Desert Dancer (5 page)

“The door wasn't locked.”

Aunt Sue froze in the doorway, looking back into the dark ranch yard.

“We probably should lock it, but we don't,” Sam said. “It's sort of a Western thing, I guess.”

“A dangerous thing,” Aunt Sue said. She whisked inside and locked the door behind them. “Out here all alone, without a neighbor in sight. You do have a telephone though, I see.”

“And running water,” Sam joked.

“I know you think I'm a hopeless city girl,” Aunt Sue said, “but I have no desire to change. I'm going to leave all the ranch stuff to Dallas, just as your dad said, and spend my time spoiling you.”

Sam tripped over her flounced hem as she hurried to hug Aunt Sue.

“You were so nice to give Dad and Brynna your apartment for their honeymoon,” Sam said into her aunt's shoulder. “You're not even related to them, and well, Brynna—I mean—” Sam stopped. She'd had a rough time trying not to see Brynna as her mother's replacement.

Aunt Sue was Mom's sister, so how could she not feel the same?

“It's nothing,” Aunt Sue said. She held Sam off at arm's length, but kept her hands on her shoulders. “I loved your mother. She loved Wyatt and I love you. It makes a perfect circle, and a great opportunity for us to spend some time together.” Aunt Sue cleared her throat and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Now, what shall we do with the rest of our Christmas Eve?”

S
am and Aunt Sue changed into cozy sweats and slippers.

Aunt Sue was staying in Gram's room for the week. As they met at the top of the stairs, they both realized they'd been too busy and excited to eat much at the wedding reception.

“I've decided calories don't exist this week,” Aunt Sue said. “So, how does a mountain of popcorn sound? Covered with salt and butter, of course.”

“Wonderful,” Sam answered. “Bet I can beat you to the kitchen.”

Fifteen minutes later, just as they settled on the living room couch with a big wooden bowl of popcorn, Cougar decided to introduce himself.

The brown-striped kitten suddenly appeared on the arm of the couch. He launched himself into Sam's lap and, instead of settling down, took one look at Aunt Sue, arched his back, and hissed.

At the same time, Blaze jumped to his feet. Eyes bleary with sleep, the Border collie shook his head and began barking.

“What in the world?” Aunt Sue swept the popcorn bowl out of reach of the kitten, but she needn't have bothered.

“Ow!” Sam yelped as Cougar dug in his tiny claws to steady himself before jumping toward the Christmas tree. “Oh no you don't!” she shouted, then jumped up and bolted after the kitten.

She must have sounded serious, because Cougar paused in his attempt to climb to the very top of the tree. Sam looked past the shiny ornaments to see Cougar clinging to the trunk, about halfway up. He met her eyes in a frustrated stare, gave a “pity me” mew, then skittered back down the trunk and vanished in the direction of the stairs.

“Blaze, stay,” Sam ordered.

Walking stiff-legged, Blaze crossed to the rug in front of the fireplace. He turned around twice, then flung himself down. He gave a disgusted grunt, as if he couldn't believe Sam didn't want his help disciplining the fluffy juvenile delinquent.

“Do you think that's the end of the circus for the evening?” Aunt Sue placed the popcorn bowl back on the couch between them, but she still held the television's remote control.

“I'm pretty sure,” Sam said.

After that, they ate each kernel of popcorn,
washed it down with cherry Cokes, and watched three cartoon Christmas specials Aunt Sue had copied onto videotape.

It was nearly midnight when Aunt Sue stretched and declared it was time for bed.

“Santa Claus won't come if you don't go nighty-night,” she said, smiling.

Sam couldn't help glancing at the Christmas tree. She missed Dad already. She, Dad, and Brynna had agreed to open their presents after the honeymoon, but she noticed the mound of gifts had grown larger since this morning.

“You want to open one?” Aunt Sue asked.

“No, it's not that,” Sam said.

She didn't want to be a demanding kid, but there was something she hadn't done in two years. She'd been looking forward to her first Christmas Eve back home, and even without Dad, she longed to resume one special tradition. Aunt Sue didn't have to go with her, if she didn't feel like it.

