Gift Horse (10 page)

She didn't see any reason to mention the mustangs.

“Your father's as touchy as every other creature around here,” Gram said, turning back to the stove. “Wonder what's gotten into them all.”

“Some people would blame it on the change in barometric pressure that comes along with a storm,” Brynna said. “But that doesn't sound right to me.”

Brynna was usually right about scientific things. This time she was definitely right. Dad's bad mood had nothing to do with a change in the weather and everything to do with mustangs.

But Sam kept quiet. Both women shrugged, and dinner was on the table in minutes. Hamburgers on yeasty homemade buns, home fries made from real potatoes, a green salad decorated with carrot curls, and chocolate cake for dessert was Sam's all-time favorite meal. In spite of the tension that radiated off Dad, she enjoyed every bite because she'd just realized the Phantom wouldn't be mad at her.

The Phantom had seen Dad and Jeep as rivals for his herd. It was a challenge he, as a herd stallion, had faced often. He wouldn't resent her, wouldn't settle
back into that awful confusion he'd felt after he'd been captured and forced to buck in the rodeo.

Dad ate, nodding his appreciation at Gram, but he didn't relax. His knuckles were white from gripping his fork way too tight. Sam knew it was because he was mad at her, because she wasn't mad at the mustangs. Now she sort of wished he'd gone ahead over to the Kenworthys' house.

Still, Sam took silent advice from Gram, who'd learned to wait Dad out. He usually worked off anger by rearranging hay bales in the loft of the barn, or waxing his truck, or rubbing neat's-foot oil into an old halter.

So, Sam studied her fries, looking for the crunchiest one. She felt more and more confident that the day wouldn't be a total disaster.

But she hadn't counted on Brynna.

Brynna didn't blurt out a question or demand to know what was wrong, but her curiosity was obvious. Twice, her eyes caught Sam's. Both times, Sam had started to send some kind of signal, when she noticed Dad watching her and had to shrug as if nothing was wrong.

If they could only get through dinner without a blowup, Dad would leave and have some thinking time in his truck. Sam would call Jen immediately or go up to her room and read the new mystery novel Aunt Sue had sent as an early Valentine's Day gift. One thing she wouldn't do was give Brynna and
Gram a chance to pry the truth out of her.

Sam knew their loyalties would be divided. Gram would think Dad was right to favor the cattle over the wild horses. Brynna would believe a balance should be reached.

Halfway through his slice of cake, Dad put down his fork.

Smiling, Brynna asked, “Ready to tell us what happened?”

“What's happened is, this cussed adopt-a-nag program doesn't work.”

Dad had to be talking about the BLM's mustang adoption program. Didn't he know the way he'd mentioned it sounded like a dare?

Brynna lay her fork down as well. “Really?”

Sam's pulse beat hard in her wrists and temples. Brynna sounded entirely too calm. She should have jumped right into lecturing Dad about the adoption program.

“You bring in a lot of young, good-looking horses and leave genetic duds out on the range,” Dad said.

How could he say that when the Phantom and Moon and dozens of other beautiful horses still ran free?

Brynna leaned back in her chair. She tossed the tail of her red braid back over one shoulder and crossed her arms. Clearly, she was unhappy, but she didn't stop Dad.

“Go on,” she told him.

“Do you know I heard of a whole band of blind horses in Utah? I have to pay for every cow and calf that eats a blade of grass—or not, because cattle don't paw out plant roots like horses—and those useless horses are out there running on public lands for free!” Dad pushed his chair away from the table. “There's no sense in that.”

Sam knew Brynna had a blind mustang mare named Penny she rode around the Willow Springs corrals. Brynna loved that mare, and Dad hadn't shown very good judgment in bringing up blind horses.

Brynna's face matched her red hair. Was she holding her breath while Dad ranted? Why wasn't Brynna saying anything? Was she so eager to avoid a fight with her new husband that she'd let him say whatever he wanted about the program she'd devoted most of her working life to building?

I sure wouldn't be quiet
, Sam thought.
Some things are worth standing up for.

“Maybe we should have this talk in the other room while Sam does the dishes,” Gram suggested.

That sounded good to Sam. If Brynna kept skirting the issue and being polite, Sam knew
she'd
defend the horses. And that wouldn't work. Dad was already mad at her.

“There's nothing to talk about,” Dad said.

Finally, Brynna spoke up.

“Are you content to make up your mind without a
civilized discussion?” Brynna asked Dad. Her tone was level.

I could learn something from her
, Sam thought. Brynna had a different approach than Gram, but she might just calm Dad down.

Sam took another bite of cake, but she'd barely swallowed when Dad went off again.

“I don't need to discuss what I saw with my own eyes, and that was horses, driving cattle off from the hay I broke my back to sow, tend, and harvest.”

“Driving them away?” Brynna asked.

