I would really appreciate it if anyone who has made it all the way to Chapter Ten would leave a review! We are just about halfway through the story, and I would really appreciate some feedback. Even just a couple words has potential to make my day!
Before The Phantom Girl Version had her baby, I had this moment with her that felt like it was straight out of Phantom Stallion. She'd only had a halter on for a few days; she was (and still is) far from tame, but she let me finger comb the wind knots out of her mane without holding onto her. Honestly, it was the most relaxed I've ever seen her. That made its way into this chapter just a little bit.
Sam cautiously pressed her palm to her horse's forehead, and finally, he didn't flinch. Their trust was coming back; she could feel it. She still had to be careful of the way she moved around him, but there was an overall sense of comfort that had been missing for the longest time. The Phantom wasn't captive anymore- he was home. Good would come out of his injury, and all the sacrifices Sam had made for him.
It was only with her, though. The Phantom maintained that everyone in the world besides Samantha Anne Forster was "out to get him", which was not helpful or true. Jen's experienced with him was not unique- he snapped at Jake through the fence a couple times, although that was potentially personal to some degree.
But for Sam, he was a totally different horse.
She ran her hand down his face slowly, watching how his expression shifted when her fingers brushed the halter. That small reminder of being tame still grated on him, even though there had been a time when that tameness had come so naturally to him. Sam hoped they could go back to that someday, when she was an overconfident pre-teen and he was simply Blackie.
Her fingers closed on the loop of his halter, under his chin. That realistically offered her very little control- if he wanted to pull away, he would- but it was technically better than nothing. With her left hand, she unsnapped the clasp on the lead rope and brought it up to the loop. It wasn't the first time she'd done such a thing- he'd been tame for his first two years, after all- but everything with the Phantom still felt fresh and new, even though it had been close to a month since he rejoined civilization, albeit reluctantly.
She allowed herself to take a deep breath then, feeling like she'd accomplished something important, even though it would have been absolutely nothing special for any other horse on the property- as always, the Phantom forged his own path. He relaxed as she did, letting out a deep shuddery breath that showed how calm he was. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
The next part was the easy part. Sam took a step forward and knew that he would follow. The Phantom was certainly full of issues, but when it came to leading, their bond shone through. He followed her around the circle on a loose lead, perhaps thinking this sort of task was beneath him, but obeying all the same.
It was beneath Sam too; she quickly got bored of walking in circles. They were good at that and only needed so much practice. Instead, she worked on desensitizing the Phantom to touch and picking up his feet. She'd held off on the foot thing thus far, not wanting him to lose his balance or put too much weight on his injured leg. Not to mention, a horse on three legs was vulnerable, and it took a good deal of trust to hold that position.
That was why it was key to move slowly, no surprises involved. Sam considered herself almost an expert in that field, running a hand down each leg gently. As a colt, the Phantom had been very good about this sort of thing- he'd actually had a reputation for falling asleep while the farrier was working on him. Sam hoped he would someday be that comfortable around human beings again, but she wasn't holding out for it by any means.
He tried. For her, he really tried. He was fairly agreeable when it came to his front feet- which was pretty typical- but a bit unsure regarding the hinds. Sam didn't push it. This horse had already kicked her in the head once; she didn't want it to happen again.
It didn't bother her. She'd grown up since she was eleven and asking Blackie to do things he wasn't ready to do, since that gate slammed shut and she was falling, falling, falling. Waiting was the easy part. Waiting, she could do.
Sam rested hand on the Phantom's neck. Training was over; they were simply enjoying each other's company. There were others things she should have been doing, maybe. It was about time to feed the chickens, and the horses' water tanks were getting low, but she stayed, absentmindedly running her fingers through the Phantom's mane. A couple days ago, she'd spent an hour untangling it by hand, and she appreciated her hard work now, the way it shimmered in the sunlight, strands of silver and ivory and a few stark black ones mixed in.
