Untamed (12 page)

H
ad she really heard him? Or had she wished so hard for the stallion to come that she'd imagined his neigh?

Sam sat up. For hours, she'd been lying on top of her covers, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Now, she closed her eyes, focusing on the silence.

Cougar mewed from outside her closed bedroom door. When she didn't answer his summons, he batted at the door, trying to slip his paw beneath it. Could she have been dozing and heard that?

No. She hadn't been asleep. She noticed the glow from her wristwatch. Twelve twenty-seven. Whenever the Phantom came to the river, it was about this time. And yet no neigh followed the first.

Sam drew a breath. She was going down there.

She glanced around her room for her horsehair bracelet. She'd left it in the bathroom and it would cause too much commotion to go after it.

She was looking at the little tape when she heard Cougar complain again. What if he thought the tape was a toy? She could imagine him batting it across the floor, so she slipped it into her pocket and stepped toward her bedroom door.

A floorboard squeaked. So did her door hinge. She was three steps down the staircase when she heard the rustle of sheets. Then came Dad's voice, not a bit sleepy.

“Let her go. She can sleep tomorrow when we're gone.”

Sam swallowed her sigh. She knew why Dad hadn't stopped her. Last summer, he'd told her that when she was a fussy baby, Mom had taken her to listen to the rush and gurgle of the La Charla River. The river's age-old conversation with the river rocks had always lulled her to sleep.

Since Dad had told her, she'd often gone down to the river and its magic always worked.

She had to believe that was why. Otherwise, it was possible Dad was letting her say good-bye.

With something like permission on her side, Sam didn't worry about the sound of every footfall. Once in the kitchen, she snagged a muffin from Gram's bread box and two packets of string cheese from the
refrigerator. She'd missed dinner, hiding out in her room, and she was starving.

If it turned out that the Phantom really wasn't at the river, she'd sit there and have a lonely picnic just the same.

She started to stuff the food in the pocket of her sheepskin-lined leather coat and realized her sweatpants' pocket held the tape recorder.

Her heart double-thumped at the idea that she might go into the river to touch the Phantom. That would definitely be bad for Mr. Blair's tape recorder, though, so she left it on the kitchen table.

With those moments lost, she crammed the food into her coat pockets, hurried to tug on the barn boots she kept by the door, then slipped into the warm almost-summer night.

Diamond-bright stars and a half-moon mottled pewter and white seemed to dangle from the black sky like ornaments. With quick, quiet steps, she crossed the bridge. Blaze must be sound asleep in the bunkhouse, she thought.

She was almost across when she saw the mustangs. They poured down the mountainside like water. Before reaching the river they stopped, bumping shoulders and making low whinnies as their leader stepped into the clear.

I couldn't have heard him
, Sam thought.
He wasn't here
.

Sam shivered. It wasn't the first time the bond she shared with the stallion had amazed her.

If only she could live with the mustangs, all her problems wouldn't matter.

The Phantom emerged from the herd of darker horses. He stood alone, facing her across the river, but he wasn't watching her. He focused on safety.

Herd stallions tested the water while their band stayed back, ready to run if he encountered trouble. The Phantom was no different.

Standing tall, he stared upstream. His ears were pricked to listen and his nostrils flared. His front hooves danced in place as he looked downstream. Sensing no predators, he lowered his nose to the water, took a sip, then swerved and returned to his band.

With a cranky squeal, he drove them forward, snapping at the tails of stragglers.

Sam smiled. The Phantom was in a hurry tonight, and his band knew it. They drank long and loud, until a big honey-colored mare backed from the water. The others copied her movements, then milled in confusion. For all his haste, the stallion hadn't given the order to depart.

Suddenly, Sam realized what the herd's appearance meant. At least for tonight, they'd left Antelope Crossing and returned to their usual territory. On the lands bordering River Bend Ranch, the horses were safe.

The Phantom shouldered through his herd, heading back to the river. He waded in as deep as his knees, then stopped.

Although he wouldn't be milk white for years, he'd shed his thick winter coat, and his skin looked silken and pearly in the moonlight.