Sam guessed Dad thought that was what he'd seen, but he was wrong. Horses had been standing alongside cattle at one hayrack. At another, the cattle acted bored, as if they'd already eaten their fill.

When Brynna's eyes darted across the table, Sam shook her head.

“Don't go askin' her,” Dad snapped. “A girl who'd—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Who'd what?” Gram demanded. “Wyatt?”

“Let her explain, if she can,” Dad said. He stood, holding his napkin balled up in one fist. “'Cause I sure don't understand it. I thought she was growin' up, learnin' to find solutions for things she wanted changed. Takin' that photograph to prove the white stud wasn't the one stealin' mares, for instance. And helping to track him down at the rodeos, even convincing Trudy Allen to open that home for wild horses. But now, she thinks I should
let them starve my cattle. I just don't know.”

Dad dropped the napkin on the table. He walked out, leaving the kitchen door open as he went onto the porch. Cold air wafted into the kitchen as he shrugged into his heavy coat.

“One thing I do know,” he added, over his shoulder, “is why some ranchers guard their cattle with rifles.”

Gram gasped.

Brynna shot to her feet and rounded the table, motioning Sam and Gram to stay put.

Sam stayed at the table, but her thoughts tumbled one over the other. Dad couldn't mean that the way it sounded. She knew he'd never shoot a horse. All the same, he shouldn't have said it.

Brynna didn't look so understanding anymore. Not only was her face flushed, her neck was red all the way down into the collar of her khaki uniform shirt.

“I don't want to hear about rifles. We're not there yet,” Brynna told Dad. “When we are, you let me know and something will be done. Until then? You know a few mouthfuls of hay aren't worth doing jail time.”

Was that a threat? Sam didn't think so, but part of Brynna's job as an employee of the U.S. government was assuring no one harmed or harassed wild horses. Maybe she was just reminding him.

Dad left the porch. The screen door didn't slam
behind him. He didn't turn on the yard lights, but Sam heard his boots take each sure step.

Sam watched Brynna bite her lip. Clearly, she wanted to go after him, but she didn't. She knew he was wrong.

Sam listened. The soles of Dad's boots crunched on the gravel driveway as he headed for his truck, and then he stopped.

“Samantha.” Dad didn't yell, but she heard him quite clearly.

Brynna stepped out of Sam's way. As she moved after Dad, Sam almost stumbled on Cougar.

“No way,” she muttered. She grabbed up the kitten. “I'm not letting you out there to be coyote bait.”

As she shut the kitten on the other side of the screen door, Sam heard something else. A single set of hoofbeats.

What if Ace…? What if the Phantom…?

Before she could imagine much of anything, Sam stepped into the dark ranch yard and gasped.

Tinkerbell had returned.

N
ot only had Tinkerbell returned, he was inside the ten-acre pasture.

Inside?

“What's he doing here?” Sam asked. “How did he get in?”

“I wouldn't know,” Dad said.

By this time, Gram and Brynna had joined them.

“He sure looks proud of himself,” Gram said, as the big horse hung his head over the fence to be petted. “Should we call Mr. Martinez?”

“Time enough for that in the morning,” Dad said. “It's not like the horse is bought and paid for. Martinez may change his mind if this gelding won't stay put.”

Oh, no
. Mr. Martinez had to keep him.

Suddenly, Sam felt sick. Just last night she'd been wishing Mr. Martinez didn't want Tinkerbell.
Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it
. Sam didn't know where she'd heard that saying, but now it made awful sense.

She'd wished to have Tinkerbell back and here he was. But if no one else wanted him and he had to go back up for auction, she knew Baldy Harris would be there to bid on him for the Dagdown Packing Company.

“If he's come all that way on his own, he's run about fifteen miles,” Dad said, taking his truck keys from his pocket. “Might want to bring him out and look him over.”

Sam watched Dad walk to his truck, but her mind was already suggesting ways Tinkerbell could have hurt himself. He could have abraded his legs by leaping over wooden fence rails. He could have pulled a tendon from overuse and if he fell, he could be peppered with gravel bruises from rough terrain. That injury to his poll could have been aggravated by a fifteen-mile run, too.

As Dad drove away, Sam stood at the gate to the ten-acre corral. She'd seen a horse in pain before, and Tinkerbell didn't have that look. But dusk could hide all kinds of injuries. She needed to get him inside the barn, under the lights.

As she unbolted the gate, Tinkerbell's head lifted.
He watched her with a hopeful look. Sam felt flattered. Maybe she was part of what brought him back to River Bend.

Tinkerbell came right through the gate, nuzzled Sam's neck, and stood still while Brynna snapped a lead rope on his halter.

“Is he shod?” she asked as they walked toward the barn.

Sam's mind replayed the moments in the barn with Dad, when she'd cleaned the gelding's huge hooves. “Yes, why?”

