Run Away Home (7 page)

S
ap sizzled inside a log in the fireplace, then popped. Sam breathed in the smells of gingerbread, wood smoke, and damp flannel shirts.

“I'm proud of you,” Mrs. Ely said simply.

Nate groaned and held his throat as if his mother's sentimentality made him sick. Then Quinn clomped in from the kitchen, hollering to ask where everyone was, and Sam snapped her notebook closed. The interview was over. It was time she let the Elys get back to being a family.

“I've got what I need. Thanks, Kit,” she said. Feeling like a professional journalist, she leaned down to shake his good hand, and told him, “Don't get up.”

Then she glanced at Jake to see if he planned to walk outside with her to get Ace.

From the corner of her eye, Sam had kept track of Jake's reaction to his brother's remarks.

He'd shifted, cleared his throat, and thrown his arm over the back of his chair. Even if he'd been bored, she'd expected to see Jake smiling now.

That wasn't what she saw.

Jake's reaction reminded her of a snowstorm. When you glimpse the first few snowflakes, you're not even sure they're there. You blink, thinking you're seeing things, guessing it's just blowing off trees or rooftops, but then, suddenly, flurries turn into fury.

Jake looked angry. He must feel jealous of Kit's lifestyle, independence, and success. He was probably too embarrassed to admit it, but resentment had been bubbling up in him since Kit arrived home. She didn't want to be nearby when it boiled over.

I'm out of here,
she thought, giving a quick wave, then heading out of the living room. She heard Jake's boots and the chime of his spurs following her through the kitchen.

He's just going to be surly,
Sam warned herself when she was tempted to stop.

So she walked faster. She'd made it outside to the front porch when she noticed the deepening dusk. She had to hurry home.

“I forgot how much I hate it when he plays people.”
Jake's voice made her glance back.

“What?”

“I keep trying to remember the good times, but when he does that thing—”

“What thing?” Sam asked.

“Reeling folks in, like he did just now.” Jake jerked his head toward the house. “Like he did tellin' you about Sitting Bull.”

That wasn't playing people,
Sam thought;
it was weaving words into great stories.
It might even be charm, but she didn't tell him that.

“You can do the same thing,” she said, seeing the skill in a flash of memory. “When you told me about the three Indian ponies your ranch is named for and the star shower—”

“I don't use that sad smile to make people go gooey-eyed.”

Just leave,
Sam told herself, and she stepped off the porch.

“You guys will work it out,” she said airily, but Kit's wistful expression as he recalled boosting little Jake up to reach things crowded out her good intentions. “Jake, that's a real smile.”

Just as he'd welcomed Witch's misbehavior, he welcomed Sam's.

“And you'd know that, better 'n me,” Jake scoffed, “after spendin'
how
much time with him?”

Jake was rarely sarcastic, so she tried to stay calm. But when he leaned against the house with his
arms crossed and gave a scornful sniff, that did it.

“I
know
,” Sam snapped as she marched closer to Jake, “because I was paying attention when he was talking about
you
before you and Nate came into the room—”

“Don't point your finger at me, Samantha.”

“Okay,” she said, then poked her index finger against his chest.

Jake sidestepped and left her hand hanging there until she dropped it to her side.

Then she tried being sympathetic. “Jake, I know it must make you crazy when Kit calls you Baby Bear—”

“Hold your voice down.”

Sam took a deep breath. His request made her even madder. Did he think she wanted his family as an audience to this ridiculous discussion?

“What,” she whispered, “did he have to gain by saying nice things about you when you weren't there to hear? Huh?”

“This,” Jake said, and now he was the one pointing. “You standing up for him.”

“I am so sure—” Sam broke off and stared into the lavender sky. Spotting the evening star, she made a hurried wish that she could smooth things over. “Jake, a twentysomething-year-old man doesn't care if a high school sophomore takes his side against his brother!”

Jake was in over his head. He didn't like to
talk
,
let alone dissect relationships.

So Sam gave him a minute. She heard Ace nicker. She made out the garbled noise of the television inside the Elys' house. She saw Jake scuff his boot toe in the dirt as he muttered, “I don't know.”

Sam looked down to snap her coat closed just as the front porch light suddenly glared down on them.

The kitchen door swung open, nearly striking Jake.