“We have this family custom,” Sam said. “Have you ever heard the legend that animals can talk on Christmas Eve?”

“No, I can't say that I have. But it sounds like something an elementary school teacher like me should know,” Aunt Sue said, encouraging Sam.

“The story goes that on the first Christmas, the baby was born in a barn and laid in a manger—I mean, we have mangers,” Sam gestured toward the
barn. “The horses eat out of them. And, anyway, all the animals knew something special had happened. Not just the cows and sheep and the donkey, but wild animals gathered at the barn door to gaze inside. They all kept watch over the baby. And for their”—Sam's hands spun in the air as she tried to think of the right word—“devotion, they were given the gift of being able to talk to the angels, one night each year.”

“And tonight's the night,” Aunt Sue said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “It's not that I really—”

“I think it sounds lovely,” Aunt Sue said, cutting off Sam's excuses. “Did Louise do this with you when you were little?”

“Yes. And Dad and Gram, too,” Sam said, but she couldn't manage to tell even Aunt Sue why the tradition was so important. Instead, she added, “We usually bring carrots for the horses.”

“Lead the way,” Aunt Sue said.

They turned off the porch light. No brightness shone through the bunkhouse windows, so Dallas must be asleep.

Together, Sam and Aunt Sue made their way across the ranch yard, lighting their way with candles. They'd have to blow out the flames before entering the barn, of course, but until then, they moved in small puddles of golden light.

As they were walking, a coyote howled. Aunt Sue gasped, but she didn't stop.

Starlight turned the sky silver-black and their
breaths hung like mist around them. The night felt magical.

“Do we sing?” Aunt Sue asked quietly.

“We could,” Sam answered. “I think sometimes we did.”

Aunt Sue began humming, “Away in a Manger.”

“It seems appropriate,” she said.

“Perfect,” Sam managed a single word, but that was all. Her chest was full of some feeling that brought tears to her eyes.

The candle flame blurred before her, and all at once she thought about the Phantom. Once he'd lived in the warm barn. Sam remembered a Christmas Eve when he'd been a tiny black foal tucked next to his mother, a sorrel mustang named Princess Kitty. Now, he and his herd were on the cold range.

A strangely warm breeze swept across the ranch yard. It snuffed the candles and blew Sam's hair into her eyes. An owl hooted from the cottonwood tree in the big pasture. She knew the stallion would be safe and he'd take care of his mares and foals. She blinked away her worry and her tears as they walked inside the barn.

Straw rustled and big shapes moved at their approach. Sam clicked on the dim light in the tack room.

For a minute, it seemed there were only two colors in the barn: gold and dark charcoal gray. Sam breathed in the tang of saddle soap, the cereal smell
of grain, and the sweet leathery scent of animals.

“That's Ace,” Sam said, pointing out her horse. “And that's Sweetheart. She's an old girl,” Sam said, as the pinto thrust her nose past Ace to sniff in Aunt Sue's direction. “She's Gram's horse, but Mom used to ride her.” Sam's words caught in her throat for a minute, but Aunt Sue pretended not to notice.

“You don't have all the first Christmas animals at River Bend, do you?” she asked, peering around the barn.

“No sheep,” Sam answered.

“I hear doves overhead in the rafters,” Aunt Sue said, looking upward.

A cascade of chills ran down Sam's arms, but she tried not to remember why. And she didn't tell her aunt the birds in the rafters were just regular pigeons.

“Is that a cow?” Aunt Sue held her candle higher.

“That's Buddy,” Sam said. “My baby Buddy.”

Buddy was a leggy seven-month-old now, but she gave a calf-sized complaint about having her sleep disturbed. The sound was something between a moo and a bawl. Buddy shambled up to Sam and waited to have the pale hair between her ears rubbed. Sam massaged Buddy's poll. In thanks, the calf's long rough tongue licked Sam's cheek.

Refusing to be left out, Ace and Sweetheart crowded closer.

“Don't tell them they're filling in for donkeys,” Sam whispered.

“Wouldn't think of it.”

Ace lowered his head over the side of his stall until he was on eye level with Sam. His great brown eyes were glazed with faint light from the tack room, and he looked even more intelligent than usual.

