Untamed (13 page)

S
am's feet in their sloppy-fitting barn boots told her she'd walked about a hundred miles, but her brain said it was probably only five or six.

Just as bad was the fact that the no-see-'ems were back. She didn't know the scientific name for the little biting insects, but Gram fussed at them all through the spring and summer, saying they pestered her when she was gardening.

Once, when they were very young, Jake had told Sam that the itchy little bugs drank sweat. Yuck. She could almost believe it.

Now she felt them crawling through the roots of her hair. They must be working up an appetite playing safari, Sam thought, because they stopped every
couple of minutes to take a bite of her scalp.

Why hadn't she worn her Stetson?

Oh yeah, because she'd only been walking down to the river….

Sam sighed. That wild ride on the Phantom was worth any price, but she still wished she'd see a driver or rider, someone to help her carry this orphan calf back to the ranch.

She couldn't even hear La Charla yet. She was hot, cranky, and ready to be home. So was Daisy.

She wasn't sure when she'd started calling the yellow calf Daisy, but she knew why. It was partly because she came from a long line of flower-named cows, starting with Petunia; partly for the daisies mom had worn in her braids; and partly because cows with names were less likely to become hamburgers.

Not that Daisy appreciated the favor.

A couple of miles back, Sam had stopped to catch her breath and the little calf had drawn back a dangling hind hoof and kicked her in the stomach. Since then, every time Sam stopped, Daisy kicked her again.

Hoping to soothe Daisy into napping again, Sam began singing. She sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

Daisy seemed to like it, so Sam kept adding verses.

Sam sang it again, this time like opera. Daisy didn't care if she listened to it as a tango or country-western, as long as she didn't hear silence.

Daisy's ears fluttered and Sam decided the calf was partial to the verse with a forced rhyme between
Rachel
and
space shuttle
. She was concocting a story about the rich girl orbiting an undiscovered planet, when a different verse popped into her head.

Really, where
was
Jake when you needed him? He didn't even have to be driving. She'd seen him carry a foal across his saddle. He could carry a calf. And she'd ridden double with him two weeks ago when he was tracking Star, so why couldn't he return the favor?

Sam looked left and right. Nothing. Jake had five brothers, for crying out loud! Didn't they ever go anywhere?

Or Ryan. Ryan was a good sport. Even if he was driving Linc's Cadillac, he'd let her and Daisy ride in air-conditioned comfort all the way home.

At this point she'd even settle for Mrs. Allen's tangerine-colored truck, though Mrs. Allen was the worst driver in northern Nevada, maybe in the whole state, and possibly in the entire country.

I'll take my chances
, Sam thought, but just then she saw the highway and heard the La Charla River.

She stopped, took a deep breath, and then—oof!

“I'm walking, Daisy,” she told the calf, once she could talk again. “And I've come up with a plan to make a bad guy just as uncomfortable as I am.

“Ow, okay,” she groaned as the calf struck again. “We're almost home, baby, almost home.”

 

Buddy stood at the fence of the ten-acre pasture, sniffing. Her nostrils flared and her eyes rolled as if Daisy's scent was the most wonderful smell in the world.

Maybe Buddy really did miss living with cows.

Quietly, Sam clucked her tongue at Buddy and she gave a lonely moo.

“Shh,” Sam told Buddy. “You can play with her later. Just don't wake her up, now.”

Buddy ran along the fence, bucking in delight.

Sam felt a little guilty. If only the range didn't have predators and mean old cows to kick a newcomer just to teach her who was boss.

As Sam turned toward the house, Buddy bawled pitifully.

Daisy's eyes opened wide. She began kicking, twisting, and struggling to put her feet on the ground.

Sam shouldered open the screen door. It almost slammed closed, striking her elbow. Using her fingers from beneath Daisy's body, she got the front door open, though, and kicked it closed behind her.

She was barely inside the cool, welcoming kitchen when she noticed the tape of her talk with Caleb Sawyer had been taken out of the tape player. A note sat beside it.

Sam shifted Daisy to one side and peered past her head, to read.

“Sam—Monday
A.M.
I'll get a copy of this to Sheriff Ballard. Just in case. B.”

