Gift Horse (13 page)

“It's time,” she told Gram.

“Go get 'em, girl,” Gram encouraged her. “It will work. Rachel loves to primp and show off. She won't be able to resist the little heart tattoos and TV coverage.”

Sam's fingers were still crossed when Rachel answered the phone.

Sam started talking. Fast. None of this would work without the Slocums' hay.

“Rachel, hi. This is Sam Forster. I'm sorry about our little run-in Friday, but I think I have an idea for a community service project that will get us both out of trouble with Mrs. Santos.”

Rachel was quiet for a minute, probably weighing her pride against her semester grade. “Go ahead,” she said.

Emphasizing how much fun it would be and how excited Lynn Cooper was about shooting the hay drop for television, Sam explained.

“That's kind of cool,” Rachel said. “I'm amazed you thought of it.”

“Gee, thanks, Rachel,” Sam said, gritting her teeth.

“What's my part?” Rachel said, sounding a little pouty.

“Besides getting the hay from your dad,” Sam said, slipping the big request in as an aside, “I think
you should do public relations. You know, get the word out at school?”

“I could do that,” Rachel said. “The Valentine idea will make it fun. Maybe I should contact Lynn Cooper, again, just so she knows she'll be dealing with me.”

“Great!” Sam said. “We'll talk about it more at school tomorrow, but one last thing.”

“What?” Rachel asked.

Sam tried to sound casual. “Do you think you'd have time to present this before the student council?”

Say yes, say yes, say yes
, Sam's brain chanted.

“I can't do that. I'm a member of the council, so I can't introduce a project.”

“Can't you abstain from the vote or something?”

“Nope, but if you want, I could get Daisy to introduce it.”

Rachel couldn't have done a better job of convincing her to do it herself. A lot was riding on this idea and Daisy would undoubtedly mess it up.

“No, I guess I can do it.”

“Good. The next meeting's tomorrow at lunch, but I'll get you on the agenda.”

Sam gasped. “I don't—you don't—I mean, I can wait.”

“It's no big deal,” Rachel said. “We add last-minute items all the time.”

“Okay,” Sam squeaked. While her head was spinning, Rachel kept talking.

“I said,” Rachel raised her voice, “what about the hay part? When do we need it?”

Sam exhaled. “Have Jed Kenworthy bring it over on Wednesday.”

“Okay,” Rachel said. “And Sam?”

“Yes?”

“I have these little heart stencils for my fingernails. I think they'll set just the right tone for our project. I'd like to talk longer, but applying them could take a while.”

As Rachel hung up, Sam took a deep breath and picked up the list she'd made with Gram.

“I'm going to make some more notes for tomorrow,” Sam said.

“You'll do fine,” Gram said. “Just relax and smile and tell them what's on your mind.”

“I can do that,” Sam said, but as she walked up the stairs to her room, she wasn't so sure. Going into the student council meeting tomorrow would be like striding into a lion's den. And lions could smell fear.

S
am carried a folder full of notes and some brochures on wild horses that Brynna had given her. Her mental notes included hints on the ranchers' perspective from Dad. As she walked into Darton High's conference room for the lunchtime meeting of the student council, she decided she was as ready as she'd ever be.

Inside, she saw one familiar face. The council members, mostly juniors and seniors, were seated at a long conference table. Quinn Ely, one of Jake's brothers, lounged with his chair tipped on its back legs, eating a sandwich. With his black hair cut porcupine short and his long, lanky body, he was Jake's opposite except for his high cheekbones and bronze skin.

“Hey, Sam,” Quinn called. His greeting made every eye rivet on her as she found a chair in the back of the room and slipped into it.

So much for being unobtrusive.

Quinn gave a wink, reminding her how he'd helped her pull a practical joke on Jake just a couple weeks ago. Quinn was definitely an individual, so how did he manage to fit in with all the popular kids on student council?

Maybe this would be different than she'd thought.

Twelve kids were seated by the time the meeting was called to order. Rachel still hadn't shown up and Sam couldn't believe she was disappointed. For what it was worth, she'd been counting on Rachel's support.

Just when she'd given up, Rachel and Daisy sauntered into the room.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rachel apologized, but she smiled without an ounce of sincerity.

In passing, Rachel tousled the hair of a guy named Clark. Sam couldn't remember his last name, but he was the student body president and his blush was more vivid than Rachel's red silk blouse.

Rachel squeezed into a place across from Clark, took his copy of the agenda, and glanced at it.

“Where's Sam?” she asked coolly. “Samantha Forster's name belongs on the agenda. Clark, I told you this morning. Don't you remember?”

Sam's stomach lurched. Should she be disappointed that she'd done all this preparation for nothing? Or happy that she'd escaped?

Rachel whispered briefly with Clark. He might be student body president, captain of the chess club and rifle team, and widely regarded as one of the smartest kids on campus, but he was no match for Rachel's purring disapproval.

“Fine,” he said in exasperation, and Sam thought his pressed green shirt looked more rumpled than it had two minutes ago. “We'll start with new business and she can go first.”

