Gypsy Gold by Terri Farley Page A

wagon. A real gypsy, isn’t he, Sam?” Dad asked and there was something too hearty and totally un-Dad-like about the way he said it. “Sam?”
    â€œUh, yeah,” she said. “His name is Nicolas. Jen and I met him on the trail.”
    Brynna frowned.
    â€œHe’s a college student, but he and his family are gypsies, from England,” Sam explained. “He’s the first Raykov—I think that’s how you pronounce hislast name—born in the U.S., and he’s taking this journey to kind of live the life of his ancestors for a semester,” Sam told Brynna.
    â€œThat sounds interesting,” Brynna said, but her vague tone contradicted her words.
    â€œJake likes him,” Sam offered. She’d learned that unfair as it was, Jake’s opinion counted for more, with Dad and Brynna, than hers did.
    â€œIs that him?” Brynna asked.
    It was. Nicolas came around the corner of the barn and Lace followed, though she wore no halter and he held no lead rope. On playful hooves, the dun colt came with them.
    â€œThat’s Nicolas and his horse Lace. She’s a Gypsy Vanner. They’re really rare and he’s driving, if you can believe it, all the way from Seattle to Sacramento. He’s carrying everything he needs for his six-month trip in his wagon. It’s called a vardo. Jen and I—”
    â€œIs there an unusual marking on that colt’s forehead?” Brynna interrupted.
    â€œNo….”
    â€œHe looks a little skittish. Can you get close enough to pet him?”
    What was going on with Brynna? Sam wondered. The colt was cute, but Lace was amazing. And rare.
    â€œSam, have you peeked under his forelock?”
    â€œNo, he’s—”
    â€œWild?” Brynna finished for her.
    â€œNot exactly,” Sam said, though she felt a flash of understanding. Part of Brynna’s job was making sure mustangs weren’t taken from the wild by anyone except the federal government.
    â€œSamantha, tell the truth,” Brynna insisted. “Does your friend own that colt?”
    Sam stared across the ranch yard, trying to remember everything Nicolas had said about the dun colt. She watched Nicolas stroke Lace’s black-and-white shoulder as she drank, but she was remembering the way the dun colt had tried to join the Phantom’s herd.
    â€œHe said it was a stray,” Dad cut in, casting an impatient look at Sam. “A leppie foal that started tagging along with the mare.”
    â€œWhere did he join them?” Brynna asked.
    â€œI think he told me,” Sam admitted. “It was somewhere I’d heard of, but I can’t remember. We can ask him, you know.” Then, when Brynna looked like Sam had been sassy, Sam added, “Can’t you tell me what you’re worried about?”
    Brynna parted her lips to speak, but then shook her head.
    â€œNot ten minutes ago he was offering that colt to Pepper,” Dad said. Sam could tell he was trying to coax the truth from Brynna, too. “He says he can’t take the young one along with him travelin’ the highway.”
    Tempest, Sam’s own black filly, called to the dun colt.
    They must be about the same age, Sam thought, and when the little dun ran a bucking loop around Lace, Sam wished she could turn this baby out to play with Tempest.
    â€œI’m probably being too suspicious,” Brynna stated, “but if I’m right, it’s going to mean trouble. Sam, why did you have to bring that boy and his horses here at all?”
    That didn’t sound like Brynna. She was always sociable and welcoming to everyone.
    â€œWhat is wrong?” Sam managed.
    â€œIf that colt’s the horse I think he is, Norman White will recognize him. The herd of Spanish Mustangs that Blue came from has turned out to be genetically significant in a university study, and the adopters of the other horses have become pretty loud in accusing BLM of