Mountain Mare (6 page)

“I
t was no big deal,” Jen told Sam later as they unsaddled their horses outside the rodeo barn that would provide a home for Ryden Rodeo Productions horses for the next few days.

The fairground had three double barns. Sam and Jen peeked inside theirs and saw that an interior corridor ran between rows of twelve stalls on each side, with a feed room at one end and a tack room at the other. The barn was airy and light, and the horses could look inside the barn or out to the activity of people and animals preparing for tonight's rodeo performance.

As Sam and Jen unsaddled Ace and Silly, a trio of glossy black horses—part of Hal Ryden's arena
remuda—stretched their necks over half doors to watch. Their muzzles dripped water, as if instinct had urged them to take greedy swallows from their buckets before the new arrivals could drink. The horses' nostrils were dusted with cedar shavings and the scent of fresh bedding was all around.

“It was, too, a big deal,” Sam insisted as she released Ace's cinch, tossed it over the saddle seat, then grabbed the horn and cantle to slide the saddle from her horse's sweating back.

“Nonsense,” Jen said. “Just hustle, okay? I want to get back over to the arena. Hal said they'd let the mare stay there, with the other stock until we get there, but—”

“I know.” Sam tried not to sound snappish as the saddle blanket, covered in Ace's red-gold hairs, came off with the saddle and fell across her boot toes. Sam kicked it aside. Carefully.

It would be just her luck to trip and fall flat on her face, now, when she had an audience.

On their way to the “Last Roundup” barbecue, sponsored by the Darton Rodeo Association, many of the dudes had already come by to tell Sam how much they admired her dramatic riding. Some thought it had been a Hollywood-style trick. Others thought Ace had acted up and she'd ridden him to a standstill. No one but Jen seemed to see it for what it was: a mistake. All hers.

If she'd been a better rider, she would have seen
at a glance that the chocolate mare was following, then she would have shifted her attention forward where it belonged. She wouldn't have been clawing to stay in the saddle. She wouldn't have nearly fallen. Most of all, she wouldn't have brought a range-bred mustang into town.

Guilt stabbed through her as she touched Ace's wet coat. The little horse was stressed, and she couldn't even give him the comfort of a good brushing. She didn't have a curry comb or dandy brush, and it seemed rude to ask a stranger if she could borrow grooming gear.

Sam unknotted the flannel she'd tied around her waist when it grew too hot, and used it to rub Ace down.

The gelding stared back over his shoulder. His brown eyes looked almost apologetic. His ribs heaved as if he'd run hard.

“It's not your fault, boy. It's mine,” she told him.

“Sam, no matter how many times you apologize to him, Ace won't understand,” Jen said.

“You don't know that.”

“Sure I do. Just watch. In a few minutes, he'll be drinking water, standing in one of these huge box stalls filled with cedar shavings, and he'll have forgotten all about it.”

Jen was probably right. Ace rarely held a grudge. But today her mistake had been lots worse than usual.

“How can you be sure?” Sam asked, watching
Jen lead her horse down the barn row to cool off. Silly looked curious and alert, not exhausted like Ace.

“Because it wasn't a traumatic event.” Jen's voice floated back to Sam. Then she returned. “He was distracted by the mare, just like you were. When he turned back and saw that girl in his path, he spooked. That's all. Next time he's in a parade or someplace congested like this, he'll know what to expect.”

There won't be a next time,
Sam thought.
This is one cow pony who'll be staying home.

Her hands were cold and shaky, despite the temperature. She pressed her palms against Ace's warm hide, feeling comforted even if he didn't.

She led Ace after Silly, and the gelding took easy strides. He'd begun relaxing.

“Samantha Forster, please report to the first aid station.”

Both girls stopped. Silly kept walking and only halted when she realized Jen wasn't coming with her.

Sam stared at Jen. Then, slowly, half afraid she'd imagined the official-sounding voice, Sam asked, “Did they just say what it sounded like? My name?”

Jen stared at the public address system as if she'd glimpse a face behind the speaker. Then she nodded.

“Samantha Forster, if you're on the grounds, please report to the first aid station.”

“Why would they want me?” Sam asked.