The Phantom sighed and cocked one hind foot. Sam smiled. "Maybe we'll make a decent horse out of you yet."
She was joking, of course. In her eyes, at least, the Phantom had far surpassed "decent". Even if she never rode him again, she would maintain that he deserved the world, and she would do her very best to give it to him.
Jake's expression was grim as he unlatched the gate, which did nothing for Sam's confidence. She coiled the lead rope in her hand, nervous, but trying not to let it affect Windy. Fortunately, her little tumbleweed seemed completely oblivious to his handler's stress. He opened his mouth and tried to chew on the chinstrap of his halter.
Jake tilted his head, asking are you ready? Sam gave a slight nod and forced herself to be. She clucked at Windy and took one step forward, then another, until they stood clear of the open gate.
The scenery was the same, but it felt entirely different outside of the fence. Windy picked up on it now; his ears turned forward and he looked around wide-eyed, as if he could tell he was a little bit closer to freedom than usual.
"Breathe," Jake commanded. While both horse and handler were visibly tense, he somehow managed to look bored. Sam both resented and appreciated him for that.
She breathed. It helped. She felt confident enough to take her first step forward, and the world didn't end, so she took another. Windy followed along like a dog, quickly forgetting what he'd been so worried about.
They kept it simple, walking around the outside of the round pen so Windy still had a visible boundary. This was his first time leading outside of a fence, after all- Sam didn't want him to panic or turn their walk in the park into tug-of-war.
Her worries were for nothing. A couple laps, and Windy settled right down, just like he did on their regularly scheduled walks in the pen. Sam relaxed too, and they ventured away from the corral to explore the rest of the yard.
Everything was new to Windy. He'd never seen a barn cat up close before, and the front porch of the little white farmhouse was a whole new world to him. Sam was patient with him as he sniffed and inspected each new object. She felt no need to rush. And when Jake fell into step with her- casually, almost coincidentally, as he did everything- she slowed down even further. There was no place she'd rather be.
"Put him back?" Jake suggested after a thirty-minute walk. They had made it all the way to River Bend's famous bridge, and Windy had even been brave enough to step onto it with his front feet.
Sam nodded and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Even though the walk didn't demand that much energy, it was hot and humid enough she felt like she was melting. She needed an ice cream cone or at the very least a glass of water.
Still, she patted Windy's neck and praised him before turning around. "You've done really good, short stack."
She could practically hear Jake rolling his eyes. Sam shot him a questioning look and he quickly put his hands in his pockets, pretending he hadn't said/done/thought anything.
"He has done really well," Sam said defensively, starting to walk back towards the pen. "Don't you think so?"
"Didn't say he hadn't," Jake replied.
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinkin' that horse doesn't speak much English."
"Well, he's still better to talk to than you are," Sam retorted, thinking she had finally got the upper hand.
"Brat!"
At first, she thought Jake was scolding her. Then, her arm was almost ripped out of its socket as Windy lunged at the Phantom in his round pen, his teeth snapping down on empty air. The gray stallion responded in kind, pinning his ears and launching himself at the fence, which clanged and groaned but fortunately did not give.
Before Sam could get a proper grip on the rope, Windy wheeled around and ripped it from her hand entirely. He was gearing up to kick at the Phantom, and Sam's heart clawed its way into her throat. She could see it already- a hock stuck between fence rails a gouge on the Phantom's chest. She waved her arms like a madwoman. "WINDY!"
Did it solve the immediate problem? Yes. Did it create an entirely new one? Also yes. Windy spooked at Sam's actions- which, to be fair, were intended to be spooky- and seemed to realize he was in over his head. He abandoned the notion of walloping the Phantom, which had been ridiculous anyway, and bolted, lead rope trailing behind him. Sam could only watch as he sprinted out of the yard, clearing the river in one defiant leap.
She couldn't stay frozen for long- Windy showed no sign of stopping, and she certainly wouldn't be able to catch up with him on foot. Almost in sync, Sam and Jake both sprinted to the barn for their saddle horses. Sam didn't think she'd ever tacked up so fast. Her fingers flew over the leather, tucking this and tightening that.
