Free The Wildest Heart by Terri Farley Page A

he stepped aside and Sam was almost sorry.
    War movies showed scenes like this.
    A pale horse spattered with scarlet lay on the blackened earth. Just feet away, another horse, face scorched, thrashed as if fighting to rise, but his eyes were closed, lids fluttering as if he were trapped in a nightmare.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with them?” Sam barely breathed the words.
    She and Jake stood about ten feet from the horses, but they’d hear, and she didn’t want to frighten them more.
    Far away, Sam heard the firefighters congratulating each other. The fire was out. But Jake had heard her. He shook his head, concentrating on the horses.
    Sam kept her promise. She moved no closer, but she squatted and stared.
    The Phantom’s rib cage rose with each breath. Dark-gray streaks marked his glossy hide and dots of paint spotted his head and ears.
    From lowering his head when he’d tried to herd Pirate out of danger, she thought.
    His head had been right there when the cans exploded from the fire’s heat. Now his fine-boned head lay on the blackened ground.
    How long ago had the rain stopped? When had the sun emerged from the clouds and smoke? Sam didn’t know the answers, but she knew the earth must be hot and the burned weeds must be prickling the delicate skin around the stallion’s eyes and lips. She wanted to pillow his head in her lap.
    But if he woke, lashing out in panic, he might hurt himself more.
    Strands of his mane and tail lifted on the breeze. Otherwise, he didn’t move. She ached to do something for him, but what?
    A tiny sound made Sam look down. Dark spots showed on the right knee of her jeans. Only then did she realize her face was wet with so many tears, they’d begun dripping off her chin.
    With the back of one wrist, Sam wiped her eyes and kept watching.
    She didn’t know how long the horses lay still. Five minutes? Fifty?
    At last, Jake’s dad squatted beside her.
    â€œCould be they’re just gatherin’ strength. Hard to believe, but those cans blowin’ all at once caused sort of a concussion. Did you feel it?”
    Sam shook her head “no,” but Jake had been closer and he nodded.
    â€œKinda like a shock wave,” he said.
    Sam tried to think how that would affect horses. An explosion—or a concussion—would be something completely outside their experience. The only thing they could compare it to would be a storm. The thunder of the concussion, the lightning flash of the explosion. They knew how to react to predators, to drought and floods and intruders. They’d even learned to flee cars and motorcycles, but exploding paint cans in the midst of a brush fire?
    Some people laughed at horses when they shied at scraps of paper or odd-shaped rocks, but horses judged every unfamiliar thing a threat and it had helped them survive centuries of change.
    Thinking like a horse, Sam guessed that explained why the horses had bolted through the opening in the fence. It had been the quickest escape and they saw the others running to safety.
    Sighing, Sam forgot all about Jake and his dad. Her world shrank to the few yards of earth around the fallen horses. She was dimly aware of truck tires and voices, but she paid no attention.
    She wanted to scoot close enough to whisper the Phantom’s secret name. Even in his unconscious state, it might soothe him.
    Zanzibar. With tenderness, she thought the name toward the stallion. And hoped.
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    Sam jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see Dr. Scott. Young and blond,the veterinarian wore black-rimmed glasses. The lenses were grimy with smoke. The first time she’d met him, even though he’d been tending the Phantom’s reaction to a drug overdose, Dr. Scott had also worn a hopeful expression. He didn’t wear one now.
    Behind him, the volunteer firefighters sprayed water on tiny tongues of flame as they flared up here and there. Beyond them, the Darton fire truck