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andpeople who considered the high desert their home—Linc Slocum would stumble upon it. Many of his misdeeds were done on purpose, but just as many were the worst sorts of accidents.
    Like this. If Ace caused a commotion because he perceived some threat from the vehicle, if he caused the other horses to wheel and run for the mountains, she’d have Slocum to blame. Or at least Slocum’s vehicle, she thought, because now, as it inched nearer, she saw that Linc wasn’t at the wheel. The driver’s silhouette wasn’t bulky and broad like Linc’s. Could it be Ryan? Maybe, although he’d stayed so close to Hotspot and her foal, it would be a surprise.
    The dark outline seemed more familiar as it drew closer, but Sam looked away. If she played her cards right, she could have the horses across the bridge and headed for home pasture before the truck reached them.
    â€œIt’s up to you, boy,” Sam told Amigo, and the sorrel settled into a swinging lope, the gait he used to herd cattle, which could stay placid as a rocking chair or explode into a burst of speed certain to cut across the path of any animal making a break away from the herd.
    She’d done it. The horses were trotting across the bridge, hooves hammering an announcement that she’d brought them safely home, when suddenly Sam recognized the driver.
    Jake. She straightened with such surprise thatAmigo snorted and his smooth stride switched to a slower, rougher gait.
    â€œIt’s okay, Amigo,” she told the old horse, touching his flaxen mane for assurance. “Everything’s okay, except Jake’s apparently gone loco .”

Chapter Six
    S omething big and metal jangled as it was jarred around in the back of the truck. Sam heard a howl and shivered. Then the sounds came together, painting a picture in her mind.
    Dogs in a cage. Those dogs.
    All at once, she was relieved not to be riding Ace. The little horse had wanted to battle them as if they were predators.
    Why were those dogs in Slocum’s truck? And why was Jake driving it?
    You’ll never know if you don’t ask , she told herself, but she couldn’t rush the horses just to satisfy her curiosity.
    The truck stopped about a hundred yards away.Idling, the vehicle sounded like a small factory.
    When all the horses had crossed the bridge and showed no signs of turning back, Sam reined Amigo toward the truck.
    If you didn’t know Jake, his set jaw would just look stubborn, but Sam could tell he wasn’t gloating over driving Slocum’s truck. He was embarrassed by the loud, flashy vehicle.
    The dogs yapped and yodeled as Sam rode closer. Amigo made a cautious, inquiring snort, and Sam felt a bit scared.
    â€œThey can’t get out, can they?” she called.
    Jake rested his arm on the sill of the driver’s window.
    â€œâ€™Course not,” he said. Hatless, he pushed back a clump of black hair that had fallen over his brow. Sam noticed his faded blue shirtsleeve was rolled up. “Never knew you to be scared of dogs.”
    â€œJust those dogs,” Sam said. Then, slapping one hand over her nose, she recoiled. “What’s that smell?”
    â€œSardines,” Jake said. “They’re hunting dogs. I couldn’t chase ’em down on foot. I tracked ’em so far, then set up their cage—”
    Their cage? Did that mean the dogs were usually kept in it? Despite their ferocity, Sam felt a little sorry for them.
    Jake’s eyes slid sideways from hers, and she guessed he felt the same. “—and used a scent I was pretty sure would carry.”
    â€œIt carries, all right,” Sam said, still cupping her hand over her nose.
    Sam stood in her stirrups to look into the back of the truck, through the narrow bars on the cage. Openmouthed and excited, the dogs wagged their tails.
    Even though they’d probably gulped down the sardines an hour ago, they were panting fish-scented breath.
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