Untamed (5 page)

The flat grassland looked bare for a minute. Then something big appeared. Headlights stabbed through the darkness and moonlight rolled on a windshield.

Was it Caleb Sawyer? Didn't hermits stay home? That's what made them hermits, right?

The headlights bounded over the rough terrain, coming closer.

What if the hermit was driving out to see if Luke Ely had sent someone? What if he came right up to Jake's truck and looked inside?

Sam thought of the shell casing.

If this was the shooter, he might have seen her gathering evidence and carefully bagging it. A clammy warmth settled over her as she realized Jake was accelerating, actually hurrying to meet the other vehicle.

“Stop!” Sam urged. “Don't go over there.”

What if Caleb Sawyer had used binoculars to see her clearly? If he drove right up beside them, she just knew he'd still have that rifle.

“Sam, what's wrong with you? Don't grab my arm when I'm driving,” Jake snapped. “I might crash.”

“You
will
crash, if you keep going toward him, 'cause that guy's got a gun.”

“Sam, three-quarters of the ranchers around here have rifles. I've got one at home. Relax.”

“But he uses it!”

“What are you talking about?”

To convince Jake to stop being foolhardy, she'd have to tell him the truth.

“Today,” she blurted. “I saw him use it today. He was trying to shoot horses and he wasn't trying to miss me, okay? He doesn't care if he hurts people.”

“Mighta been nice if you'd mentioned this to me before, Brat,” Jake commented in a strained but level tone.

“I'm
mentioning
it now,” Sam moaned. “Please, let's get out of here before he recognizes me!”

Jake cranked the steering wheel hard right and spun the truck around. The fact that he'd taken her warning to heart should have made her feel better. Instead, she was even more scared.

Sam leaned forward as if it would help the truck speed across the range. Suddenly the tires hit a series of mud ruts, which had dried into ridges that were as hard as concrete. They bounced in jerky jolts until the truck veered right, jarring Sam's head against the passenger window with a sharp crack.

As if she could hide from the pain, Sam closed her eyes. The darkness welcomed her. If she could only stay there, for a minute…

S
am felt dizzy.

She heard a loud stomp. Was it Jake putting on the emergency brake?

A click. Jake releasing his seat belt?

Then Sam sensed something scrabbling toward her. Her eyes popped wide open.

Jake loomed over her in the dark truck.

“Are you okay? That was your head hitting the window, wasn't it? I don't even believe this.”

“I'm fine,” she said, pushing at his chest. “Back off, can't you? Is he still after us?”

Jake ignored her question and her shoves.

“You're supposed to avoid another blow to the head,” he said as one hand pushed aside her hair and
his fingers explored her temple.

It was creepy, the way he felt gently for cuts or blood. It was stupid, too. Those injuries would mean nothing if the hermit caught up with them.

“Forget about my head, look!”

The headlights were still coming. They cut crazy, slashing patterns through the darkness. Sam squinted as a spotlight shone from the top of the blocky, black-and-white vehicle. Was it stopping?

The light was so blindingly bright, she didn't see the figure until it was at the driver's side window.

“You kids okay?” Sheriff Ballard shouted.

Sam touched her chest, trying to slow the thud of her pounding heart. This must be how a rabbit felt when it had been chased by a coyote, then escaped into its burrow.

Jake opened the door on his side of the truck.

“Jake Ely, right?”

Sam guessed the sheriff recognized Jake for the tracking help he'd given the police once.

“Yes, sir,” Jake said. He didn't look surprised when the sheriff shone the beam of his flashlight inside.

Sam squinted against the brightness. With her eyes almost closed, she said, “I'm Samantha Forster.”

“Wyatt's girl, and you've got your seat belt on, so that jouncing didn't hurt you much. Am I right?”

Before Sam could say anything, Jake did.

“She banged her head against the window.”

And here came the flashlight again. Sam closed her
eyes against light so bright the blood vessels in her eyelids shone sizzling red. Her head felt fine, but her retinas would probably never be the same.

“Looks okay,” the sheriff said. “But you'll want to tell your dad you got a bump, make sure nothin' comes of it.”

“I will,” Sam promised. That was a conversation she wasn't looking forward to. She'd just hope she didn't have to have it in front of Jake.

He was as protective as a bear with one cub, and just about as easy to reason with. Sam started to shake her head at the silly comparison, but when she did, she felt dizzy all over again.

At least Jake wasn't watching when she winced.

“I notice your rack,” the sheriff said, nodding at the gun rack that spanned the truck's back window. “Got a rifle in here?”

“No,” Jake said. His face stayed expressionless, but Sam heard the insulted tone in his voice and Sam knew Jake thought he was being accused of something.

