Untamed (3 page)

“S
top!” Sam shouted.

Ace shied violently. His head swung left and his black mane flared. His hooves stuttered, trying to reverse direction. Sam settled deeper in her saddle and even though Ace took it as a signal to move forward, she only lost a stirrup in working to control him.

“Hey, boy, you're okay,” she crooned to Ace, past teeth threatening to chatter.

Sure, there's just someone shooting at us
.

Sam tightened her grip on the reins. It wouldn't do Ace or the Phantom any good for her to panic. Her brain knew that, but every instinct clamored for her to get out of here. Now!

Ace shook his head against the snugged reins and made a low complaint. Sam glanced over her shoulder in time to see the shadowy figure bend.

By the time Ace turned as she'd asked him to do, the man was scuttling away.

“After him,” Sam whispered, but she kept Ace at a jog as she rode after the gunman.

She must get a good look at him if she hoped to describe him to Dad, Brynna, and Sheriff Ballard. But the clump of sagebrush was too far away—at least the length of a football field—and Snake Head Peak shaded the man so that even his outline was indistinct.

And then the shooter vanished. No matter how Sam widened her eyes or squinted, she saw nothing.

A passing wind sounded like an eerie intake of breath.

There was no man and no movement. For one stomach-turning instant, Sam remembered what Rachel had said.

She was kicked in the head by a horse, you know
.

What if something
was
wrong with her? Sam didn't want to think about it, but it was possible. The shock of Blackie's hoof had knocked her unconscious. She'd been hospitalized for weeks. Then she'd had to live in San Francisco so that a relapse didn't strike when she was far from medical care.

What if her brain was damaged and it had taken the content of Mom's note and scrambled it into a sick fantasy?

No. Jen had definitely heard the shot—and galloped off.

The Phantom had been after something, but now even he seemed confused. He slowed to a hammering trot, then halted. Head high, tendons taut, he stood like a sculpture of equine power.

Sam didn't stop when the stallion did.

The Phantom might be satisfied that danger was gone, but she wasn't. The man could be hiding.

She clenched her molars together. Even if he'd vanished, a man with a gun would have left evidence behind and she'd find it.

Slowly, the stallion's head turned in Sam's direction and all her distress vanished.

His Arab ears pricked forward. His muzzle jerked skyward before he greeted her with a low nicker.

Then the stallion's foreleg struck out. The muscles in his shoulder stretched and bunched. He looked entirely wild as he rose into a half rear. He shook his head so vigorously, his mane blurred as it rayed around him.

As his front hooves touched down, a faraway neigh summoned him. Sam turned with the stallion, hearing his family calling.

The Phantom bobbed his head once more, then wheeled and bolted away. Only the herbal smell of crushed sagebrush remained.

Sam didn't have long to savor her awe.

“You are a nutcase, Samantha Forster!” Jen yelled from about twenty feet away. She leaned sideways in her saddle, as if her voice would carry better aimed around Silly's head.

“And if you think I'm coming within range of a maniac with a rifle to get you, you're a lunatic, too!”

Jen's palomino tossed her forelock back to watch Ace. She sidestepped, sniffed, and the furrows over her dark eyes were easy to recognize as worry.

“He's gone,” Sam shouted back, pretending bravery she didn't have. “I'm just going over to where he was, and see what kind of clues he left.”

Jen's jaw actually dropped in astonishment. Sam would have laughed if her friend's expression hadn't instantly changed to fury.

“Oh no, you're not.”

With the quick skill that marked her horsemanship, Jen sent Silly into Ace's path, blocking Sam.

In response, Ace hunkered down in his cutting horse stance. He'd interpreted Silly's move as a challenge.

“
You
knock it off, too,” Jen said, shaking her finger at the little bay mustang.

Ace planted each hoof in stubbornness. He looked away from Jen, but kept one ear tipped in her direction.

Sam rubbed Ace's neck, but it was Jen she needed to convince. “Jen, the guy is gone. He is.”

Her words hung there until Jen said, “Maybe it
wasn't a ‘he.' Maybe it was…something else.”

“You heard the gunshot, didn't you?” Sam asked.

With precise thoughtfulness, Jen lifted each braid back over her shoulders. “I heard something.”

Sam bit her lip. Jen prided herself on acting cool and level-headed, so Sam didn't remind her that she was the one who'd shouted that they should run.

“It was a shot, all right. He took one from behind that sagebrush,” Sam said, pointing. “And that's when you spotted him. But after you took off, I saw him stand up and take aim.”

“And that's when you started yelling,” Jen concluded.

“I said ‘no!'” Sam admitted.

“You quite definitely yelled,” Jen corrected her.

“Whatever,” Sam said.