“Sam, don't go,” Mrs. Ely said. “I'm not a gossip. Well, not usually,” she corrected with a sheepish grin, “but honey, believe me, you've got to see this! You, too, Jake. I wish Luke were home,” she fretted, glancing toward the ranch gates.

Then she turned to go back into the house.

Sam only stared at Jake for a second. Was he going to say something to erase his hostility?

“What?” she encouraged him, and then Sam waited.

She didn't want to be impatient, but her curiosity was stronger than her desire to continue their stupid conversation. So, when Jake mumbled “Nothin'” and stepped aside to let her squeeze past him, Sam slipped back into the house.

 

“That son of a gun had it coming!”

Sam followed Nate's crowing voice back into the living room.

Everyone was staring at the TV, but it took Sam
a few seconds to make sense of what the reporter's voice was saying. She recognized Lynn Cooper's throaty tone at the same time that she recognized two of the three men on the TV screen.

Linc Slocum, dressed in a brick-colored Western suit with embroidery on the lapels, stood outside the sheriff's office in Darton. He stood next to a businesslike man she didn't recognize, but nearby she was pretty sure, yeah, that was Sheriff Ballard.

Linc's slicked-back hair glinted and he flashed his toothpaste commercial smile at the camera before taking a dramatic drag on a cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke into the air.

“He is so—” Quinn began.

“Quiet! Listen!” Nate shouted.

“…moments later, Lincoln Slocum was arrested for income tax evasion by federal agents of the Internal Revenue—”

“That's Linc!” Sam gasped.

“Good, Samantha.” Quinn chuckled, patting her arm.

“Getting arrested!” Sam said, and then her jaw dropped as two other men in suits ignored the camera to briskly handcuff Linc. “Oh my gosh!”

She felt hot and cold at the same time. She couldn't believe her eyes. She should call Jen! She should call home!

“Take a deep breath, Samantha,” Mrs. Ely said.

She did, then let it out with such a rush that even
Jake smiled a little.

Sam was still staring at the TV screen when a different face filled it. This reporter was interviewing a mechanic who was giving cold-weather tips for starting your car's engine in the morning. Why was she looking at this?

“So, why did they arrest him?” Sam sputtered, turning to face Mrs. Ely. “I heard it, but nothing sank in”—she swallowed, then continued in a wondering tone—“except Linc Slocum is going to jail.”

“Income tax evasion,” Mrs. Ely said. “That means he didn't pay taxes on some money he earned. He cheated the government and they came after him.”

Sam's eyes wandered back to the TV screen, but she didn't see the dancing toilet brush in the commercial. As if she were watching a movie, she saw the scar on the Phantom's neck—inflicted by Linc. She saw the black eye of a rifle barrel, aimed at her by Flick—the criminal hired by Linc. She saw buffalo bulls charging through the Superbowl of Horsemanship, endangering Jen, because of Linc. She saw a dead cougar sagging in Linc's arms, and a dead mother coyote staring with sightless eyes.

She remembered standing right here in the Elys' living room watching coverage of Karla Starr's rodeo. She'd thought her heart had broken as she'd watched her beautiful Phantom in a wild horse race, bucking off a rider, only to have the stupid boy—Ben Miller, she even remembered his name!—grab the stallion's
tail and hang on. Who could blame the Phantom for biting the boy's shoulder and shaking him like he was a rude colt?

But they'd called the silver stallion a man-eater.

He'd been muzzled in metal by the time Sam found him and she'd discovered her heart really hadn't broken before, because when the drugged stallion had staggered and fallen to his knees in front of her,
then
her heart had broken. All because Karla Starr had help catching the Phantom—help from Linc Slocum.

“After everything he's done,” Sam heard her own high-pitched voice rising in disbelief, “they arrested him for not paying his taxes?”

“I swear, girl, you'd complain if they hung you with a new rope,” Kit joked.

Sam sighed. Kit had been gone. He couldn't know all the awful things Linc had done.

“I guess you're right,” Sam said. “It doesn't matter why, as long as they lock him up.”

“Havin' a taste for vengeance is a nice quality in a girl, don't ya think?” Quinn asked, looking from Sam to Nate.

