Mustang Moon (6 page)

B
RYNNA
O
LSON
, director of the Willow Springs Wild Horse Center, wore a crisply pressed khaki uniform and a name tag. Her red hair was confined in a no-nonsense French braid. The only thing interfering with her professional appearance was the big bowl of blackberry cobbler centered before her.

“Hi, Samantha.” Miss Olson's tone was warm but only for an instant. “Your grandmother says you've heard Mr. Slocum's concerns about a mustang stallion trespassing on his property and stealing his mares.”

Miss Olson's expression didn't betray her feelings about the accusation, but Sam could guess what they were. After the Phantom's capture, Miss Olson had watched the stallion's untamed fury with the understanding of a horsewoman.

“There's no way it was the Phantom.” Sam defended her horse by reflex. “What does Slocum—”
Sam shook her head as Gram cleared her throat “
—Mr.
Slocum expect you to do?”

“I'm holding him off for now, but he wants action.” Miss Olson pushed her bowl aside, as if she'd lost her appetite. “Since I disqualified his application to adopt a wild horse, Mr. Slocum is unhappy. He doesn't care for me and doesn't respect my position with the federal government.”

Sam stared out the kitchen window, but she didn't say what she was thinking.

Outside, rain dripped from the eaves of the white ranch house. Sam knew many ranchers distrusted the BLM. Ranch families were independent minded. They didn't like government rules telling them how to live on land they'd ranched for generations.

Slocum despised the BLM for a different reason than most.

The rain increased, but it fell so slowly, Sam could almost count the drops. The sky was blue-gray, still deciding whether the storm had ended.

When Sam turned back to Miss Olson, the BLM official's half smile said she didn't expect Gram or Sam to defend her or the government agency. Besides, Sam was pretty sure Miss Olson could stand up for herself.

“Respect me or not, Mr. Slocum wants the BLM to catch the wild horse he feels is stalking his mares.”

“Are you going to do it?” Sam asked.

“We're not convinced there is a renegade stallion,”
Miss Olson said. “The teeth slashes on his mare could have come from any horse.

“He said she'd been wandering the range. Folks aren't supposed to turn domestic stock out, but they do. Some escape or are stolen, too.” Miss Olson turned to Gram. “I had an e-mail this morning from one of our California offices. A valuable stallion is missing and presumed stolen. His owner's frantic, hoping he's on the loose.”

“Horse thieves even in these modern times,” Gram said, shaking her head.

Sam wished she could tell the stallion's owner not to give up. After all, everyone had believed Blackie was gone for good.

“More than likely”—Miss Olson's tone sharpened—“the sorrel was bitten by one of Slocum's own horses.”

Sam nodded and kept her lips pressed together.

“Before we waste manpower setting a trap for a trespassing stallion that may not exist, Mr. Slocum has to give us some evidence he's right.”

“Like tracks?” Sam asked.

“That would be a start,” Miss Olson said, “but there's no shortage of unshod horses around here.”

Gram took a sip of her coffee, then frowned. Sam could see Gram was so intent on listening, she'd let her coffee grow cold.

“From what you've seen of the Phantom”—Miss Olson watched Sam with such intensity, Sam wanted
to say no to whatever she asked—“would he enter an enclosed area like Slocum's ranch?”

Sam stared at the tabletop. She pictured the remote-controlled iron gates, the grassy approach to the pens, ranch house, and mansion.

Up until today, Sam would have sworn Phantom wouldn't enter such an area. But after he'd materialized out of nowhere to eye Hotspot, could she be sure?

“He's never crossed the river,” Sam said. “The closest he's come is halfway.”

Chills covered Sam's arms as she thought of the beautiful stallion, silvered with moonlight, as he swam out to her. The Phantom remembered he'd once been her colt and he remembered his secret name.

Sam sighed. Though Miss Olson took the sound as sadness, she didn't turn all sensitive and gooey. She merely agreed.

“Based on what I saw when he was in captivity, that stallion wouldn't willingly enter any fenced area. He showed more resistance to confinement than I've witnessed in any mustang.”

“What will you do if Mr. Slocum comes up with some sort of evidence?” Gram asked.