River rocks gleamed black as he picked around each one, making his way into deeper water, where the strong current had pushed the rocks tumbling downstream. Once he reached the smoother footing, he trotted toward Sam. Water droplets flew up around his knees, catching moonlight and sparkling before they fell.

“Zanzibar,” Sam whispered.

Snow-melt cold, the river surrounded her boots, flowing past, rising with each step until her sweatpants were wet and soggy to the knees. Sam didn't care. Each stride she took matched one of the stallion's. They'd meet in the middle.

But then he stopped. His reflection shone on the glossy wavelets and the stallion trembled with wariness. Had he heard something, or was the Phantom reminding himself he was wild? He gathered himself and Sam felt sure he'd flee. Instead, he launched forward, creating a white-capped wave, and then he stood within her reach.

A nicker shook him. His tangled forelock didn't hide the stallion's brown eyes.

He must remember the days she'd spent schooling him in the river.

Here, she'd mounted him for the first time. Though it had been a hot summer day almost three years ago,
tension and excitement still vibrated in this place.

But there was danger in thinking this animal was just an old friend, and Sam knew it.

Powerful muscles showed like the fretting in a thundercloud as the stallion pawed the river, splashing her.

“Careful,” Sam said. Was she talking to the horse or herself? He was a wild stallion. She could never let herself forget that.

But he'd come to her tonight, when she was heartsick, when she wanted more than anything to feel part of the rangeland she might have to leave.

Twice, the great stallion had let her ride him.

Tonight, she'd ask him again.

Sam held her hand palm up. Inches above her hand, Zanzibar breathed in her scent, then snorted and backed away.

His hooves grated on river rocks as he moved off. He was about halfway back to his herd when he stopped and studied her.

He was thinking, making a decision. Sam held her breath. She'd looked into the eyes of almost every horse she'd met. Most horses acted on instinct, but sometimes, she was sure, the Phantom thought.

He moved so quickly, then, muscles bunching and shifting beneath his silver hide, that Sam splashed, getting out of his way.

But the stallion had evaluated her and decided she was no threat. He moved through the water in
front of her and stopped, facing upstream.

Jake had held a black colt in just that position when she'd mounted him for the first time.

“That's an invitation, boy,” she warned him. “Are you sure?”

The stallion looked back over his shoulder, then swished his tail impatiently.

Sam looked back at the ranch. Not a light shone. All lay in sleepy darkness. They had no idea what she was about to do. Even she didn't know where the stallion would take her. But how could she say no?

Sam leaned her weight against him. If he changed his mind, it would happen now. She smoothed her hands over his back and barrel. His skin shivered, but he stood firm.

Sam held her breath. With a hop and a bound, grabbing a handful of mane, she vaulted onto the stallion's back.

He reared.

“Oh no, boy.” Sam shifted her weight forward, burying both hands in his mane, laying her cheek along his neck until he came back down.

His hind legs lashed out. His back rose and he bucked. The sky was a starry blue-black smear. Sam's teeth clacked together.

Was he playing, or fighting her unfamiliar weight?

All at once, the stallion whirled toward shore. The far shore. Legs tight against his body, arms clamped along his neck, Sam stayed astride.

A hoof slipped on river rock, but he didn't fall.

Splashing, crashing through the water, he gained the shore and then they were in the midst of the mares.

Startled snorts greeted them.

Both times Sam had been on his back, they'd been alone, but suddenly she was part of the herd. No more, no less.

Hot hide brushed her legs. Muscles and heat surrounded her as she lay along the stallion's neck, feeling the rough texture of his mane in her hands.

Whatever sign he gave, she missed it. The herd didn't; they settled into a smooth run, flowing around rocks and stunted piñon pines. Sam imagined she was a centaur. Half girl, half merged into this river of horses.

She didn't miss reins or stirrups or even the sight of what was up ahead, beyond the horses.

The star-smeared sky slipped by. Wind-tangled mane lashed around her with the sharp scent of crushed sagebrush. The Phantom knew where to go. Sam never wanted to stop.

She couldn't say how long they galloped, but when the huffing herd slowed, they didn't stop. They trotted steadily uphill.