“I was always taught you didn't turn out a shod horse in a halter, because he might use a hind leg to scratch his face, catch his hoof, go down, and break a leg.” Brynna paused. Together, she and Sam stared at the massive animal. To perform such an action, he'd have to be a contortionist. “On the other hand,” Brynna went on, “I don't think he'd try that, do you?”

As they reached the barn door, Tinkerbell stopped.

Brynna smooched to the horse and gave the lead rope a tug. “C'mon, big boy.”

The gelding stayed put.

“Did something happen in there yesterday?” Brynna asked.

“Ace was acting jealous and pretending he was going to bite,” Sam said. “And the sound of the wind through the barn seemed to worry him.”

“Why don't you go ahead and have a talk with
Ace and we'll be along in a second,” Brynna said.

Ace was already on alert. He'd heard the draft horse approaching and his ears were pinned back in warning.

“You knock that off,” Sam scolded. She reached up to pet his nose and Ace pulled away. “You know I like you best.”

Her voice might have been the whining of a bug for all the attention Ace paid her.

“Sam, this is one nervous horse,” Brynna said. She was barely in control as she and Tinkerbell came through the barn door. His steps were each a different length and Brynna had trouble keeping up. “He's sure Ace isn't pretending. And if a horse this big is afraid Ace wants to take a hunk out of him, he's probably right.

“I think I can hold him, but if they start to go at it,” Brynna warned, “just get out of the way.”

Sam nodded, then turned back to Ace. “You are a spoiled brat,” Sam told him, but it didn't appear to hurt the gelding's feelings. His little Arab-shaped face quivered from ears to muzzle as he watched the draft horse step into the box stall and sigh.

Under the barn's fluorescent lights, Brynna examined Tink.

“This is the first time I've had a real chance to see him, Sam. You made a good decision. He was well worth saving.” Brynna's eyes darted to one side, glancing back toward the house. Sam wondered if
she was recalling the fight she'd just had with Dad.

Sam knew things probably weren't as bad as they felt right now. Everything wasn't falling apart, but she wished level-headed Jen was here to tell her so.

The cattle were scattered all over the place and they might lose some calves. Dad wanted to get rid of the Phantom's herd. Tinkerbell wasn't where he was supposed to be. Mr. Martinez might not want him anymore. And Dad and Brynna had had their first real fight.

Jen's logical mind and knowledge of animals would come in handy right now. But Brynna was the next best thing.

“How do you think he got here?” Sam blurted. “I mean, out of one pasture and into another.”

“Our fences are just about four feet tall,” Brynna mused.

“Do you think he can jump that high?” Sam asked. Looking at the huge horse, it was hard to believe he could lift hundreds of pounds of bone and muscle over a four-foot fence. Twice.

“Is there any other explanation?” Brynna asked. “Nothing else makes sense.”

Sam felt her spirits lift, slightly. “If he could jump, it would make him a much more valuable horse. I mean, just in case Mr. Martinez doesn't want him now.”

Brynna stood near Tinkerbell's head and the big brown gelding licked her palm just as he had Sam's.
“You're pretty sweet for a fugitive,” Brynna told him.

“How can we find out if he's a jumper?” Sam asked.

Her few jumps on Ace had been unintentional. The feeling had been thrilling, but half the thrill was fear.

The idea of riding Tinkerbell, being perched nearly six feet in the air atop his back, was scary enough. She didn't have the nerve to ride him at a jump.

“Call Katie Sterling at Sterling Stables,” Brynna suggested. “She trains show jumpers. She'd know where to start.”

Once, Sam had made the mistake of going horse shopping with Rachel Slocum. One of the places they'd visited had been Sterling Stables and Sam had liked Katie Sterling a lot.

Then, Sam had a better idea.

“Ryan Slocum,” Sam said thoughtfully.

“That's right!” Brynna said. “Back when Linc was trying to buy the Phantom, he told me he wanted a jumper for his son.”

It was the perfect solution. Ryan was only a couple of miles away. The Slocums had a covered arena. And Ryan would know how to test Tinkerbell's jumping skills.

The only awkward part—and it was really awkward—was calling Gold Dust Ranch. What if Rachel answered the phone? The girl hated her, and Sam
hadn't made it any better when she'd been sarcastic to her this morning. Rachel had probably been gossiping about her, too. Even if Rachel didn't say something catty or cruel when Sam called, she might not call Ryan to the phone.

And Linc Slocum…Sam cringed. He'd think she had a crush on Ryan, and Sam couldn't predict how he'd handle that. Would he jeer that she didn't have a chance with a guy so far above her, socially? Or would he see Sam as a shortcut to being western—just as he did a fine horse or a trophy belt buckle? If so, he'd be yodeling his discovery all over town and Sam couldn't stand that.

