Red Feather Filly (6 page)

Sam heard Ryan's British accent and saw him standing near Jen. She smelled burned sugar and saw a marshmallow on a stick go up in flames.

“We'll come for you at five o'clock,” Mac said.

“In the morning?” Sam gasped. Of course she wanted to go. There was no way she'd turn down the chance to see the tribe's herd. But five o'clock…

“In the morning,” Mac repeated. Then his head lifted as if he'd heard something.

Sam noticed a flurry of movement around Linc Slocum. Part of her didn't want to know what he was up to, but Gram's familiar voice carried to her. Sam couldn't make out the exact words of their conversation, but she'd bet Slocum was presenting another of his money-making schemes.

What would it be this time? He'd tried to hoodwink the BLM by having an employee infiltrate their group of wranglers. He'd worked with an unscrupulous rodeo contractor to use his Brahma bulls in exchange for help in trapping wild horses. And he'd tried to bait mustangs into grazing by the road so they'd look picturesque to potential investors in his guest ranch.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who wanted to eavesdrop, because the conversations around the bonfire grew so hushed, Sam could hear Gram's voice.

“What will you do with them, Linc?” Gram asked.

“Not exactly sure, ma'am. Could be I'll raise them like beef, or maybe keep 'em penned on my place to
hunt. Not for myself, you understand, but for those dudes who've never been closer to one than a restaurant buffalo burger.”

Buffalo?

Linc snickered as if he'd made a great joke.

“First I've heard of it,” mumbled Jed Kenworthy, who stood nearby with Lila, Dad, and Brynna.

Sam's mind spun, trying to catch up.

Then Brynna stepped into the circle of firelight. Though she wore a long denim skirt and pink blouse, she moved with the firm assurance that went with her uniform.

Dad turned to Jed and muttered, “Hang onto your hats.”

“Linc,” Brynna said conversationally, “hunting bison wouldn't be all that sporting, would it?”

Sam didn't know the answer to that, and when her neighbors glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, she didn't think they did, either. The high desert wasn't buffalo country.

“I just liked the look of 'em,” Linc said, shrugging.

A few people chuckled, but in the seconds of silence that followed as they waited for the skirmish to continue, Sam heard her best friend's laughter. Then came Jen's voice, as clear as if she'd used a microphone.

“Honestly, that would be just like hunting cows!”

Sam knew Jen hated being the center of attention, but she'd attracted all eyes anyway. Worst of all, Linc Slocum stared directly at her as if she were about to be sorry.

J
en's hand flew up to cover her mouth, but clearly everyone had heard. Though several neighbors muttered their agreement, Sam was amazed.

Jen was levelheaded and logical. Usually. But she was standing there, talking to Ryan. Her words made it clear she thought Linc Slocum was either stupid or unscrupulous. Even if she was right, Linc was Ryan's dad.

Slocum gave a humorless chuckle and shook his finger toward Jen. “There you go chattering just like my girl. But you probably haven't heard they're pretty fierce. And for just the skull and cape,” he made a gesture that included the top of his head and down to his shoulders. “Some hunting ranches are getting two or three thousand dollars. More than
that, if you let the customer keep the meat.”

Sam felt queasy. Linc didn't sound like a man who'd bought bison just because he “liked the look of them.”

Beside her, Jed and Mac stood with crossed arms. Their faces were expressionless and she wished they'd say something.

“You want to be sure and have them tested before you put them out on the range,” cautioned Mrs. Allen. “I was reading about some trouble they had in Montana with beefalo—the crossbred, you know—carrying disease.”

“Probably I'll keep them penned with my Brahmas—”

“Ain't that gonna be a hoot,” Jed muttered.

“—but thanks for your advice,” Linc's tight-jawed response signaled he didn't sound grateful at all. He looked around, waiting for laughter, but his sarcasm fell flat.

Trudy Allen might be an artist and sort of eccentric, but she'd lived in Darton County for years and her husband had been a respected cattleman. No one would side with Linc against her.

Sam chanced a glance toward Ryan and Jen. Jen met Sam's eyes with a pleading look Sam couldn't interpret. Ryan just looked embarrassed.

She couldn't say exactly why he did, because everyone standing near the fire wore a red cast from the flames. It was something in the way he held his
shoulders, tense and immobile.