Sheriff Ballard must have noticed that tone, too, but he didn't try to make Jake feel better. With his shaggy brown hair, mustache, and alert eyes, the sheriff gave the appearance of a trapper, waiting patiently for Jake to step into a snare.

“Reason I'm here is on account of an anonymous call saying someone was plinking at wildlife out this way,” the sheriff explained.

Sam held her breath for a second. How could there have been a call? She and Jen had been the only ones out here, hadn't they? The hermit wouldn't report himself.

If she didn't tell the sheriff she'd been out here, Jake might. She shot him a quick glance.

Oh, yeah. Jake's eyes said he'd definitely tell.

“There was,” Sam admitted.

“Was what?” the sheriff asked.

“Someone shooting at mustangs and antelope,” Sam said.

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Not a very good one,” Sam admitted. When the sheriff stood there, waiting, she added, “Good enough to know it wasn't anyone I recognized.” Still, Sheriff Ballard stayed silent. “It was a man.”

“You didn't see a vehicle, I suppose?” the sheriff asked.

“I'm pretty sure there wasn't one, or a horse.”

“The call didn't say much, either,” the sheriff said. “Not enough to go on. We're having it traced, though, so maybe we'll get something more from the caller.”

Sam bit her lip. Could it have been Jen? It would be like her to report something dangerous, but why had she made the report anonymously?

“I saved the shell casing,” Sam offered. Both the sheriff and Jake looked at her with amazement. Had she said it wrong? “You know, the brass thing that goes around the bullet?”

“That's the shell casing,” Sheriff Ballard said, nodding. “You picked it up?”

“In a plastic baggie,” Sam said.

Sheriff Ballard shook his head and laughed. “Just when I get irritated with TV folks for making police work look fun and easy, something like this happens.

“And you still have it?” he asked.

“At home,” Sam blurted.

The sheriff chuckled again.

“If I picked you up after school tomorrow, do you think you could give it to me and we could go to my office for a talk?”

Sam almost cheered. This was exactly what she needed. Professional help. She'd bring Mom's note along, too, and since the sheriff was taking her seriously, she'd bet he'd help unravel the snarl of trouble her mother had been investigating.

The sheriff stayed to make sure Jake could back the truck out of the ruts and start home.

Once they were on their way, Sam glanced at the glowing turquoise numbers on her watch. It seemed like forever since she'd left River Bend, but it was only eight thirty.

When she yawned, Jake glanced over at her.

“How's your head?” he asked grimly.

Sam felt so impatient with him, she thought about faking a faint. But that would be a really bad idea.

Jake still blamed himself for the head injury she'd suffered when he was helping her gentle Blackie, the
colt who'd grown up to be the Phantom.

“It's fine.” Sam sighed, but she could tell Jake was drowning in guilt because he'd been driving, now, when she hit her head again.

They drove in silence for a few minutes and Sam was just beginning to think Jake wasn't going to act paranoid and overly protective when he exploded.

“Are you crazy?” he shouted.

“Why do people keep asking that? Of course I'm—”

“Because you have a one-track mind when it comes to mustangs,” Jake said. “Nothing else matters. Think about this: A guy with a gun nearly shoots you and you don't tell anyone?”

“I just told someone,” Sam said, crossing her arms and cinching them tightly against each other.

“But you wouldn't have, would you?”

“Oh yeah, right,” she snapped, then continued with more than her usual sarcasm. “I was planning to wear that shell casing on a chain around my neck.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Jake muttered. After a few seconds he added, “I don't know Caleb Sawyer. My dad doesn't think he's dangerous, but don't go getting any ideas about knocking on his door and asking him questions.”

Arms still crossed, Sam shook her head. Jake really must think she was crazy. She wouldn't do that.

But if she did, it might help answer some questions.

What would she do when she got to Caleb
Sawyer's ranch? Ask if his antelope poaching had somehow caused her mother's death?

“Hey, if you went with me—” Sam broke off when Jake glared at her. “Never mind.”

“Sure, ‘never mind.' All you're going to tell me is some guy shot at you. That figures.”

“I—You didn't ask,” she said. “Why are you so mad?”

Jake's head shook in a curt refusal to talk. If she didn't know, his gesture said, he couldn't explain in a hundred years.

Now, River Bend Ranch had come into sight. Sam could see the glow of the front porch light.

Blaze started barking, announcing their arrival, while Sam tried to decide how to keep Jake outside while she went in. That would be important.

Because she wasn't stupid, she'd mention she'd bumped her head, but there was absolutely no reason to tell Dad, Gram, and Brynna about the sheriff. Or the shell casing.

She hadn't been hurt, after all. The gunman had been trying to shoot animals. For sure. After all, when she'd yelled at him, he'd skulked away.

