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Authors: Terri Farley
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apparently Ryan was ready for it.
âYeah?â he asked, with little trace of his British accent. âWell I just reckon weâll see, wonât we, pardner ?â
Chapter Seven
S am sat straight up in bed.
Cougar mewed a complaint and jumped down. With each tiny thud of paw on hardwood floor, her dreams fell away more completely.
Sam stared through the darkness toward her bedroom doorway. Something out there had moved.
âI didnât mean to wake you. Youâve got about twenty more minutes to sleep,â Dad whispered. âOn my way down to make coffee, I just looked in to make sure you were covered up. Sometimes it gets sorta chilly toward dawn.â
Sam sighed and pulled her blankets up over her shoulders.
âIâll be down when my alarmâ¦â A yawn muffledthe end of her sentence.
She closed her eyes, but her brain kept churning. What had she been searching for in her dream? She couldnât remember.
The Phantom. Sheâd dreamed of chasing the Phantom.
Sam wiggled down lower in her bed, contented and warm. Oh, how easily she and Jake would win the race if she rode a mustang stallion and he galloped alongside on a wild Indian pony.
But sheâd been looking for something more.
Samâs fingers touched her wrist and she knew. Her horsehair bracelet, braided from strands of the Phantomâs silvery mane, was missing. When had she worn it last?
Mikki, the girl whoâd piloted the Horse and Rider Protection Program at River Bend, had borrowed it for a little while, but sheâd sent it back. Sam was sure sheâd worn it since the Phantomâs disappearance because heâd noticed it, that day heâd let her ride him. That wonderful day.
She swung her legs out of bed, turned on her bedside lamp, and donned the clothes sheâd laid out the night before. Dressed, except for her boots, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and started searching. She opened each of her drawers and slid her hands under her folded clothes. She closed her eyes, hoping her fingertips would be more sensitive without sight to guide them.
She found nothing in any of her clothes drawers.Hands on hips, she turned and stared at her room. Silently, she demanded it give up its secrets. When the room wasnât intimidated by her brain waves, she kept searching. It was not on the shelf with her model horses. Not on the bookcase. It wasnât on her desk or in the blue mug she used to hold pencils and pens.
In the top right-hand desk drawer she had a few keepsakes. A gold-colored tin button box that her mother had used when she was sewing. A ribbon from the bridle sheâd first used on Blackie, long before heâd grayed into the Phantom. The glossy red-brown feather sheâd found on the desert floor on the day sheâd watched the Phantom run free after his awful rodeo captivity.
She picked up the feather and smoothed it through her fingers. One day, she and Jen had followed a red-tailed hawk, hoping sheâd drop a feather in time for Jakeâs birthday. Sheâd wanted to give it to him along with the split-ear headstall.
It hadnât happened that day, or on the day sheâd heard the hawkâs rasping cry and spotted it when she was riding with Jake. It had been a blustery, stormy day, the day heâd broken his leg, but heâd told her hawks were supposed to carry hopes and prayers to the sky spirits and bring back blessings.
But the hawk hadnât dropped the feather that day, either. Sheâd waited until Sam needed assurance that the Phantom wouldnât forget her.
Sam jumped as her alarm went off. She dropped the feather back in her desk drawer, slammed itclosed, hit the âoffâ switch on her clock, and waited for her heart to settle down.
Four-thirty. Time to go downstairs and, as much as the idea grossed her out, eat. Dad had insisted she have breakfast before she go, or she wouldnât be allowed to leave the house. It
âYeah?â he asked, with little trace of his British accent. âWell I just reckon weâll see, wonât we, pardner ?â
Chapter Seven
S am sat straight up in bed.
Cougar mewed a complaint and jumped down. With each tiny thud of paw on hardwood floor, her dreams fell away more completely.
Sam stared through the darkness toward her bedroom doorway. Something out there had moved.
âI didnât mean to wake you. Youâve got about twenty more minutes to sleep,â Dad whispered. âOn my way down to make coffee, I just looked in to make sure you were covered up. Sometimes it gets sorta chilly toward dawn.â
Sam sighed and pulled her blankets up over her shoulders.
âIâll be down when my alarmâ¦â A yawn muffledthe end of her sentence.
She closed her eyes, but her brain kept churning. What had she been searching for in her dream? She couldnât remember.
The Phantom. Sheâd dreamed of chasing the Phantom.
Sam wiggled down lower in her bed, contented and warm. Oh, how easily she and Jake would win the race if she rode a mustang stallion and he galloped alongside on a wild Indian pony.
But sheâd been looking for something more.
Samâs fingers touched her wrist and she knew. Her horsehair bracelet, braided from strands of the Phantomâs silvery mane, was missing. When had she worn it last?
Mikki, the girl whoâd piloted the Horse and Rider Protection Program at River Bend, had borrowed it for a little while, but sheâd sent it back. Sam was sure sheâd worn it since the Phantomâs disappearance because heâd noticed it, that day heâd let her ride him. That wonderful day.
She swung her legs out of bed, turned on her bedside lamp, and donned the clothes sheâd laid out the night before. Dressed, except for her boots, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and started searching. She opened each of her drawers and slid her hands under her folded clothes. She closed her eyes, hoping her fingertips would be more sensitive without sight to guide them.
She found nothing in any of her clothes drawers.Hands on hips, she turned and stared at her room. Silently, she demanded it give up its secrets. When the room wasnât intimidated by her brain waves, she kept searching. It was not on the shelf with her model horses. Not on the bookcase. It wasnât on her desk or in the blue mug she used to hold pencils and pens.
In the top right-hand desk drawer she had a few keepsakes. A gold-colored tin button box that her mother had used when she was sewing. A ribbon from the bridle sheâd first used on Blackie, long before heâd grayed into the Phantom. The glossy red-brown feather sheâd found on the desert floor on the day sheâd watched the Phantom run free after his awful rodeo captivity.
She picked up the feather and smoothed it through her fingers. One day, she and Jen had followed a red-tailed hawk, hoping sheâd drop a feather in time for Jakeâs birthday. Sheâd wanted to give it to him along with the split-ear headstall.
It hadnât happened that day, or on the day sheâd heard the hawkâs rasping cry and spotted it when she was riding with Jake. It had been a blustery, stormy day, the day heâd broken his leg, but heâd told her hawks were supposed to carry hopes and prayers to the sky spirits and bring back blessings.
But the hawk hadnât dropped the feather that day, either. Sheâd waited until Sam needed assurance that the Phantom wouldnât forget her.
Sam jumped as her alarm went off. She dropped the feather back in her desk drawer, slammed itclosed, hit the âoffâ switch on her clock, and waited for her heart to settle down.
Four-thirty. Time to go downstairs and, as much as the idea grossed her out, eat. Dad had insisted she have breakfast before she go, or she wouldnât be allowed to leave the house. It
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