His nostrils vibrated as he uttered a low nicker.

Was he reminding her he was a mustang? Was he promising to lead her to the red dun mare and help return the Phantom's herd to calm?

Sam couldn't tell.

“He really does look like he's about to talk,” Aunt Sue said.

The little bay gelding who'd once run wild rubbed his forelock against Sam's shoulder. She slid her hand beneath his mane and along his neck. Ace bobbed his head in pleasure, pressing harder against her shoulder.

The cooing above sounded almost like language. In the quiet barn, Sam tried to understand the words.

“How should I tell him thank you?” Aunt Sue asked, pointing to Ace.

“For—?”

“For making you happy.”

“Just hold your hand flat,” Sam said. “Let him sniff it, then pet his neck. He likes to be stroked under his mane.”

Aunt Sue tried. She pulled the cuff of her lavender sweatshirt up as high as her elbow. She turned her hand over and extended it. She took a deep breath,
then smiled as Ace's whiskers tickled her palm.

A feather floated down from the ceiling, spinning as it settled toward the straw. Sam looked upward, straining her eyes to see into the darkness. She saw nothing but a plump pigeon, making his way down a rafter.

Ace jerked his head up quick enough to startle both of them. Then he stamped, swished his tail, and swung his head back to look at Sweetheart.

“I could swear that animal looked disappointed,” Aunt Sue said, as if she hadn't noticed the feather at all.

“He can smell the carrots,” Sam said. “That's all.”

She gave both horses their carrots, holding two in reserve.

“Want to give them the rest?”

Head tilted to one side, Aunt Sue stared with horrified fascination at Sweetheart's mouth.

“I think I'll pass,” she said with forced calm. “Their teeth look like piano keys. Only wider and a good deal sharper.”

“If you keep your thumb flat, they won't mistake it for a carrot,” Sam instructed. “It's pretty fun.”

“I wouldn't rob you of the pleasure,” Aunt Sue said as Sam finished up and wiped her hands on her sweatpants. “Let's go back to the house and have a cup of cocoa to help us sleep.”

Sam agreed.

“Good night everybody,” she called to the animals as they left. To Aunt Sue, she added, “I guess this isn't
the night they show us they can talk.”

Blaze had waited outside the barn. Now, he rose and shook himself.

“They'll be at it once we're out of sight,” Aunt Sue said, looking back over her shoulder. “Heaven only knows what they'll be saying about me.”

The coyotes had moved their hunting far away and the owl in the cottonwood tree was quiet. Stillness spread around them like water.

Without the candles' light, it was very dark, but Aunt Sue went striding on ahead, thinking her own thoughts as she left Sam to follow.

In the silence, Sam could still hear the fluttering of wings in the rafters of the barn, and she let herself remember.

The first Christmas after her mother died, Dad had wanted to let their tradition lapse. Sam hadn't allowed it.

Thinking back, she could understand how hard it had been for Dad. Just the same, they'd walked across the dark barnyard. Only then, Dad and Gram had held the candles and she'd been in the middle, holding a hand from each of them.

She couldn't remember which horses had been there, but she remembered the smell of straw and apples. They must not have fed the horses carrots that year.

Overhead, she'd heard the rush and rustle of feathers.

The wings had belonged to pigeons, of course, but
the little kid she'd been had another idea.

Mama's angel
.

Sam couldn't remember if she'd said anything aloud. She'd only been seven, but she might have kept it to herself. It hadn't taken her long to learn how easily questions about Mama could make her father sad.

Ever since then, she'd been certain such rustling was the sound of angel wings. Even now, Sam could picture her mother's pure white wings fluttering as she poised in the rafters, losing a feather some years, as she came back to Earth to look at the horses and check on her daughter at Christmas.

Sam stopped for a minute. She closed her eyes and listened with every cell in her body. A breeze picked its way through the few dry leaves remaining in the cottonwood tree. Sweetheart loosed a whinny of joyous recognition.

Then, midnight darkness wrapped around Sam, warm and gentle as a hug.

It's not my imagination
, Sam thought.
It's just not.