They must have listened to it and thought it really was worth something. She didn't dare dance while holding Daisy, but she wanted to.

But what if the sheriff just held onto the tape? Caleb knew she had it, so he probably wouldn't do anything stupid. But Linc Slocum didn't know. What if he did something else to endanger the horses?

“Ow, Daisy!” Sam yelped, then lowered her to the kitchen rug.

She'd have to think about Slocum later.

She darted into the living room, grabbed the afghan off the couch, and slipped back into the kitchen before Daisy had a chance to follow.

Some people, Sam thought as she spread the knit blanket on the kitchen floor, would get mad if their granddaughter brought a calf into the kitchen. But not Gram.

There'd been orphan animals in the house before. As long as she kept things neat, her family would welcome the rescued calf. For a little while.

Daisy dozed while Sam found the bottle, nipple, and calf formula in the pantry, but she woke the yellow calf to feed her. Daisy needed nourishment. After ten minutes of slobbering and splattering them both with formula, she realized it was food and settled down to suckle, then nap some more.

Even though it wasn't close to dinnertime, Sam set out the ingredients for lasagna. Better to start early, she thought. It might take her a while.

Actually, it wasn't that hard to make, she discovered as she chopped and minced and mixed. Maybe she'd inherited Mom's knack for lasagna.

As she cooked, Sam figured out how she'd scare Linc Slocum into behaving. Then, while the meat, garlic, onions, and spices cooked, she put her plan into motion.

“I'm feeling just cranky enough to make this work,” Sam whispered to Daisy.

Sam flipped the tape and slipped it back into the tape recorder. She needed an attachment to do this right, but if she held the receiver a little away from her ear, she might be able to catch Linc Slocum's guilty voice.

She opened the phone book and dialed his number.

Don't let Rachel answer
, she thought.

“Slocum,” snapped Linc as he picked up the telephone.

Relieved, Sam moved closer to the tape recorder.

“Hi, Mr. Slocum,” she began. “This is Samantha Forster.”

“Well, Samantha, I ain't heard your voice in a month of Mondays.”

Linc Slocum loved silly Western sayings. He thought it made him sound like a cowboy.

It didn't, and Sam was pretty sure the saying was “a month of Sundays.” Still, she didn't correct him.

“Mr. Slocum, I'm going to say something I'm afraid you won't like.”

“Oh now, what could a sweet little…”

As Linc's voice trailed off, Sam guessed he was remembering how she'd sabotaged his attempt to adopt the Phantom the previous summer. Maybe he was thinking of the reward money he'd had to pay her for catching the stallion who'd stolen Hotspot. And, though she'd never proven he'd helped Karla Starr capture the Phantom for a rodeo bucking horse, she'd come close. He might be recalling that.

Or maybe Linc Slocum had learned thirteen-year-old girls weren't as helpless as they looked.

“Here's the thing, Mr. Slocum,” she said quietly, watching Daisy to be sure she didn't waken.

“Speak up, girl.”

“I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Slocum. There's someone
here who'll be really upset if I do.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Sam realized Slocum thought he was being threatened.

“Who is it you're talking about?” he asked. “Your dad? That Jake Ely?”

Sam didn't tell. She just smiled at the harmless yellow calf.

“It doesn't matter, Mr. Slocum,” she told him. “The thing is, I was talking with the man who taught you about mustanging. A lot of people suspect you're the one who scarred the Phantom, but he knows it. He taught you how.”

For some reason, she thought it would be smarter not to mention Caleb Sawyer's name.

“Hmph,” Slocum grumped. “That's one man's word against another's.”

“Except I have it on tape,” Sam pointed out.

He was quiet again.

“Still,” Slocum said at last, less vehemently, “you've got no witnesses.”

“Okay. You're right,” Sam agreed. “I just thought I'd let you know before I turn this tape over to Sheriff Ballard.”

“What?” Slocum's voice was so loud, Sam was afraid he'd wake up Daisy. “What do you think the sheriff'd want with it?”

“I'm not sure,” Sam said, trying to sound puzzled. “But I think it's called ‘building a body of evidence.' You know, so that if anything happens to the Phantom…”

“That's blackmail! And, and,” Slocum grasped for words. “Maybe I'm not the one you should be worrying about, little lady!”

