Wild Honey (6 page)

“Ma'am?” Jake choked the word out.

“Just a bicycle, then, I suppose, and maybe one of my big hats.” Mrs. Allen sighed, nodded, and looked back at her list. “I guess that's all, since they'll be bringing their own guns loaded with blanks.”

S
am wondered if this was how life unrolled around you when you were crazy. People spouted weird, unrelated words and no matter how hard you listened, they still sounded loony.

Sam eased away from the kitchen table. She'd spent enough time in Mrs. Allen's house that she felt at home, so she opened the freezer to see if the ice cubes had frozen yet. They hadn't, but she couldn't help thinking one person in this room definitely needed a cool drink to soothe a heat-fevered brain.

“Sheriff Ballard called,” Mrs. Allen began.

“Oh. Got it,” Jake said.

Sheriff Ballard. Bicycles. Tarps. Guns.

That all made sense to Jake?

Luckily, Mrs. Allen saw Sam's confusion and explained.

“It seems Sheriff Ballard has gathered some local riders for a mounted posse he can call out for emergencies,” Mrs. Allen said. “He mentioned search and rescue, which I understand, and riots, which I don't. Not in Darton County, for heaven's sake. Still, he'd scheduled some training sessions, called de…” Mrs. Allen's eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she tried to remember. “Designing? No, that's not it.”

“Desensitization?” Jake suggested.

“Yes!” Mrs. Allen said, and her enthusiasm made Sam smile. “The sheriff has hired an out-of-state expert on desensitizing police horses, and he's doing some workshops with this volunteer unit. Folks will bring their own horses and get them bomb-proofed.” Mrs. Allen hesitated for a second. “Although, I doubt he means that literally.”

Sam laughed. Of course Sheriff Ballard meant they'd train the horses not to shy at unusual things that might send the average horse into a frenzy. This was beginning to sound really fun.

“And what will we do?” Sam asked, but more than helping out, she wished she could ride Ace in the workshop. This time last year, she wouldn't have thought anything could make her cow pony act skittish, but a single trip to the outskirts of the city had shown her she was wrong.

“Well, the first class was supposed to take place at the fairgrounds tomorrow and someone forgot to write it down, or double-booked it, or something like that, and there's already a computer convention scheduled there, with lots of little booths and demonstrations in the arena, which is where the desensitization would have taken place. Not only that, the Police Explorers, a youth group that was supposed to create all the loud distractions—”

“Oh, now I get the part about the clown on the unicycle!” Sam interrupted, nodding. That was just the sort of thing a police horse would have to tolerate during parade duty.

It was beginning to make sense to her now.

“So, the fire truck will run its lights and sirens so that if the horses are around emergency vehicles…” Sam mused aloud, and her mind went spinning on.

The big tarp would accustom them to walking over strange footing. The baby stroller would teach them to be careful by strange rolling objects. And if a horse would stand still for having an umbrella opened in its face, or a pistol fired nearby, he'd be tolerant of almost anything.

“Do you know how much I'd love to take Ace through training like that?” Sam sighed.

Such things sure didn't come naturally, no matter how good the horse was. Sam knew that from experience. When she'd ridden Ace into town for the rodeo, he'd spooked at a water truck, noisy children, and
other things that police horses could encounter daily.

“Do it,” Jake urged. “You know he'll want more volunteers for the posse.”

Mrs. Allen cleared her throat and looked a bit strained.

“The thing is, when the sheriff mentioned the amount he'd budgeted for the fairgrounds and offered it to me, I said yes, of course we could stage the desensitization class here, but I'll need some young people to help out.”

Sam didn't know how to feel. Even if she didn't get to use Ace, this was an exciting opportunity. She could learn a lot, help Mrs. Allen, and keep an eye on the injured mare. Her teeth sawed at her bottom lip as she imagined how nerve-wracking the strange sounds and scents would be for the mustang.

But she'd be right there, and everyone else would be too busy to discover the hidden horse. And if, by some bizarre chance, someone did go into the barn and see her, wouldn't they think the palomino was just one of Mrs. Allen's rescued mustangs? With luck, even Mrs. Allen would forget about the mare.

Sam sighed and smiled. Everything would work out for Mrs. Allen and the mare, and Ace was just fine the way he was.

“How many kids did he say you'd need to help harass the horses?” Jake asked.