Only once did her balance falter. Riding by instinct, she hadn't anticipated the narrow ravine. When the stallion jumped, she wasn't ready. She slipped to his right side, about to fall, and the stallion slowed.

With a graceful sidestep, he caught her. Sam smiled as the stallion adjusted his gait and arranged his smooth back beneath her.

Hooves echoed on rock and Sam knew where she was. She hugged closer still to the Phantom's neck. Her cheek felt the sleek new summer coat. The tunnel closed around her.

Ahead, the mares were streaked with moonlight sifting through the fissures in the stone above. Cold rock scuffed her right leg. When she instinctively drew away, her legs tightened against the silver stallion. He bolted against the horses in front of him.

Squeals echoed around her, but she clung to the stallion. If she sat up, her head would strike the hard rock ceiling.

Soon they'd be in the Phantom's secret valley. No one could find her there. She didn't know whether to be frightened or elated.

Hooves thudded and moved away. They were there.

Just as she remembered, rock walls soared up to a dizzying dome of stars. The stallion stopped and started to shake.

Oh no
. Sam slipped from his back and stumbled, catching herself against a boulder, before he sprinted away.

Dark horse shadows moved in a meadow where the grass smelled green and sweet even to her human senses. Without her eyes to call the horses
bay and black, paint and roan, her ears took over.

Every animal had a different sound. A nicker rose high and inquisitive, but most horses talked in low snorts. Hooves shuffled as favorite spots were claimed. She heard a jumble of limbs hitting the soil as a foal settled down to sleep.

This is heaven
, Sam thought.

Just then, two mustangs disagreed. Hooves thudded on hide and teeth snapped. Too close, she thought, crowding back against the valley wall. Then her view was blocked.

Soundless as a cloud, the stallion stood between Sam and the bickering mustangs. Intimidated by his presence, they moved off.

Sam felt along the rocks and found a safe spot. It was not really a cave, but a sort of grotto in the valley wall. She sat, drew her legs up, and curled into it.

She wanted to see the horses. At the first sign of daylight, she'd fill her eyes with this scene most people never witnessed, but she was suddenly exhausted.

It was hard to believe that it had been only this morning that Jen had hugged her and begged her not to be angry. Then there had been Rachel's outburst and Caleb Sawyer, eyes filled with memories of her mother. Brynna looking betrayed. And Dad, sounding so disappointed she'd hidden from him.

If the tape of Caleb Sawyer didn't convince them she'd been smart, not foolhardy, she'd probably be
banished to San Francisco. She was already in bigger trouble than she'd ever been in before and if they found out she'd spent the night with the Phantom's herd, she was dead.

Nearby, a coyote's melancholy wail echoed her feelings.

Sam put her hands palm to palm, making a pillow for herself as she leaned against the sun-warmed rock. She'd work it all out in the morning.

D
aybreak showed Sam a valley full of foals.

“Three, four,” Sam counted aloud. From her niche in the cliff wall, she couldn't see them all, so she stood. She spotted two bays, a sorrel, a leggy seal-brown colt that looked older than the others, and a creamy foal that might darken into buckskin. “Five!”

Unafraid but wary, the horses flowed away from her excited voice and movements.

The Phantom trotted toward her, snorting. This morning, he looked every inch a wild stallion. It was hard to believe she'd ridden him.

“Hey, boy,” she called.

The stallion didn't greet her. In fact, she might have
been a crack in the canyon wall for all the attention she got.

Hands on hips, Sam watched him go.

This was the horse she'd wanted to protect, Sam thought, shaking her head. Once in a while he needed her help, but this time, he'd done just fine without her.

The Phantom's herd had returned to the valley where he was king.

What would happen if
she
stayed? The idea flared in Sam's mind like a Fourth of July sparkler. Last night, she'd been part of the herd. Even now, the mares and foals weren't afraid. Once they got used to her, they might accept her as one of them.

She'd disappointed her other family, but here she could have a fresh start. And Dad and Brynna couldn't send her back to San Francisco if they couldn't find her.

Sam stared after the Phantom. The early morning sun flowed over a coat wet from rolling in the dew. Along his flanks faint dapples shone like silver coins.

