The Wildest Heart (4 page)

“Well, I'm really calling for Queen,” Sam joked, “but since you answered the phone, you can ask her.”

“Stop teasing,” Callie ordered. “It's the middle of summer and I haven't done anything but work. I've been saving up my days off and covering for everyone at the beauty college because I've had nothing fun to do. At this rate, I'll be able to take a month off to go snowboarding!”

“Great!” Sam cheered. “How would Queen like to visit some of her long-lost cousins?”

A
t seven o'clock the next morning, Sam slung her duffel bag into the pickup truck between herself and Dallas. The bag held everything from summer clothes and wet weather boots to books and her camera.

The truck splashed through a few puddles, but the morning was already hot. Fog simmered up from the wet asphalt as Dallas drove down the highway, toward Deerpath Ranch and Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary.

“Thought you and that filly'd never stop sayin' good-bye,” Dallas teased.

The gray-haired ranch foreman smiled, but kept his eyes on the road.

Sam and Tempest had enjoyed a long nuzzle before parting, but Sam couldn't help it. Since she'd been training Tempest to lead, the rowdy foal had acted like a pet. Sam could hug Tempest's black satin neck and kiss her velvety nose now.

“I haven't been away from her much since she was born,” Sam added, “and she's just so sweet.”

At a loud thump, Sam glanced back at the horse trailer hooked on behind.

“I hope Ace wasn't jealous,” Sam said. Ace didn't act envious of Tempest, but sometimes he surprised her.

“Havin' her mama settle down has helped,” Dallas admitted.

Dark Sunshine hadn't acted up since the day at the riverside when she'd chosen Tempest over the Phantom.

“Brynna said that might happen,” Sam said. “She said lots of adopted mustangs develop a sense of home wherever they foal.”

Dallas gave a skeptical grunt. “We'll see if that young one's sweetness lasts after she's weaned.”

Sam didn't ask the foreman why he was always so negative, but when she crossed her arms, he must have guessed what she was thinking.

“I don't want you disappointed, is all,” he said. “That filly has the bloodlines to be kinda unruly.”

Sam had to agree. With mustang parents like the Phantom and Dark Sunshine, Tempest's sweetness could be temporary.

 

Sam twisted in her seat, peering back at Ace in the trailer.

“Almost there,” she called to him as they pulled into Deerpath Ranch.

Dallas shook his head, smiling, but Sam wondered if the ranch felt as deserted to him as it did to her.

Sam climbed out of the truck and scanned the ranch for another vehicle. Callie had planned to drive over early in her Jeep, hook up Mrs. Allen's horse trailer, and go back for Queen. But she hadn't arrived yet.

Calico, Ginger, and Judge neighed greetings to Ace as he stamped inside the trailer, but the captive mustangs, roaming far out in their pasture, remained silent.

Dallas eased out of the truck and slammed the door. He stood listening, too.

“I hear them little dogs,” he said.

Sam nodded.

Mrs. Allen had said Angel and Imp were used to being inside the house, and well-behaved, so she'd leave them there when she left for the airport.

“I guess I should go tell them ‘hi,'” Sam said.

The iron gate barring the path through the garden to the house still had spear-shaped uprights. Pointed and sharp, they looked as dangerous to Sam now as they had when she was a little kid and believed Mrs. Allen was a witch.

The gate opened with a clang. After last night's brief rain, the garden smelled more fragrant than usual. Raindrops trembled on crimson roses growing on one side of the path. On the other side, orange tiger lilies had begun to open and bees flew over them, scouting for pollen.

Even the damp dirt smelled good, Sam noted as she approached the porch steps.

Dallas's boots shuffled behind her and, just before Sam started up the steps, she noticed a rosy-petaled plant Mrs. Allen called mock peach. Hanging amid its branches, a tiny spider's web looked like it had been touched with diamonds. A plain brown spider sat at one edge.

“You see those short little threads she's spun?” Dallas asked, pointing at the web. “That's because it's gonna rain some more. Short threads don't get all weighted down and break like the long ones.”

“How did she get so smart?” Sam asked, but Dallas just shook his head. “Or is that just superstition?”

Dallas looked up at a cloud-streaked blue sky. “Guess we'll find out.”

Imp and Angel yapped from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

“I got no desire to follow you in, 'less you want me to,” Dallas said.

