Jake's Guide to the Cara and Keeping of Sam

1) Don't push Sam. She will push you back.

It had all started out as a simple argument. Jake was trying to explain that horses couldn't fly. It just didn't work like that. But even at four years old Samantha Forrester was stubborn as a mule and refused to even listen to her older and clearly wiser friend. In fact she had placed not listening as her top most priority.

"La, la, la, la, I'm not listening! La, la, la, la!" Jake stared on in exasperation as she placed her hands over her ears and danced around in a circle, auburn pigtails bouncing.

"Sam, I'm telling you, horses can't—."

"LA, LA, LA!"

"Sam!"

"LA, LA, LA!"

"Argh!" Anybody in his position would have done the same. You simply couldn't blame Jake for reaching his limit. He didn't even really push her. So he might have nudged her a bit. Big deal. His brothers shoved him around ten times harder every day!

But that didn't stop Sam from staring up at Jake in shock from her newly acquired seat in the dirt. Nor did it stop her from balling up her fists and growling. Or tackling poor Jake.

He didn't stand a chance. Sam didn't fight fair. She pinched. She bit. She pulled hair. Jake defended himself the best he could, but he couldn't hit her. She was a girl.

Finally the onslaught ended. Sam sat on the defeated Jake and leaned over till they were nearly nose-to-nose.

"DON'T. PUSH. ME!" she yelled.

And with that, she leapt up and ran to the barn.

2) Never let Sam out of your sight.

Ten year old Jake had left the barn for five minutes. Five minutes. And somehow Sam had managed to get herself in this mess. Sighing in frustration, he craned his neck to where the girl clung to the rafters. Don't ask him how she got there.

"Ja-aake!" she whimpered. "Get me down!" Hearing real fear in her voice, Jake squared his shoulders. It was up to him to save Sam.

He climbed up to the hay loft, which connected to the support beam Sam was on. It was sturdy and wide. As long as Jake didn't look down, he'd never know he was so high up.

"Hurry!" Sam cried as she huddled on the beam. She was about midway out over the aisle. Dropping to his hands and knees, Jake began to make his way across.

There was only one point where his heart leapt in his throat. His knee had slipped out from beneath him, but he grabbed the wood and bit back a yelp.

After what seemed to be ages, Jake reached Sam. She grabbed at his hands and he could feel her shaking.

"Kay Sam, we're just gonna go back now, see? No problem." She looked down—big mistake Jake thought—but nodded. Still keeping a death grip on his left hand, Sam began to shimmy back along the rough wood. Jake barely managed a backwards crawl. The seconds crawled away till Jake's boots met solid footing. Once she was safe, Sam threw herself at Jake and squeezed.

Wind effectively knocked out of him, Jake gasped and choked, then finally began patting Sam weakly on the back, the only way he could think of to get Sam off him and regain the ability to breathe.

"Thank you, Jake," Sam sniffled into his shirt.

3) Sam must be supervised around any and all horses.

"Andwehavealovelyridingponyhereeightyearsoldandcalmasakittenperfectforthebeginner rider. CanIgettwohundreddollarIseetwohundredhowaboutthreehundredthreehundredthree hundredyesIhavethreehundred—." The auctioneer's voice rang out over the crowd as bids waved in the hot summer air. It was the fourth of July festival and Wyatt Forrester had given in to his nine year old daughter's pleas to see the horse auction. Jake wanted to see the horses just as bad, but refused to stoop to Sam's immature whining. So he only cheered on the inside as Sam's dad led the way to the crowded ring.

After spending some time listening to the buzz of the auctioneer (and Sam's nonstop 'oohs' and 'ahs' over each four-legged beast that stepped into the pen), the trio wandered over to the area where the horses were kept. There were hundreds! Ponies, Quarter horses, huge draft horses, tiny miniatures—in every color imaginable from the darkest black to albino white.

Sam was in heaven, going from corral to corral, petting each nose that was thrust through the wooden slats. Jake quietly observed each horse, his skills at horsemanship were improving everyday and he was now able to judge a horse's good and bad qualities at a glance.

One particular pen soon caught the attention of Wyatt, Sam, and Jake. Inside it pranced a lone horse. His coat glowed a rich brown and was flecked with white, his face bore a proud white splash that bled into his curving neck. Muscles rippled in his powerful shoulders and his eyes were rimmed with white as he snorted and blowed nervously at his enclosure.