As fast as Sam was, Jake was somehow faster. By the time she led Ace out of the barn, he already had a foot in the stirrup. It would have annoyed her had she not been in such a hurry. She swung into the saddle and clucked at Ace, setting off at a brisk trot.
Windy was out of sight- not surprisingly, considering the breakneck pace he'd taken off at. Still, Sam would have felt a whole lot better if there was even a glimpse of him, instead of literal and figurative dust in the wind.
Sam knew she didn't have actual cause to be worried yet. Although he didn't exactly look thrilled to be there, she was accompanied by the best tracker in the state. If Jake couldn't find Windy, nobody could.
They crossed the bridge without speaking; the horses' hooves clip-clopping seemed almost deafeningly loud. Sam chewed on her lip, but she knew better than to voice any concerns out loud. Jake's severe expression made it clear he was concentrating, and Sam didn't want to do anything that could mess him up.
Although Sam knew little about tracking, she knew that the hard-packed desert sand wasn't the best surface for evidence, especially in the middle of the day. It hadn't rained for a while either- but looking at the thick, heavy clouds gathering on the horizon, that might not be true for long.
"C'mon," said Jake. Sam obeyed instantly. Her natural defiance left her when she had a horse to worry about.
Witch loped along casually while Ace side-stepped and threw in all sorts of extra moves. He'd felt neglected while Sam put more energy into her two wildest mustangs, and he was making sure she knew that now. Sam gritted her teeth and rode it out. It really wasn't the time for such antics, but there was no telling Ace that.
A stiff breeze alarmed Sam into looking up instead of down at the track. Those thick clouds in the distance? They were rapidly approaching, courtesy of the cold front that sent goosebumps up her arms. Sam tightened her grip on the reins. The low-hanging thunderheads, the crackling in the air, it all promised a storm. If she'd had the option, she absolutely would have run back to the ranch and taken shelter, but she wouldn't even consider leaving Windy behind.
There was one perk of Nevada's overall dull, flat landscape. She caught sight of Windy when he was still a miniscule dot on the horizon. Sam felt instantly relieved, even though she knew the battle was far from over. Just because she could see Windy didn't mean she'd be able to catch him- that was a totally separate issue.
Without thinking, Sam cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, "WINDY!"
Two issues with that. First of all, Windy was not a dog, and it was unlikely he would respond to his name. Second, Sam should not have taken her hands off the reins, because Ace took advantage of his newfound freedom by ducking his head and playing with the idea of throwing a buck.
In the few seconds it took Sam to get her horse under control, Jake seemed to go through all five stages of grief. He stopped his horse. Without speaking, Sam knew what the plan was. She hopped off Ace and passed one of her split reins to Jake, so he could hold one bay pony while she wrangled the other.
Her horse was scared; Sam could tell from a mile away. The braced neck, the way he took a couple steps one way then stun to the other. Windy was having second thoughts about his little escapade, but one wrong move and he'd surely take off again.
For that reason, Sam approached him slowly and cautiously. He was a ticking time bomb, but rushing in would knock seconds off the clock faster. She took one soft step at a time, staying consistent but not very fast at all.
"You're okay, Windy," Sam murmured in what she hoped was a comforting tone. It was more for her benefit than the horse's anyway. "I'm right here. Just stay. Stay."
Windy's perked ears indicated he was at least curious about the sound of her voice. Sam took that as a good sign and quickened her pace the slightest degree- ticking time bomb, remember?
He let her get close, but Sam noticed him tense up when she reached for the trailing lead rope. Immediately, she withdrew her hand. If Windy ran, it would be oh-so-over for them. She softened her approach, turning her shoulder towards him like she had those first few days in the round pen. The space was bigger now- infinite, realistically- but the concept remained the same.
