Wild Honey (18 page)

“Get on down off that palomino,” Flick said.

He still hadn't glanced at Sam as he crab-stepped down the steep part of the hillside. The agitated roosters rustled and crowed, springing to the ends of their tethers as if they could fly away.

“Get off,” Flick repeated.

“I'd rather not,” Preston said.

Afoot, she and Preston would lose their advantage, Sam thought.

But then, as casually as most men would hitch up their pants, Flick swung the barrel of the rifle aside and shot the black-and-white rooster.

Oh no,
Sam thought. She didn't gasp, and neither horse shied at the sound, but the squawking hadn't stopped, even when the explosion of bright feathers had drifted down to the ground.

Then it was quiet again.

Sam kept watching Flick, but from the corner of her eye she caught Preston's glance. His expression said he wouldn't have dismounted, no matter what, if he'd been alone.

Somehow, though, he wasn't looking at her as a liability. He glanced at her with confidence, but she had no idea why.

“Okay, I'll dismount,” Preston said, looking ever more pointedly at Sam, “but you remember what I said about being a good female cop….”

“What's that mean?” Flick guffawed. “Think she's gonna hightail it out of here, screaming for help?
Naw, I'd put a bullet in her nag and sell him to Baldy Harris, if she tried. That'd about break her heart. 'Specially if I lamed him first.”

Sam swallowed hard. She'd bet Flick was reminding her how he'd fallen on the canyon's rim and how he'd been hurt. That time, they'd left him while they went for help.

“Getting off,” Preston announced, then, and to Sam's amazed eyes, it looked as if he did it with no hands.

“That's better,” Flick said. “I been wantin' to stake that mare out as an invite to that gray stud.”

Sam's heart shivered in her chest, but she didn't let Flick see her react. He knew the Phantom had been hers. He knew—of course! The letter Linc Slocum had showed the sheriff hadn't been from Karl Mannix at all.

It was Flick who had a standing offer of ten thousand dollars for the capture of the Phantom. Once before he'd tried to catch the stallion and sell him to the millionaire. That time he'd failed, but now he was trying again.

“Used a trip wire and almost had her—”

Each word he said ended a mystery. Honey's leg had been cut by Flick's trip wire.

“—but that stallion rushed me, spiteful as if he remembered me from before. Knocked me down with his shoulder and by the time I got up, they were both gone.”

Flick spat on the desert floor, then balanced his rifle with one arm and reached for a piggin' string.

Was he going to tie Preston up? If so, he'd be preoccupied. Sam had to do something to help.

What had Preston said? Bad guys focused on the male partner. It was true.

Flick actually turned his back on her while he tied the retired cop as if he were a calf.

“Yeah, it'll be nice to have this mare,” Flick said, glancing up at Honey. “When I thought I couldn't get her, I went after that buckskin of mine. Heard me, didn't ya?”

When he glanced up at Sam, he didn't seem to notice that she'd urged Ace a little closer.

“Yeah, I saw everyone speedin' away from your ranch like their tails were on fire, leaving you alone with those cowhands and I just came on down to take her. Didn't expect the barn to be locked, or for her to remember me, too.”

Flick gave a cruel laugh. “And shoot, I've never seen such a commotion over one dumb barking dog.”

Don't listen,
Sam told herself.
Don't think of Blaze's bleeding lip. Do something.

He wouldn't be saying all this if he meant to let them get away.

As if someone had touched her on the shoulder and whispered, Sam suddenly knew what she had to do.

She had a rope. Flick didn't.

She was mounted. He wasn't.

He did have a rifle, but Ace could drag him off his feet and all over the ravine if she could only rope him. She didn't think about her remedial roping skills. She only thought of getting her horse into position for the best throw she could make.

Gently, Sam closed her legs against Ace. He took her a step closer to Flick and suddenly the cicadas on the hillside went silent.

Sam heard the thud of a hoof just as Honey and Ace lifted their heads. The palomino nickered in recognition.

No!
Sam's mind shouted.
Run!

The Phantom stood about a quarter mile up the hillside. His lone white form looked down at them.