“He knew he was speaking on tape,” Sam said, still not mentioning Caleb Sawyer by name.

“And he said—” Slocum broke off.

Sam was pretty sure Slocum was weighing his words, now, wondering what Caleb had said about the past and predicted for the future.

That satisfied Sam. She might not have dragged a confession out of Linc Slocum, but self-preservation was supposed to be a deterrent to crime. Now that he knew she had incriminating information about him, he might leave the horses alone.

Her spirits rose. Even though this wasn't a triumph she'd share with her family, the small victory was worth winning.

“Samantha Forster,” Linc shouted, “I'll tell you what, if you were a well-behaved young lady like my Rachel, your life would run a lot smoother!”

Sam didn't let herself laugh. She couldn't think of anything she wanted to say on tape, either.

“Good-bye, Mr. Slocum,” she said. “It was sure nice talking to you.”

 

It was nearly seven o'clock when Gram, Brynna, and Dad rode into the River Bend Ranch yard.

The lasagna had been done for an hour and it was a little crunchy around the edges.

As Sam opened the door and stood waiting on the
porch, Gram dismounted. Still holding Sweetheart's reins, Gram inhaled deeply.

“Something smells good.” She took off her hat and the bandanna she'd worn underneath to protect her gray hair from dust.

Sam's eyes did a quick assessment of her family.

Brynna was loosening Penny's cinch, and running her hands over the mare. Her front legs looked fine.

Dad stood in his stirrups, eyes scanning the rest of the ranch, to see that nothing had gone wrong in his absence.

If they knew she'd been gone all night, they were too tired to say much about it. Yet.

“It does smell good,” Brynna agreed, giving Penny a final pat. “You go on in, Grace,” she told Gram, “and I'll take care of your horse.”

“Before you do,” Sam said, standing in the doorway, “you should know we, uh, have a little visitor.”

S
am's family stood statue still.

Then Gram's head tilted to one side as if she hadn't heard right. Brynna glanced over her shoulder for strange vehicles before she looked at Dad. He dismounted and ground-tied Strawberry.

“Well, shoot,” he said, wearily. “I know
I
can't resist goin' in to see.”

Quickly, Brynna tied the other horses. As all three of them stepped inside, the calf awoke and blinked her long-lashed eyes.

At the sight of strangers, Daisy bolted to her feet and pressed against Sam's knees. She made a sound that sounded like
maw
.

“This is Daisy,” Sam said.

“Buttercup's calf,” Dad realized, nodding.

After a quick glance, Brynna wasn't looking at the calf. She was looking at Sam's hair. “Did you spend the night outside?”

Sam touched her hair. It could be full of stickers and burrs for all she knew.

She nodded. Asked a direct question, she just couldn't lie.

“We heard you go out,” Dad said. “I woulda been worried if you hadn't been here when we rode in.”

“Instead, she's brought us a surprise,” Gram said.

Was that all?
Sam tried to stay calm, despite her amazement. When all three of them looked happy, she felt guilty instead of relieved.

“I'm really sorry I let you down,” she began.

“Honey, you never did,” Dad said. “We were only scared for you.”

Gram wrapped her in a tight hug. When she finally let go, Sam knew what had to be done next.

“I know how you feel,” Sam admitted. “Before I sit down for dinner, I have to take Buddy back out to the herd.”

She sighed so loudly, she almost expected them to laugh, but they didn't.

“I'm afraid for her safety,” Sam added, “but I know it's what she really wants.”

“I think that's a good decision, dear,” Gram said.

When Brynna nodded and looked as if she'd put her hat back on, Dad asked, “This somethin' you want to do on your own?”

“Yeah, if it's okay with everybody,” Sam said.

“More than okay,” Brynna said. “I can't wait to cut a slab of that lasagna.”

“Neither can I,” Gram said.

“And I'll see how Buttercup's done for us this year,” Dad nodded toward Daisy.

Outside, Sam stalled. She put away all three horses, so that Gram, Dad, and Brynna could go ahead and eat.

The sky behind the barn was streaked magenta and purple. There was nothing shy about the end of this day that had started in the Phantom's hidden valley.