Closer, closer, there. It felt sudden, going from out of reach to feeling Windy's hot breath on her shoulder. Sam slowly crouched down- she knew grabbing at his face would activate his flight instinct- and closed her fingers around the lead rope. She was just as cautious about standing up, but when Windy stayed calm and let out a deep sigh, she knew that she had won.
Then the sky opened up, and all thoughts of victory vacated her mind.
Cursing freely, Sam clucked at Windy and jogged back to Jake and Ace. Windy had never been ponied before, but he was simply going to have to learn. She took her rein back and swung into her now-soggy saddle, coiling the lead rope around the saddle horn. Jake may have given her an approving nod, but it was hard to tell in the pouring rain.
All the spring in Ace's step was gone. He trotted back towards the ranch with his head low and ears pinned, making his stance on the weather very clear. Sam fared no better. Soaking wet in a t-shirt and jeans, she was freezing, and she found herself wishing for the rain poncho tucked in saddle bags she hadn't had time to grab.
Only Windy seemed unaffected. In his two years on the range, he'd surely been caught in the rain plenty of times before, so this was just another day for him. Aside from learning to be ponied. That was new, but he took it well in stride, at least compared to Tempest.
The ride back to River Bend seemed to take twice as long as the ride out. The rain was still going strong when they got back, so Sam and Jake rode their horses right into the barn. Being indoors was new for Windy as well, but by that point he'd had enough of the rain, so he didn't protest.
Sam deposited Windy in a nearby stall and tied Ace up to untack. Her saddle (along with her hair, her clothes, and her boots) was soaked almost all the way through. She could sense tack cleaning in her future- regardless of the circumstances, her dad would have something to say about her riding in the rain, which still showed no sign of letting up.
After scraping the excess water off Ace and basically wringing out her saddle blankets, Sam hauled everything to the tack room to dry. She met Jake there, who somehow did not look all that much like a drowned rat. Although, she had to make an effort not to marvel at the way his shirt clung to his shoulder muscles when it was wet. That careful observation seemed somewhat inappropriate, and she tried not to dwell on it.
In its place, she made an effort to joke. "Pretty good for a first walk, huh?" It didn't really work. Actually, it completely fell flat. It wasn't so much Jake's reaction (he didn't really have one) as her own disappointment, the way her hair was sticking to her neck, and the futility of it all.
Jake did react when her expression began to crumple. He laughed. Well, it was more of a chuckle, but it did give Sam permission to acknowledge that the whole ordeal- the sassy horse fight, the desperate search, the sudden rainstorm- was a little bit funny if you thought about it.
"Thanks," said Sam, when she began to feel better. "For enduring that. I'm sorry you got all wet."
Jake just shrugged. He trained horses for a living; he had seen worse. Then a small smile crossed his face, the kind that indicated a particularly good or amusing thought. "I got somethin' that might make it better."
"Is it a towel?" Sam asked sarcastically. Jake didn't answer, just left the tack room. He came back a moment later with his hands behind his back. Sam raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Seriously, what do you have?"
"Your birthday present."
She gasped. "You said you didn't get me anything!"
"I said I didn't have anything for you. It wasn't ready then."
She tried to get a peek at what he was holding behind his back. "What is it? It's not a towel, is it?"
Jake responded by stepping back against the wall, jingling the bridles. "Jesus, Brat! Why would I get you a towel?"
"I don't know; Jen got me a weird t-shirt!" Sam retorted. Her distraction tactics were apparently not very effective on Jake, because when she lunged for the present again, he stepped neatly out of her reach with perfect timing.
She got a stern look for that one. "If you'd quit acting like a dog, I might give it to you."
Trying to offend Sam Forster? Animal comparisons were not the way to do it. "Might?" she repeated snarkily, and Jake finally relented.
When Sam saw what he'd gotten her, all the sass left her body. She couldn't possibly be anything other than grateful or perhaps awestruck. She took the leather halter from Jake's hands almost reverently, admiring the way the crownpiece felt butter-soft in her hands and the brass buckles were polished to sparkling. The only flaw (if you could even call it that) was the somewhat-crude stitching, as if it had been done not by a machine but by a person who wanted to give another person the best birthday present ever.
