“Good morning! Want to run with us?” In her eyes was victory beyond measure, and the answering look in Tate Jordan's eyes was fierce.
“What the hell are you doing on that horse?”
“Caroline said I could ride him.” She sounded like a petulant child as she slowed him further, and Tate fell into step beside her as they rode back. She was remembering everything he had said to her the day before and she was enjoying her moment of triumph as he fumed. “Remarkable, isn't he?”
“Yeah. And if he'd stumbled at the stream back there, he'd have a remarkably broken leg, or didn't you think of that when you raced him toward it to jump it? Didn't you see the rocks back there, dammit? Don't you know how easily he could slip?” His voice carried across the early morning silence, and Samantha looked at him with annoyance as they rode on.
“I know what I'm doing, Jordan.”
“Do you?” He eyed her with unbridled fury. “I doubt that. Your idea of knowing what you're doing is showing off and going as fast as you can. You could ruin a lot of horses that way. Not to mention what you could do to yourself.”
As she rode along beside him she wanted to scream. “Do you really think you could do better?”
“Maybe I know enough not to try. A horse like that should be a racehorse or a show horse. He doesn't belong on a ranch. He shouldn't be ridden by people like you, or me, or Miss Caro. He should be ridden by highly trained people, Thoroughbred people, or he shouldn't be ridden at all.”
“I told you, I know what I'm doing.” Her voice rose in the stillness, and without warning, he reached out and grabbed her reins. Almost instantly both horses and their riders came to a full stop.
“I told you yesterday, you don't belong on that horse. You'll hurt him or kill yourself.”
“Well.” She looked at him angrily. “Did I?”
“Maybe next time you will.”
“You can't admit it, can you? That a woman can ride as well as you. That's what galls you, isn't it?”
“The hell it is. Damn city playgirl, you come out here to have a good time and play at ‘ranch girl’ for a few weeks, ride a horse like that, jump him on terrain you don't know—dammit, why don't people like you stay where they belong? You don't belong here! Don't you understand that?”
“I understand it perfectly, now let go of my horse.”
“Damn right I will.”
He threw the reins at her and rode off. And feeling somehow as though she had lost rather than won, she rode back to the barn, but more sedately. She didn't know why, but his words had hurt. And there was one grain of truth in his tirade. She had been wrong to jump Black Beauty headlong over the stream. She didn't know the country she was riding, at least not well enough to take chances like that. But on the other hand, it had felt wonderful, flying over the countryside on a horse with the speed of the wind.
She could see the men gathering in the yard of the complex and hurried back into the barn to put Black Beauty in his stall. She was going to rub him down just for a moment, cover him with his blanket, and then leave. She could give him a good rubdown that night, but when she reached his stall, Tate Jordan was already waiting, his green eyes like smoldering emerald fire, his face harder than she had seen it before, but he was looking taller and more handsome than any cowboy on a poster and for an insane moment she thought of her agency's new car ads. He would have been perfect as the male model, but this was not a commercial, and this wasn't New York.
“Just what exactly are you planning to do with that horse?” His voice was low and taut.
“Rub him down for a minute and then cover him up.”
“And that's it?”
“Look.” She knew what he was saying and now her delicate skin flushed to the roots of her golden hair. “I'll come back later and take care of him properly.”
“When? In twelve hours? Like hell you will, Miss Taylor. If you want to ride a horse like Black Beauty, you'd damn well better live up to the responsibility. Walk him, cool him off, rub him down. I don't want to see you out with the others for another hour, if then. Is that clear? I know you're not much on taking advice or suggestions, but how are you on orders, do you understand them? Or is that a sometime thing with you too?” As she looked at him she almost wanted to slap him. What a hateful man he could be, but he was also a man who loved horses, and he was right about what he had just said.
“Fine. I understand.” Her eyes dropped, and she took Black Beauty's bridle in her hands and prepared to walk away.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, dammit! Yes!” She turned back to shout at him, and there was an odd light in his eyes. He nodded and walked back toward his own horse, the reins looped easily over one of the hitching posts outside. “By the way, where will you all be working today?”
“I don't know.” He strode past her. “Find us.”
“How?”
“Just gallop the hell all over the ranch. You'll love it.” He grinned sarcastically at her as he got back on his horse and rode off, and Samantha wished for only a moment that she were a man. At that precise moment she would have loved to hit him, but he was already gone.
As it turned out, it took her two hours to find them. Two hours of riding through brush, of following a few familiar trails and getting lost on others. At one point she almost wondered if Tate hadn't purposely chosen some activity that would keep them out in the more remote areas so she wouldn't find them. But at last she did. And despite the chill December air, she was warm in the bright winter sunshine after riding everywhere she could think of looking for them. She had found two other small work groups, and one larger one, but of Tate's there had been no sign.
“Have a nice ride?” He looked at her with amusement as she stopped and Navajo pawed the ground.