Preston shifted his attention from Flick to Honey, but he couldn't silence the palomino with his stare. A second neigh floated from her to the silver stallion.

“Okay!” Flick stood up, backed a step away from Preston, and rubbed his palms together. “Now things are gonna get interesting.”

S
am eased Ace a bit closer.

Communicating with Ace was something she knew how to do, but she couldn't read Flick's mind and predict his next move.

Would he use Honey for bait to attract the Phantom? But he didn't have a rope or a corral. Even if the Phantom came close, how would he catch him?

Flick glanced over his shoulder. A frown wrinkled his brow. If he'd noticed Sam was closer, though, he didn't mention it. Instead, he tried to scare her.

“I think I might just put a round between his eyes,” he told her. “What do you think? Can I do it from here? And if I acted like I was gonna hurt this mare, or you, would he come snortin' and gallopin' to the rescue?”

He thinks he can control me by scaring me,
Sam thought.
He thinks I'll just freeze or do whatever he says.

Sam tried not to give him that power.

Flick sighted down his rifle barrel at the stallion. She watched him squint one eye closed, then urged Ace forward another step.

Ace obeyed, then planted each hoof and stood firm. She was close enough, he seemed to say. Now it was up to her.

Sam's hands shook as she reached down and unsnapped the leather strap holding her rope. She had to steady her fingers enough to throw a perfect loop.

This was her only chance, and she'd better hurry. Flick had no qualms about shooting the Phantom and the stallion was just standing there.

His mustang instincts must have helped him sense the danger, but even the smartest horse wouldn't know the range of Flick's rifle.

A glance told Sam that Preston was working to free himself. Flick must see it, too.

In case he didn't, though, Sam tried to keep Flick's attention on her.

“Won't Linc pay the ten thousand dollars for that stallion?” Sam croaked.

“Well, now, he might,” Flick answered instantly. He lowered the rifle and tilted his head to one side, seeming to consider her reminder. Then he shook his head. “But I'm thinking it might be ten thousand
dollars worth of fun, to—”

Enough.

Eyes focused, arm whirling the loop above her head, Sam swung her rope toward Flick. It had to settle over his head and pin his arms to his sides. This time, when an accurate throw really mattered, she had to aim right.

The rope slid through her fingers, singing toward him in what seemed like slow motion. Flick saw the loop coming. He dodged to one side and dropped.

Preston kicked out, slamming both boots into Flick's knee, knocking him off balance.

Sam heard hooves and the Phantom's neigh, but she didn't look at the stallion. Her eyes were fixed on her rope. The loop cleared the outlaw's head, but she hadn't made a clean catch. When the loop closed, one edge sawed against the right side of Flick's neck. The other side was caught under his left arm.

All he had to do was grab the loop and lift it off over his head. But he'd have to drop the rifle he still clutched in his right hand to do that.

“Giddyup!” Preston yelled, reminding Sam and Ace of the desensitization class and his order to her to have Ace drag him.

Sam wheeled Ace. The bay gelding jumped, jerking Flick off his feet.

Was it herd instinct or some desire to help that lured the Phantom down from his safe spot on the hillside? He bolted past Preston and the bus. He
galloped past Honey without faltering, and then he was right beside her, tucking in next to Ace.

The stallion wasn't racing for fun. He huffed, but not from exertion. His hooves thundered and ears flattened, disappearing amid torrents of white mane. Head flat and nostrils wide, he ran past Ace, leading him on.

Ace followed. Fighting the reins, his head wrenched from side to side. Sam held on as the bay mustang answered the call of the stallion who'd been his leader and tried to rip the reins from her grip. She tightened them instead, but even the gelding's trot was too fast.

Flick wasn't yelling and thrashing as Preston had when they were pretending, but she couldn't let Ace follow the Phantom. He had to slow down. They were dragging Flick way too fast.

The Phantom stopped a hundred yards ahead and pawed the dirt. A dust cloud surrounded him as he chastised Ace for being so slow, but it gave Sam a chance to pull Ace to a stop.

Sam looked back and saw that Flick still held the rifle. How was that possible?

Panting, he rolled up, onto one knee.

Could he shoot from that position? Sam didn't give him a chance.

