protested.
“What’s the competition you want to enter?” Sam asked. “Is it the ‘Best in the West’ you mentioned the other day?”
“You want to be a rodeo queen?” Jen blurted.
The Mercedes slowed as if Mrs. Coley’s foot had faltered on the gas pedal.
Rachel considered her green-gold-tinted fingernails.
“Karla Starr encouraged me to enter.” Rachel’s chin lifted as if the rodeo contractor’s opinion was all that mattered. “Once I told Ryan, it became a fact. But I want to keep it a secret from Dad.”
“My mom was first runner-up for Best in theWest, like, twenty years ago,” Jen said, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Rachel. You’d have to compete in horsemanship, modeling, and there’s a personal interview.”
“Riding is only a third of it.” Rachel shrugged. “Plus, it would stop Ry from bragging about his silly water jumps, and I have been told--by an expert, mind you--that winning would be a piece of cake for me.”
The day he’d come to River Bend for help, Slocum had mentioned Rachel had been perturbed ever since Karla Starr’s visit. Rachel must have seen Champ, saddled and tied, and decided to prove to herself that she could still ride.
Had she made it as far along the ridge trail because she remembered how to ride, or because Champ was a patient, well-schooled horse?
“It would have worked out nicely,” Rachel said, “if I’d had the whole school year to train. But Ryan’s coming home at Christmas.”
Sam felt a pulse of excitement. If Rachel’s sense of urgency made her buckle down and work, they might finish sooner.
But was that a good thing? River Bend needed the money.
What would Rachel pay for lessons? Twenty dollars per hour? Thirty? Fifty? Sam knew she could earn enough money to help. She was adding up dollars and basking in possibilities, when Rachel sighed.
“I could pretend I was sick or tell him I’d changedmy mind,” Rachel suggested.
“Come on, Rachel,” Sam said. “You’re not a quitter.”
“Certainly not,” Rachel said, but she looked surprised.
“If we got together three times a week after school, you’d make progress fast.” Sam couldn’t believe she’d volunteered to spend so much time with Rachel.
“That’s a splendid idea, Samantha, perhaps the best you’ve ever had.”
The shocked expression on Jen’s face would have made Sam stop, but River Bend Ranch was at stake.
As they approached War Drum Flats, Sam saw a bachelor band of mustangs.
“Mrs. Coley,” she blurted, “if it’s, not too much trouble--”
Everyone in the car followed Sam’s pointing finger.
“Samantha, really,” Rachel moaned, but Mr. Coley was already pulling over.
“I’m another of those ranch women who actually likes mustangs,” Mrs. Coley said. “I’ve been watching this bunch for a week or two.”
“Are we in a time warp?” Rachel said. “It’s taking forever to reach home.”
In spite of Rachel’s complaint, the Mercedes stopped at the roadside.
Shoulders touching, manes blowing, three youngstallions clung together so closely, Sam thought she could measure across all three chests with her out-flung arms.
Little bachelor bands like this one were common. When a lead stallion saw them as potential rivals for his mares, he used hooves and teeth to drive young males from the herd. Wandering the range, lonely and yearning for the safety they’d always known in a band, the young stallions formed small herds of their own.
“I call them New Moon, Yellow Tail, and Spike,” Mrs. Coley confided.
The first name gave Sam chills. During the new moon, the sky was black. This colt had no white markings. Neither had the Phantom as a colt. In fact, as a two-year-old, he’d looked much like this leggy horse.
Distracted by memories, Sam took a minute to see how well the other young outcasts matched Mrs. Coley’s names for them.
Spike had to be the bay whose mane stuck up almost as if it had been roached, then moussed into place. The
“What’s the competition you want to enter?” Sam asked. “Is it the ‘Best in the West’ you mentioned the other day?”
“You want to be a rodeo queen?” Jen blurted.
The Mercedes slowed as if Mrs. Coley’s foot had faltered on the gas pedal.
Rachel considered her green-gold-tinted fingernails.
“Karla Starr encouraged me to enter.” Rachel’s chin lifted as if the rodeo contractor’s opinion was all that mattered. “Once I told Ryan, it became a fact. But I want to keep it a secret from Dad.”
“My mom was first runner-up for Best in theWest, like, twenty years ago,” Jen said, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Rachel. You’d have to compete in horsemanship, modeling, and there’s a personal interview.”
“Riding is only a third of it.” Rachel shrugged. “Plus, it would stop Ry from bragging about his silly water jumps, and I have been told--by an expert, mind you--that winning would be a piece of cake for me.”
The day he’d come to River Bend for help, Slocum had mentioned Rachel had been perturbed ever since Karla Starr’s visit. Rachel must have seen Champ, saddled and tied, and decided to prove to herself that she could still ride.
Had she made it as far along the ridge trail because she remembered how to ride, or because Champ was a patient, well-schooled horse?
“It would have worked out nicely,” Rachel said, “if I’d had the whole school year to train. But Ryan’s coming home at Christmas.”
Sam felt a pulse of excitement. If Rachel’s sense of urgency made her buckle down and work, they might finish sooner.
But was that a good thing? River Bend needed the money.
What would Rachel pay for lessons? Twenty dollars per hour? Thirty? Fifty? Sam knew she could earn enough money to help. She was adding up dollars and basking in possibilities, when Rachel sighed.
“I could pretend I was sick or tell him I’d changedmy mind,” Rachel suggested.
“Come on, Rachel,” Sam said. “You’re not a quitter.”
“Certainly not,” Rachel said, but she looked surprised.
“If we got together three times a week after school, you’d make progress fast.” Sam couldn’t believe she’d volunteered to spend so much time with Rachel.
“That’s a splendid idea, Samantha, perhaps the best you’ve ever had.”
The shocked expression on Jen’s face would have made Sam stop, but River Bend Ranch was at stake.
As they approached War Drum Flats, Sam saw a bachelor band of mustangs.
“Mrs. Coley,” she blurted, “if it’s, not too much trouble--”
Everyone in the car followed Sam’s pointing finger.
“Samantha, really,” Rachel moaned, but Mr. Coley was already pulling over.
“I’m another of those ranch women who actually likes mustangs,” Mrs. Coley said. “I’ve been watching this bunch for a week or two.”
“Are we in a time warp?” Rachel said. “It’s taking forever to reach home.”
In spite of Rachel’s complaint, the Mercedes stopped at the roadside.
Shoulders touching, manes blowing, three youngstallions clung together so closely, Sam thought she could measure across all three chests with her out-flung arms.
Little bachelor bands like this one were common. When a lead stallion saw them as potential rivals for his mares, he used hooves and teeth to drive young males from the herd. Wandering the range, lonely and yearning for the safety they’d always known in a band, the young stallions formed small herds of their own.
“I call them New Moon, Yellow Tail, and Spike,” Mrs. Coley confided.
The first name gave Sam chills. During the new moon, the sky was black. This colt had no white markings. Neither had the Phantom as a colt. In fact, as a two-year-old, he’d looked much like this leggy horse.
Distracted by memories, Sam took a minute to see how well the other young outcasts matched Mrs. Coley’s names for them.
Spike had to be the bay whose mane stuck up almost as if it had been roached, then moussed into place. The
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