Jen really did have a crush on Ryan and she'd probably welcome an excuse to talk with him, but Sam was pretty sure Jen wouldn't feel comfortable just wandering up to the mansion from the foreman's house to tell Ryan that Sam wanted him to call.

“Call Helen Coley,” Brynna said.

“Huh?” Sam snapped out of staring at the barn wall. Brynna must have been watching and reading her mind. “Mrs. Coley?”

Helen Coley was the Slocums' housekeeper. She was also a talented seamstress and a great admirer of wild horses.

“Sure,” Brynna said. “When she was working on my wedding gown, she gave me the phone number for her private line.”

“If I told her about Tinkerbell—”

“I know she'd get Ryan to call you,” Brynna finished.

Sam glanced at her watch. It was early enough that they might be able to work something out for tomorrow. Tomorrow was Sunday and she did have homework, but Tinkerbell's safety was more important.

“Come up with any ideas for your community service project?” Brynna asked suddenly.

“No,” Sam said. “And Mrs. Santos wants me to work on it with Rachel Slocum.”

Brynna took a deep breath. “You two don't have a lot in common, but I'm sure you can come up with something great.” Brynna's face took on an impish look and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “With her money and your imagination…”

Sam laughed. Brynna was really nice, and she was fun. For a minute, Sam wanted to tell Brynna that the real problem wasn't selecting a topic; it was making a presentation to the student council.

But Brynna would probably dismiss her problem as nerves. And nerves seemed like a frivolous, silly concern compared to calves that might freeze, horses that might starve, and a fresh disagreement with Dad.

Besides, Brynna might not understand. She did lots of public speaking in her job. She'd even flown to Washington, D.C. to present the mustangs' cause to a Senate subcommittee.

I might be able to do that
, it suddenly occurred to Sam.

Standing in front of the student council, talking to those popular kids, might not be so terrifying if she were explaining something she cared about.

“What I'd really like to do is something for the wild horses,” Sam suggested.

Brynna paused in her inspection of Tinkerbell and her blue eyes focused on Sam. “You're not worrying about what your Dad was saying, are you?” she asked.

It was quiet for a minute. Sam heard only the rustling of hooves in the straw as she thought about what Dad had said.

He hadn't meant that remark about shooting the horses. She knew that for sure. Dad was frustrated because he felt helpless. Everything he cared about—his work, his home, his ability to live the life he loved—was tied up with those cattle, and he thought the horses were endangering them.

Tinkerbell tensed, then stared at the barn door as if he expected company. Sam shook off her trance.

“I am sort of worried,” Sam admitted. “I mean, I saw the horses going after our hay and I don't blame Dad for being mad, but I don't blame the horses, either. They're hungry.”

Brynna gave a heartfelt sigh. “So are the coyotes, cougars, and bobcats. That's what makes it dangerous for the horses, especially the mares in foal. It's
tough for them to slog through deep snow and the predators know it.

“Some won't make it,” Brynna continued. “It's a hard life being a wild animal, taking shelter from storms under trees, against rocks. Even when the weather is clear, this is a searching time for the mustangs,” she said. “Winter has lasted for months and spring hasn't begun to green things up yet. In a lot of places, it's so cold they can't paw through to the remaining grass. We used to do hay drops,” Brynna said wistfully.

Sam imagined airplanes flying above the snowy range, then opening some kind of doors in the bellies of the aircraft. Instead of dropping bombs, they'd drop golden, life-giving hay.

“Wow, that's a great idea. They'd have hay of their own and the ranchers wouldn't be mad at them. Why did you stop?”

“Money,” Brynna said. “BLM is a federal bureau and the current administration in Washington has cut funds for wildlife. They're just not a priority.”

Brynna closed the door to Tinkerbell's box stall and started out of the barn. Sam walked beside her, thinking.

“A lot of people like wild horses,” Sam insisted. “Even people who live far away—in Florida, Virginia, Canada—you know, all over the place. Wouldn't they help the horses if they could?”

“They might, but the government doesn't work
that way.” Brynna shook her head. “Still, it's worth thinking about. I wouldn't be surprised if you came up with something.” Brynna's arm swept around Sam's shoulders and squeezed. “You are one smart cookie, Samantha Forster, and I'm glad to be in your family.”

Sam was grinning as she shouted “good night” to the horses.

Brynna turned off the barn light. They were about to walk back to the house when something made Sam stop. Just as the lights dimmed out she'd seen something out of the ordinary.

“Wait a minute.” She walked back into the barn, flipped the light switch, and beckoned Brynna to return. “Look,” she said, pointing.

Tinkerbell wasn't alone in his stall.

Cougar was with him. The tiny tiger-striped kitten was curled up, tail fluffed to cover and warm his nose, sleeping right in the middle of Tinkerbell's broad bay back.