Mrs. Ely ignored her sons. “Actually, Sam, this might be better. When it comes to missing money, the feds make their charges stick.”

“‘The feds.'” Nate chuckled. “No more TV for Mom.”

All at once, Sam wanted to dance in celebration.
Linc Slocum would get what was coming to him. But she didn't dance. She watched Bryan mime Slocum's arrest, then ducked the couch pillow Adam threw at him.

Before she could get caught in a family free-for-all, Sam headed for the door.

“N
ow I know I don't need to tell you this, but I'd be a bad grandmother if I didn't,” Gram began the next morning as she drove Sam to the bus stop.

“Is this going to be a warning not to act happy because Linc Slocum's going to jail?” Sam asked.

“No gloating, is all,” Gram said. “And bear in mind he's only been arrested—”

“And charged,” Sam sang. After watching two newscasts last night, she knew what she was talking about.

Gram shook her head, laughing quietly. “You look very nice, by the way.”

Sam considered her powder-blue sweater, best jeans, and brushed suede boots. The tip of her tongue
licked out to taste her vanilla-flavored lip gloss and she shook the hair she'd conditioned and curled because she'd woken so early.

She wasn't gloating, but she might be celebrating just a teeny bit, Sam thought. And wasn't she entitled to do that? After two years of watching Linc Slocum get away with all kinds of what Gram herself had called “wickedness” last night, it was exciting to see justice come crashing down on him.

“I didn't mean to dress up for the occasion,” Sam told Gram. “It just happened.”

“Um-hmm,” Gram said as she pulled up to the bus stop. “My goodness, I wonder what—” Gram stopped the Buick and rolled down its window. “Lila,” she called out, “whatever are you doing here?”

Sam was surprised to see Jen's mother at the bus stop, too. She didn't remember ever seeing her here before. A glance back at Gram made Sam downright suspicious. Gram's openmouthed expression was half startled, half delighted, as if she thought something wonderful was about to happen.

And for the first time that she could remember, when Sam looked at Jen's mother, Lila's short blond hair looked springy, her face glowed, and Sam could absolutely see the cowgirl who'd won the Best in the West rodeo queen title.

What was going on? Last night she'd called Jen's house over and over again and no one had picked up the phone. Sam had decided, between calls, that
Mrs. Coley must have known about Linc's arrest yesterday, and that was why Rachel had ducked down in the backseat.

The Kenworthys had no answering machine, and Dad had made Sam quit dialing at nine o'clock. He didn't seem to care how eager she was to talk to Jen. When Sam had given in and gone to bed, she'd been too excited to even read.

She'd been wide awake when she heard Dad and Brynna climb the stairs, then come down the hall, talking quietly as they passed her open bedroom door.

“I'm sure they have a lot going on over there,” Brynna had said.

“Worst-case scenario, Slocum sells the ranch to pay his back taxes,” Dad had replied gloomily. “Then what do they do?”

Sam had fallen asleep worrying, imagining the Kenworthys moving into the ranch house at River Bend and Jen sharing her room, but now, she knew nothing bad had befallen the family.

Not when she saw how Jen was dressed.

Sam jammed the car door open and jumped out before Jen's mom even had a chance to answer Gram.

“You are too much!” Sam giggled as she took in Jen's green stretch pants, red sweater, and elf hat with a bell on its tasseled end.

“Like it?” Jen asked, her voice muffled behind
the hands she had pressed over her lips.

“Yeah.”

Then Jen actually started bouncing up and down on her toes. The bell lashed around, tinkling, while Jen rolled pleading eyes toward her mother.

“Endorphins,” Jen explained. “They're a chemical reaction to elation, euphoria, and exultation.”

Lila ignored her daughter to talk to Gram.

“Hi, Grace,” Lila greeted Gram. “I'm just here to make sure Jen gets on the bus all right.”

“Mom, please don't fib,” Jen begged, then whispered to Sam, “She's actually here to keep me quiet.”

“Nothing's final yet, Jennifer. I'm sorry.” Lila's faint Texas accent sweetened her words. “You'll have to wait with the rest of us until it is.”

“But just Sam,” Jen begged.

“You can tell Sam first, but that won't be until after school today. And only if it's smooth sailing. Get ready for it to be tomorrow or the next day if there are complications. And you
will
wait, young lady,” Lila ordered.