S
am woke to a stack of presents and pizza for breakfast.

“You are so great!” Sam hugged Aunt Sue. “And I have no idea what to do first!” Sam's curiosity urged her to rip into the bright wrapping paper and see what was inside. Her stomach, however, growled at the aroma of ham and pineapple on a toasty pizza crust.

“How about both at once?” Aunt Sue urged. She disentangled herself from Sam's arms and brought a tray full of pizza and orange juice into the living room.

In the glow of the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree, Sam insisted Aunt Sue open her gifts first.

“I love it,” Aunt Sue said, examining the red tote bag with a big apple on the side. A comical worm leaned out of the apple, holding a sign that said
Teachers Rock the World
. “This will take the sting out of bringing home all those papers,” Aunt Sue said.

“There's another one there from Dad and Gram,” Sam said.

Though their present of Aunt Sue's favorite perfume was more costly, Sam could tell her aunt had liked her gift better.

Sam took her turn opening crossword puzzle books, the latest novels by her favorite authors, an incredible black sweater, and black jeans.

“It looks like you're out of your black phase,” Aunt Sue said, fretting a little.

Sam shook her head. When she'd arrived at River Bend, she
had
been addicted to all black clothing. She didn't know why that changed, but it didn't matter.

“These are great!” Sam said. “I'm not saving them for two weeks 'til school starts up again, either.”

“We'll think of an outing,” Aunt Sue promised.

Sam had just opened her last two gifts—warm winter gloves and a huge picture book of Friesian horses—when she heard Buddy's moo.

“Oh my gosh! How could I have forgotten!” Sam stood suddenly, scattering wrapping paper and boxes. “The animals need to be fed. I should have taken care of them first.”

“Relax,” Aunt Sue told her. “Your foreman Dallas told me he'd take care of the animals before he left this morning.”

“Left?” Sam felt a second surge of guilt. Why hadn't
she thought of Dallas spending Christmas alone?

“Yesterday at the wedding, he told me he'd be gone for the day,” Aunt Sue said. “A gathering of ‘misfits,' he said, was having Christmas breakfast at Clara's Diner, then watching football all day. He didn't sound a bit sorry for himself, Sam. It was easy to see he much preferred that get-together over brunch and dinner with us—although I invited him, of course—so relax.”

Sam settled back onto the floor. Sitting cross-legged, she played chase-the-ribbon with Cougar until Dad and Brynna called.

They loved Aunt Sue's apartment. The city view and fog pressing against the wide bay windows were so different from Nevada. Sam told Dad about her new book, filled with tall black horses with flowing manes and tails and didn't feel a twinge of jealousy. When she hung up, she felt satisfied and warm.

It was the start of a great day. Sam and Aunt Sue worked together on crossword puzzles while the radio played carols, hymns, and oldies and Aunt Sue sang along. She got an early start on dinner, assembling a pasta, cheese, and crabmeat casserole that was Sam's favorite.

Sam did nothing more energetic than dressing in faded jeans and an old red flannel shirt. Then, she read one of her new books with Cougar curled up, purring on her tummy.

The paperback mystery had her locked in its spell
when the phone rang. It was Jen.

Sam was so happy to hear from her friend once more before she left for Utah, she tried to brush aside Jen's apology.

“I don't know why I was in such a toxic mood, but I shouldn't have let it spill over on you. Say you forgive me,” Jen pleaded.

“Like you've never put up with one of my bad moods,” Sam said. “Of course I forgive you.”

“Know how I shook it off?” Jen asked in a whisper. “I woke up at about four
A.M
. and worked under the covers with a flashlight on some calculus that Mr. Wilson gave me for extra credit. That always cheers me up, but I don't think Mom and Dad would think it was appropriate for the holiday.”

“You are so smart, it's creepy,” Sam said.

Jen laughed and promised that if she returned home in time, they'd go riding. Sam agreed, then headed back to the couch and stayed there, reading, feeling loose and lazy.

I like being pampered
, Sam was thinking, when suddenly she became aware that she hadn't heard any utensils clanging or water running, or any sound at all from the kitchen for a while.

