Warning: this chapter contains description of injury and stitches. Skip if that bugs you. Other than that, we're getting to the good part! Aka Jake will be here really soon.
Last week was terrible and I barely wrote anything. Hopefully this week will be great and I will write lots.
"Samantha," Wyatt Forster said through gritted teeth. "You did not mention it was this horse."
Sam shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. She had expected this reaction, but she had not expected to face it alone. It was just bad timing that Brynna was helping push the Phantom into a DIY squeeze chute and Wyatt apparently could not wait to have this conversation. "I'm sorry. You know I would have wanted to help even if it was a different horse, though."
"I know," her dad admitted grudgingly. Sam's soft heart wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. "Any chance this arrangement is only temporary?"
Slowly, Sam shook her head. Brynna had explained it all to her. "No. Honestly, I wish it was, but he'll become legally mine again and we won't be able to turn him back loose."
Wyatt didn't look like he quite believed her. Sam wanted to plead her case further, but she was distracted by the clanging of hooves on metal. She was horrified to see the Phantom rearing in the chute, while Luke and Bryan fought to hold the gate shut and Dr. Scott frantically tried to plunge his needle into the horse's neck.
Sam abandoned her conversation without a second thought, running to the Phantom's head. They had him pinned to the edge of the round pen, in theory so he could be sedated and safely handled, but he had to be losing his mind right now. Hands, a fence, and needles- all they needed was a rope, and it would add up to the Phantom's worst nightmare.
"Blackie! Blackie, it's okay," Sam murmured from the outside of the pen. If they'd been alone, she would have used his secret name, but she wasn't willing to share that one with the class. Too selfish, maybe, or she just knew he was too wound up for even the big guns to do any good.
He did stop rearing, though it was more out of surprise than anything else. He pushed back instead, straining against the gate panels that kept him so tightly contained. Dr. Scott was able to use his relative stillness to inject him with the sedative, but the Phantom still protested heavily, and he shook the syringe out of his neck aggressively.
Somehow, the vet was not fazed by this. He stepped down from the panel he'd been using as a stepstool. "That should be enough to settle him down. Boys, just hold him for a few more minutes."
"We're doing our best," Bryan grunted.
Slowly, from a combination of sedative and helplessness, the fight slipped out of the Phantom. His eyes found Sam again, and her stomach dropped. There was so much anger in those eyes, and she instantly knew she should have stayed with her dad. Now the Phantom would associate her with the chute and the struggle, and it seemed unlikely he would ever forgive her.
When the Phantom's head drooped and the sedation took its full effect, Bryan and Adam released the chute so Dr. Scott could do his work. "I'll have to be fast," he warned, climbing into the round pen with no shortage of trepidation. "Sam, be my gofer."
That, she could do. She held onto the assortment of bottles, syringes, and bandages the vet would need and watched carefully as Dr. Scott examined her horse. He was cautious at first, but the Phantom was entirely conked out. His lip was nearly brushing the ground, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet, not reacting at all to the humans' approach.
"Definitely a dog attack," Dr. Scott declared, crouching near the Phantom's swollen knee. "See this large tear here- from a canine tooth- then these smaller marks from the incisors? Bit him while he was running, got depth and length to the injury."
He was gesturing for her to look closer, but Sam didn't really want to get any more involved than she already was. The pus and bloodstains, not to mention the pain the Phantom was in, had already left her sick to stomach.
"This is a bit old to stitch, but since I doubt he'll let you clean it regularly, that's our best option to keep more debris from getting in," Dr. Scott declared. Sam passed him his needle and thread, and he got to work.
Luckily, the bite itself was above the knee, although the swelling consumed the entire joint. Dr. Scott said that if the infection had taken root in the bone, their course of treatment would be different- Sam knew exactly what he meant by that, and she shuddered as the hooked needle made its first poke in the Phantom's skin.
It was ugly work. Sam stayed out of it as much as she could, but Dr. Scott kept asking her to pass different bottles of disinfectant and a tweezers and a bucket, so she saw a lot more than she intended to. Pus, mainly. She hated pus.