Jen moaned. “If that happens, you'll be picking up shreds of your daughter spread all over the place, because I will have exploded from waiting!”

“That's disgusting, but I believe I can live with the possibility,” Lila drawled, then returned to her conversation with Gram.

“Something good?” Sam whispered, shooting a watchful look after Lila.

“You don't even
know
!” Jen said, hugging herself.

Just then, gravel crunched on the road from Gold Dust Ranch and the Slocums' blue Mercedes rolled toward them. Mrs. Coley gave a quick wave to them all, but Rachel turned so that only the sleek curve of her coffee-colored hair showed.

“Mom,” Jen said as the Mercedes turned right on the highway. “If Sam and I held hands and swung around in a circle, would it seem”—Jen stared sky-ward while thrumming her fingers against her chest—“I don't know…
insensitive
?”

Lila's jaw dropped, but Sam answered.

“That would be
gloating
,” Sam scolded with mock seriousness. She barely got the words out before Lila and Gram reprimanded them.

“Jennifer!”

“Samantha Anne Forster!”

“Here comes the bus!” Jen shouted.

“You remember what I said,” Lila called after Jen as the girls climbed onto the school bus.

“Yes, Mother,” Jen agreed, mimicking her mother's drawl.

After that, Sam thought for sure Jen would confide the big secret as soon as she got on the bus. But she didn't.

 

Darton High School buzzed with rumors.

Linc Slocum, father of a Darton High student body officer and the most popular girl on campus,
had been arrested. No one knew more than that, but the gossip kept flowing anyway.

To her surprise, Sam wasn't tempted to join in. She'd glimpsed Rachel between classes and almost felt sorry for her. The first thought that popped into Sam's mind was:
feeding frenzy.

Crowds of students standing in front of their lockers shrunk out of Rachel's way. Then, as soon as she passed, the groups fused back together to chatter, point, and roll their eyes.

At lunch, Sam was standing with Jen when Rachel walked out of the main office carrying a sheaf of papers. Chin high, Rachel clicked past wearing a slim-fitting black dress, stiletto heels, and dark glasses.

“Even though this must be the worst day of her life, she manages to look great,” Jen said, “like a totally fashionable widow.”

Sam and Jen turned to stare at a group of letter-jacketed jocks guffawing loudly. They were just asking for people to notice them as they leered after Rachel.

“Those guys,” Sam said, “would have kissed her shoes if she'd just smiled at them yesterday.”

“And check this out,” Jen said. She nodded toward a blond girl waving her hands to accompany her prattle as she stood surrounded by girls in Darton High spirit uniforms. “Daisy's totally deserted her.”

“I don't exactly pity Rachel,” Sam said slowly.
“But it's kind of unfair that she's getting treated this way because of something her dad did.”

Jen nodded sympathetically, but the smile that hadn't left her face all day was still there.

 

Sam had walked into Journalism class and plopped her completed interview with Kit Ely into the hand-in basket in the back of the room before she spotted Rachel standing next to Mr. Blair. The rich girl—or maybe not, Sam thought abruptly—leaned one palm on his desk. Her manicured fingernails glittered as she talked to him and the angle of her head seemed to include Rjay, the newspaper editor who stood nearby, in the conversation, too.

“It's not a story for us,” Mr. Blair's voice boomed.

He scrawled his signature on two sheets, then returned them to Rachel and for a second, Sam thought he was about to tell her to take off her dark glasses inside, but Mr. Blair ignored them. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle as he said, “Rachel, we're handing out December's issue tomorrow. Then there's the two-week winter break. You might want to think this through a little longer. This trouble could all blow over by January.”

Sam couldn't hear Rachel's response as she took the papers, creased them in half, and slid them into her purse.

The bell rang, and for the first time all year, no one was tardy. By the way they all stared at Rachel,
Sam knew why.

Every student settled into a desk. Everyone, even crazy Zeke, watched silently as Mr. Blair made a be-my-guest gesture to Rachel. She wasted no time taking command of the classroom.