“Giddyup!” Sam shouted.

She heard the impact of Flick's chest hitting the dirt as Ace bolted into a lope, headed for the silver stallion.

But then Sam heard Preston shouting, and a glance back showed her the retired policeman was on his feet, running after her.

“Don't drag him to death!” he shouted. Preston knew murder when he saw it, and he was warning her.

Sam jerked her reins. Ace's heels skidded and he squealed in bewilderment.

I know,
Sam thought wildly.
Drag him to death or let him shoot us? We can't win.

“Hang in there!” Preston shouted, but how could she?

This was like a bad dream.

Ace half reared, but she clucked her tongue, calming him, reining him to turn and face Flick.

How could she “hang in there” when the outlaw lay motionless on the desert floor?

Nearly crouching, Preston rushed toward the rifle Flick had finally dropped.

It'll be over when he gets the gun,
Sam thought.

Black dots frenzied like a million buzzing bees before Sam's eyes. She felt herself waver in the saddle.

“Stay with me, Sam,” Preston called, but it was the Phantom's neigh as he approached Sam and Honey at a majestic trot that helped her stay focused and strong.

Hang in there. The words echoed in Sam's mind. She could do that.

Preston knew she had no experience, so he must be counting on her courage.

Taking a deep breath, Sam wrenched her eyes away from the unconscious man and watched the horses.

Honey lowered her head in submission. Her neck curved like a golden swan's looking back at the stallion as he came closer. And then she straightened. Head held high, she moved to meet him.

Preston had the rifle clamped in one fist, held horizontal to the ground, but he turned away from Flick to watch his horse.

“Honey,” Preston said quietly.

Sam sensed the mare stop, but Ace's muscles tensed. He snorted and Sam knew even before she looked that she and Preston had made a mistake.

Flick had lifted her loop soundlessly. Now he ducked out of it.

Preston yelled something at the same time Sam heard her own cry, but Flick had already launched himself at her.

Hadn't Preston said in the desensitization class that posse members would probably never have to face a criminal grappling for their gun? But she had no gun. Was Flick after her horse?

Sam kicked at Flick, but he was too close. Her boot didn't jar him back a single inch.

Instead, she lost her stirrup and he grabbed Ace's near rein, yanking the gelding's head around as his
hand grabbed at Sam.

He's trying to drag me from the saddle,
Sam thought with sudden clarity. He wanted to use her as a shield between himself and the rifle, and she couldn't let him do it.

Sam leaned away from him, still kicking. If his arm snaked around her waist, his leverage would be too good. She wouldn't have a chance of staying on Ace.

Sam had one more thing to try. It meant dropping her reins and leaning toward her attacker, but she had nothing to lose.

Closing her hand, but not with her fingers inside, Sam felt herself falling as her fist crashed down on Flick's nose.

She heard a sickening crunch and saw a gush of blood as she tumbled past him and slammed shoulder first onto the ground, rolling.

Ace's hooves, dancing nervously, passed her. He joined the Phantom and Honey, but he didn't run away.

Flick howled and reached for his nose with both hands. He was still moaning when Preston jumped on top of him and tied him with his own piggin' strings.

Sam struggled to her feet.

She watched Preston secure Flick with professional efficiency. He probably would have read him his rights, too, if he hadn't been retired, Sam thought; and the roosters…

It seemed like there was a congratulatory chorus of crowing roosters as Preston straightened.

“I'd say your shot missed that rooster,” Preston said, but he wasn't looking at the roosters. His stare stabbed past Sam and she turned to follow it.

The Phantom's silver head lay across Honey's withers, just in front of the saddle.

Brynna would probably say the stallion was exerting his dominance over his lead mare one last time, but to Sam it looked like a friendly good-bye.

It was, she thought excitedly. The stallion proved it, as he backed up far enough to nibble a wavy clump of Honey's mane.

Whisking his tail and giving a snort, he glanced at Preston. The man stood still and there was a respectful look on his face, but when he merely took a breath, the stallion bolted.