"It's not much" Jake said gruffly, perhaps mistaking her awe for disappointment. "Just wanted to see if I could do it. Here."
He dug around in his pocket and produced a small brass charm; it perfectly matched the buckles on the halter. Sam turned it over and found it to be labeled "Blackie".
She almost felt like crying. It was just a halter- a nice halter, yes, and made nicer by being a gift from Jake, but still, just a halter! She barely managed a "thank you" without her throat clogging up. That didn't seem like enough, so she ended up throwing her arms around him, the halter swinging from her elbow and actually smacking Jake in the side. It didn't matter- it was their moment.
Within that moment was a smaller moment in which Sam was pretty sure she'd made the biggest mistake of her life. Then Jake awkwardly returned the hug, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Relief mixed in with the butterflies and Sam tried to commit every nuance of this one specific hug to memory, even the bridle hook digging into her forearm and the fact that they were both soaking wet.
The beautiful, intimate moment was completely and utterly destroyed when the tack room door banged open. Sam jumped away from Jake immediately- even though nothing illicit was happening, she felt highly illicit- and struggled to look her father in the eye. "Dad!" she exclaimed. He did not look thrilled. Distraction was necessary. "Look what I got for my birthday!"
"Mmm," said Wyatt. It took a very grumpy and unpleasant person to be unimpressed by Jake's hard work, but Wyatt was pretty sure he'd just prevented an unplanned pregnancy, so Sam had to cut him some slack. "Dinner."
"Oh, great! I'm starving!" Sam declared. That was not the actual truth- even if she was hungry, it was a distant second to "cold" or "needs a change of clothes"- but it was a good excuse to get moving. Despite her previous thoughts about wanting to commit every nuance to memory, Sam could not wait to get out of the tack room, possibly to never return.
She was fine with leading the way, although she kept half an eye on Jake. He shoved his hands in his pockets- Sam could think of very few things less pleasant than wet jean pockets, but to each their own- and furrowed his brow. Sam knew him well enough to tell he sure didn't want to stay for dinner at the Forsters', but the rain still pounding on the tin roof made it awfully hard to refuse.
The rain made for a good excuse not to chit-chat. Sam jogged to the house with her hands over her head- not that it really made a difference, considering she was already soaking wet, but it made her feel better on some level. Stepping into the house should have felt like a breath of fresh air, but it actually just called even more attention to how sticky she was and how desperately she needed to run a brush through her hair.
Those things, Sam decided, could not wait. "I'll be down in a minute!" she hollered as she thundered up the stairs, ignoring the tempting scent of spaghetti and meatballs coming from the kitchen.
By the time Sam had herself looking and feeling somewhat presentable, everyone else had already gathered at the table. She shouldn't have been paying attention, but she couldn't help noticing Jake had also procured a change of clothes. His borrowed t-shirt declared him "World's Best Dad" and his expression declared him uncomfortable beyond all reason. Sam expected his social battery had run out a long time ago.
"Sorry I'm late!" she announced as she pulled out her chair. No one even acknowledged her arrival- they were all too busy heaping food on their plates and passing the salad bowl around.
Once Wyatt had said grace- it was apparently a "man of the house" thing even though Gram was the religious one- then they got to talking. "I see you got caught in the rain," Brynna commented.
Even with the fresh clothes and the hairbrush, there was no denying it. Sam nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "Windy took off; we had to go after him."
"But you got him back?"
"If we hadn't got him back, we'd still be out there." Sam was pretty sure Jake intended it as a joke, but his deadpan tone made it come out a little too serious. Awkward.
"I think it's supposed to rain all night," said Wyatt.
Sam nudged Jake. "Have fun riding home in that."
"I already rode in it once," he shot back, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"You have spaghetti sauce on your face."