Sam made half a dozen trips between the barn and the ranch yard, returning saddles and bridles and collecting grooming tools.

She took her time brushing Ace and saddling him.

At last there was nothing left to do except go to the tack room. For the last time, she took down the little rope halter Dad had fashioned for Buddy.

Alert as a deer, Buddy stood by the pasture fence, waiting. Jeepers-Creepers was rolling in the grass and the other horses were grazing at the far end of the enclosure, but Buddy knew something was up.

Sam glanced at the sky again. She probably had another hour of daylight, so she couldn't use darkness as an excuse to wait one more day.

“And you're not even going to make me play chase, are you?” Sam said, rubbing Buddy's head between the ears, where she liked it best.

Buddy's smooth red ears batted forward and she
ducked her head toward the halter.

“Okay,” Sam said quietly. She haltered Buddy, attached a lead rope, led her from the pasture, and swung into Ace's saddle.

In spite of Buddy's excitement, Sam rode past the first knot of cattle gathered about a half mile from the River Bend Bridge.

She let Buddy stop and touch noses, but she kept riding, and though she looked back over her shoulder a few times, Buddy didn't seem too sad to go.

It wouldn't be fair to turn Buddy loose so close to home, anyway.

“I'll tell you why,” she said, glancing back at Buddy. “If I'd been able to run home on that first day I met Rachel, I never would have gone back to school. You'll probably feel the same way about some of the cows you meet.”

Sam took a breath and though she couldn't believe what she was about to say, she said it anyway. “It's for your own good.”

Buddy nodded with each step, so maybe she wasn't agreeing, but Sam decided she was.

Upriver, almost at Three Ponies Ranch, they found a scattering of Herefords with a good mix of young and mature cows. Buddy bucked at the end of the lead rope.

About twenty white faces turned to watch their approach, but only half bolted at the sight of the swinging rope attached to Buddy's halter.

Good, Sam thought. They weren't too wild, but they were skittish enough to run from a potential threat. Buddy would probably be safe with them.

Probably
, Sam thought, as she dismounted and ground-tied Ace.

Buddy had stopped pulling at the rope. She still looked curious, but now that Sam was about to set her free, Buddy shifted from hoof to hoof, looking worried.

Ace gave a small nicker. Then the little bay gelding slung his head over Sam's shoulder. He blew through his lips, comforting her.

“Thanks, boy,” Sam said.

She walked down the rope, gathering it as she went. She eased the halter over Buddy's ears.

When Buddy didn't buck and run away, Sam couldn't help it: she circled Buddy's neck in a hug, and thought of the day she'd first seen her, alone and trapped in a mire of quicksand.

Buddy's bawling had been low and rough, because her throat was sore from calling for a mother who couldn't come to her.

With Dad's rope tied around her waist, Sam had lain spread-eagled on her belly atop the hot, alkali flat. She'd inched close enough to grab the struggling calf in a bear hug.

Maaaaa, maaaa
, Buddy had bawled, but Dad urged his horse away, pulling Buddy from the quicksand as Sam held on tight.

Now, with her face pressed against Buddy's sleek red neck, she held on just as tight.

Sam, you can let go now
.

The voice she heard could have been Mom's. It could have been her own, when she was more grown up.

Slowly, Sam loosened her hug. Finally, she let her arms drop away from Buddy's neck.

Buddy hopped a few steps forward. She glanced at Sam, blinking.

Sam took a step back toward Ace and it was all the permission Buddy needed. With a swivel of her heels, Buddy ran to join the other cows.

Sam remounted Ace. She sat watching as dusk, and then darkness, fell. Sometimes she let her eyes wander to the Calico Mountains.

Over the river and up a rugged trail, the Phantom and his herd were safe.

Here on the range, bumping shoulders and grazing on tender green grass, Buddy was a dark silhouette among others of her kind.

“Everybody's where they belong except us, pretty boy,” Sam said, giving her horse a pat.

Lifting her reins, Sam said a silent good-bye to the Phantom, to Buddy, and to the silver moon bouncing on the rippling La Charla River. Then she turned Ace into the summer night and rode at a jog toward home.