Jen mulled that over as she opened a stall and turned Silly in.

“Obviously you're okay,” Jen said then.

“Obviously,” Sam answered. “But maybe someone thought I was hurt in that horrible display of non-horsemanship in the parking lot,” Sam said.

“Shut up,” Jen requested in a sensible tone.

“Or—” Sam felt her stomach dip with fear. “What if that little girl was hurt after all?”

“Will you quit being so paranoid?” Jen scolded. “If she was hurt at all, it was from her dad scooping her up and clamping her in that bear hug against his chest.”

“But maybe after he took a closer look at her,” Sam began.

“Sam! Snap out of it!” Jen sounded as if she was out of patience.

Sam turned Ace into the stall next to Silly's as Jen kept talking.

“In case you didn't hear him, that father thanked you for ‘keeping your horse under control,' remember?”

“Then what is it?”

“Wouldn't it be faster to quit guessing and go see?”

Sam threw down her flannel. Of course, Jen was right.

Sam pretended she didn't see Jen retrieve the flannel shirt and begin folding it. “I don't even know where I'm going,” she muttered.

Ace neighed longingly after her.

Horses sure do forgive more easily than people,
she thought.

She headed toward a trailer that looked like it had been set up as an office. Could that be the first aid station?

Everyone she passed wore some kind of pass around their neck, or a fluorescent wristband. Clearly she should have one, too. She was hurrying between barns, threading her way past pens packed with Brahma bucking bulls, and there were plenty of men standing around with walkie-talkies, scrutinizing each passerby.

Why didn't anyone stop her?

Had they already circulated her description? Had she been deemed mounted and dangerous?

No, wait. Maybe no one questioned her because she still wore Hal Ryden's black and blue-green trappings. Did they think she belonged here? After all, she had helped bring in a hundred head of rodeo cattle and twenty-two riders.

If she considered it that way,
Sam thought,
maybe she did belong here.

As she drew closer, Sam saw the trailer that she was headed for had a sign on the door. It said
MEDIA
. Not first aid.

Sam swerved away, then stopped, hands on hips, to stare around. She could see the empty grandstand. Beyond that, the Ferris wheel turned in the carnival area.

“Last call,” the metallic voice said again, without a trace of impatience. “Samantha Forster, please report to the first aid station as soon as possible.”

Whoever wanted her wasn't giving up. But who could she ask for directions?

Screams of delight wafted to Sam from the mini roller coaster as she realized that the best place to seek help was right behind her.

Reporters would be covering the rodeo all week, and competitors got hurt far too often. Someone in the media trailer would know how to find the first aid station.

Hand raised, Sam stared at the closed door. She was wasting time. Something might really be wrong. Feeling nervous and out of place, Sam knocked on the door. Nothing happened.

If you belonged here, you probably knew to walk right in. Or you used your key.

Sam took a deep breath and held it. What was the worse thing that could happen if she just opened the door and asked her question?

Her fingers had just grazed the knob when the door opened toward her and Lynn Cooper, looking startled, gazed down at her.

“Hey, Sam, I was just going to walk over to the first aid station and see what the excitement was about.”

“Excitement?” Sam asked.

“They're paging you,” Lynn told her.

“Oh, I know,” Sam said, more relieved than embarrassed. “It's just that I don't know where the first aid station is. I was hoping someone in there could point me toward it.”

“Come with me,” Lynn said. She rested her hand on Sam's shoulder, called to someone inside the trailer that she'd be back, then took long, ground-eating strides across the fairgrounds.

The first thing Sam noticed inside the first aid station was a shirtless cowboy wincing. His ribs were being examined by a white-coated woman's prodding fingers.

“The rodeo doesn't even start until six o'clock,” Lynn said. “Are you sure this counts as fun?”

Lynn had been asking Sam, but the young cowboy looked up and drawled, “Yes, ma'am.”

Then Sam saw Brynna, her stepmother.

Before the number of things that could be wrong stampeded through Sam's mind, Brynna held up her hand and rippled her fingers in greeting.

“There you are,” Brynna said.

Did she sound worried? Angry? Hurt?