Miss Olson looked thoughtful. She didn't seem to notice she'd pressed her palms together and matched her fingers as she tapped them against her lips.

“We're shorthanded because we lost Flick.”

The glance Miss Olson shot Sam asked if she
remembered the cowboy who'd used his position with the BLM to capture the Phantom for Slocum. Sam nodded.

“And the college kids who were working for us are on their way back to school.” Miss Olson turned in her chair to watch the weather outside the window. “I should get back,” she said, standing, but her expression said she'd rather stay in Gram's warm kitchen.

“Frankly, it's hard to find people with the expertise to track and capture horses.” Miss Olson raised one eyebrow as she looked at Gram.

“I wish I could help,” Gram said, “but the only folks I know who are good at that sort of thing are Jake and Wyatt.”

Miss Olson looked sheepish, but she said, “It pays a lot more than you'd think.”

Gram made a considering sound, but Sam didn't know why. Dad wouldn't take a job with the BLM unless he was in danger of losing the ranch.

Money. Why did every conversation lead back to money?

Sam smoothed her hands over her hair. Even if Gram agreed to drive her into Darton to get her hair cut, it would cost something. If the Forster family couldn't afford an extra pair of jeans, they couldn't pay a stylist to snip her hair into a fashionable shape.

Sam was sure Gram had already forgotten her outburst as she'd come pounding downstairs.
Apparently, Miss Olson hadn't.

With her hand on the doorknob, Miss Olson stopped. She turned so quickly, her braid snapped from one side of her neck to the other.

“Well, shoot,” she said. “It's too late to go back to Willow Springs now. Samantha, I might be able to help you out. When I was going to college, I was the dorm queen at cutting hair. If your grandmother doesn't mind, I'd be glad to—” she searched for the right word “—even things up a little.”

“Miss Olson, that would be awfully nice of you,” Gram said. “And you'll just have to stay for dinner.”

“I'd love to, if I didn't have so many hungry animals waiting at home,” Miss Olson said. “But if Sam grabs a pair of sharp scissors and leads me to a mirror, I'll see what I can do.”

 

By the time she'd dampened, combed, and snipped at Sam's hair, Miss Olson's voice had turned less formal.

“This is embarrassing to mention, but I liked it better a couple weeks ago when you called me Brynna.”

Sam's brown eyes tried to catch the redhead's blue ones in the mirror, but they only darted away.

“Okay,” Sam said.

Brynna worked along Sam's neck for a minute before she spoke again. “And since you're tuned in to the way wild horses think, I'd like your opinion of
what's going on with Slocum's mare.”

Sam thought of the aggressive blue roan. She thought of the Phantom coming to see Hotspot. It wasn't safe to mention either.

This time, Brynna did meet Sam's eyes in the mirror. “Please, I'd like to get this cleared up as soon as possible,” she said. “If it's a secret, I'll take it to my grave.”

Brynna looked sincere. Sam could explain how the blue roan had swum the river, waded ashore, and trotted right up to the corral fence, but stubborness kept her quiet.

Brynna seemed nice enough, but Sam couldn't shake off years of hearing that the BLM rarely worked in the best interests of ranchers.

And yet Brynna had kept the Phantom free.

A knot of confusion tightened in Sam's stomach. Maybe she should talk with Jake.

“Have you heard unexplained sounds, especially at night? Any sign of an intruder?”

“Gram thinks a skunk might be getting in the chicken coop,” Sam offered.

Brynna grumbled, but she kept combing and cutting. At last, Sam decided she could tell half the truth. After all, she'd been with Gram when the blue roan challenged the Phantom.

“On the way back from Darton, we saw the Phantom,” Sam said.

“You did? Where was that?” Brynna stayed calm,
but Sam could tell she was hoping for a revelation.

“Near War Drum Flats,” Sam said. She'd bet Brynna was calculating how close that was to Slocum's ranch. “He was running off a bachelor stallion trying to steal some of his mares.”

“Nothing unusual about that.” Brynna sounded disappointed.

“He's a blue roan.”

Brynna shrugged. “I'll keep an eye out for him, but—”

“About fourteen hands, with a hammer head,” Sam said, but Brynna didn't take the hint.