Sam hoped it wouldn't matter that she'd missed about half of what Mrs. Allen had just said. She also
hoped Gram would let her put off cleaning the oven, and Brynna would agree to let her organize her bedroom closet some other day, because she'd be helping to train horses for the sheriff's posse, and helping Mrs. Allen make enough money to keep the wild horse sanctuary afloat. How could they possibly say no?

“He didn't say,” Mrs. Allen told him. “Just some.”

“How many volunteer riders are coming?” Jake persisted.

Mrs. Allen sucked in a breath through pursed lips. “I'm not sure. He mentioned his own horse, Jinx. Your Jinx, Sam,” Mrs. Allen added. “Hard to believe Clara at the diner got him for one dollar and a piece of cake! He is the nicest horse. And fast? Well I should say so.”

Jake clasped his hands together and let them hang in front of him, forcing himself to be patient.

“And let's see,” Mrs. Allen said, finally, “the sheriff told me Katie Sterling and Mr. Martinez are on the posse, so they'll bring Tinkerbell and Teddy Bear, but I don't know who all else. I guess I should have asked.”

Jake brushed aside Mrs. Allen's concern. “You'll need more than two,” he said, then he looked at Sam. “How 'bout you get Jen and I'll call Darrell, and in the meantime, you phone Sheriff Ballard and see if you can ride Ace during the training.”

“Jake, that's really nice, but what about you and
Witch? Or Jen and Silly?” Sam couldn't help thinking her friends would have fun riding in the class, too.

“Because of all that tracking I do,” Jake said, shrugging, “Witch is pretty much okay. And Jen's horse is parade trained.”

“Great,” Sam said, amazed that Jake had jumped into the planning so wholeheartedly.

“Jake, I'm surprised you're not on the posse,” Mrs. Allen said.

Jake looked down. Sam couldn't read his expression.

“He calls me for tracking, sometimes,” Jake said, and Sam could almost read his mind. Although Jake loved tracking and was considered a local expert, he was working hard to earn college scholarships. Jake was always good at putting what was most important, first.

“Well, then, that explains it,” Mrs. Allen said. “I guess I should get started on this truly bizarre shopping list. Oh! But what about your horse?”

Sam knew Mrs. Allen wasn't talking about Ace or the Phantom, but something about the question stirred up a vague worry.

“The palomino?” Sam asked, stalling.

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Allen said.

“I'll just stay with her for a while before I ride home. Then tomorrow, when I come back for the desensitization thing, I'll check on her.”

“And this is supposed to stay hush-hush?” Mrs. Allen asked.

“Well, yeah, if that's okay,” Sam said.

“For a few days,” Mrs. Allen said pointedly, “but it means I'll definitely skip that mixer your Gram wants me to go to—”

“Oh, no, you can still do that,” Sam said.

“No, ma'am,” Mrs. Allen said. “No matter how hard I try, somehow it'd get out that I'm hiding this horse. One lesson I've learned over the years, Sam, is nothing travels faster than secrets at a church social.”

 

Since Mrs. Allen's shopping list required a drive into Darton, she took a quick shower. While they waited, Sam and Jake stood at the living room window that overlooked the pasture of unadoptable wild horses.

Sam spotted a black mare with a bright bay colt, Licorice and Windfall, then a yellow dun named Fourteen. He had been named that because Mrs. Allen had joked that she had to round out her adopted herd so she wouldn't have an unlucky thirteen wild horses.

“I don't see Faith,” Sam told Jake, just as Mrs. Allen returned dressed in a clean skirt and blouse.

“She's at a difficult age—not grown up and not a baby, so she spends a lot of time off on her own,” Mrs. Allen said, then added, “I never did give you two lunch. The least I can do is drop you off at home.”

“I have Ace,” Sam rushed to explain, and Jake flashed her a strained look.

Jake was afoot. Three Ponies was at least five miles away. Also, the temperature kept climbing. Those facts would have made the choice to ride in a vehicle instead of walk a snap decision for most people.

But when the driver was Mrs. Allen, it wasn't an easy offer to accept.

Mrs. Allen's driving had improved briefly after her grandson Gabe had been injured in a car accident, but lately she'd reverted to her old habits. Her tangerine-colored truck careened around the county as if launched in a giant pinball machine.

