Mustang Moon (3 page)

L
INC
S
LOCUM MADE
sure Gram stopped. He stepped into the street and waved his arms frantically.

By the time Gram pulled back onto the shoulder and halted directly across the street from him, she and Sam could see his emergency was minor. Slocum was squatted next to his Cadillac's rear tire and it wasn't even flat.

Sam shook her head in disgust. In San Francisco, the crime rate was high. People were suspicious. They'd see this for what it was: a setup.

In rural Nevada, folks lived by the code of the West, which said you
had
to be neighborly to everyone. That included a villain like Linc Slocum.

Even the U.S. government agreed Slocum was bad news. The BLM had denied Slocum the right to adopt a mustang. Slocum had admitted he hadn't reported the harassment of a wild horse. That was grounds for denial.

What Slocum had really done was worse. With a truck, he'd chased the Phantom for miles. As the stallion began to tire, Slocum roped him. The stallion might have won the tug-of-war, except that the end of the rope was tied to a barrel full of concrete. Only luck kept the Phantom's neck from snapping when he hit the end of the rope. The stallion fought and bucked and lunged until, at last, the rope broke.

Though local ranchers scorned Slocum, no one could confirm what had happened. They
believed
it happened, but no one had seen it with his own eyes.

Now, Slocum looked at Sam and Gram and waved.

Slocum was a big man, at least six feet tall and egg shaped. His hair was slicked back, flat and shiny. His jeans and plaid shirt pulled tight as he squatted. He probably hoped the position made him look like a cowboy ready to brand a calf. But it didn't.

Slocum flashed his toothpaste-commercial grin as he called across the road.

“If it ain't my two favorite ladies come to rescue me.” He gestured with a little metal tool. “This tire keeps on going flat, so I'm checking how much air I've got.”

Slocum stood, wedged the tool into his pocket, and walked across the road. He jingled as he walked and Sam wondered why he wore spurs to drive a car.

Slocum put both hands on the Buick's driver-side window frame. Gram drew back a little.

“Hi there,” Slocum said. His fake smile flashed
across to Sam, but it showed a little confusion. “Haven't seen you for a month of Sundays, little lady. How long's it been?”

Slocum's outdated Western expressions made even his own cowboys laugh, but he didn't care.

Sam shrugged as if she couldn't remember either.

Slocum kept a hand on Gram's window frame as he glanced back toward his polished Cadillac. “It's time to replace that car. I don't like wondering if I can make it all the way home.”

Sam pictured Slocum trying to walk the ten miles from here to Gold Dust Ranch in his high-heeled boots. Then she imagined him squeezing into Gram's car.

Oh no. No way. Sam wished Gram could read her brain waves as well as horses could. Gram glanced in the backseat at the bags of new clothes. Sam was afraid Gram was about to ask her to move them into the trunk.

“That tire does look low,” Gram sounded as if, for the first time in her life, neighborliness would be a chore.

“If you could follow me back to the ranch just to make sure I get there,” Slocum said, “I'd be awful grateful.”

Did Linc Slocum hear Gram sigh in relief? Compared to being his chauffeur, it seemed like a fine idea.

“I'd be glad to do that, Linc,” Gram said, “just so long as I get home in time to start dinner.”

Uncertainty about his car didn't slow Slocum
down. At first, Gram tried to keep up, then she let him pull away.

“Imagine replacing a car because its tires are old.” Gram chuckled, but she didn't sound amused.

Since Sam had returned home, Dad and Gram had made her sit through discussions of ranch finances. Sam found the talks boring, but she understood why Linc's remark made Gram envious.

They drove another couple miles.

“We wanted to spend more,” Gram said suddenly.

“What?”

“On your school clothes.”

“Don't worry about it, Gram. Really.” Sam patted Gram's arm, hoping her frown would disappear. “I haven't even unpacked the box of stuff Aunt Sue mailed me.”

Sam had left most of her school clothes in her room in San Francisco. Since the box had arrived, the weather had been stifling hot. The idea of trying on wool slacks and pullover sweaters was repulsive. “Besides,” Sam said, just in case Gram was thinking that would be a good way to end the day, “clothes aren't a big deal to me.”

Gram looked skeptical. “When you're starting your first year of high school, clothes are important.”