Dirt spun from under his hooves and he soared over yards of desert, putting himself as far from the unfamiliar human as he could. He didn't look back at Honey, Ace, or Sam. Tail streaming silver behind him, the Phantom galloped away.

Sam sighed. Her horse was safe, she thought, and maybe it was the sudden relief that allowed her to realize she was cupping her right hand in her left, blowing her breath on it as if that could somehow ease the pain that accompanied the proper use of the Ely Brothers' hammer fist.

 

Exactly a week later, Sam stood on the front porch of her house at River Bend Ranch.

Because Gram had insisted, she wore her bridesmaid dress from Dad and Brynna's wedding and she stood in the quickly-cooling dusk, handing candles to guests as they arrived for Preston and Mrs. Allen's engagement party.

Dad, Brynna, and Gram had already welcomed Sheriff Ballard, Ally, and her father, and the Elys—all except for Jake—with cups of punch and crystal plates piled with six different kinds of cookies.

Now the last guests, the Kenworthys, hurried into the crowded kitchen to loud greetings, but Jen lagged behind.

“What's this for?” Jen asked, holding up the pumpkin-colored candle.

“When Gram and Mrs. Allen were girls,” Sam explained, “there was this candle-passing ceremony all their girlfriends did when anyone got engaged. And, since Mrs. Allen eloped, she skipped the tradition of her first engagement—”

“So, she's getting it now,” Jen said, smiling. “That's cute.”

“I guess,” Sam said, but she couldn't shake off the melancholy that came with thinking that the marriage wouldn't last long because Mrs. Allen and Preston were so old.

“I know what you're thinking,” Jen whispered, then she touched the book she'd tucked under her
arm. “Statistically speaking, they're not that old. I'll show you something later that will cheer you up.

“Right now, though,” Jen said, grimacing, “it looks like someone else has something to say to you, and though it probably won't cheer you up, I'm abandoning you to handle it on your own.”

Sam glanced back to see Jake striding across the ranch yard.

He wore a long-sleeved white shirt with jeans, and his black hair had grown out enough that he'd had to wet it and brush it back from falling in front of his ears.

The screen door slammed behind Jen, and Sam was facing Jake alone.

“Where'd you come from?” Sam asked. Then, daring him to treat her like a kid, she took a deep breath and said, “I'm too old for you to lecture me, you know.”

“I know. I won't. I just have one thing to say.”

He looked down at the tips of boots she'd never seen before. They were mahogany brown and smooth and polished so that they glowed under the porch light.

“Go ahead,” Sam said.

“Puttin' the whole thing with Flick aside,” Jake said, “'cause I know you'll say it was about roosters, not the Phantom—”

“It was!”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “but horses were runnin' all through the trouble you got us tangled in.”

Sam drew a breath to contradict him, then let it out. As much as she hated to agree with him, Jake was right.

“All I'm sayin' is, quit puttin' your whole heart on the line, Brat. About everything, but especially about the Phantom. The life of a wild horse is dangerous. How long do you think you'll have him?”

“You kids get in here,” Gram called from inside the kitchen, but Sam noticed that no one opened the screen door to interrupt.

“Not that you really have him now,” Jake said. Then, with a shrug, he added, “Just think about pulling back a little bit, okay?”

And then Jake held the screen door open, so Sam could enter the party before him.

Ally stood in the corner strumming her guitar, introducing the guests to the song they were about to sing together. She smiled at Sam as she came in.

“All right,” Gram said, quickly lighting Sam's candle. “Everyone's candle is lighted and those of you who didn't know ‘Tell Me Why' have had a chance to look at the lyrics, so here we go.”

Gram turned off the kitchen light, and everyone stood in candlelight as they began to sing.

“Tell me why the stars do shine.

Tell me why the ivy twines….”

Ally's voice soared over the others, but no one seemed to care, and Sam hoped their beginning friendship would last.

Ally had thanked her an embarrassing number of
times for revealing her dad's secret. Together, Ally and her dad had already attended meetings for people addicted to gambling and their family members.

Sam thought everything would probably be okay, because Mr. McClintock had admitted his gambling problem and his hatred for the direction it had taken him, saying he hadn't even seen blood and feathers. He'd only thought about the money.