Now? Sam wondered if her heart actually stopped. She'd counted on having at least a few minutes to watch and see how things were done.

“Samantha Forster?” Clark called. “Do you have a community service proposal?”

“Yes,” Sam managed. She stood and drew a deep breath. “First I'm going to hand out some brochures, which will give you some background on our project.”

She passed out the brochures, giving herself a minute to think.

So far, so good. Every student in the room was reading a brochure. Sam was feeling almost calm when the conference door opened once more to admit Mrs. Santos.

“Go right ahead, Sam,” the principal said. She smiled, smoothed her skirt, and sat down, regarding
Sam with an attentive smile.

Just do it
, Sam told herself.

And she did. Her voice trembled and she had to place her folder on the table because her hands were shaking too hard for her to read her notes, but people were still listening when she reached her conclusion.

“And so, because it's the humane thing to do, because local ranchers would welcome the help, and because it will show the community that Darton High students care about their environment, I hope the student council will approve the Have a Heart community service project.”

It was over. Sam exhaled so loudly, several students laughed. And Rachel actually led the others in applause. Jen had told her to be ready for questions, but, as Sam glanced around the room, everyone looked satisfied.

Everyone except Clark. Instead of calling for a vote, the student body president cleared his throat.

“I don't know about this,” he said, flapping his brochure in a pompous manner. Because he was, after all, president, the others turned to listen.

Oh, no. Sam felt dizzy. Why had she even tried? He was going to humiliate her and that would be a lot worse than working in the dump.

“Wouldn't you just be feeding nonnative species and pushing out native species like antelope and deer?”

All at once Sam remembered seeing a newspaper
photograph of Clark holding up the heavily antlered head of a dead white-tailed buck.

He was captain of the rifle team, so of course he was a hunter. Lots of hunters thought mustangs competed with game animals.

Give up now
, ordered one cowardly portion of her brain. A braver voice in her mind asked,
If the Phantom could save you from starving, would he?

She knew he would, so when the students turned toward her with a flurry of questions, she took a deep breath and answered. “As far as I know, cattle aren't native to the high desert and neither are sheep.”

“But they're productive and we control their populations,” Clark pointed out.

“That's right,” Sam said. “And from what I've read, the mustangs used to have a controlled population, until people changed the environment by shooting predators for trophies.”

Sam knew she'd either scored big or struck out. She held her breath, waiting to find out which it was.

“Oh yeah, Clark.” Quinn laughed. “You've been schooled by the cowgirl!”

The other students laughed. It was rare to see anyone get the better of Clark. To his credit, the student body president shook his head with a half smile and called for a vote.

Two minutes later, the Have a Heart plan was approved.

Jen was waiting outside the office. Wind blew her
braids into her eyes, but Jen pushed them back so she could see Sam's face before they were near enough to talk.

Sam pumped her fist toward the snow-bellied clouds.

“You did it!” Jen crowed.

“I did,” Sam said, amazed. She gave Jen a quick description of what had happened, then shook her head. “After I quit using my notes, it was almost easy.”

“Passion,” Jen said, solemnly.

“What?”

“Wild horses are your passion. So, when Clark forced you to defend them, you did it. Passionately.”

“If you say so,” Sam replied, raising her voice over the bell that signaled the end of the lunch period. “But right now, I care passionately about getting to Journalism, so Mr. Blair doesn't flunk me.”

 

Good news was followed by better news.

After school, Gram had just handed Sam a brand-new set of clingy CoolMax long underwear to replace her bulky old knit top and leggings—“to keep you warm during the hay drop”—when Brynna called to say she'd talked with Lynn Cooper, the TV reporter.

“I assured her that, even though your project isn't BLM-sanctioned, you weren't some flaky kid. I told her you cared about the wild horses and definitely would make this project work.”

Sam had just hung up the phone when Dad came in and offered the use of the hay truck, before she could ask.

“Wow, thanks,” Sam said.

“That's if Jake drives,” Dad cautioned.

“Of course,” she said. “He already agreed to do it. Things are going so well, it's almost scary.”

“Now, why would you say a thing like that?” Gram asked. “Just when I was about to make brownies, too.”

“Not that scary,” Sam said quickly. “You can still make brownies.”

“I planned to,” Gram said. “And with everything going on, don't forget to keep an eye on Cougar.”

Sam glanced into a corner of the kitchen where Cougar was dancing on his hind legs, batting at the strings of an apron Gram had hung on a hook.

“He looks innocent now,” Gram said, “But twice today, I've had to bend myself double to grab him before he could slip outside.”

“He wants to go see Tinkerbell,” Sam explained.

“That's very sweet,” Gram said, “but it's dangerous outside for a kitten that small. Coyotes, snow, even a misplaced hoof…” Gram shook her head. “He's a delicate little thing.”

After dinner, Jen called with the only bit of bad news Sam had had so far.

“You're doing the hay drop on Wednesday, aren't you?” Jen asked. “I can't go.”