Was Gram trying to make her feel worse? Sam didn't have time to worry about clothes or money, when the blue roan and the Phantom might harm each other. But Gram wouldn't stop.

“There's a darn good reason we're careful with our money.” Gram made a hushing movement when Sam tried to interrupt. “We won't make much from fall cattle sales. Drought means sparse grass and that translates into thinner cattle. And, of course, we get paid by the pound.”

Sam cringed inside, but she didn't say a word.

If her orphan calf, Buddy, hadn't stepped into a pool of quicksand and had to be rescued, she'd be out on River Bend lands right now, fattening for market.

Sam's stomach twisted with nausea.

It could still happen. Sam couldn't make herself ask Dad if she could keep Buddy as a pet.

“And of course there's the BLM,” Gram went on. “It takes twenty acres to support a cow and her calf, so we have to use federal land to graze our stock. When they raise grazing fees for every cow who roams on land that's not strictly River Bend—” Gram stopped talking. “I'm sorry, honey. It's useless to complain and worse to be angry at Linc Slocum for having money.”

Linc turned the Cadillac toward huge ornate iron gates. Beyond, Sam saw acres of pastures that looked almost neon green compared to the endless expanses of gray-green. In a desert state, water to keep things green didn't come cheap.

“I wonder how he made so much money,” Sam mused.

“Honey, it wouldn't be polite to ask.”

Sam had hoped they'd see Slocum to his gate and leave, but as the big iron gates swung wide via remote control, Slocum beckoned them to follow. Gram did.

The last time Sam had been on this property, the ranch had belonged to the Kenworthys. Lila and Jed Kenworthy were nice people with a daughter Jennifer, who was about her age. Sam hadn't gone to school with her, though, because Jennifer's mother had taught her at home.

Gram's Buick rolled through the soaring iron gates and into a Western wonderland. Flowers flanked the freshly paved road. White wooden fences marked off velvety pastures full of Black Angus and Dutch belted cattle, animals that were black in front and back, with a wide band of white fur around their middles.

Gram nodded at the Dutch belted cattle.

“Linc told your dad he bought a hundred head of them, because they reminded Rachel of Oreo cookies,” Gram said.

Rachel, Sam remembered, was Slocum's daughter. He'd mentioned buying her a dressage horse, though Jake had told Sam that Rachel was more interested in MTV and the latest color of nail polish than she was horses.

There were plenty of horses on Slocum's ranch. A herd of Shetland ponies scampered along the fence on the left. On the right, Sam saw a dozen lean-limbed horses that had to be racing Appaloosas.

In the last pasture, a dozen assorted horses left off
grazing. Tails swishing, grass dripping from their muzzles, they watched the car drive by. Sam would bet they were off-duty cow horses.

A line of redwood hitching posts, polished and fitted with brass tie rings, led them further up the driveway.

Sam finally recognized a round pen similar to the one at home. An animal moved inside, but she couldn't see through the closely placed rails.

What Sam did not recognize was the structure up ahead. It was something she couldn't possibly have forgotten.

The road arrowed into a half circle marked off for parking. The ranch house Sam remembered had vanished, and a hill rose abruptly out of level ground. Atop the hill stood a mansion that looked like it belonged on a Southern plantation, not a ranch.

Before Sam had a chance to comprehend the sight, Slocum appeared at Gram's window once more.

“You're a horsewoman, Grace,” he said. “Would you mind looking at something and telling me what you think?”

Neither Gram nor Sam could resist such an invitation.

Slocum led the way to the round corral, opened the gate, and nodded them in before closing it.

The mare was the red of a summer sunset. No more than fourteen hands high, she moved with deerlike quickness, trotting away. Her hooves floated
in a haze of dust. With her shoulder pressed to the fence at the far side of the pen, the mare curved her neck and studied the unfamiliar humans.

Slocum strolled toward the horse. Her sorrel skin shivered as if shaking off flies. When Slocum reached for her halter, the mare moved off. That's when Sam noticed her flank was stamped with the River Bend brand.

“Is she ours?” Sam whispered.

Gram shook her head. “She was, but Wyatt sold Kitty to Jed Kenworthy right after”—Gram drew a breath—“your accident.”