"That there be the finest mustang we have to offer," commented an old cowboy passing by. His face was leathery from the sun and his bowel-legged gait told of many hard years in the saddle. "Fresh off the range, all ready to be tamed," he continued, eying Wyatt up. Sam's dad chuckled.

"That creature seems to loco for the likes of me. But he sure is something."

"Yeah," Sam breathed. Jake tore his eyes off the mustang and looked over at the girl.

Being only eleven, Jake wasn't quite sure what love looked like, but he was pretty sure Sam looked it. Her eyes were dreamy as she stared into the pen, and she looked a bit stunned.

Jake sighed. Typical Sam. Throwing her heart out on a dream. Jake shook his head and looked back at Wyatt. He and the cowboy had moved on to another corral, talking casually.

Shrugging Jake walked back to the horse he had been studying earlier. It was a fine dapple gray mare heavy with foal. He wasn't sure if it was mustang he was seeing in her, or some other mixed breed, but it was beautiful whatever it was.

"What in the—hey Chase, check this out! There's a little girl in with the stallion!" Jake closed his eyes. She didn't. She wouldn't.

"Sam!" Wyatt yelled.

She did.

Jake ran back to the mustang corral where a crowd had now gathered. Wyatt was gripping the fence, knuckles white, his face tight with fear. Jake peered through the rails.

Sure enough, Sam was inside the fence standing next to a wild stallion. Jake felt his heart stop and his eyes widen. Head not reaching above the mustang's shoulder, Sam stood within a couple feet of the playa sharpened hooves, talking to the animal. He voice was soft and encouraging, trying to tempt those swiveling brown ears to listen.

The stallion stomped and snorted and the crowd gasped, as if it were all some big show.

But it's not a show, Jake wanted to yell, it's REAL, and that's SAM in there! But to everybody's amazement, the stallion stepped forward and reached out his nose to her.

Sam offered an apple she had fished from her pocket, giggling when the mustangs tongue tickled her palm.

Jake was stunned. She's nuts… absolutely insane… But with his own eyes he watched her stroke his nose, then neck, and the crowed gave a sentimental 'aw'.

"S-Sam," Wyatt called quietly, his voice cracking a bit, "Come on sweetie." Sam nodded, gave the mustang one last pet, then turned and climbed out of the pen. There was applause as Wyatt hugged his daughter tight, muttering, "Don't you ever, EVER, do that again!" Sam nodded, but Jake knew that look in her eye.

4) Algebra is lost on Sam. Don't even try.

"No! Please no! I'll do anything, anything, just please, not that!" Jake raised an eyebrow at Sam, brandishing the text book threateningly at her. She dropped to her knees and clasped her hands. "Look Jake. I'm begging you! Not today, I can't take it!"

Both eyebrows went up.

"Sam, surely ninth grade algebra isn't that terrifying."

5) Sam + cooking equals run.

There was no warning. None. Jake had been minding his own business, working with a new mare at Riverbend, when Sam had called him in for lunch.

After stomping his boots off on the porch and hanging his hat on the hook, Jake opened the kitchen door, fully expecting to be greeted with one of Sam's grandmother's famous meals. He didn't expect the kitchen to look like it was hit by a hurricane. But it did.

Pots and pans took up every surface, some containing food, some seeming to have no purpose at all. Grated cheese made a small mountain on the counter and other various ingredient-type foods were scattered about the room, and smoke seemed to hang in the air.

"Er—Sam?"

"Yeah?" She poked her head up from behind the counter. Jake struggled, at a lost for words.

"What… what happened here?" Sam looked around.

"Oh! Well, Gram wanted me to learn how to make Mom's lasagna. Things… got a little messy." Jake nodded in bemusement as she hustled him to the table and into a chair. "And now… you can be the first one to try it out!" Jake gulped.

"Uh, Sam, I'm not really that hungry—."

"No, you're not getting out of it! Now here, just try a bite." She thrust a plate in front of him. The charcoaled lump that sat on top of it did not look edible.

"Sam, really I—."

"Just try it! It's not going to kill you!"

-1hourlater-

Sam tiptoed to the doorway, a glass of seltzer water in hand. The retching noises had finally died down.

Peering into the room, Sam saw Jake collapsed against the toilet. Wiping his mouth, he glared daggers at her. She rubbed the back of her neck and handed him the glass.

"Oops! Maybe it will kill you…."

A/N: Finally! Some humor! Just some cute little oneshots—hope you enjoy! (will continue with this idea should inspiration occur)