Golden Ghost (8 page)

“People haven't really seen ghosts, though, right?” she asked.

“They claim to,” Gram said, shrugging. “But what they saw could've been vapor over the hot springs or
gas from the mines. You want to be careful of that, in fact,” Gram warned. “Poisonous gas is real. When Wyatt was a child, five little boys—his classmates—were playing hide-and-seek there, and died from mine gas poisoning.”

Sam thought a minute. She and Jen had been so interested in the lost palomino, they hadn't investigated the gold mines that had given birth to Nugget. She guessed it was a good thing.

“Probably that's as much to blame for why folks around here don't poke around Nugget as often as outsiders do. Vacationers and such seem fascinated by it. But you're a sensible Nevada girl, Samantha. So keep your wits about you while you're exploring.”

Sam went back to her work. It wasn't so bad when she could look forward to oatmeal and fried potatoes for breakfast and a ride with Jen. Every school day should be like this.

“Since you're working so hard, I'll bring in the eggs this morning,” Gram said. She let the curtain drop from looking out the window.

Sam liked that idea a lot. She didn't want to leave the warm kitchen, but fair was fair. “Wait, Gram. Dad said I still had to do my usual chores.”

“I know that,” she said. “But from the looks of it, he's already fed the stock. That's one of your chores. Besides, he means for you to clean Ace and Sweetheart's stalls and throw in some fresh straw. And do the same for the run-in shed down at the
other end of the ten-acre pasture. With this cold weather, they're spending more time under cover.”

“Okay,” Sam said. It wasn't the most fun part of being a horse owner, but it wasn't very hard.

“He wants you to scrub a couple of buckets, too, but that's work that would be better done once it warms up a little,” Gram said, grabbing the egg basket from its place on top of the refrigerator. “No sense washing them to have them ice up on you.”

Gram closed the door behind her and Sam had just turned back to her work when Brynna came into the kitchen.

It was going to take a while to get used to seeing Brynna, BLM executive, wearing a black-and-green plaid bathrobe with her hair streaming loose down her back.

But she wasn't Brynna
Olson
anymore. She was Brynna Forster now, and she had every right to be in the kitchen of River Bend Ranch.

“Coffee,” Brynna muttered. She took a blue pottery mug down from the cupboard. She poured, sipped, and sighed, then her eyes popped open. “How are you?” she asked Sam.

“As good as anyone doing algebra can be,” Sam replied.

“I know it was my—I mean our—idea, but isn't it a little early for homework?”

“I woke up when it was still dark,” Sam said. She considered telling Brynna about her disturbing
dreams, but she didn't want to go off on a tangent. “And I decided to get this out of the way so I can go meet Jen at Nugget.”

“Okay,” Brynna said, but clearly she wasn't paying attention. She lifted the lid on the oatmeal, gave it a stir, then grabbed a carton from the refrigerator and added a stream of milk.

Sam's lips opened to tell her to stop, but she closed them. Gram was awfully fussy about cooking, but maybe Brynna knew what she was doing.

“I wanted to ask you about the horsemeat dealers,” Sam said, and Brynna turned so quickly, a lock of red hair spun out and over her shoulder.

“What about them?”

“Are there any?”

Brynna put the lid back on the oatmeal and lifted the one on the frying potatoes before she answered. “We keep getting reports there are, that they're stalking mustangs. I know that with mad cow disease in Europe, consumption of beef is down, but if they're coming here to buy, they're not getting wild horses. The brand inspector keeps close watch for mustangs at the auctions.”

Sam realized she'd been chewing the eraser on her pencil while Brynna talked. She put it down on the table, still not satisfied the Phantom was safe.

“If you need something to worry about, make it that mare,” Brynna said, and then gasped at her own insensitivity. “That was the wrong thing to say.”
Brynna put down her coffee cup and covered one of Sam's hands with one of her own. “I didn't mean you should be worrying. I'm sorry. I know you're concerned for the Phantom and his band.”

“I know that for a few days, she ran with his band,” Sam said.

Brynna recoiled a little. “For
how
long?”

“Just a few days, that I saw.”

“She may have come from another herd,” Brynna mused.

“From a band that was sick and, like, maybe she brought the disease with her?”

Brynna was shaking her head. “You never know. She could have been feral.”

Brynna's eyes took on a faraway look and her fingers began braiding her hair, almost as if they had minds of their own. She rocked a little in her chair and Sam could tell she was thinking.