“Speaking of Ace,” Mrs. Allen said, “I called Sheriff Ballard from my bedroom phone and he said that since Dallas is coming anyway—”

“Dallas is going to be on the volunteer posse?” Sam asked, surprised.

“So he says, and I figured Ace could ride along in the trailer with Dallas' horse. He said we'd only need three or four people, and so I asked if I could help and with Jake's friend, your Jen and this out-of-state expert, there's no problem.”

“Mrs. Allen, you are just the best!” Sam said, giving the woman's forearm a squeeze.

“Well now, I don't know about that,” she said, looking flustered. Then she pointed her index finger at Sam. “Just see that you get here in time to unload all this strange gear.”

“I will,” Sam said, then crossed her heart. “I promise.”

Sam hummed with happiness while Jake weighed the odds of getting home in one piece if he rode in the tangerine-colored truck. Mrs. Allen added tennis balls, floating pool noodles, and maracas to her list.

She'd just stuffed her list into her big black purse when Imp and Angel gave a volley of alarmed barks, then dove under the kitchen table and shivered in silence.

“Now, what do you suppose?” Mrs. Allen said. “They only act like that, I'm ashamed to say, when Dr. Scott comes over, and I surely haven't called him for anything.”

Sam's heart slammed against her ribs.

Dr. Scott, the vet. The BLM vet.

A wave of paranoia closed over her. She didn't look at Jake or Mrs. Allen because she was afraid she'd accuse one of them—no, both of them—of calling the vet. After all, Jake had been alone in the house cleaning up after the quail, and Mrs. Allen had been in the house for some time, supposedly making lunch, before she and Jake came in. But Mrs. Allen hadn't made lunch. Maybe she'd called the vet instead.

Wait a minute,
Sam told herself. These people were her friends.

Jake had just encouraged her to do something she wanted, even though it meant more work for him.
And Mrs. Allen had arranged for her to do it!

Besides, neither Jake nor Mrs. Allen were shy about speaking their minds or taking action. If they believed Sam was making a terrible mistake, they'd stop her.

“Maybe he was just in the neighborhood?” Sam asked. She glanced at Jake, but he'd helped himself to a big glass of water and now he was stretching out his legs as if warming up for another run.

“Sam,” Mrs. Allen said, “that poor young veterinarian is so overworked, he doesn't have time for courtesy calls. At your place, maybe, where Grace will feed him—but here? All I've got to offer is blisters and bites. Oh, hush up, Angel,” Mrs. Allen added as a growl emerged from under the table. “Well, we might as well go out and see what he wants. I heard they had a case of West Nile virus over in Blackheel City. True, it's a hundred miles away, but what's distance to a mosquito?”

Sighing fatalistically, Mrs. Allen stood up.

Sam held her breath as the old woman turned and looked into her eyes. “Won't change your mind about having him look at that mare, I suppose?”

“No…” Sam knew as the word passed her lips that she could be wrong, but she said it anyway and followed Mrs. Allen outside.

“Guess I'll jog home,” Jake said.

“Jake, why don't you stay and—” Sam started.

“'Cause I'm no good at this,” Jake said, and Sam
closed her eyes. She didn't have to ask what Jake meant, because she was no different. Neither of them were good at lying.

 

At first, when Dr. Scott climbed out of his truck, Sam thought he was wearing odd-patterned jeans because of their light-dark patchiness. But the young vet walked stiffly and when he got closer, Sam noticed his jeans were coated in dry mud, some of which had flaked off, and his blue eyes looked red-rimmed and rabbity behind his glasses.

“It appears to me you've had a tough day already, Glen,” Mrs. Allen teased, but Dr. Scott wasn't in a joking mood.

“Irrigation system went haywire over in the pasture near Clara's coffee shop. I noticed it last night on my way home because a blue roan colt had got himself stuck and half drowned. He was weak as a new-hatched chick. Each time I tried to let go of him and get back to my truck to radio for help, he'd fall flat down and his nostrils would fill up with mud. I knew he'd drown if I left him. So when the Slocum girl drove past at about two
A.M
. and her headlights hit us, I flagged her down.”

Sam couldn't imagine high-fashion Rachel picking her way across a boggy field to help the veterinarian and a colt. She guessed she should stop always thinking the worst of Rachel.

“She didn't come too close,” Dr. Scott went on,
“just pulled to the side of the road and listened to me shout, but she promised—absolutely swore—she'd send someone.”