When the stitches were done, Dr. Scott examined the rest of the sleeping horse. He had more bites on his flanks- almost as deep, but showing no signs of infection, and further away from the joints, which was what really made the knee bite dangerous. He had a long scratch on his right hind that would most likely scar. Whatever had gone after the Phantom had really meant business, and Sam knew he was lucky to be alive right now, human intervention or not. They cleaned the wounds as best they could, but when the Phantom began to stir, they wasted no time in ducking out of the round pen. Thirty feet away, from his own pen, Windy let out a squeal as if they'd wounded him personally.
Sam barely heard Dr. Scott explaining the aftercare instructions in vivid and perhaps excessive detail. She couldn't tear her eyes away from her horse, trotting around the round pen and whinnying frantically. He didn't even seem to notice the pain in his leg, or the cuts on his chest, as he slammed into the fence.
"…and go easy on the pain meds," Dr. Scott continued. "We want him to be comfortable, obviously, but not so comfortable he overextends himself. Wild horses are self-destructive as it is."
As if to prove his point, the Phantom reared and snapped at Windy over the six-foot fence, briefly getting his good front leg caught up on the rail. Sam, Brynna, and Wyatt all managed small chuckles, but none of them actually found it funny.
"Good luck with him, Sam," Dr. Scott concluded, briefly pulling her attention away from the stallion. "Call me if there's any problem. Otherwise, I'll see you in a week to pull stitches."
Sam nodded politely and thanked him. The vet paused. "One more thing. Sam, I'd be careful to ride out alone until somebody takes care of whatever did this to that horse. If it can do that much damage to the top stallion on the range…"
Sam shuddered, imagining being snuck up on by Evil Balto or a pack of coyotes or whatever hellhound had ripped her precious Phantom to shreds. "I'll be careful. Really careful."
That answer seemed to satisfy everybody, although Wyatt certainly looked concerned about whatever-it-was prowling around. He had cattle to worry about, too. Dr. Scott excused himself, offering to send the bill in the mail, and the three Forsters were left standing in the yard semi-awkwardly.
Wyatt and Brynna had we need to talk written all over their faces, so Sam decided to make the first move. "I'll put this all away," she said, gesturing to all the pill bottles the vet had left with her. "And start on my chores, maybe."
"Good idea, Sam," said her dad. His tone did not imply he thought it was a good idea. "We'll talk later."
Of course they would. Sam just nodded, feeling too much like a jumbled plate of spaghetti to communicate further. She took one last look at the Phantom- given the state of things, he offered her little comfort- and slipped into the barn. Their feed room was already kind of a mess, since Windy got antibiotics too and they were trying a joint supplement for Strawberry, but Sam cleared a space on one shelf to make room for the Phantom's pills.
It was still so surreal, that he was here and he was hers and the next morning, she'd be mixing up a pan of grain for him along with Windy, Ace, Witch, and all the others. Sam couldn't think of anything more bittersweet; it was like her dreams had just come true and been shattered in one fell swoop. She had no intentions of sorting out her feelings about it anytime soon.
When Sam left the feed room, she was surprised to bump into Quinn Ely, hands in his pockets and strolling casually down the barn aisle. "I thought you left ages ago!" Sam blurted out.
"Clearly, you have not been paying attention," Quinn admonished. "We took down the whole catch pen and stacked it neatly. Less work for you to do, right?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Sam concluded. Even though Quinn was several years older than her, she found she was not at all bothered by the ribbing. "What are you doing in the barn, though?"
"I'm here to check on the devil mare." Quinn blew a kiss in the general direction of said mare's stall. "Her owner will be back tomorrow; I thought I should have some kind of update ready for him."
Despite being Sam's best friend or maybe second-best friend, Jake Ely had not told Sam the date he was returning from college. Jake was a man of few words and even fewer texts. It did not surprise Sam at all he'd neglected to share that information with her.
