Free Wild Honey by Terri Farley Page A

the pasture. That’s good.” He gave a loud sigh. “Look, I don’t mean to be abrupt, but I’d like to get home, clean up, and grab a nap before the next crisis explodes.” Dr. Scott yawned again, then a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Truthfully, I don’t think this will take long. I don’t expect the complaint to pan out.”
    â€œGo right ahead,” Mrs. Allen said, but the vet was already striding toward the pen where her three saddle horses dozed in the shade.
    After a few minutes, Mrs. Allen asked Sam, “Do you want to go back inside? It’s cooler there.”
    She had to keep her eyes on that barn. She had to be ready to explain—she wasn’t sure how—why she’d hidden a wild horse if Dr. Scott happened to find it.
    â€œI can’t,” Sam said.
    â€œNeither can I,” Mrs. Allen replied, and the strain on her face told Sam the old woman had more at stake here than she did.
    This time last year, Mrs. Allen’s ranch had been a clutter of sagging fences, flapping shingles, and wandering horses. Depression had made her so rude and reclusive, word had spread through the ranching community that the artist-rancher had gone from being eccentric to downright peculiar.
    â€œAll we need now is for that stallion of yours to come sniffing around,” Mrs. Allen whispered.
    â€œWhat?” Sam gasped.
    â€œI don’t expect he will, not during daylight, but many nights when I look out the window, he’s down at the pasture gate, wandering back and forth as if he’s lost something.”
    â€œHe did,” Sam said, thinking of Firefly. Then she shivered, imagining the stallion moving pale through the moonlight like a restless ghost.
    â€œIf you’re thinking of Firefly, we both know he would have kicked that youngster out of the band before long. It’s what herd stallions do with the young males.”
    â€œBut then why is he hanging around?” Sam asked.
    â€œSamantha, why on earth would you ask me? I’m not the one who can read that stallion’s mind.”
    If only that were true, Sam thought.
    They remained in silence for so long, Sam’s mind veered toward home. She really should phone and explain what was going on. She hadn’t looked at the clock when they’d been indoors, but Mrs. Allen had said it was nearly noon when they’d finished doctoring the palomino. That must have been at least an hour ago. Someone would be wondering where she was.
    â€œDo you think that mare is Firefly’s mother?” Mrs. Allen asked.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about that,” Sam admitted. “I keep going over the times I saw him with the Phantom’s herd, but I never saw him paired up.Mainly, he was just fooling around with the other colts.”
    Gloom settled over Sam. As they waited, sweating, Sam longed to be the horse psychic that people thought she was.
    If the Phantom returned to Deerpath Ranch looking for one of his colts, what would he do for a lead mare?
    He’d left the palomino when he knew she’d slow down the rest of the herd, but what if he came back without the others?
    Hooves thudded and a sharp neigh cut across the hot afternoon. Sam and Mrs. Allen turned to see Dr. Scott being pursued by Roman, the liver-chestnut gelding who’d appointed himself leader of the adopted herd.
    Dr. Scott vaulted over the pasture fence and walked toward them. When he came near enough that his voice could be heard, he called out, “Trudy, we’d better have a talk.”

Chapter Seven
    â€œY ou know, there’s an odd glare on those cottonwood leaves that’s making me a little dizzy,” Mrs. Allen whispered to Sam as the vet approached.
    Sam steadied the old woman’s arm, then retrieved the maroon baseball cap from Mrs. Allen’s back pocket. She shook out the crumpled cap until it was pretty much its original shape, then handed it to her.
    While Mrs. Allen