Sam's hands covered her stomach as if she'd been socked.
Princess Kitty
. No wonder the mare looked familiar. She was Blackie's mother.

Why had Dad sold Kitty? Why would he sell a Quarter horse mare with super cow sense, who produced beautiful foals?

Right after your accident
, Gram had said. She couldn't mean Dad had sold Kitty because she was Blackie's dam, could she?

Slocum quickened his steps, then he jogged, but the sorrel stayed a few steps ahead.

“The marks on her haunches, Linc?” Gram called to Slocum. “Is that what you wanted me to see?”

Puffing and out of breath, Slocum returned to stand beside them. “Yeah,” he said. “What do you think?”

Sam recognized the marks at once. They were the
same nips and teeth rakings she saw on Ace.

“Do you think they're claw scratches from a cougar?” Slocum asked.

“Oh no,” Gram said. “They're bites from another horse.”

“That's what Kenworthy said, too, but it's strange. The mare was gone from the saddle horse pasture yesterday morning, then we heard her neighing from outside the front gate.” Slocum pointed toward the fancy iron entrance.

Sam knew it was rare for a captive horse to leave guaranteed food and water, but it wasn't unheard of.

“We did turn out range horses for a few years, and I've no doubt they ran with the mustangs,” Gram said. “Maybe Kitty just took it into her head to try it again.”

“That doesn't explain the bites, now, does it?” Slocum's tone turned mocking and his eyebrows arched.

He clearly had an explanation in mind, but Gram refused to play along.

“I guess you'll never know,” Gram said.

“But I do know. Kenworthy found strange hoofprints,
unshod
hoofprints, in the flower beds along the road.” With a triumphant laugh, Slocum turned toward Sam. “The Phantom came in here and tried to steal her.”

“No, he didn't,” Sam snapped. At Gram's sharp intake of breath, Sam made a polite addition. “I'm
sure you must be mistaken, Mr. Slocum.”

“I tend to agree, Linc.” Gram shook her head. “I've lived here all my life. In sixty-five years, we've never had a wild stallion up near the house, unless we roped him and brought him in.”

Oh yes, we have
. Sam thought of the blue roan. He'd been after the Phantom's mares today. And she'd seen him right outside the kitchen door, but if she said that, she'd be grounded.

“I hate to contradict a lady,” Slocum said. “But I know for a fact that white stud's been on River Bend property.”

Sam suspected Slocum of lurking on the ridge above the River Bend at night, spying with binoculars. But Sam kept her lips pressed together hard, and lagged behind Gram and Slocum as they left the round pen.

Gram was quiet, until they reached the Buick.

“If you're talking about the gray mustang,” Gram said, once more refusing to call him the Phantom, “I don't think he's been any closer than the river. Am I right, Samantha?”

“Absolutely.” Sam tightened her hands into fists.

“Well, we'll see. We'll certainly see.” Slocum nodded four times. “I've got expensive bloodstock on this ranch. My herd of Shetlands, Quarter horses, a couple Thoroughbreds, a Saddlebred, and a dressage horse, just to name a few.” Slocum let out a breath as if listing his possessions wearied him.

“Kitty's a good cow horse. You're lucky she found her way back,” Gram said, sympathizing. “I know she was one of Wyatt's favorites.”

Slocum dismissed the mare with a wave of his hand. “I've got a blue-blooded Appaloosa filly on her way here from Florida, so I need to be extra watchful.”

Sam had started opening the car door when she realized Slocum was watching her. It made her cold, as if she were being watched by a snake.

“If a wild horse trespasses on my property, especially if he's trying to steal my mares, I'll get him declared a nuisance. You're a smart girl, Samantha. You know what that is. A troublemaker.” He watched Sam, but she stayed frozen. “Once that's done, BLM has to catch him.”

Sam's mouth was so dry she could barely pronounce the words. “And relocate him.”

Slocum chuckled.

“You might want to check your facts, little lady. BLM's short of funds just now. They can't be relocating nuisance animals or keeping them locked up and eating at government expense.

“BLM
can
send that horse out of state for adoption, but that's pretty pricey, too. No, when an animal's already proven unmanageable, there's only one financially sound solution. BLM can spend a nickel on a bullet and put that stallion down.”