“Not that I owe any one of you an explanation—I'm doing this for myself,” Rachel began. She started to cross her arms, then left them loosely at her sides. “I'm sure you're all aware that my father has encountered some legal trouble. Though Mr. Blair assures me this isn't a story for the
Dialogue
, I have a few things to say, just in case it becomes one and I'm not here to set things straight.” Rachel started to put her hands on her hips, then once more forced her hands to stay palm in, at her sides.

She stared over everyone's heads at the center of the bulletin board on the back wall, even though Daisy seemed to be craning her neck to catch Rachel's glance.

“I'm returning to school in England. Tonight. My brother Ryan, for reasons that are completely beyond me, wants to take over the ranch, so he will. My father has very complicated financial affairs and has had for years. This is just a misunderstanding. He has the best tax attorney money can buy—”

Sam blinked in surprise as Rachel's lips lifted at one corner. Was that a smirk? Was she mocking her father? Herself? Her whole life based on money?

“—and we shall hope that is enough.”

Rachel's head dipped in a little bow, like it had when she'd sung at the talent show at the beginning of the school year. Then, holding her black clutch purse in one fist, she stalked out of the room.

They listened as Rachel's high heels echoed down the corridor. They heard the door at the end of the hall open, then sigh closed.

Rjay scratched his head as he looked at his spellbound staff. “Anyone—”

And then the high heels were clicking back, coming closer.

Was she the only one holding her breath, Sam wondered, as the clicking stopped at the classroom door?

Even Mr. Blair looked astonished when Rachel held on to the door frame and leaned inside.

“There's only one of you I want to wish good-bye and good luck,” Rachel said.

Daisy half rose from her seat, holding her hand against her chest, pretending to blink back tears.

Rachel jerked off her dark glasses and used them to point at Sam.

“You, cowgirl,” she said in a mocking tone. “Of all the people at this school, you were the only one who was never a phony. You were never cool, and heaven knows you have the fashion sense of a—
Nevadan
—but there's not a fake bone in your body, either. Maybe, somewhere, that counts for something.” Rachel slid her dark glasses back on without disturb
ing her glossy hair, then tilted her head to one side. “Help my brother with that stinking ranch, if you can, hmm?”

And then she was gone, and this time, when the door at the end of the corridor closed, it stayed that way.

“Does anyone else feel like they should applaud?” Rjay asked.

Amid a rustle of questions and voices, Zeke insisted on giving Sam a high five.

“Stop it,” she said, face blazing with embarrassment.

“Fine, then. That's over. Everyone in this room owes me story ideas for the first issue after vacation,” Rjay shouted. “And hey, you, ‘Cowgirl'…” Rjay definitely
was
smirking, but with the good humor Sam expected from him. “How about you wipe the manure off your boots, grab your camera, and get on out to the quad?

“Next issue's our winter formal edition, and I can see through the window that it just started snowing. Get me a hazy, romantic shot for the front page—a couple who've sneaked away from their teachers to smooch would be nice—and I'll see that you pass this class.”

Sam grabbed her camera, stuck out her tongue at her editor—a gesture Mr. Blair turned his head to miss—then went outside.

Soft snowflakes melted as they touched Sam's
cheeks. She was alone and she hoped the storm was just blowing through. She'd promised to ride with Jen this afternoon so that her friend could reveal what was going on.

It might only be the news Rachel had announced, that Ryan was taking over the Gold Dust Ranch, but maybe there was more. The way this day was shaping up, Jen's secret could be almost anything.

 

The weak storm had passed by the time Sam met Jen after school. As they walked toward the school bus, tromping footprints in the snow, Sam saw Jake striding toward his truck. After mulling over Jake's outburst, she'd decided to go with her first thought—Jake was just jealous of Kit. It would blow over.

So she decided to be the bigger person and take action to erase yesterday's squabble.

“What are you doing?” Jen asked as Sam dug her bare hands into the snow and yelped at the cold. “Tell me you're not going to put it down my neck.” Jen pulled up the collar of her red sweater until it almost reached her ears.

“No, I'm”—Sam broke off, shaking the fingers of one hand to get feeling into them—“trying to make a snowball, but this snow is too soft.”

Jen followed Sam's gaze across the student-packed parking lot, then glanced at the bus.

“Well you better just whitewash his face and hurry back. Mr. Pinkerton's been cranky lately.” Jen
nodded toward their bus driver, pacing next to their bus. “He won't wait for you.”