“I'll just check on them and come back.” Sam slowly opened the unlocked door.

“Take your time,” Dallas said as she slipped inside.

The house was dim, its heavy drapes pulled against the July sunlight. It smelled like coffee and flowers. Sam's gaze fell on a green pottery bowl of roses. It sat on a round table draped with a shawl near the brass phone.

Then she didn't notice anything more, because Imp and Angel took turns springing off the floor, tapping her jeans with their claws.

Their yapping sounded gruff. Had they always sounded like that, or had they barked themselves hoarse since Mrs. Allen left?

“Hush, you two. You're better than a burglar alarm, that's for sure.”

Sam spotted a yellow box of dog cookies on the counter next to Mrs. Allen's microwave oven.

She scooped out a handful of the tiny cookies and sprinkled them on the floor, to keep the dogs busy.

“I'll be back,” she told them, but they probably couldn't hear her over their crunching.

As Sam came blinking back into daylight, she noticed three things.

First, she saw a cloud had drifted over the sun. Though it was still hot, the bees in the garden had vanished. And Callie had arrived bearing grocery sacks and a canvas suitcase covered with concert stickers. A silver flute was tucked under her arm.

Dallas hadn't offered to take anything from her,
yet. He must have been dazzled by her fuchsia hair.

Staring with cowboy openness, Dallas shook Callie's hand and said, “It was yellow last time, if I'm not mistaken.”

“And lime green in between,” Callie said.

Her gray eyes sparkled behind wire-framed glasses and a gold stud glittered in her nose.

Joining Dallas's scrutiny, she shifted her armload of stuff and reached up to separate a lock of her own hair from the rest. She held it out in front of one eye. “This started out to be red, white, and blue, for the Fourth of July, but it looked too crazy, even for me.”

“I can see how that might be so,” Dallas said. “Here, let me tote some of that for you,” he added, finally noticing her full arms.

As Callie put everything down, she spotted Sam.

“Sam!” Callie's arms reached wide for a hug, and Sam was enfolded by silky sleeves and musky perfume. “I thought I'd beat you here. I just wanted to drop off my stuff, hook up the trailer, then hurry back for Queen. I know you're eager to see her.”

“I really am,” Sam said. “It's been since Christmas. I bet she's changed.”

“When I look at pictures from that first week, I can really tell a difference,” Callie agreed. “She's softer around the eyes and mouth, probably because she's not in pain from that cracked hoof anymore. And I think she's more at peace.”

At that, Dallas snorted in disbelief, but instead of arguing, Callie smiled. “Dallas agreed to help me hook up the trailer,” she said.

“Not because she offered t'cut my hair,” he said, tugging his hat lower on his brow. “Though it was a kind offer.”

“Let me take this,” Sam said, reaching for Callie's suitcase and a brown paper bag. “And this—oof! What have you got in here?”

The bag was really heavy.

Callie's eyes looked dreamy behind her glasses. “Cantaloupe,” she said, “and a big tub of vanilla yogurt. My favorite breakfast.”

Dallas recoiled. Sam was pretty sure the most exotic things he'd ever had for breakfast were the fried apple rings Gram had served one Sunday near Thanksgiving, and he'd sniffed suspiciously at those.

“Are you sure you can get it?” Callie said as she fished her Jeep keys from a pocket.

“Yeah, the weight just surprised me. I'll put the bag in the kitchen and your suitcase in the downstairs guest room. It has twin beds.”

“Cool,” Callie said. “The flute can go on my bed, too, if you don't mind.” Then she fidgeted with her keys. “I hate to leave you already.”

“Wait, do you think I invited
you
over here? I just wanted to see Queen. Go get her.” Sam used her head to gesture toward the Jeep as Callie laughed. “If you
don't see me when you get back, I'll be out painting the fence.”

 

It only took Sam a few minutes to arrange Callie's stuff in the room they'd share. Next, she hurried out to check the mangers for Ginger, Judge, and Calico. She found Dallas had not only been there ahead of her, he'd already backed Ace out of the trailer.

Sam imagined new responsibilities settling on her shoulders as she waved good-bye to Dallas and watched him drive away.

“We can do this,” she told Ace, then swung into the saddle and rode out to the spot she'd left off painting yesterday.

She finished off one can of paint and was ready to move onto the next can, but it wasn't easy.