"Nonsense!" Brynna declared. At first, Sam though she was talking about the spaghetti sauce thing, which would not have made any sense. "There's no need to ride home in the rain! Jake, you'll stay here for the night."
He shook his head. "That's not necessary. A little rain never hurt anybody."
As if on cue, a loud burst of thunder- which had, on occasion, hurt somebody- crackled overhead, and lightning flashed outside the window. Cody immediately started crying, and while Wyatt went to comfort him, Brynna gave Jake a stern look. "You'll be staying here tonight."
Jake didn't protest this time. "Yes ma'am."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Truth be told, she didn't love the idea of Jacob Ely staying the night at her house, even though it certainly wasn't the first time he'd slept at River Bend. When they were younger, "sleepovers" had been a regular occurrence, but now that they were teenagers- a legal adult, in Jake's case- it just seemed weird. Sam's feelings towards Jake were very complex, and she felt that having him one room over for eight hours straight might force her to confront some of them earlier than necessary.
She wasn't ready for that. She wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for that, and she knew Jake wasn't ready for it either. What if he walked in on her brushing her teeth? Or something worse?
Sam's dad clearly wasn't pleased with this development either; he ate his (fantastic, homemade) spaghetti with an expression usually reserved for those trying to conceal a gunshot wound. His discomfort made Sam uncomfortable because he clearly thought something was going on but nothing was going on! Did she want something to be going on? Maybe! But that was another complex emotion she had yet to delve into, and the place to delve into was certainly not the dinner table.
As soon as she could, she excused herself. She had the perfect excuse ready. "My saddle got wet earlier," she told everyone. "I want to get it oiled before it gets all stiff."
A chore she had been dreading became something of a relief. It was funny how that worked. Sam plunked herself on a five-gallon bucket (the only seating available that wasn't a horse) and propped Ace's saddle on her knee. She took a sponge with foamy saddle soap and scrubbed all the leather she could reach, even going the extra mile of pulling the stirrups off and cleaning them separately. It was simple work, but not exactly easy. Sam had to put a lot of elbow grease into her scrubbing, removing weeks of grime and sweat.
She was so focused, she barely noticed Jake walking in. In her defense, it wasn't like he had knocked or anything, but in his defense, the tack room wasn't really a place where one could expect privacy. Sam had learned that earlier, thanks.
"Hey," she said, looking up from her cleaning briefly. It was definitely easier to stare down her saddle fenders than to make eye contact with Jake- not that that was anything new.
"My saddle got wet too," he said. "Do you mind?"
Sam shook her head, even though she had come out here with the intention of being alone. Jake, quietly sharing her space and working alongside her, didn't seem to count. He was a comfortable-if-not-comforting presence, although it was quite frustrating how he could be so engrossed in his work but still notice the split-second she stole a glance at him.
She didn't know why she felt compelled to look at him, only that she did.
"Are you mad about somethin'?"
Sam balked. He couldn't have been further from the truth- as far as she could tell, that was the exact opposite of what was happening right now. "No!" she said quickly. "I'm not mad."
"Coulda fooled me."
It was unfortunate, really, that Jake could read her so well. Sam shook her head fervently. "I'm really not mad!" she insisted. "I just…I don't know."
"Cause I could call Quinn, probably, and he'd come pick me up. Witch would stay for the night, but-"
"No!" Sam blurted out. "You don't have to do that. I just, I don't know. I don't want it to be weird."
"Why would it be weird?"
"I don't know." Technically, it wasn't lying if she wasn't able to articulate the actual answer, right?
She didn't know. The truth was, she didn't know.
Mercifully, Jake dropped it after that, but it turned out he was right. It wasn't weird. It was comfortable silence, aside from the hum of sponge-on-saddle, and there wasn't anything weird about it. Sam let herself relax, enjoying this new kind of peace and quiet she hadn't known she needed. Despite the tedious nature of the task, Sam found herself wishing it wouldn't end, and when the time came, she scrubbed her split reins for far longer than necessary.