“Oh no, why?” Sam thought fast. Before Jen could answer, though, she knew she couldn't delay the hay drop. The horses were hungry.

“Last week I agreed to baby-sit Hotspot while my parents go into Reno for a Palomino Breeders Association meeting. They plan to leave as soon as I get home from school.”

“It's cool that they're planning to rebuild the Kenworthy palomino idea,” Sam said. Years ago, Jen's parents had begun breeding a spectacular line of palominos called Fire and Ice for their fiery gold coats and pure white manes. With the loss of several horses, the program had stalled out, but only temporarily.

“I know,” Jen agreed, “so I can't really complain. Besides that, Hotspot could foal any time and there's no way they'd leave her in the care of Linc and Rachel.”

Sam shuddered. “No way. But what about Ryan?”

“What about him?” Jen asked, but Sam could hear the smile in her voice.

“Oh, I see, you two are going to be watching Hotspot
together
.”

“That could happen,” Jen said. “So while I'm sorry I won't be able to go with you on Wednesday—”

“You're not exactly heartbroken,” Sam finished for her, and Jen's giggles were all the agreement Sam needed.

Just then, she noticed Dad standing in the doorway as if he had something to say. “Gotta go, Jen. See you tomorrow.”

With her hand still on the phone, Sam waited for Dad to speak. When he didn't, she asked, “What did I do?”

Dad smiled. “Nothing wrong, hon. You're doing real well, and since Mrs. Santos wants you kids to accomplish these projects on your own, I'll try my best not to interfere.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam said, although the promise made her a little uneasy.

“Just be careful, Sam.” Dad's eyes clouded with a familiar worried expression. “You know what I think about every time you do something risky.”

“The accident.” Sam felt her confidence wobble just a little.

“That's right, but so far you've used pretty good judgment, so I'm going to keep trusting you.” Dad kissed her on the cheek before he went outside to check the livestock for the night.

Sam had turned to leave when his voice called her back.

“Sam, honey, just don't be too proud to call it off, if things start going wrong.”

 

By the end of school the next day, money had poured in for the Have a Heart project. Not only were the henna heart tattoos selling like crazy, a
Western wear store had called to donate the cost of a ton of hay.

When Sam arrived home, she found Linc Slocum's hay and six huge truck tires piled just outside the half-completed new bunkhouse. It was lucky construction had been stalled by the snowy weather, Sam thought, because the hay bales and tires formed a barricade five feet tall.

Working with Pepper and Ross, Sam helped cover the hay with tarps. The snow kept piling up and more was expected tonight. It was a good thing only twenty-four hours remained until she, Jake, and Darrell dragged the hay out to the horses' winter range. “Saw that mustang herd just across the river today,” Pepper said as they cinched down the ropes binding the tarps.

“What were they doing?” Sam asked.

“Pawing at the snow on the cattle's summer range,” he said disapprovingly. “If they keep that up…”

“Every minute we wait, they're getting hungrier,” Sam said. “I wish we could go right now.”

“Well, you can't,” Pepper said. “But you can sure help me dump the snow that's melted inside those tires. If you leave 'em that way, they'll be frozen by morning and even your monster horse won't be able to pull them.”

Sam was helping Gram make dinner when Brynna came home from work. Sam was about to thank her
again for talking with Lynn Cooper, but she stopped.

Brynna stood in the middle of the kitchen, frowning. The snow on her coat had begun dripping when she finally spoke.

“We've got a colt in off the range. A yearling,” she said. Her freckles stood out like sand on her pale cheeks. “Don't ask me if he's from the Phantom's herd, Sam, because I don't know. He's dark bay and he's hypothermic. That's what I do know. We trailered him out to Mrs. Allen over at the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary, and Dr. Scott met us there. He's in good hands, but I don't know if he'll live.”

Brynna took a shuddering breath before she explained that a snowmobile had seen three horses trapped in a snow yard. They'd trampled down an area, looking for food, and inadvertently walled themselves in. All three of them were trapped there.

In dismay, Brynna looked up at Gram.

“Sakes, I've heard of deer doing that,” Gram said. “But never horses.”

Brynna shook her head and stared at the kitchen window. It was black. It held no answers, only reflected her image.

“What happened to the yearling?” Sam asked.

“The guy rammed his snowmobile against the ice fence—”

“Oh my gosh!” Sam gasped. Wild horses were terrified by the flutter of a human hand. How would they have reacted to a roaring machine?

“He was trying to help.” Brynna sounded defeated. “And two of them did get out. They ran, but the yearling collapsed.”

“Can you call—” Sam began.

“I won't check until tomorrow,” Brynna said. “They'll have their hands full tonight, no matter what happens.”

After dinner, Sam tried to do homework, but she couldn't concentrate. She tried to sleep, but her eyes stared at the ceiling until she saw nothing but a frenzy of dots. Were the three horses from the Phantom's herd? Would the horses feed from tires once they were in place? And who would pay one thousand dollars for Tinkerbell?