“Charming, thank you.” But there was a feeling of victory nonetheless to have found them at all, and she watched the emerald eyes glinting in the sun. And then, without saying anything further, she wheeled her horse and joined the men, dismounting a few moments later to help carry a newborn calf in a sling made of a blanket. The mother had died only hours before, and the calf looked as if she might not make it either. One of the men hoisted the small, scarcely breathing animal in front of his saddle and rode steadily toward the livestock barn, where he would bring her to another cow in the hopes of giving her a foster mother. It was only half an hour later when Sam spotted the next one on her own, this one even smaller than the first, and the mother had obviously been gone for several more hours. This time with no assistance she fashioned the sling on her own, hoisted the calf onto her saddle with the help of a young ranch hand who was far too intrigued by Samantha to be of much use with the calf. Then, without waiting for instructions, she began to canter at a steady pace after the other ranch hand, toward the main barn.
“Can you manage it on your own?” She looked up, startled, to see Tate Jordan riding along smoothly beside her, his sleek black and white pinto making an interesting pair with her brown and white Appaloosa.
“Yeah, I think I can manage.” And then with a look of concern at the animal in front of her saddle, “Do you think this one will live?”
“I doubt it.” He spoke matter-of-factly as he watched her. “But it's always worth a try.” She nodded in answer and rode harder, and this time he veered away and turned back. A few minutes later she was at the main barn, and the orphaned calf was taken into expert hands that worked on him for over an hour, but the little calf didn't live. As she walked back to Navajo waiting patiently outside the livestock buildings, she felt tears sting her eyes, and then as she swung her leg over the saddle she suddenly felt anger. Anger that they hadn't been able to save him, that the poor little beast hadn't survived. And she knew there were others like him out there, whose mothers had, for one reason or another, died as they delivered in the cold flight. The men always had an eye out for livestock in trouble on the hills, but it was inevitable that there were some who escaped their notice and died on the hills every year. It wa
s common for those who delivered in winter. The others had come to accept it, but Samantha had not. Somehow the orphaned calves seemed almost symbolic of the children she could not bear, and now she rode back out to the others with a vengeance and a determination that the next one she brought back would live.
She brought in three more that afternoon, riding hell for leather as she had that morning on Black Beauty, the calves wrapped in the blankets, the men watching her with combined intrigue and awe. She was a strange and beautiful young woman, bent low over her horse's neck, riding as no woman had on the Lord Ranch before, not even Caroline Lord. The extraordinary thing was that as they watched her fly across the hills, Navajo moving like a brown streak until they saw him no more, they knew just how good Samantha was. She was a horsewoman like few others, and as they rode back to the barn that night the men joked with her as they hadn't before.
“Do you always ride like that?” It was Tate Jordan again, his dark hair ruffled beneath the big black Stetson, his eyes bright, his beard beginning to cast a shadow across his face by the end of the day. There was a kind of rugged masculinity about him that had always made women pause when they saw him, as though for just a moment they couldn't catch their breath. But Samantha did not suffer from that affliction. There was something about the self-assured way he moved that annoyed her. He was a man who was sure of his world and his job, his men and his horses, and probably his women as well. For a moment she didn't answer his question, and then she nodded with a vague smile.
“For a good cause.”
“And this morning?” Why did he want to push her? She wondered. Why did he care?
“That was a good cause too.”
“Was it?” The green eyes pursued her as they rode home after the long day.
But this time Samantha faced him frankly, her blue eyes locking into his green. “Yes, it was. It made me feel alive again, Mr. Jordan. It made me feel free. I haven't felt like that in a long time.” He nodded slowly and said nothing. She wasn't sure if he understood, or if he even cared, but with a last look at her he moved on.
“Aren't you going to ride Black Beauty this morning?”
For a moment she almost snapped at him as she swung a leg over Navajo and settled herself in the saddle, and then for no particular reason, she grinned at him. “No, I thought I'd give him a rest, Mr. Jordan. How about you?”
“I don't ride Thoroughbreds, Miss Taylor.” The green eyes laughed at her as his lively pinto danced.
“Maybe you should.” But he said nothing and rode off to lead his men into a distant part of the ranch. Their group was larger than usual, and today Bill King and Caroline were riding with them too. But Samantha scarcely saw them. She was too busy doing the job she had been assigned to do, and by now she knew that the men were beginning to accept her. They hadn't planned to, they hadn't really wanted to. But she had worked so hard and ridden so well, and hung in for such endless hours, and worked so diligently to save the orphaned calves, that suddenly this morning it was “Heyyyyyo! Over here … Sam!… Hey, Sam, dammit … right now!” No more Miss Taylor, not a single ma'am. She totally lost track of time and everything except her work and her surroundings, and it wasn't until dinner that night that she stopped to talk to Caroline again.