Sam's heart didn't want to know what Brynna was mulling over. Her head did. Brynna was a biologist. She'd studied all kinds of things that could go wrong with wildlife.

Sam leaned forward with her arms folded across her book and papers. Algebra forgotten, she watched her stepmother. At last, Brynna's eyes refocused. Head tilted to one side, she said, “There is something I'd forgotten all about. I'd have to do more, study…”

Sam swallowed hard, then asked, “What is it?”

“The fatal white factor,” Brynna said. “It's a
genetic condition. I'm sure you've heard of it.”

Sam's chest tightened. She pictured the Phantom as a long-legged black foal learning to stand in River Bend's warm barn. Her imagination showed him turning into a young gray. Now, he was silver and soon, very soon, he'd be completely white.

“I
've heard of the fatal white factor,” Sam said. She tried to push back a wave of dizziness. “But what is it, exactly?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Brynna said. She took a deep breath. “I just keep saying the wrong thing, don't I?”

“But I want to know,” Sam insisted.

Brynna nodded as if she understood.

“As I remember, it only occurs in all-white foals of pinto parents.”

The Phantom's father was a gray and his mother was sorrel, but Sam kept listening.

“
Foals
,” Brynna said with emphasis, “with this condition, are born with an intestinal problem. I am sorry, Sam. It just popped into my mind when I was thinking about that pinto mare. I didn't mean to give you something else to worry about.”

For a minute it was quiet. There was one last,
ugly thing Sam had to ask about the dead mare. When she finally did, Sam found she couldn't ask it above a whisper.

“Did they just leave her out there?”

Right away, Brynna knew what Sam meant.

“Jake's dad and brothers picked her up. She's being examined by state vets to see what happened.”

“Okay,” Sam said. She didn't want to know any more, and felt a moment of worry when Brynna tossed her loosely braided hair back over her shoulder and went on.

“Look, if there were any defects in the Phantom's herd, they would have shown up long before now. As far as I can see, the only things your horse is transmitting to his herd are speed, beauty, and—since they've managed to outwit mustangers for so long—intelligence.”

Sam couldn't help smiling. It felt like Brynna had given her a personal compliment. How weird, Sam thought, that Brynna was giving her more support than her best friend.

Brynna pushed away from the table just as Gram came back into the kitchen carrying a big box.

“I got a present for Sweetheart in New Mexico,” Gram said. “It was too big to carry home on the plane, so I mailed it home.” Gram gestured toward the sound of a retreating vehicle. “They just dropped it off.”

Gram used a paring knife to slit open the box. She
folded back the flaps and lifted out a purple and turquoise horse blanket decorated with angular white hearts.

“Handwoven,” Gram said. “I am such a fool over that old horse, but I figured if I liked to keep my old bones cozy in the wintertime, so would she.”

Both Sam and Brynna admired the blanket, until Gram folded it back into its box, set it aside, and turned to the stove.

“I'd better get dressed for work,” Brynna said, but she turned back.

“It's Saturday,” Sam said. “Do you have to go in?”

“I have some catching up to do,” Brynna said. “Besides, they might have some results on that mare. They were supposed to fax them over immediately. You know Sam, we could have missed something very simple.”

While Brynna was upstairs, Sam worked to finish her math. She was almost done when Gram clanged a pot lid back on.

“Samantha, what have I told you about patience?” Gram demanded. “A good cook doesn't rush food.”

Sam had no idea why Gram was yelling at her. Her bewilderment must have shown on her face.

“These potatoes,” Gram said, pointing, “are pale as fish bellies. They needed to fry another five minutes, at least, before you turned them. Now they're crunchy on one side and limp on the other.”

Sam felt a surge of anger at Gram's injustice, but she took the blame. Brynna was having a tough enough time fitting in without Sam tattling that she'd been the one who'd meddled with breakfast.

Boots stamped on the porch, then Dad came in. By the alert way he surveyed the two of them, Sam could tell he'd heard Gram's voice. He didn't say anything, though, just brushed some straw from his shirt-sleeve.

The movement startled Sam and she wondered if it was Brynna's influence. Dad rarely thought about looking tidy.

Gram picked up another pot lid, then slammed it back down.

“And heavens, girl, it's not that I don't appreciate the help, but what did you do to this oatmeal?”