“So, if someone's really shooting at wild horses, he's breaking the law, and we should call the sheriff. Are you willing to call Sheriff Ballard?”

“Of course! Why wouldn't I be?”

Jen gave an uncomfortable shrug and looked past Sam.

“Jen, why shouldn't we?” Sam repeated.

“No reason,” Jen sighed. “So let's go see what's over there.”

Ace and Silly read their riders' calm and fell into a walk.

If only Jake were here
, Sam thought. Her friend Jake Ely was an incredible tracker. Sam smiled. If
Jake were tracking this guy, he'd not only follow him, he'd be able to tell where the guy bought his boots and probably what he'd had for breakfast.

But Jake wasn't here, so Sam tried to remember the tips he'd given her before, like using the angle of the sun to highlight the tracks. Above all, she knew to be careful where she walked.

“Probably,” Jen said, as if she were reading Sam's mind, “we should get off the horses, so we don't destroy any evidence.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed, but then she scanned the nearby terrain. The shadow of Snake Head Peak mixed with the gloom of twilight. “But I don't know where that guy went.”

“Sam, the odds are, he just likes to hunt,” Jen said, sensibly. “He was probably trying to poach a pronghorn, not kill a wild horse or—your hands are shaking.”

“No they're not,” she said, but her bravery was leaking away and nothing remained but weakness.

The horses had taken another dozen steps when Sam realized what Jen had said.

“Poaching?” Sam asked, then. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“The department of wildlife, or some government bureau, sets up certain seasons when people can hunt animals. I can't believe that it's all right to hunt pronghorn when it's time for their fawns to be born.”

Sam felt everything go still.

“My mom's note mentioned antelope season,” she said.

“Just stop,” Jen said, impatiently. “For one thing, pronghorn aren't technically antelope, though some people use
pronghorn
and
antelope
interchangeably.”

“Yes, but—”

“The note also mentioned ham and Swiss cheese, so let's not overreact to what your mom wrote.”

Jen's sympathy had apparently come to an end.

Maybe she was right, but Sam still felt as if there were too many coincidences. She stayed in the saddle, ready to make a quick getaway.

Jen dismounted, ground-tied Silly, then peered over the clump of sagebrush, hands on hips.

“Well, someone was here,” Jen said. “Look at that.”

Curiosity pushed aside fear. Sam scrambled down from Ace and stood beside Jen.

She didn't need the fading sun to see the piece of brass or the clear imprint of a reclining human form.

“Look,” Sam said, pointing at two little dents in the sand. “You can see where he propped himself up on his elbows, just waiting.”

Sam wiggled her fingers into her pockets.

“What are you doing?” Jen asked. “I'm not going to look at your list again.”

“Killing a wild horse is a felony. I'm looking for something to wrap that bullet thing in, for evidence.”

“It's a shell casing. The bullet explodes out, and
leaves that behind when you shoot,” Jen said.

“Shell casing,” Sam repeated. The words sounded official, like she'd discovered real evidence.

“I might have something in my saddlebags,” Jen said. “What do you—?”

“A plastic sandwich bag would be perfect. That's what they use on television to preserve the fingerprints and stuff. They can do a DNA test, and—”

“Sam, will you listen to yourself?” Jen said, pulling exactly what they needed from her saddlebags.

She tipped the bag upside down, shook out a few crumbs, blew in it, then shook it again, as if she were killing time.

As she handed the baggie to Sam, Jen took a deep breath. Her voice had softened by the time she went on.

“I know that note was sort of a shock, but it wasn't, well, a warning from beyond the grave. You know that, right?”

Sam felt as if Jen had slapped her. She shook off the surprise, though, realizing why Jen was so skeptical. This coincidence was just too neat. Finding the note, then seeing the pronghorn and horses and the gunman. But coincidences did happen. That's why there was a name for them!

She was filled with a rare sort of energy as she tried to explain.

“Here's what I know,” she told Jen. “My mom's note mentioned antelope and wild horses, and here
they were, right where she said to look for them. The note mentioned antelope season and a rifle, and what do we see? A guy shooting during the wrong time of year.”

“Probably,” Jen said. “I don't know that for sure.”

“You're right,” Sam said with conviction. “And I think since my mom mentioned a guy named Caleb, with a criminal record, that was probably him.”

“Sam,” Jen's voice soared. “There were like a dozen question marks after that part of the list!”

“Four,” Sam corrected. She'd practically memorized the list already. “There were only four question marks. And if he does have a criminal record, that shell casing could put him in jail.”

“For trying to
harm the horses
,” Jen finished patiently. “And that's not a crazy thing to say.”

She was glad Jen agreed, but why had she put it that way?