“You know, Sam, you're a marvel.” She poured a second cup of coffee for Samantha and sat back in the comfortable kitchen chair. “You could be in New York, sitting behind a desk, creating exotic commercials, and living in an apartment that's the envy of everyone you know, and instead you're out here, chasing cows, carrying sick calves, knee deep in manure, mending fences with my men, taking orders from men who have a fifth-grade education, getting up before dawn, and riding all day long. You know, there aren't many people who would understand that.” Not to mention the fact that she had once been the wife of one of the most desirable young men on TV, Caroline thought. “What do you think about what you're doing?” Caroline's blue eyes danced at her and Samantha smiled.
“I think I'm doing the first sensible thing I've done in a very long time, and I love it. Besides”—she grinned girlishly—“I figure if I stick around here long enough, I'll get to ride Black Beauty again.”
“I hear Tate Jordan didn't take too kindly to it.”
“I don't think he takes too kindly to me on the whole.”
“You been scaring him half to death, Samantha?”
“Hardly. As arrogant as he is, it would take a lot more than me to scare him.”
“I don't think that's the case. But I hear he thinks you can ride. From him that's high praise.”
“I suspected that this morning, but he'd rather die than say so.”
“He's no different than the rest. This is their world, Samantha, not ours. On a ranch a woman is still a second-class citizen, most of the time anyway. They're all kings here.”
“Does that bother you?” Samantha watched her, intrigued, but the older woman visibly softened as she grew pensive, and something very gentle veiled her eyes.
“No, I'like it like that.” Her voice was strangely gentle, and then she smiled up at Samantha and looked almost like a girl. In that flash of a moment it explained everything about Bill King. In his own way he ruled her, and she loved it. She had for many years. She respected his power and his strength and his masculinity, his judgment about the ranch and his way of handling the men. Caroline owned and ran the ranch, but it was Bill King behind her who had always helped run it, who silently held the reins along with her. The ranch hands respected her, but as a woman, a figurehead. It was Bill King who had always made them jump. And Tate Jordan who was making them jump now. There was something terribly macho and animal and appealing about all of it. It was a pull one wanted to resist as a modern woman, yet one couldn't. The lure of that kind of masculinity was almost too strong.
“Do you like Tate Jordan?” It was an odd, direct question, yet Caroline said it in such a naive way that Samantha laughed.
“Like him? I don't think I could.” But that wasn't what Caroline had meant, and she knew it, and now she laughed a little silvery laugh as she sat back in her chair. “He's good at what he does. I suppose I respect him, though he's certainly not an easy man to get along with, and I don't think he much likes me. He's attractive, if that's what you mean, but unapproachable too. He's an odd man, Aunt Caro.” Caroline nodded silently. She had once said almost the same things about Bill King. “What made you ask?” There was certainly nothing between them, nothing Caroline could have sensed or seen as she had watched them all work all day long.
“I don't know. Just a feeling. I get the impression he likes you.” She said it simply, as young girls do.
“I doubt that.” Samantha looked both amused and skeptical. And then she spoke more firmly. “But in any case that's not why I'm here. I'm here to get over being involved with one man. I don't need to cure it by getting involved with another. And certainly no one here.”
“What makes you say that?” Caroline looked at her strangely.
“Because we're all foreigners to each other. I'm a stranger to them, and I suppose in their own way, they're strangers to me. I don't understand their ways any more than they understand mine. No,” she sighed softly, “I'm here to work, Aunt Caro, not play with the cowboys.” Caroline laughed at the words she used and shook her head.
“That's how those things start though. No one ever intends …” For a moment Sam wondered if Caroline was trying to tell her something, if after all this time she was going to admit to an affair with Bill King, but the moment passed quickly, and now Caroline stood up, put the dishes in the sink, and a few minutes later began to turn off the kitchen lights. Lucia-Maria had long since gone home. Samantha was suddenly sorry that she hadn't encouraged Caroline to say more, but she had the impression that Caroline was anxious not to say anything further. Silently a door had already closed.
“You know, the truth of it is, Aunt Caro, that I'm already in love with someone else.”
“Are you?” The older woman
instantly stopped what she was doing and looked stunned. She had had no inkling before that Samantha was already involved.
“Yes.”
“Would it be rude to ask who?”
“Not at all.” Samantha smiled at her gently. “I'm very much in love with your Thoroughbred horse.” They both laughed and bid each other good night a few minutes later. And tonight Sam found herself listening for the now familiar opening and closing of the front door. She was certain now that it was Bill King coming to spend the night with Caroline, and she wondered why they hadn't married if this had gone on for as long as she now suspected it had. Maybe they had their reasons. Maybe he already had a wife. She found herself pondering, too, the questions Caroline had asked about Tate Jordan and wondered why Caroline should suspect Samantha of being attracted to him. She wasn't really. If anything, he annoyed her. Or did he? She suddenly found that she was questioning herself. He was brutally handsome, like someone out of a commercial… like someone out of a dream. But he wasn't her kind of dream; tall, dark, and handsome. She smiled to herself, her mind instantly darting back to John Taylor … John with his glorious golden beauty, his long legs, his huge, almost sapphire-colored eyes. They had been so perfect together, so alive, so happy, they had done everything together… everything … except fall in love with Liz Jones. That John had done alone.
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