Gram scooped up a wooden spoonful of the cereal. A gluey glop dripped off the spoon and back into the saucepan. “It's not fit to eat.”

“It was me, Grace,” Brynna confessed, as she strode back into the kitchen.

She looked efficient and professional in her khaki uniform, but each word in the sentence dwindled.

As if she felt her confidence fading, Brynna took one long step to the sink and rinsed her coffee cup. Without putting it down, she dried it and returned it to the cupboard.

“I have to go in early,” Brynna said. “I'll call if I learn anything about that mare. Sam, some of those
old mining areas are really dangerous. Mine shafts, contaminated groundwater…” Brynna made a wide gesture. “Nugget's been the scene of some nasty accidents.”

“I'm always careful,” Sam promised.

One corner of Brynna's mouth rose in a skeptical smile and Sam wished Dad or Gram would rush in and convince Brynna everything was fine. Instead, Gram made herself super busy at the stove and Dad just let Brynna keep going.

“I've read real documentation—not gossip—on a man who broke both legs when the ground beneath him gave way, up there.”

“I wouldn't walk anyplace that looked unsafe,” Sam began.

“On the surface,” Brynna warned as she smoothed one hand through the air, “it looks completely normal. Underneath, it's honeycombed with tunnels.”

Brynna watched Dad as she added, “And if Ace hesitates to drink, trust his instincts.”

Dad nodded in agreement, but apparently that wasn't enough for Brynna. She strode across the kitchen and had her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when she turned back. “I don't think it's a safe place for you to be.”

Sam took a deep breath. Everyone knew she was going up there for school, not for fun, so what was the problem?

“Are you saying I can't go?” Sam asked.

Brynna's eyes flew to Dad's.

“You'd know if we were saying that,” Dad told her. “Just stay sensible.”

“I will,” Sam said. “And Gram told me the chores you want me to do. I'll get started as soon as I change.”

Then, before Dad added more chores to the list or launched into another lecture, she hurried upstairs.

Sam rushed through her chores and called Jen to ask her to ride out as far as the bus stop to meet her. They agreed to bring their lunches, so they could spend plenty of time in Nugget without getting hungry.

But Sam had one more detail to take care of before she left the house. She called Jake.

Sam didn't really expect Jake to answer. It was ten-thirty, and by this time, she was pretty sure he'd be out working on the irrigation system. But there were seven Ely brothers and two parents, so Sam figured someone should be around to answer the phone. She just hoped it wouldn't be Jake's mom. Although she was really nice, and had known her since she was born, their conversations often felt a little awkward, because Jake's mom was also Mrs. Ely, Sam's history teacher.

“Hi Samantha,” Mrs. Ely greeted her. “Jake tells me you're working on your history project.”

“Yes, ma'am, we are,” Sam said. “I'm just about to
go meet Jennifer Kenworthy. She's my partner.”

“I remember,” Mrs. Ely said. “Are things going all right?”

“Well…”

“Your Dad's not giving you a hard time about going up there, is he? I went myself just a few weeks ago to check it out. There's no way I'd send any of my students somewhere dangerous.”

“I think Brynna's more worried than Dad,” Sam said. She felt a little disloyal, but it wouldn't hurt to let Mrs. Ely know she was determined to get the project finished with or without parental support. Maybe she'd think Sam deserved extra high marks for extra hard effort.

“I'll have a talk with her,” Mrs. Ely suggested.

For a minute, Sam thought that might work. Then she reconsidered. Dad liked Mrs. Ely a lot, but he thought she was a little bossy.

“You know, I think we're working it out,” Sam said.

“That's probably for the best,” Mrs. Ely said simply. “So, I bet you didn't call about the project. Although I can't help but remind you the artifact and accompanying notes are due Monday. And when you do that map, make sure you mark the spot where the artifact was gathered. I want it returned. Nugget isn't recognized by the state as an historic site yet, but when it is, I don't want my students to be responsible for removing significant relics. Then the mapping and
field notes are turned in on Friday.”

Sam's head was spinning. Even though she knew all of this, it was different hearing it directly from the teacher. She took a deep breath to respond. Before she could, Mrs. Ely's voice turned unteacherly.

“But I bet you called to talk with Jake.”

“I did, actually,” Sam said. “Could you have him call me later?”

