhanded way to claim Golden Rose. Jen needed to find a document proving the mare was the Kenworthys' property, right now.

“Are you shivering or fidgeting?” Brynna asked.

“It is getting pretty cold,” Sam said. “Let's go in.”

“Great,” Brynna said morosely. “I can hardly wait to watch Grace cook.”

 

Gram's lasagna filled the kitchen with the aroma of oregano and cheese.

Gram pulled the big casserole dish from the oven,
then slipped a square cake pan inside and adjusted the temperature. Next, Sam noticed Gram asked for Brynna's help tossing a green salad. It was a simple, no-talent job. Sam knew this because it was usually hers.

Brynna did it, but she didn't exactly rejoice at Gram's faith in her culinary skills. As they sat eating, Sam felt tension coursing among the adults. They were all so polite, it was creepy.

Sam tore her slice of garlic bread in half, thinking of how she'd asked for Brynna's help out in the barn. She didn't regret it, but what if Brynna took her on as a project?

Sam tore her bread into quarters. If Brynna decided stepmothering was the one thing she could do right around here, she could become a pest.

Wind whistled around the house and the windows shook a little in their frames. It was the next-to-the-last night of winter vacation and the truth was, she wouldn't mind spending it anywhere but here.

Sam thought it might not be so bad sleeping in the barn with Ace. Curling up in that deep straw would be cozy. She'd read that in the old days, sheiks let their children sleep in their tents with their heads pillowed on the bellies of their Arabian warhorses.

She thought of Ace and smiled. If he wasn't a restless sleeper—

“You want to do what?” Dad asked suddenly.

Sam jumped. She hadn't mumbled something
aloud, had she? Then she realized Dad was talking to Brynna.

Brynna was pretending she'd said something normal, but Sam didn't think so. Not when Gram was giving lots of thought to rearranging her silverware and Dad was holding his pasta-loaded fork in midair.

“I'm good at polishing boots,” Brynna said, taking a sip of her milk. “I offered to polish yours. What's the big deal?”

Brynna's voice held steady, but when she looked up, her blue eyes were bloodshot and confused. Dad noticed as soon as Sam did.

“Why don't you take the night off, instead,” he suggested. “Go upstairs and take a bubble bath or something.”

Sam's spine flattened against the back of her chair. Never had Dad made such a suggestion. As far as she knew, Dad had never even heard of bubble baths.

“I wish you'd tell
me
to—” Sam started and finished in the same breath. Dad's glare said the only bubble bath she was going to get was from the elbows down, when she did the dishes.

It was a great offer, so why was Brynna pushing back from the table, rising slowly, moving in absolute slow motion?

Sam's stomach sucked in. She didn't like the feel of this evening. Not one bit. It was a relief when Dad and Brynna excused themselves to go upstairs.

They didn't make it that far, though.

Even though they were in the other room and Sam and Gram remained at the dinner table, their conversation was loud enough to hear.

“Around here, there's nothing you need me for. I can't do anything useful,” she began.

“Not true, B.,” Dad said gently. “I just don't think you can do
everything
. We stay home, and you go to work at Willow Springs. You're doing your part. A part no one else can do and we don't want you to change.”

As it grew quiet in the living room, a cascade of questions tumbled through Sam's mind. When had Dad started calling Brynna “B.”? Had he ever sounded so gentle and supportive before? Should she tell Brynna that
she
certainly didn't want her to change?

Sam jumped when Gram reached over to touch her arm.

“Something for you to remember, Samantha Anne, when you get married,” Gram said quietly. “Start off in the way you mean to go on.”

Do what? Gram didn't explain, but as she cleared the table, Sam decided she understood. Dad wanted his marriage to be based on what was real. Instead of allowing Brynna to be sad with her wrong assumptions, Dad had just flat-out told her they all liked her the way she was.