“We're looking for a mustang that doesn't fear human habitation. That points to your colt.”

Sam stared blindly into the mirror, until Brynna touched her shoulder and asked, “So, what do you think of your hair?”

Sam studied her reflection. Her red-brown hair lay in neat, glossy wisps around her face, and her bangs were layered so they poufed up just a little.

It was a plain haircut that didn't draw attention to itself, but it did make her eyes look bigger.

“Thanks, Brynna.” Sam touched the tendrils that curved against her neck. “It looks great.”

“That's an exaggeration,” Brynna said, heading toward the stairs, “but thanks.”

Sam walked Brynna downstairs and past Gram, who still wanted her to stay for dinner.

Sam grabbed her slicker and followed Brynna
through the kitchen door. Outside, a fine rain came down, making a hissing sound. Tiny raindrops hit the dirt and bounced up like powdered sugar.

They were halfway to the white government truck when the woman shooed her off.

“Go on back,” Brynna said. “And have a good first day at school.”

“I will!” Sam shouted over another clap of thunder.

She'd started back to the house, when movement drew her attention to the barn.

Light shone golden and cozy from the open barn. Dad stood in the doorway. Dad's dark silhouette showed one hand planted against the doorway. The other hung loose as he looked through the curtains of misty rain.

Was Dad angry because they'd invited the BLM official in from the storm? Did he suspect Sam was engineering a secret wild horse adoption? Was he too tired to make a polite trip across the yard to say hello?

Sam quit guessing. She must be mistaken, because from here, it looked like Dad was staring after Brynna with something like a smile.

 

Sam's alarm was set. Her clothes hung on her closet door. A backpack stuffed with notebooks, pencils and pens, and a tiny tub of lip gloss sat by her bedroom door. Everything was ready for her first day of school, and still she felt restless, as if she'd left
something important undone.

Sam stared at her ceiling. Twice, it turned pale, brightened by faraway glimmers of lightning.

The house stood so silent, it was creepy. Sam held her breath, listening. She heard the kitchen clock. A floorboard squeaked. That would be Blaze, chasing dream cats while he slept in front of the empty fireplace.

The only sounds came from outside. The rain had stopped, but thunder grumbled in the clouds. Sam couldn't tell if the storm was moving away or coming back.

She hoped it had gone, because it was one more thing Dad worried about.

After she'd gone to bed, Sam had overheard Dad talking with Gram about hay. Dad always counted on a September harvest. Now, because of the rain, he was afraid he wouldn't get it. So far the rain had been light, but he didn't want to risk a long wet spell. Wet hay could rot. If it did, they couldn't afford to buy good hay from someone else.

She'd heard him slap his palm against the table.

“A single hundred-degree day is all I need. We could cut and dry that entire field of alfalfa one day and bale it the next.”

The numbers on Sam's watch glowed blue-green in the darkness. Midnight. This was the time the Phantom had come to the river.

He hadn't come since his capture, and she had no
reason to believe he would come tonight. He couldn't know tomorrow was special to her. Even if he did, what would a first day of school mean to a horse?

The thunder boomed. Closer.
Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day
. The nursery rhyme meant something to a rancher's daughter.

Blaze's toenails clicked across the kitchen floor, then Sam heard him drink from his water bowl. By the sound of his lapping, he didn't have much left.

Grabbing at the excuse, Sam swung her legs out from under the covers. Quickly and quietly, she moved through the dark house to the kitchen and refilled Blaze's water bowl.

With the dog's noisy drinking to cover her movements, Sam opened the door and slipped outside.

Mud-scented wind blew Sam's nightgown behind her, but nothing else moved. Holding to a porch post, she leaned out as far as she could, staring toward the river.

Starlight showed the sway of a few trees. If the clouds blew aside, unveiling the moon, she might see the Phantom standing on the other side of the river.

Of course, that idea made no sense. When even night birds were tucked into dry nests, why would the stallion be out?

A crack, a sizzle, a glare of white-gold light ripped a crooked path across the black sky. Sam caught her breath and smelled a metallic heat at the moment she saw him.