“Sure,” Mrs. Ely said. “But he already said he wanted to borrow his dad's truck and drive over to River Bend tonight. Something about math homework? Hard to believe on a Saturday night, and you can imagine how his brothers were harassing him about it.”

She could imagine it, and she was surprised Jake had already planned this. He couldn't possibly know what she wanted to talk about.

After Sam had said good-bye and hung up the phone, she wondered, not for the first time, whether Jake Ely was psychic, or just knew her way too well.

 

Every minute of the ride toward Nugget, Sam breathed in the cold winter air and watched for the Phantom. The thin layer of snow had vanished from the flats, but it still clung to the shady side of the foothills and she was glad she'd worn thermal underwear beneath her shirt and jeans.

Sam's eyes skimmed the pine-studded ridge tops, the deer paths, and wind-scrubbed sky. As she searched for the wild mustang, she tried to absorb the
sights and store them up. In a few days, she'd ache to be back out here instead of back at school, confined by classroom walls.

As she and Jen rode past the trail to Lost Canyon, she looked carefully. Arroyo Azul lay in the bottom of the canyon, and several times she'd seen the Phantom headed that way. But not today.

Jen, wearing a bulky pink ski jacket decorated with snowflakes, didn't seem to mind Sam's preoccupation. In fact, they were nearly to Nugget by the time Jen blurted a question she'd probably been mulling over all day.

“Why is she there?”

Sam knew Jen had to mean Golden Rose, but she didn't get a chance to answer.

“I mean, I'm glad she's in Nugget, because she might be there again today, but horses are social animals. Why wouldn't she be with a herd?”

Jen's head was tilted to one side as she waited for Sam to answer.

“I've sort of been wondering, too. And she looked clean. You said she's been missing for more than two years, right?” Sam paused as Jen nodded. “But Jen, her mane wasn't even tangled.”

“It doesn't make sense. I didn't notice her feet, did you?” Jen asked, clearly thinking that if the mare's hooves had been trimmed, she hadn't been running wild all this time. “She was prancing, but I think that's her natural gait.”

All at once, Sam slowed Ace to a gentle jog. “Here's where we saw the mirage yesterday. I wonder if we'll see it again.”

As Jen looked skyward, the lenses of her glasses reflected the gray bellies of the clouds. “The weather's not nearly so bright.”

“You did see the horse in the mirage, didn't you?” Sam asked.

“What?” Jen's mouth quirked up at one corner. “This is why you're good at creative stuff at school. I only saw upside-down buildings. Weren't they enough for you?”

“Well, I thought I saw a horse.” Sam said it hesitantly, though she was positive of what she'd seen.

“You just wanted to see a horse,” Jen assured her. “You're always looking for the Phantom. Come on, let's gallop a little. I want to have plenty of time to find Rose and do our project.” Jen caught Sam's concerned touch on Ace's neck. “They'll have time to cool out once we start up the grade into Nugget.”

 

“I know I was just going off about your imagination,” Jen said as they reached the main street of Nugget. “But doesn't it feel different than before? Like someone's here?”

It did. Sam felt Ace quiver beneath her, and then he neighed.

“Another horse,” Sam said as she recognized Ace's greeting. “Gotta be.”

“Let's try that garden,” Jen whispered.

A feeling like electricity, almost of being watched, streaked down the nape of Sam's neck and she nodded at Jen.

As if they understood, Ace and Silly took quiet steps to the right side of the street, passed the abandoned schoolhouse with its silent bell, then stopped as they reached the stark garden.

It was empty, but both horses' heads lifted. Their ears pricked and their nostrils worked. Sam glanced toward the ravine. Nothing, but—

“Listen,” Jen mouthed the word and held a mittened hand beside her ear.

Creaking. The sound of unoiled hinges came faintly to them. They wouldn't have heard a thing if the horses had been moving. And it could just be the wind, but then, suddenly, there was the tick of something hard hitting wood and then muffled thuds.

The image took only seconds to fill Sam's mind. It sounded like a horse going over a jump.

“Go!” she hissed at Jen, but she'd already sent Silly after the sound.

They swung the horses around the edge of the schoolhouse, back onto the main street.

“This is ridiculous!” Sam snapped when there was no horse on the street, no horse lunging up any of the hillsides. In fact, she saw no movement at all until she looked toward the cemetery. There, a black raven, big as a beagle, stood cawing next to a
sagging wooden headstone.