Just ahead of him, two yearlings cried out in defiance. One was a sturdy black youngster. The other was Pirate, the colt with the patch of white over one eye. Locked in mock battle, they fenced with their front legs and didn't notice their sire until Pirate backed into him.

The stallion nipped both colts and gave them such a glare, they retreated across the valley. Heads lowered, they sneaked glances at the Phantom, asking
forgiveness, but as long as he stared at them, they stayed away.

If she stayed, would she have to learn mustang rules? Could she?

Sam glanced around this mustang kingdom. She hadn't done so well in her own world, where she knew the language. Even now, she might be in more trouble than she had been when the Phantom had come to meet her at the river.

At home, Dad and the others would have ridden out by now. If they hadn't noticed she was gone, they wouldn't know for hours. She might be able to make it back before they noticed.

How far had the herd galloped last night? Five miles? Ten?

Pirate took a hesitant step toward his father. The Phantom's ears flicked back and his eyes narrowed. Even though he was yards away, Pirate once more lowered his head in disgrace.

Sam drew a breath. No matter how far she'd ridden the Phantom last night, his kingly attitude told her she was returning home afoot. The stallion was in no mood for nonsense.

Sam worked the flattened muffin from her coat pocket. It smelled a little like leather and was vaguely football shaped, but she nibbled as she approached the stream that meandered through the valley.

Cool grass brushed her sweatpants and the sound of horses' teeth ripping and grinding was all around
her. At streamside she knelt, splashed water on her face, then cupped her hands to take a drink.

She was swallowing when she saw the tadpoles. Hundreds of the wiggly black things danced in the shadow of the stream bank. Her throat tightened, thinking what might have happened if she'd swallowed one, but then, as she studied the infant frogs, Sam caught her own image in the water.

The clouds overhead shifted. The stream's surface reflected her face as clearly as a mirror and she gasped in surprise.

Arms braced on the bank, Sam lowered her face until it almost touched the water. Her auburn hair fell over each shoulder, giving the impression of pigtails. If she wove in a few daisies, she'd look just like Mom.

Why did that make her feel so weird?

She wanted to be like Mom, didn't she?

Sam swallowed hard. Because no one could listen to her thoughts, she admitted it: not exactly.

Mom had taught her to draw stars and hearts and write her name. Mom had shown her she was loved, and taught her how to love back.

But Mom should have cared as much for herself as she did for wild animals. She'd followed her heart without listening to her head. She should have done both, balancing between the two.

Sam sighed. She often did the same thing—neglecting that tarp, for instance, because she was obsessed with finding Caleb. Going out to Caleb's
house when it could have been dangerous.

And now, running away. She hadn't meant to do it, but she'd known when she vaulted onto the Phantom's back that he'd take her far from home.

Sam sat back on her heels. At least Mom had had an excuse for her wayward heart. She'd been raised in the city and couldn't get enough of wild Nevada. Too late, she'd learned that the wilderness didn't forgive mistakes.

But she wasn't all Mom.

Sam felt her lips lift in a smile as she imagined her heritage, described in equine terms.
By dependable, common-sense Wyatt, out of wild, softhearted Louise
. She had the bloodlines to be a real cowgirl; she just had to learn how.

She focused on the tadpoles again.

“I'm really glad I didn't slurp up one of you guys,” she said. As she watched their watery, wiggly dance, a shadow fell over her.

Big and silent, the Phantom lowered his head to drink and her reflection wavered, mixing with his silver one.

“Hey, boy.”

The stallion drew his dripping lips from the water. He stamped and fixed her with accusing eyes.

“What?” she asked him. “You brought me here.”

His mane scattered in a hundred directions as he shook his head, then backed away.

Sam chuckled. It was time for her to go home.

 

The Phantom didn't watch her leave, but Sam didn't mind. When you're friends with a mustang, she told herself, you've got to be forgiving and flexible.

It was just as well, really.

She didn't want to go back to San Francisco. Besides missing all the horses and the ranch, there was her reputation at school. Rachel's tantrum had taken the focus off of Sam, but if she was sent away for the summer, people might jump to the wrong conclusion.

