Mustang Moon Read Free Page B

he’s pretty hot stuff.”
    The stallion pranced toward the lead mare as if she should bow down and kiss his hooves. The tiger dun wasn’t impressed.
    As the mare attacked, the stallion dodged. He moved like a cutting horse, removing the troublesome mare from the herd as he headed toward the other mares and foals who stood watching, wide-eyed.
    Suddenly, he was distracted. Sam had to hunt with the binoculars to see what had made the blue roan swing away from the mares.
    The Phantom trotted off the ridge and down a hidden path. He seemed to float toward the herd. Head tilted to one side, tail swishing, he looked only curious. Sam guessed he didn’t see the other stallion as a threat.
    Full of confidence, the blue bowed his head in a move that puffed up his already thick neck. He pawed the sand, glanced back at the watching mares, then strutted a few steps like a bad boy showing off for the girls. Then he charged.
    The Phantom stepped aside. The blue stumbled in surprise, but he didn’t fall—just ran a few steps and swung back around to face the silver stallion.
    A breeze caught the Phantom’s white silk mane and it fluttered around him. The blue’s head bobbed in three fierce nods, then he launched a second attack. Once more, the Phantom stepped aside, but when the heavy horse gathered for a third try, the Phantom lost patience.
    His ears flicked back and he planted each hoof with determination.
    The blue stallion stopped. He lowered his head, and swung it just above the dust. The Phantom had treated him like an unruly youngster, and the blue roan looked ashamed. Finally, without another glance toward the mares, he sprinted away.
    Sam saw him go over a hill. She waited. The disgraced stallion had to emerge on the other side, didn’t he?
    â€œThey vanish just like that,” Gram said, snapping her fingers. “Don’t they?”
    When the blue roan still didn’t appear, Sam felt suddenly hot and sweaty. The backs of her legs stuck to the Buick’s upholstery.
    She’d wanted the Phantom to win, but it hadn’t been a fight. More of a scolding. Sam remembered the blue roan’s huge hooves slamming the fence in a burst of temper and wished he hadn’t lost to the Phantom so completely. What if the blue roan’s pride was hurt? Would he return for a rematch?
    Sam shivered, though the August heat rippled through the open car window.
    The Phantom’s band milled around the pond as if nothing had happened, but the stallion didn’t return to the ridge.
    â€œI wonder if that was a bachelor stallion, looking to steal mares,” Gram mused, “or just a young horse trying out his moves.”
    â€œHe looked serious, but the Phantom didn’t,” Sam said.
    â€œThe Phantom. Why do you call him that, even though you, Jake, and Wyatt all think he’s Blackie?”
    â€œHe doesn’t look like ‘Blackie’ anymore.”
    â€œThat’s true, but if he was your colt, he’s not the Phantom.”
    Chills scurried down Sam’s arms. Gram couldn’t believe in the legendary white stallion, could she? He was imaginary. When cowboys told ghost stories around the campfire, they wove tales about a pale spirit horse that melted through fences. He floated above the ground, outrunning any mortal horse. He passed through lassos and moved with cloudlike silence. But everyone knew the stories sprung from a family of fleet gray mustangs that lived in the Calico Mountains.
    Still, Sam wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t remember Gram doing anything more superstitious than crossing her fingers for luck.
    Down below, the Phantom lifted his head and stared toward the road, as if he’d finally noticed them.
    â€œHe is a beauty,” Gram said.
    â€œThen won’t you let me go out at night and wait for him? He always comes by midnight, and I promise I won’t try to ride him, and—”
    â€œSamantha,”