“Aunt Sue?” she called. When there was no answer, Sam went to investigate.

Aunt Sue stood at the big window that looked across the ranch yard and bridge toward the snow-capped Calico Mountains. At first Sam thought her
aunt was merely admiring the view. As she moved closer, though, Sam saw the mustangs.

“Aren't they great,” Sam sighed. She stood beside her aunt. When she didn't answer, Sam glanced sideways.

“They are interesting,” Aunt Sue managed, but she wore a tight-lipped expression.

Sam felt a fizz of warning throughout her body. Aunt Sue might have been looking at a mass of deadly poisonous snakes instead of horses.

“I'm going to walk out on the bridge and watch them a while,” Sam said. “Do you want to come?”

Aunt Sue shook her head. “Are you allowed to go out there?” she asked.

“I'm allowed to go almost anywhere within a day's ride of the ranch, as long as I tell someone where I'm going,” Sam said. Aunt Sue was trusting her to tell the truth and she had. Sam saw no reason to mention she'd broken that rule a time or two.

“You'll just go out on the bridge?” Aunt Sue verified, as Sam fidgeted by the door.

“They'll probably be gone by the time I get there,” Sam said. “Just watch. Once they hear the door open, they'll take off.”

“Like deer,” Aunt Sue said, nodding.

“Just like deer,” Sam said, but she really didn't know how the mustangs would react. Being this close to the ranch in broad daylight was unusual behavior. She half believed they'd come to remind her of her
promise to find their missing lead mare.

Sam didn't take time to go back upstairs and get her boots. Her sneakers would have to do. She grabbed her leather jacket from the porch hook, gave her worried aunt a wave, and slipped outside. If she dawdled, the horses would be gone.

A cold wind blasted in Sam's face as she came out onto the porch. She pulled her jacket closer and hurried.

The mustangs were short-tempered, snorting and lashing out with their heels as Sam approached the bridge. By the time she was halfway across the wooden bridge, the mares had backed away from the shore on the wild side of the river.

They didn't move fast enough to suit the Phantom.

The stallion charged down from the hillside, scattering the mares in his path. Although she was at least a quarter-mile away, with the river between them, the Phantom warned her with flattened ears and flashing teeth.

“It's okay, boy,” Sam said, puzzled.

He knew her. He couldn't believe she'd harm his band. Still, he wasn't acting like her horse.

From this distance, she wouldn't risk calling out the secret name that would remind him of their bond. She was pretty sure it wouldn't matter if she did.

Now, he wasn't Zanzibar. He was all wild stallion.

Under the dull winter sky, he looked gray and
shaggy. There was a weariness in the way he trotted up the riverbank, tossing his head. His thick muscles bunched and worked under his hide. He was built for strength and fleetness, but the silver iridescence that usually danced on his coat just wasn't there.

He didn't look sick. He looked tired.

“I'm so glad there are no challengers around,” Sam muttered.

She scanned the mountains. Except for sagebrush and piñon pines swaying in the wind, nothing moved. Her eyes searched the range in every direction and she kept her fingers crossed.

Just weeks ago, the Phantom's son had challenged him. She'd seen a young chestnut named Yellowtail, too, who was eager to add to his small family of mares.

She wouldn't expect to see another stallion at this time of year, but that didn't mean the Phantom was safe. His herd was larger than most mustang bands. He needed the red dun if he was going to keep it.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, the stallion ran a circle around his mares, then he stopped and pawed. He uttered guttural orders that sounded like,
git, git,
then lowered his head. His mane rushed forward and his muzzle nearly reached the ground as he snaked his head in a herding motion.

The mares fled, some straying right, until the Phantom darted after them. And then they were gone.

When Sam walked back into the house, her wind-scoured cheeks felt hot. Aunt Sue was preheating the oven for the casserole and the kitchen was warm. She'd just shrugged out of her coat when she realized Aunt Sue was holding binoculars.

Sam made herself look away. She didn't ask where they'd come from or why Aunt Sue was spying on her, but she didn't like it.

Sam faced the coatrack. Taking longer than she needed to, she hung her jacket and gave herself some good advice.
Let it go
.