A good night's sleep had made her see it was possible that Brynna, Dad, and Gram would see things her way. Almost. She had the tape to prove she hadn't just blundered onto the hermit's property without a plan. And Brynna needed her help with the HARP program.

Besides, maybe no one knew she'd messed up again. She really might slip home before anyone missed her.

If she'd been riding a wild white stallion, that would have been impossible, but the Phantom had forced her to go alone.

An hour later, Sam had made it through the dark, spooky tunnel, over the shale-strewn hillside, and found her way onto a rough path choked with bitterbrush.

It was only May, and judging by the sun on the eastern horizon, only about eight o'clock. How could it be so hot? She shrugged out of her coat and tied it around her waist.

By the time she figured she was halfway home, her feet hurt. She wasn't limping yet, but it wouldn't be long. Barn boots weren't designed for long hikes.

Sam forgot all about her aching feet when she heard the coyotes yipping.

She'd noticed them last night, but these sounds were different. High-pitched and excited, these were the calls of hunters. They were after something.

Sam burst into a jog. A shower of sand shot from under her boots. She slipped and sat down hard on the desert floor.

Think
, she told herself,
then act
.

Coyotes were rarely dangerous to humans, but did she really have any idea what she was running toward? She took a deep breath and held it while she thought.

As a matter of fact, she did know what she was about to run into.

Trouble
.

Fighting her desire to rush, Sam scanned the terrain ahead.

There. A copse of cottonwood trees lay about a quarter mile away. Two coyotes, coats shining in shades of black and tan, bobbed around a boulder. One darted in, then the other. They had something.

“Hey! Get out of there!” Sam shouted.

The coyotes spun to face her. Both tails wagged low as if they were embarrassed. When Sam took one step closer, the coyotes bounded away.

They couldn't have been too hungry, Sam thought.

And then she heard a calf bawl.

As she made her way toward it, Sam wondered what kind of mother cow left her baby alone. And neglected to teach it to be quiet. Coyotes weren't the only predators that relished calves for breakfast, and humans were almost never around as guardians.

For that reason, Sam stayed watchful. If the cow was nearby, she could charge. Pointed hooves backed by a ton of angry mother wasn't a challenge she wanted to face.

Almost there, she still hadn't seen another living thing. In fact, there was no boulder or bush big enough to hide a cow.

The calf was alone, curled beside a rock, under a cottonwood tree.

The calf looked up. Wide trusting eyes stared out of a curly white face. It licked its pink nose as if searching for one last drop of milk. She was the tiniest calf Sam had ever seen: half the size Buddy had been as a baby.

Suddenly Sam noticed the calf's unusual yellow coloring and her heart fell.

This was Buttercup's calf—and Buttercup was dead.

“Poor little thing,” Sam said out loud.

The calf bawled again as if urging her to do something.

Dad had buried Buttercup yesterday. That meant the calf had been without nourishment for a full day, and that was far too long.

Gram kept a powdered formula for infant calves in the pantry. Dad had more of it on a shelf in the tack room. There were simple directions for mixing it with water, but first she had to get Buttercup's baby home.

“Ready for a ride, cutie?” Sam asked the calf.

She decided to take its bleat for “yes.”

Gingerly, Sam worked her arms under the tiny calf. Weak as she was, the calf still struggled. Sam held her firmly, letting her delicate legs dangle free.

“Comfy?” Sam asked, realizing the little calf was much heavier than she looked.

With one last wiggle, she looked into Sam's face, blinked her white eyelashes, and fell asleep.

As she trudged along carrying the calf, Sam realized that all week, she'd been trying to give her mother something for Mother's Day.

Revenge was what she'd been hoping for, but now, she held the perfect gift. This little calf—not vengeance—was exactly what Mom would have wanted.

Sam paused to shift the calf into a more secure position. She let herself take a couple of normal breaths and waited for her pulse to quit pounding in her wrists and neck.

Come to think of it, Gram and Brynna would appreciate a little yellow calf a lot more than perfume or scarves, too.

Sam kept walking.