"Oh, do you want to take her back today, then?" Sam offered. While Jake was in college, she'd been gifted/punished with the responsibility of keeping his feisty black mare in shape. There had been plenty of ups and downs- mainly downs, aka Sam hitting the dirt- but overall, she was proud of the job she'd done. She hoped Jake- who had notoriously high standards- would feel the same.
Quinn shuddered at her suggestion. "You obviously haven't tried ponying her anywhere."
If Witch was irritable towards humans, she was downright hostile to other horses. It didn't surprise Sam at all she didn't do well being led from another horse. "Is it any better if you ride her and lead Chip?"
Quinn just about laughed in her face. "If you think there's anything in the world that could convince me to get on that horse, you are dead wrong."
"I always knew you were a coward."
He just rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. I'll tell Jakers you said hi when he gets back."
That sounded like a goodbye. Sam raised her eyebrows. "You won't stay for dinner?"
"Under no circumstances. Dad's making chili. Gotta go!"
It was hard to argue with that. Sam waved him off, amused and feeling oddly better than before. She didn't know the guy very well, but he was fantastic comic relief. It would have helped to have him at dinner.
It didn't take long for the unpleasant emotions to start creeping back in. Sam needed a distraction, and getting a head start on evening chores seemed like the perfect way to do that. Between the horse drive and assorted medical proceedings, the day had slipped away, and it was later now than when she would have been clocking out at Willow Springs. She wondered if anyone had explained the situation to Kay-Lynn and Tasha- like many other things, they had completely slipped her mind.
Sam gathered up the feed pans and started measuring out the different grains. The familiar task soothed her, or at least, it did until she finished feeding in the barn and had to carry pans out to the round pen. Out there, it was too obvious something was different and wrong.
Wyatt and Brynna had gone inside, at least. There would surely still be consequences and "we need to talk" later, but Sam was pleased to put it off even for a short while longer. It was enough to deal with the Phantom, staring longingly down the driveway, and Windy, who was beginning to feel like an unnecessary headache.
She slid a pan of grain in for the Phantom, knowing it was unlikely he would eat it. He hadn't touched his hay yet, too busy pacing, calling, and doing other things that were not conducive to healing.
Windy was also making a menace of himself, although Sam was more optimistic about him taking a break to eat. He was trotting back and forth, pinning his ears and swishing his tail. Sam whistled to get the bay's attention. "Hey, short stack! Did anyone ever tell you you're two years old and also a gelding?"
Windy spooked at the sound of her voice. It wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for, but it did effectively stop him from harassing the Phantom. Windy's ears turned forward at the grain she pushed under the fence- he had adapted to that part of domestic life very well, actually- but he still wouldn't approach it until she took several big steps away from him.
"One of these days, you will start to like me," Sam told him, trying and failing to make it sound like a threat. For now, she would give the colt his space.
The Phantom was different. He didn't fear humans, like Windy did- he resented them, hated them, even. After everything he'd been through, it made sense, but Sam had always been the exception to his distrust. She hoped she could still claim that, even though she'd taken part in capturing and restraining him- although, she'd acted with the best intentions and his own life in mind, not personal profit or vanity, like Slocum or the rodeo people had done.
At first, he didn't even notice her, as she leaned on the outside of his fence. He was staring due east, presumably looking for his herd. He sure knew how to tug at Sam's heartstrings. "Blackie," she said, but of course he wouldn't respond to his old name. She looked around, making sure they were really alone, and then she lowered her voice. "Zanzibar."
That got an ear flick, at least. "Zanzibar," she said again, a little louder this time, and he actually turned his head. Sam was startled by the dark look in his eye, none of the warm trust he'd held for her before. It seemed the Phantom had neither forgiven nor forgotten.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as he turned away from her again. "I know you don't understand what's happening to you. You must feel so lost right now, and I do too. Just know I'm going to take care of you and you're going to feel better, alright?"
The Phantom let out a harsh snort, which Sam took to mean he was unhappy with her. And why wouldn't he be? Hadn't she let him down?
"I'm sorry," she said again, and she turned on her heel and fled.