She tried to use the stir stick Mrs. Allen had given her to pop the top off the next can, but it didn't work. Even when she tried to lever it off with the blade of the pocket knife she carried in her saddlebag, the lid stayed stuck.

“Saving money doesn't always save time,” Sam told Ace where he grazed, ground-tied. His ears flicked in her direction, but he didn't seem to have an opinion.

According to Mrs. Allen, the redwood-colored paint had been in her storage shed for at least ten years, probably longer. When Sam had noticed it was
lead-based paint and asked if it was dangerous, Mrs. Allen had made a go-on gesture.

“Sure, it's illegal now, but we're not painting a baby's cradle, Samantha.”

“But what if one of the horses cribs?” Sam asked.

“Mustangs don't do that,” Mrs. Allen insisted.

Right after Tempest had been born, the vet had noticed bare spots of wood in Dark Sunshine's stall and pointed out that she had been cribbing, due to stress.

“At any rate, people used lead-based paint for a hundred years and you didn't see horses and cows droppin' down dead.” Mrs. Allen had stood with her hands perched on the hips of her black skirt, staring at Sam, until she'd given up the argument and started painting.

But now, Sam couldn't get the old lids off.

Because her fingertips felt flat from working to loosen the lids, Sam stood shaking them and staring off toward the Calico Mountains. She didn't see the Phantom or any member of his herd, but she was pretty sure she saw the old burn Dad had mentioned.

While much of the nearby terrain was covered with sagebrush, a swathe of land with a single pine tree in its center looked smooth and green. It was carpeted with cheatgrass and Ace was making a meal of it.

“These cans are like, fossilized,” Sam told Ace. This time he just swished his tail and kept grazing.

Frustrated because her day had just begun and
she was already thwarted, Sam set her jaw, jammed her pocket knife blade under another lid, and leaned down with all her weight. She knew she could break her pocket knife, but she was sure the lid would budge first.

“I…will…”

Had it moved?

“…get…”

Was it coming loose?

“…this stupid thing…”

With a pop and a creak, the lid flipped off, just missing Sam's nose.

“Ha!” she celebrated. “I got it.”

Sam painted, trying to finish three sections of the fence before she took a water break. She glanced up when thunder grumbled in some far-off part of the sky, and the hair on her arms stood up with static. She kept painting as the temperature climbed.

She'd forgotten her watch at River Bend Ranch, but Sam figured she'd been working for at least two hours when the crunch of tires turning onto gravel made her look up to see Callie driving slowly into sight with the trailer and Queen.

It must be nearly lunchtime. She deserved a break. Besides, she couldn't wait to see the mare.

Sam tapped the lid back on the paint can, caught Ace's reins, and swung into the saddle. He groaned, unwilling to jog with a full belly, but his long-reaching walk got them to the ranch just as Callie
was backing her horse from the trailer.

Slim as a Thoroughbred, with barred legs, a stripe on her spine, and a coat the color of cinnamon, the mare tilted her black-edged ears toward Sam and Ace.

“She's sizing you up,” Callie said.

Sam agreed. The red dun mare looked every inch a mustang queen. She'd been a worthy partner for the Phantom.

“She hasn't forgotten she was the lead mare,” Sam said.

“It'll be interesting to see how she does out there,” Callie said, nodding toward the huge pasture where the adopted mustangs roamed.

“Are you sure you want to turn her out? I thought she'd probably stay in the saddle horse pen. That's where I'm putting Ace.”

“That's what I'd do if I could ride her, but I can't,” Callie said. “So I might as well let her have some fun.”

Sam drew a breath. She admired Callie's faith in her relationship with Queen, but could Callie catch the mare after freedom's energy had surged through her legs once more? Would the other mustangs welcome her? Or would they shun her as an intruder?

Sam smoothed her hand over Ace's shoulder as her eyes strayed to the bite scars on his hindquarters. For a long time, Ace had been the lowest member of the saddle horse herd and he'd paid with strips of hide and hungry nights.

“I don't know anything about the herd hierarchy, except that Roman thinks he's the boss,” Sam hinted.

“She'll hold her own.” Callie rubbed her cheek against Queen's neck and the haughty mare leaned closer.

Since last winter, Callie and Queen had definitely formed a bond, Sam thought. The mare was an adult—probably a four-year-old, at least—and had never known human companionship, so their friendship was amazing. It just showed what could be created out of patience, love, and curiosity.