Jake had not been there. He didn't know. And, though she was the one with the head injury,
he
was certifiably insane on the subject of her safety. He could not be allowed to get her family in an uproar.

She'd be in enough trouble without his interference.

Ace neighed a welcome when Jake's truck stopped and Blaze bounded across the River Bend Ranch yard. Sam opened the truck door to escape Jake's glare and her horse continued a conversational nickering.

“Hey, baby,” Sam said, smooching at Ace.

She saw a flicker at the kitchen window as a curtain was drawn back, then dropped into place. It would've been perfect if everyone had already been in bed, but her bad luck day was still holding on.

Out of the corners of her eyes, Sam watched. Sure enough, Jake climbed out of the truck as well.

“You don't have to come in,” she said pleasantly.

He shrugged and kept walking toward the porch.

Fine
, Sam thought.
No more Ms. Nice Guy
.

“I can handle this, Jake.”

A cricket chirped, a night bird warbled a question, and Jake still didn't say anything, just stomped his big, stupid boots up the porch, then waited for her to catch up.

With choppy steps, she followed, then stood on the porch, hands on hips, and glared at him.

Jake only looked bored.

“I hate you, Jake Ely,” she said.

He had the nerve to smile. “After you, sweet talker,” he said, then opened the door and nodded her on through.

When Blaze crowded ahead of her, Sam let him go.

 

Any other night, walking into a kitchen that smelled of cinnamon and sugar would feel great.

Not tonight. Instead of finding Gram amid a clutter of rolling pin and waxed paper, she'd hoped Gram would be upstairs, asleep.

She paused in her walnut chopping to smile at them.

“Hello, Jake,” Gram said, then peered inside the oven to check the cookies that were already baking. “Thanks for seeing Sam home.”

Gram didn't glance at the clock, but the fact that she didn't start filling Jake full of food reminded Sam it was getting late and tomorrow was school.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. He only did that when he felt awkward. She still had a chance to drive him out of here.

“Yeah Jake, thanks,” Sam said. “See you tomor—”

“Unless you'd like to sit for a minute and wait for this first batch of cookies to be done,” Gram offered.

Traitor!
Sam thought. Gram just couldn't resist feeding people.

“Okay,” Jake said. He'd barely lowered himself into a chair when the door between the kitchen and living room swung open.

“Wasn't that Sam? Oh. Hi, Jake.”

Brynna wasn't in her robe yet, but her hair hung loose and Dad was right behind her, wearing his socks, without boots.

“Jake,” Dad said, nodding.

Jake shifted in discomfort. His cheeks flushed such a dark red, anyone would have thought Dad had forgotten his pants!

Good. Maybe he'd leave after all, Sam thought.

But he didn't. Jake was determined to stay and humiliate her, no matter what.

Gram leaned past Sam to place a plate of warm cookies on the table. She patted Sam's shoulder as she straightened, then took a quick, surprised breath.

“What's this?” Gram said, looking at Sam's temple.

Oh my gosh. Had it swollen? Bruised?

“Just a little bump.” Sam struggled to sound casual. “No big deal.”

“What happened out there, Jake?” Dad didn't say it like an accusation, either. It was more like Jake had been the adult in charge.

“Oh, it's nice of you to ask
him
, instead of trusting your own daughter!”

“
Did
something happen?” Brynna asked Sam.

Her stepmother's expression flashed between guilt for letting Sam go and professional interest. But at least she wasn't addressing her question to Jake.

“No trouble with the horses,” Sam began, but then Jake interrupted.

“She knocked her head against the window—”

“But I'm okay!”

“—when I hit a rut, running from headlights.”

“Did that Caleb do something crazy?” Dad's
voice was as low and threatening as Blaze when he growled.

“No,” Jake admitted.

Of course,
now
Jake decided to clam up. He lifted his hand a fraction of an inch off the table, gesturing at Sam.

“Samantha?” Dad asked.

She had no choice, so she tried to get everything out without taking a second breath.

“Today when Jen and I were riding out there, just looking for New Moon, we saw some pronghorn mixed in with the Phantom's herd and then all of a sudden, this guy stands up—I don't know if it was Caleb Sawyer, it could've been, I think it was—and he tried to shoot the Phantom.”

“The Phantom's band was over at Snake Head Peak?” Brynna asked.

Dad's head whipped around to send Brynna a look. He seemed to be saying,
You're as bad as she is
.

“I mean,” Brynna amended her statement, “what were you doing over at Snake Head Peak? Moon's territory was Aspen Creek, and Phantom usually doesn't hang out there.”

Dad set his jaw so hard that Sam heard his teeth grind against each other.

He pushed his chair back so hard it screeched, then strode to the door and opened it.