Sam used the baggie to pick up the little brass tube, then jiggled it until it fell inside.

Now Jen was chattering about going to Crane Crossing Mall to get new jeans. So everything was all right.

Sam told herself not to be paranoid.

Jen wasn't in Journalism class, so she couldn't have heard what Rachel had said.

Even in a small town like Darton, gossip didn't travel that fast. Did it?

C
opper chestnut and fine-boned as a Thoroughbred, Penny took careful backward steps out of the horse trailer.

Riding toward home, Sam had seen Brynna towing the horse trailer, and followed it across the bridge and into the ranch yard.

Brynna was easing her adopted mustang from the trailer while Gram, Dad, and the cowboys watched.

Glossy and alert, Penny sniffed and listened. She searched out the details of her new home like any sighted horse.

“She's beautiful, Brynna.” Sam said with a sigh.

And she was. About fourteen and a half hands high, the mare had two low white socks that looked
as if she'd dipped her front hooves in sugar. Her legs and body were slim and she tilted her head to the right, with an inquiring expression.

Brynna smiled with pride at Sam's compliment.

Still dressed in her khaki uniform, hair tamed into a tight French braid, Brynna stood shoulder to shoulder with the mare. Her red hair blended with Penny's copper chestnut mane.

“Thanks,” Brynna said. “She's a good girl.”

Penny didn't look blind. The large brown eyes that dominated her face weren't cloudy and her face wasn't scarred. Sam couldn't help wondering how Penny had lost her sight.

Brynna held the leather shank attached to the mare's halter. She crooned as she stroked Penny's neck. When the mare turned to rub her face against Brynna's chest, a tiny brass nameplate glittered on the side strap of the polished halter.

The rest of the horses on River Bend Ranch made do with rope or nylon halters and lead ropes, but Penny had been pampered like a pet, Sam thought.

And it showed. Even though she lived in a world of darkness, the mare seemed happy.

“Don't look a bit scared,” Dad said.

“She doesn't,” Gram echoed. “Why, look at her listening to me.”

“She's heard Wyatt's voice before, but not yours,” Brynna explained. “Why don't you come over and let her say hello?”

Gram was dressed in muddy-kneed jeans and gardening gloves. That morning she'd mentioned that the Farmer's Almanac said today was a good day for weeding a spring vegetable garden, so that was probably what she'd been doing before.

Since Gram was as grubby as she ever got, it was kind of funny that she touched her hair, as if the mare would notice the tendrils straggling loose from her gray bun. As soon as she'd stripped off the gloves, Gram approached the mare and held both hands flat beneath her nose.

“No food, sweetie,” Gram told Penny. “But I've got some baking apples inside and I just might find a snack for you later.”

Sam laughed and the mare's head rose, ears pricked in her direction. When Ace gave a low nicker, Penny answered and tugged against the leather shank.

“Be nice to have another redhead on the place,” said Pepper. The lanky cowboy from Idaho had gotten his nickname because of his chili pepper-colored hair. “But that pasture's sure getting crowded.”

“Wyatt and I talked about that,” Brynna said. She nodded toward her husband. “With Buff going back to town for the summer and Dark Sunshine going into the barn corral, we figured it wouldn't be too full.”

Sam glanced at the ten-acre pasture.

Strawberry, Tank, and Amigo stood at the fence. The roan, bay, and gray-muzzled sorrel had been on
the ranch the longest. They appeared eager to examine the newcomer.

Nike, Buff, and Jeepers-Creepers stood nearby. They glanced toward the bridge, but they didn't move off even a step.

Popcorn and Dark Sunshine, the two captive mustangs, stayed at the rear of the pasture, near the run-in shed. They kept their eyes fixed on the people and horses in the ranch yard.

Both mustangs were familiar with people, but cautious. Popcorn, a tall albino, could be ridden by experienced riders. Dark Sunshine, the golden buckskin in foal to the Phantom, allowed Sam to lead and pet her.

Still, they were wary of the trailer and the new horse. Both mustangs must have remembered a time when their safety depended on vigilance and staying well within the herd.

Sam mentally counted up the horses. Twelve, including Sweetheart, who was still kept in the barn corral, plus Ace. When Buff left for town and Sweetheart and Dark Sunshine switched homes while the buckskin awaited the birth of her foal, the ten-acre pasture would stay at a saddle herd of ten horses. It would be a sociable, but not crowded new home for Penny.

As Ace took a step forward, Sam imagined she heard the baggie rustle in her saddlebag. Sam glanced at Dad. The things she needed to tell him
were piling up. She needed his advice, but he was staring at Brynna, obviously enjoying her pleasure in bringing Penny home.

As Brynna rubbed her mare's neck, Sam caught the glint of her wedding ring. For the first time in weeks, Sam felt more than annoyed by her stepmother.