None of those. Her tone was businesslike, but that went along with her attire. Brynna was dressed for her job as manager of the Bureau of Land Management's wild horse corrals at Willow Springs—a twenty-minute drive away from here.

With her red hair back in a tight French braid and her uniform shirt bloused over the top of her trousers
to accommodate her pregnancy, Brynna gave Sam a smile that said nothing was seriously wrong.

“Come on in,” Brynna said, gesturing Sam closer.

Brynna sat next to an examining table, where a dark-haired woman's eyelids were held apart by a doctor wielding a penlight to check her eyes.

Maybe not a woman,
Sam thought. She seemed too shy for an adult, looking down as if the examination were totally embarrassing.

She was somewhere between high school and the work world. College, maybe?

“Hi, Lynn,” Brynna said, as if she'd just noticed the reporter.

“I'd still be wandering around the barns if Lynn hadn't helped me find you,” Sam explained. “We just rode in—”

“I didn't,” Lynn protested, “But Samantha is quite the equestrian.”

Sam shook her head, then finished, “—and I'd just unsaddled Ace when I heard my name on the loudspeaker. I had no idea where to go or what was wrong.”

“I hope I didn't scare you,” Brynna said.

“Not too much,” Sam said, but she noticed Brynna didn't rush to say nothing was wrong.

In fact, her stepmother glanced away from Sam and back toward the doctor who was examining the dark-haired girl's eyes. He said something like “equal and reactive.”

“I just thought as long as I was here, I'd check and see how the drive went,” Brynna said, turning back to Sam.

“Great,” Sam told her. “Except Ace doesn't like the city much.”

“My cameraman caught his great bucking bronco imitation,” Lynn joked. “You might catch it on the evening news.”

Oh please, no,
Sam thought. If Dad saw her on the news and spotted her riding mistakes—Sam shuddered. She didn't want to imagine what he would say. Or do.

Brynna's eyes swept Sam from head to toe, but Sam saw no sign of panic. One thing she appreciated about Brynna—especially compared to Dad and Jake—was her stepmother's willingness to believe Sam could mostly take care of herself.

Or maybe Brynna was preoccupied with the girl on the examining table. Again, Brynna turned back toward the doctor.

“I'm glad I happened to be in,” the doctor said, more to Brynna than to the girl. “Usually I don't arrive until just before the events begin.”

“Dr. Yung volunteers his time during the rodeo,” Brynna put in. “He's an orthopedic surgeon,” Brynna explained, as if it were kind of a joke.

Sam wasn't sure, but she thought orthopedic doctors specialized in broken bones.

“I'm really fine, Mrs. Forster,” the dark-haired
girl said. She didn't look at Brynna or the doctor. Her eyes fixed on the space between Sam and Lynn.

“This won't take much longer,” Brynna assured her.

“Thanks for giving me a lift, but you don't have to stay.” The girl sighed, looking as if Brynna had pulled a trick by bringing her to the rodeo doctor. “I'll call Kevin and he'll be here in a couple hours to pick me up.”

Although Lynn did nothing but pass her thumb over the notebook she carried, Sam knew the reporter had realized, just as Sam had, that this was probably the girl from the rollover.

Sam looked at her more closely.

Her dark hair was cut short, with curls going every which way. She was cute, but pale and shaken. As the doctor lifted hair away from her temple, Sam wondered if the girl had suffered a head injury.

“Really, I'm fine,” she said. She tried to duck away, but the doctor held her steady. “My head's okay.” Then, surrendering, she added, “It's my shoulder that hurts.”

The girl was fighting tears. Sam could see them shining in her eyes.

It didn't surprise Sam that Brynna saw them, too, and created a diversion.

“Sam, this is Diana McKenzie. She's a student in the school of nursing at the university, and she rides.” Brynna smiled at Sam, urging her to join in the distraction.

“Diana, this is my daughter Samantha. She's a horsewoman, too.”

Daughter.
Ever since Brynna had revealed her pregnancy, she'd referred to Sam as her daughter instead of her stepdaughter. Sam tried to squash down her inappropriate joy, wondering if it was over this acceptance, or the fact that Brynna had called her a horsewoman.