“While I'm here, I think you should stay away from those wild horses.”

Sam turned in time to see Aunt Sue return to the counter where she'd been working on the casserole.

It was Christmas Day. Sam didn't want to fight, but she didn't need to be watched like a little kid, either.

“I really wanted to bring fresh crab for this,” Aunt Sue said, crimping a piece of aluminum foil over the dish. “But fresh crabs don't travel very well, so I had to use canned.”

Staring at her aunt's back, Sam guessed they were both trying to do the same thing—avoid conflict.

Sam's mature half told her again: let it go. The Phantom wasn't going to be coming to her this week, anyhow. That other half of her couldn't resist speaking just one sentence.

“Aunt Sue, they're only horses.”

Aunt Sue turned slowly with the covered casserole in her hands.

“Horses are unpredictable. They're strong and scared of the slightest little thing and they have no more sense of right and wrong than—” Aunt Sue set the casserole down on the counter and slapped one hand against the white refrigerator “—than
this
. And they weigh just as much.”

Sam tried to be patient, but Aunt Sue was showing her ignorance. Living in the city didn't excuse this kind of mistake.

“A horse,” Sam said slowly, “is smarter than a refrigerator.”

“Oh, really? Then why would the horse you raised from a baby try to kill you?”

Sam gasped. Why hadn't she guessed what Aunt Sue was thinking?

“Blackie didn't try to kill me,” Sam protested.

Aunt Sue didn't seem to hear. She stared straight ahead as if that day were replaying on an invisible movie screen.

“I was teaching summer school when your Gram called and told me you'd been brought in from one of the outlying pastures, unconscious. I took a cab to the San Francisco airport and caught the first flight out to Reno, where I paid another cab to break the speed limit as we drove over miles of dark desert. When I arrived at the hospital I had no idea if you'd be alive. Thank God, you were.”

Sam was sorry she'd ever opened her mouth. She didn't want Aunt Sue to live through this again. Why hadn't she taken her own advice and just kept quiet? She held out her hands in a calming motion.

“I'm sorry. I forgot. We don't have to talk about this.”

“I think we do,” Aunt Sue said.

Sam smothered a moan as Aunt Sue pulled two chairs out from the table.

“You opened this can of worms, Samantha. You're old enough to see what's inside.”

Sam sat, but she felt so suddenly sick to her stomach, she really thought she might vomit. She tried to push back the fear that had clamped her just yesterday when she'd fallen. More than anything, she wanted to forget about the accident that had happened nearly two and a half years ago.

“Your father and Grace were sitting in the waiting room. Grace got up and told me what she could, but your father just sat there. His hands hung loose between his knees and he looked down toward his boots. I really don't think he knew I was there and I'm sure he didn't hear Grace telling me about your fractured skull and your chances for survival.”

Sam took a deep breath. Why couldn't she have heard this some other time, when she wasn't feeling timid about galloping? She couldn't come up with a single argument to throw back at Aunt Sue.

“When Wyatt finally looked up, his face was a
terrible thing to see.” Aunt Sue rubbed her arms as if she felt a chill. “He left the waiting room. We heard him dropping coins into a pay phone down the hall and there was no doubt in my mind he was calling to have someone hunt that horse down and kill it.”

The kitchen lay quiet around them. Sam heard the fireplace crackling in the other room and the wind shaking the trees outside. Then, she heard an inquiring mew and clicks of excited clawing.

“Cougar, no!” Sam jumped up and grabbed her kitten. If he'd been a little taller, he might have reached the crab casserole on the counter.

“That's finished,” Aunt Sue said.

Sam wasn't sure whether she meant the casserole or the day of the accident, but Aunt Sue rose from the table and whisked the casserole into the oven.

Sam draped Cougar over her shoulder, facing him away from the food. She petted his back rapidly, hoping to distract him.

“Settle down, Cougar. Come on,” Sam crooned. When he finally started purring, she was glad. This wasn't a good time for Cougar to experiment with catching his own dinner.

Aunt Sue stood staring at the stove. There was nothing to look at, but she stared just the same.