The Wild One by Terri Farley

Sam exactly where they were, though she’d been here only in her dreams.
    One neigh was followed by another, and another. A foal squealed and horses rustled through grass. The stone ceiling ended. When Sam stared up, she felt dizzy. It looked as if a huge bowl full of stars had been clapped over the top of this mustang hideaway.
    She had only seconds to marvel, before Ace bucked.
    â€œSteady,” Sam said, but she gave up without a fight.
    As Ace came to a nervous stop, Sam knotted her reins together. Then she scrambled down, kicking free of her stirrups before he bolted away.
    Dark horse shadows rippled against the moonlit cliffs, looking huge, then merging with the night. Sam knew it was too dark to try to leave. She didn’t want to, anyway.
    Sam worried about getting back to camp. She worried the cowboys would come searching, find her and call her worse than a tenderfoot. But Sam believed few humans would ever experience a night like this, and she wouldn’t give it up.
    As she settled against a boulder, hoofbeats told Sam that the Phantom was circling his herd, checking.She heard a foal nursing and the quiet rushing of a stream.
    Sam snuggled deeper into her coat. She felt surprisingly warm and satisfied. Ace was home. It was only fair she give him a chance to enjoy it.
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    Faint sunlight shone through Sam’s closed eyelids, but she didn’t open them. As soon as she did, the dreamy valley of wild horses would probably vanish. She’d be back in the tent she shared with Gram. Maybe even back in Aunt Sue’s San Francisco apartment.
    Then Ace whuffled his lips across her hand and Sam opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, let it out, and for the first time, she understood what it meant to “feast your eyes.”
    She couldn’t count all the mustangs, but she tried to memorize them. Bays and blacks, red sorrels and honey chestnuts grazed beside buckskins, duns, and grays. More lean and muscular than even hardworking ranch horses, they looked wild, but their coats gleamed with health.
    As if he felt her watching, the Phantom strode forward, standing between Sam and his mares and foals.
    Protective and wary, the stallion squared off, ready to fight for his family.
    Sam knew she should leave. Dad and Jake wereprobably looking for her and they could find this haven. Worse, Linc Slocum could find it—Dallas had told her that Slocum had the nighthawk shift after hers.
    Sam stood and the mares scattered. Reins trailing, Ace moved along behind her, willing to carry her home. But Sam had to try one thing before she mounted up.
    She walked toward the stallion.
    â€œZanzibar,” she whispered.
    His neck arched until his chin bumped his chest, but his eyes stayed fixed on Sam. His ears strained so far forward, they nearly touched at the points. His skin shivered as if he felt the same goose bumps she did.
    â€œZanzibar, remember me?”
    The stallion tilted his head, listening. A clump of silver mane fell aside, exposing a scar on his neck.
    Pitying him for whatever accident had caused the scar, Sam held out her hand.
    â€œPoor boy,” she murmured, but her move was a mistake.
    Too much, too soon.
    The stallion backed away. As his band scattered, Sam noticed a buckskin with a black dorsal stripe and a dun mare and foal, with dark slanted stripes on their legs.
    They could be throwbacks to ancient horses. Prehistoric horses had such markings, but Sam didn’tknow horses lived in this valley. Sam felt a surge of affection mixed with loyalty. She’d come here by accident, but now it was her duty to protect these animals and their home.
    She must leave without startling them into a stampede. Ace stood nearby, apparently willing to go, but she’d misread his equine mind before. If he put up a fuss, the herd might run from the valley—right into Slocum.
    Sam decided to lead Ace instead of mounting.
    â€œAce?” She patted her leg to get his attention. The gelding