did some of their best talking at the end of the school day, riding home. She didn’t want to give that up.
“There’s always Mrs. Ely,” Rachel suggested. “She seems to like you.”
“No.” Sam knew Jake’s mom would give her rides, but wouldn’t she have to stay for meetings and stuff?
Sam ducked inside her class and left Rachel musing over some great idea Sam knew she’d hate.
Rachel ambushed Sam in the hallway just outside journalism.
“It’s all settled,” Rachel muttered as if she’d planned something shifty. After all, her cheerleader friend Daisy was in journalism, too. “You can ride in my car. Our housekeeper doesn’t mind.”
Once Sam had cooled off, she’d realized that all ofher mental vows to save the ranch were worth nothing if she didn’t teach Rachel, take her money, and get in good with Linc Slocum.
Next, it occurred to Sam that this wasn’t an idle wish for Rachel. She wanted this a lot, so Sam could hold out for what she wanted, too. And what she wanted most didn’t have a single dollar sign attached.
“That’ll be fine.” Sam gave Rachel a minute of relief before adding, “And since you drive right by her house, you can give Jen a ride, too.”
“Jennifer Kenworthy?”
Sam kept her sarcasm trapped behind closed lips.
“She hasn’t been barred from the bus, surely?” Rachel scanned the crowded hall. “Jennifer likes riding the bus.”
“Rachel, you’ve never been on a bus or you wouldn’t say that. No one likes the smell of old bananas and sweaty socks, and even on a good day …” The horror on Rachel’s face stopped Sam. “You haven’t, have you? You’ve never been on a school bus in your life!”
“The first few days you were in this class, you were so nice and quiet,” Rachel snapped. “Why don’t you--” Rachel’s eyes closed and stayed that way, as if she were counting to a hundred.
Eventually, she opened her eyes.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Rachel smiled and smoothed the wing of dark hair as if it had been displaced by her temper, but Sam was pretty sureRachel hadn’t noticed Daisy in the doorway dead ahead.
The cheerleader stared at her friend as if she couldn’t be certain Rachel was actually conversing with Sam.
Sam made sure to raise her voice as they approached.
“Thanks, Rachel,” Sam said, nudging her. “You’re a pal.”
Chapter Seven
S am and Jen embarrassed Rachel the minute they slid into the baby blue Mercedes after school.
“Hi, Mrs. Coley,” Jen said as she fastened her seat belt in the backseat.
“Jennifer, it’s good to see you.”
The woman who turned away from the steering wheel had boyish short gray hair and a welcoming smile.
“Hi,” Sam said, leaning forward with her hand extended. “I’m Samantha Forster. I’ve seen you drive by, but I don’t think we’ve met.” Sam often felt a moment of uncertainty about people she’d known before the accident. This time, Rachel’s huffing didn’t help, but Mrs. Coley’s handshake couldn’t have been friendlier.
“Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Helen Coley. I know your grandmother, Grace, from church.”
Sam squirmed a little. Although both Dad andGram were devout people, they had an ongoing battle about church. Gram believed folks liked to join together with the minister to pray for rain. Dad thought it gave them false hope, no different from teasing winds, which blew through carrying the smell of wet grass and rain-slick rocks from some luckier place.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sam, but Mrs. Coley had already turned her attention to the parking lot crowded with teenage drivers.
Sam didn’t feel smug about riding in Rachel’s Mercedes. She felt misplaced and uneasy. Telling Dad and Gram she’d been kicked off the bus would be ugly. They’d blame the Phantom, of course. Just when they seemed reasonable about mustangs, their old-fashioned ranchers’ stereotypes cropped up.
As they edged through the parking lot, Sam saw RJay,
“There’s always Mrs. Ely,” Rachel suggested. “She seems to like you.”
“No.” Sam knew Jake’s mom would give her rides, but wouldn’t she have to stay for meetings and stuff?
Sam ducked inside her class and left Rachel musing over some great idea Sam knew she’d hate.
Rachel ambushed Sam in the hallway just outside journalism.
“It’s all settled,” Rachel muttered as if she’d planned something shifty. After all, her cheerleader friend Daisy was in journalism, too. “You can ride in my car. Our housekeeper doesn’t mind.”
Once Sam had cooled off, she’d realized that all ofher mental vows to save the ranch were worth nothing if she didn’t teach Rachel, take her money, and get in good with Linc Slocum.
Next, it occurred to Sam that this wasn’t an idle wish for Rachel. She wanted this a lot, so Sam could hold out for what she wanted, too. And what she wanted most didn’t have a single dollar sign attached.
“That’ll be fine.” Sam gave Rachel a minute of relief before adding, “And since you drive right by her house, you can give Jen a ride, too.”
“Jennifer Kenworthy?”
Sam kept her sarcasm trapped behind closed lips.
“She hasn’t been barred from the bus, surely?” Rachel scanned the crowded hall. “Jennifer likes riding the bus.”
“Rachel, you’ve never been on a bus or you wouldn’t say that. No one likes the smell of old bananas and sweaty socks, and even on a good day …” The horror on Rachel’s face stopped Sam. “You haven’t, have you? You’ve never been on a school bus in your life!”
“The first few days you were in this class, you were so nice and quiet,” Rachel snapped. “Why don’t you--” Rachel’s eyes closed and stayed that way, as if she were counting to a hundred.
Eventually, she opened her eyes.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Rachel smiled and smoothed the wing of dark hair as if it had been displaced by her temper, but Sam was pretty sureRachel hadn’t noticed Daisy in the doorway dead ahead.
The cheerleader stared at her friend as if she couldn’t be certain Rachel was actually conversing with Sam.
Sam made sure to raise her voice as they approached.
“Thanks, Rachel,” Sam said, nudging her. “You’re a pal.”
Chapter Seven
S am and Jen embarrassed Rachel the minute they slid into the baby blue Mercedes after school.
“Hi, Mrs. Coley,” Jen said as she fastened her seat belt in the backseat.
“Jennifer, it’s good to see you.”
The woman who turned away from the steering wheel had boyish short gray hair and a welcoming smile.
“Hi,” Sam said, leaning forward with her hand extended. “I’m Samantha Forster. I’ve seen you drive by, but I don’t think we’ve met.” Sam often felt a moment of uncertainty about people she’d known before the accident. This time, Rachel’s huffing didn’t help, but Mrs. Coley’s handshake couldn’t have been friendlier.
“Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Helen Coley. I know your grandmother, Grace, from church.”
Sam squirmed a little. Although both Dad andGram were devout people, they had an ongoing battle about church. Gram believed folks liked to join together with the minister to pray for rain. Dad thought it gave them false hope, no different from teasing winds, which blew through carrying the smell of wet grass and rain-slick rocks from some luckier place.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sam, but Mrs. Coley had already turned her attention to the parking lot crowded with teenage drivers.
Sam didn’t feel smug about riding in Rachel’s Mercedes. She felt misplaced and uneasy. Telling Dad and Gram she’d been kicked off the bus would be ugly. They’d blame the Phantom, of course. Just when they seemed reasonable about mustangs, their old-fashioned ranchers’ stereotypes cropped up.
As they edged through the parking lot, Sam saw RJay,
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