Untamed by Terri Farley Page A

Peak and get there.”
    Jake stared out the windshield, leaning forward until his chest pressed the steering wheel.
    On the horizon, blacker than the night sky, Sam saw the rock formation that looked like a snake.
    Cautiously, Jake eased the car ahead, then turned right on a dirt road that was little more than a trail cut by hooves.
    How had Mom driven out here in her clumsy VW bus? Sam puzzled over the question until Jake stopped again.
    â€œThere they are,” he said.
    After a few impatient minutes, Sam spotted the herd. Night light made them all shades of gray. She couldn’t find the Phantom or identify any individual mustangs, but there were about twenty horses, the right number for the Phantom’s band.
    â€œThey’re on his property, all right,” Jake observed.
    On the hermit’s property, he must mean. That meant trouble for the horses. How could Jake sound so unconcerned?
    â€œDon’t tell Brynna,” Sam said. “Promise me.”
    â€œIf she asks, of course I’ll tell her,” Jake said.
    â€œLook, they’re not hurting anything. That Caleb guy isn’t running any cattle and the pronghorn don’t mind sharing, so why should you tell?”
    â€œBecause Brynna and my dad trusted me to do this,” Jake said. His tone indicated he had no choice. “When people, like, respect you, you can either disappoint them or measure up.”
    Gosh, Sam, don’t you know anything? Jake didn’t say it, but he might as well have, and his superior attitude made her mad.
    â€œWait. How do you know the pronghorn don’t mind sharing?” Jake asked, giving her a suspicious glance.
    Sam ignored his question. She was still stuck on him bragging about how much Brynna trusted him.
    â€œHow do you stand yourself,” Sam asked, “being so mature and all?”
    Jake didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he asked, “Are you trying to pick a fight?”
    She gestured as if brushing aside his question, because suddenly she’d realized she had to ask his opinion about something important.
    â€œDo you think wild horses compete with antelope for food?” she blurted.
    He was quiet for a minute, not quite ready to give up their squabble, but Sam knew he’d think about what she’d asked.
    â€œNo. They eat different stuff most of the year,” Jake said. “Do you think Caleb wants the horses out of here because of the antelope?”
    â€œMaybe,” she told him. “I’ve heard he’s a poacher. If he hunts pronghorn year-round, he might be worried that the horses’ grazing area overlaps. Don’t you think?”
    â€œWhere’d you hear he was a poacher?”
    Sam was about to show him her mother’s note, when the horses began to drift away, soundless as smoke.
    The flat grassland looked bare for a minute. Then something big appeared. Headlights stabbed through the darkness and moonlight rolled on a windshield.
    Was it Caleb Sawyer? Didn’t hermits stay home? That’s what made them hermits, right?
    The headlights bounded over the rough terrain, coming closer.
    What if the hermit was driving out to see if Luke Ely had sent someone? What if he came right up to Jake’s truck and looked inside?
    Sam thought of the shell casing.
    If this was the shooter, he might have seen her gathering evidence and carefully bagging it. A clammy warmth settled over her as she realized Jake was accelerating, actually hurrying to meet the other vehicle.
    â€œStop!” Sam urged. “Don’t go over there.”
    What if Caleb Sawyer had used binoculars to see her clearly? If he drove right up beside them, she just knew he’d still have that rifle.
    â€œSam, what’s wrong with you? Don’t grab my arm when I’m driving,” Jake snapped. “I might crash.”
    â€œYou will crash, if you keep going toward him, ’cause that guy’s got a gun.”
    â€œSam, three-quarters of