“Well now, maybe we'll think of some way to show off my buffalo and help publicize your Super Bowl of Horsemanship at the same time,” Linc tried to pluck the pink flyer from the pocket of gabardine pants that were way too tight. It took a few minutes, but finally he pinched an edge of the pink paper and slid it free. “Don't ya think people would like to look over an authentic herd of wild buffalo while they're waiting for my son to win the race?”

Ryan didn't waste another moment on embarrassment. He knew people would start talking if he didn't.

“You flatter me, Father.” Somehow the words were audible, though Ryan spoke through gritted teeth. “There are many more talented riders here—”

“Oh, knock off the false modesty, boy. You're a top-notch rider and Sky Ranger's in prime condition for a race. They might know the lay of the land better, but that only means you use one of them for a partner.”

Use
one of them. Sam shook her head. Linc Slocum must not realize his words almost guaranteed no one would want to ride with Ryan.

Then Slocum winked at Jen and Sam knew she was wrong. Jen would ride with Ryan. She wondered how Silly would do, though. Jen's palomino was strong. Sam had never seen her falter a single step, no matter the terrain or length of the ride. But Mrs. Allen's flyer would be sure to attract many other
riders. Did Silly have the temperament to run with a field of competitive horses?

“I guess no one's going to finish these tacos or eat this cake,” Gram's mock despair cut across the uneasy silence. “What's a person to think when there's an entire yellow layer cake just going to waste? I guess maybe I should whistle for the dog and see if he'll eat it.”

Five minutes later, Mac had managed to snag fry bread for himself and Sam, and pile it high with taco meat, lettuce, and cheese, before he rejoined his son and daughter-in-law. Jake had filled a bowl with shrimp and dipping sauce. Now he and Sam leaned against the hitching rail, quietly watching the party go on.

Most guests were licking icing from their lips, and the cake plate was empty. Adam and Bryan were playing a rollicking song on their guitars while someone sang along. Sam was so sure the mellow mood would last until everyone had gone home, she didn't jinx it by asking Jake what he thought of Linc's buffalo scheme.

She only felt a twinge of worry when Jen and Ryan approached.

Jake muttered, “Here comes trouble.”

Sam elbowed him in reprimand.

“Think how embarrassed he must be,” she whispered.

Jake answered with an unsympathetic grunt.

“Hi,” Jen said, a little too cheerily.

“Hi,” Sam responded. She was still wondering what to say next when Ryan spoke up.

“So, Ely, you'll be riding in this race, I suppose?”

“Sure,” Jake said. “And you?”

Ryan shrugged. “I'm sure that big black mare of yours is up to it.”

Silence filled in behind Ryan's statement, which somehow sounded like a question. After a few seconds, Sam couldn't stand the tension.

“He might not be riding Witch,” she said, and then Jake's glare stabbed her and the word
mistake
repeated again and again in her brain, ringing out like a burglar alarm.

“Really?” Jen asked. “Which horse are you going to ride?”

“Uh,” Sam said, looking to Jake for help.

Jake smiled back at her, but his grin didn't hold an ounce of friendliness.
You got us into this
, his expression said,
now get us out.

Sam noticed Jen watching her, trying to offer support. She knew Jake was blaming Sam for speaking up.

“That big chocolate horse of your brother's, perhaps?” Ryan asked.

“Naw,” Jake said.

Sam knew Jake wouldn't let her off the hook. Jen knew it, too, but Ryan kept guessing.

“That red chestnut,” he said, looking at the ten-acre pasture.

“Nike's really only good over short distances,” Sam said, but she knew the distraction wasn't working.

“I give up,” Ryan said.

“He'll be riding one of the Shoshone horses,” Sam said.

“From out at Monument Lake?” Jen pounced on Sam's words with excitement. “Are they in shape? The graze is sparse out there and it's been a hard winter.”

As Jen's voice trailed off, Sam could almost hear her friend wondering if the harsh conditions would lead to a stronger horse or an unhealthy one.

Ryan passed one hand over his sleek hair and exhaled loudly.

“You're riding a wild horse, then?”

“Guess so,” Jake said.

For the first time since her blunder, Jake seemed to be enjoying himself. He wasn't gloating, exactly, but Sam recognized that lazy tomcat smile. He knew the announcement had aroused Ryan's competitive spirit.