It wasn't jealousy or frustration at the way a new person changed life in their household. Sam thought for a few seconds. Honestly, she felt a little disloyal. To Mom.

And yet, there was Brynna, arms around the neck of the wild horse she loved.

Sam sighed. If she couldn't have Mom…

“Sam, I hope you'll help me watch out for Penny,” Brynna said suddenly.

“Of course,” Sam blurted.

“Careful what you sign on for,” Dad said. “The mare's had some bad times.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, focusing on the copper mustang. “It's something to do with her blindness, isn't it?”

Brynna nodded. “She was adopted by a family in California before I came to work at Willow Springs. Right away, they trained her to saddle. She was doing well, they said, until she developed the habit of rearing.”

Brynna rumpled the mare's mane in affectionate disapproval.

“I'd guess it was from being held back by someone
with heavy hands,” Brynna said. “Even now, when she's ridden in company, she wants to be in front. Anyway, the family—” Brynna broke off, shaking her head. “They took her to a professional horse trainer.”

“That doesn't sound like such a bad idea,” Sam said.

“They didn't check out his credentials very well, because his ‘solution' was to encourage the rearing. Then, once she was up, he'd force her over backward and jump clear.”

Sam gasped. Even a small horse like Penny was a heavy animal. They were only balanced, really, on all four feet. Sam imagined the terror of the fall, the pain of the impact, and the disorientation that would follow.

“Poor Penny,” she said.

“I've heard of doin' that as a last resort,” Pepper admitted.

Brynna nodded, looking sad.

“So have I, and it cured Penny, but not in the way they'd hoped. She came home with bad habits she'd never shown before. Shying, refusing to leave her stall…”

“She was afraid,” Sam said.

“That's what they thought at first,” Brynna said. “But they coddled her, gave her lots of affection and sugar cubes. Nothing helped.”

Penny stamped a hoof. She pulled at her lead, totally bored with the conversation.

Sam dismounted and let the mare touch noses with Ace, while Brynna continued.

“Kind of in despair, they checked with BLM,” Brynna went on. “They'd had her for almost a year, so they were about to get title to her. I was at Willow Springs, by then, and asked a vet to check her out. He took one look at the scars on the back of Penny's head and suspected the worst. Then he did some tests, and discovered the frequent impact had damaged both optic nerves.”

“So she was shying because she couldn't see,” Sam said. “And they didn't want her anymore.”

Brynna shrugged. “They wanted her, but out of pity. Once they got title to her, they planned to put her down. They thought it was too cruel to let her live.”

“I'm saying it was guilt,” Dad insisted. “They couldn't stand seein' what they'd done.”

Right now, Penny didn't look the least bit pitiful. She gave a low neigh and danced in place. Her neck curved toward the ten-acre pasture as if she'd march right over to investigate the horses she could smell and hear.

Instead, Brynna led Penny toward the pipe corral the hands had set up next to the saddle horse pasture.

“Anyway, I couldn't stand to see them put her down,” Brynna said. “And it was a good decision to adopt her. Penny's still the most collected, responsive horse I've ever ridden.

“The others will probably try to crowd her, even though there's a fence between them,” Brynna went on. “I think she'll stay back, but she could get a few nips and mock kicks, if she's not careful. We just need to watch a while and see that it doesn't go any further than that, okay?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

Sam turned Ace into the big pasture as Brynna opened the gate and walked inside the pipe corral leading Penny. Just as Brynna had predicted, the saddle horses ignored Ace and rushed toward Penny.

“Strawberry, you're not the boss of the world. Now get back,” Sam said when the red roan mare flattened her ears and lashed her tail at the new horse.

“Tank, she can tell you're tall,” Brynna scolded the bald-faced bay when he tried to sling his head over Penny's withers.

After five minutes of crowding the rails, the other horses turned their tails toward Penny, then, noticing Dad had put feed into their mangers, loped away.

“I think she'll be fine,” Sam said, glancing over her shoulder as they left the pasture.

“So do I,” Brynna said. Still, her tone was hesitant until she added, “But you have good equine instincts, that's why I want your help.”

Sam draped her loaded saddlebags on the front porch rail. Mom's note rustled in her pocket. When she straightened, Sam noticed Brynna was still staring at her.

“No problem,” she assured her stepmother, and she meant it, as far as Penny was concerned.

She glanced back at the pasture as she lifted Ace's tack.

She'll be fine
, Sam told herself, and when Dad approached smiling as she hefted the saddle and kept walking toward the barn, she decided there was no reason to wait.

“Nice little horse, isn't she?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But Dad, there's something we need to talk about before dinner. Something serious.”