“You're convinced you can have a wild horse ready to compete in just two weeks.” Ryan wasn't asking a question, he was deciding whether it was possible.

“That's a pretty big job, even for you,” Jen said.

“She won't have to do anything fancy; just run where I point her.”

Mrs. Coley arrived with a pan full of brownies,
begging them to eat. They did, but the conversation about horses wasn't over and they all knew it.

“So you'll be riding a true Indian pony,” Ryan mused.

“She runs with the tribal herd. I don't know how big she'll be.”

“You haven't even seen her yet?” Jen gasped. Her mouth stayed open for a moment. She used her forefinger to push her glasses back up her nose before she looked at Sam. “Is he suicidal or something?”

“It's just sort of a challenge,” Sam said.

“Indeed it is,” Ryan said, and then he nodded a couple times more than was normal. “I've been spending a bit of time at the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary. Perhaps I'll see if I can borrow one of her mustangs for the race.”

“Oh my gosh,” Jen said, drawing each word out. “I get it. This is turning into ‘anything you can do, I can do better,' isn't it?”

“Neither of us is that juvenile, Jennifer,” Ryan said, but he didn't take his eyes from Jake's.

“Yeah, Jennifer,” Jake echoed.

“Wait,” Sam said. “I know those horses, Ryan, and you don't have much to choose from. There's Faith's mother. She's a great horse, but still nursing. There's a sickle-hocked bay, another bay with a ewe neck. They might settle down for you,” Sam said dubiously. “That little sorrel is beautiful, but her legs.” Sam shook her head at the memory. “That
permanently cranky black and that tiny paint with the allergic condition—forget it.”

“Actually, you've forgotten the horse I'm thinking about.”

“The liver chestnut who thinks he's still a stallion,” Jake said.

“Indeed,” Ryan said. “Mrs. Allen is calling him Roman because of his rather dramatic nose.”

Sam remembered. The liver chestnut had led the “unadoptable” mustangs down the hill from Willow Springs adoption center. He'd stayed up front, too, until they reached Deerpath Ranch. She couldn't remember his conformation well enough to decide whether it was suitable for the race.

“He has the attitude to win,” Sam allowed. “But that attitude is going to get you pitched off plenty before he accepts a rider.”

“Well then there's a first time for everything, I suppose,” Ryan said.

He wouldn't sound so unconcerned if he'd crashed into the ground face-or seat-or even shoulder-first, Sam thought. That reeling, helpless feeling was nothing to shrug off.

“Jen, we're riding out,” Jed Kenworthy called.

“Why are we always the first to leave?” Jen whined, but her father continued striding toward the barn corral where Ross had turned out their horses.

While Jake and Ryan stood sizing each other up, Lila pulled the girls aside.

“The party's breaking up,” Lila said, “and we'd like to get across the bridge and on our way before the cars start stampeding out of here.”

It made sense to Sam, but Jen had to try for a little more time.

“Right, Mom,” Jen sighed. “Just when things are getting interesting.”

“Five more minutes,” Lila said. “I'll saddle Silly and have her waiting for you.”

“She only does that to make me feel guilty,” Jen said as she watched her mother hurry after her father. Then she grabbed Sam's shirt and hauled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “Have you noticed neither of these two jerks has given a thought to the fact that they need a partner?”

“Arrogant, bigheaded creeps,” Sam agreed. “They think they can just whistle and some girls will agree to ride with them.” Before she went on, though, she noticed Jen watching the guys again.

“You've never been thrown from a horse?” Jake was asking incredulously.

In a flash of memory, Sam recalled arriving home after two years in San Francisco. Her first glimpse of Jake, after all that time, was his blurred form sailing over a horse's ears and landing in a swirl of dust.

“Never,” Ryan confirmed, but Jake wasn't buying it.

“No horse ever stopped before a jump and you kept going? Not one ever took off when you just
had one boot in the stirrup?”

“Actually, both of those have happened. I've just been fortunate enough not to have fallen.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck and stared off into the darkness. A slow smile curved his lips as if he was looking into the future and what he saw coming amused him.

“What I figure is, you just haven't been challengin' yourself, pardner,” Jake said with a phony drawl.

Sam wanted to shriek when Jake pulled that fake cowpoke twang, but apparently Ryan was ready for it.

“Yeah?” he asked, with little trace of his British accent. “Well I just reckon we'll see, won't we,
pardner
?”