Palomino

by Danielle Steel

  At least, she consoled herself as she pulled her mind willfully away from him again, she hadn't been watching the newscast. At least she didn't know how the pregnancy was going or have to listen to Liz thank another thousand viewers for little hand-knit booties and crocheted blankets or “darling little pink hats.” It had been almost unbearable, but she hadn't been able to stop watching the broadcasts while she was still in New York. Even when she worked late, she watched them. It was as though there were an alarm clock buried somewhere in her body that let her know when it was six o'clock and then forced her inexorably toward a television set so she could watch the program. At least here she hadn't thought of it in almost a week. And in another week it would be Christmas, and after she survived that—her first Christmas without John, the first time in eleven years that she wouldn't be with him—then she knew that she'd live. And in the meantime all she had to do was work from morning till night, follow the cowboys, spend twelve hours a day riding Navajo, find those little orphaned babies, and bring them back alive. And day by day, month by month, she'd make it. She was finally beginning to know that she would live. She congratulated herself again on the wise decision to come west as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, and this time along with Liz and John and Harvey Maxwell there were suddenly other people in her dreams too: Caroline trying desperately to tell her something that she could never quite hear; and Josh, laughing, always laughing; and a tall dark-haired man on a beautiful black horse with a white star on its forehead and two white socks. She was riding behind him, bareback, holding tightly to him as they raced along through the night. She was never quite sure where they were going or from where they had come, but she knew that she felt perfectly safe there as they rode along in perfect unison. And as she woke up with her alarm at four thirty, she felt oddly rested, but she couldn't quite remember her dream.

  Just before they would normally have had their lunchbreak, Tate Jordan gave the signal and the large group of men working together gave a whoop and headed home. Sam was among them, joking with Josh about his wife and children, and being teased by two of the other men. One of them was accusing her of probably having run away from a boyfriend who beat her “and rightly so after listening to you run that big mouth of yours,” but the other one claimed that she was probably the mother of eleven children and too lousy a cook so they threw her out.

  “You're all right.” Samantha laughed with the men she was riding with. It had been an easy morning's work and they were all anxious to knock off work early for lunch. It was the twenty-fourth of December, and that night there would be a huge Christmas feast in the main hall, wives and children and even girl friends were invited. It was an annual event, beloved by all. It made them all feel more than ever like a family, linked together and bonded by their love for the ranch. “The truth is that I had fifteen illegitimate children and they all beat me, so I ran away. How's that?”

  “What, no boyfriend?” One of the old timers guffawed. “A pretty little palomino like you and no boyfriend, awww come on!” They were all beginning to liken her to a palomino, but she was fond enough of horses and she took it as a compliment. The truth was that she was daily beginning to look more like one. Her long shining hair was whitening in the sun, and her face was getting tanned a rich honey-brown. It was a beautiful combination, and one which all of the men had noticed, whether they mentioned it or not. “Don't tell me you ain't got no man, Sam!” The old timer persisted in the question a number of them had pondered when she wasn't around.

  “Nope. Of course there were fifteen fathers for the fifteen illegitimate children, but now”—she laughed along with them and then shrugged, calling over her shoulder as she rode ahead back to the barn—“I'm too mean for any man.”

  Josh watched her go with a gentle look in his eyes, and the man riding closest to him leaned closer to ask him, “What's really her story, Josh? Got any kids?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Married?”

  “Not anymore.” But he said nothing further. Partly because he figured if Sam wanted them to know something she'd tell them, and besides that, he didn't know any more about her life himself.

  “I think she's out here running away from something,” a very young cowboy volunteered, blushing.

  “Mebbe so,” Josh agreed and moved on. No one really wanted to discuss it. It was Christmas, they had their own women and children to think of and it was her business after all. Despite the superficial gossipy tendencies that exist in any situation of communal living, the ranch on the whole bred considerable respect. These were, for the most part, men who believed in keeping their own counsel, and they thought too highly of each other and their own privacy to pry. Most of them were not overt talkers, and most of their conversation usually centered around the livestock and the ranch. Sam was safe in their midst and she knew it. It was part of why being there was so right for her. No one was going to ask about John or about Liz or about why she had never had babies, and how did she feel now that she was divorced.… “Tell me, Mrs. Taylor, now that your husband has ditched you for another woman, how do you feel about…” She had been all through that in New York. And now she was free.

  “See you later!” She called the words gaily to Josh as she made her way hurriedly to the big house. She was going to shower and change into fresh jeans, and then she had promised to come back over to the main hall to help decorate the tree. There were groups and committees devoted to everything from singing Christmas carols to baking. Christmas was an event second to none on the Lord Ranch.

  When she walked into the house, Caroline was poring over an enormous ledger with a deep frown, and Samantha snuck behind her and gave her a big hug.

  “Oh! You startled me!”

  “Why don't you relax for a change? It's Christmas!”

  “Do I look like Scrooge yet?” Caroline's face relaxed into a warm smile. “Should I say ‘Bah humbug’?”

  “Not yet. Wait till tomorrow. And then we can all haunt you with the ghost of Christmas Past!”

  “Oh, there have been a few of those.” For a moment Caroline became pensive as she put the big ranch ledger away. Suddenly she had thought back to Hollywood and her extravagant Christmases there. And as she watched her Samantha knew exactly what was on her mind.

  “Do you miss all that still?” What she meant was “Do you still miss your husband?” and Samantha's eyes were suddenly sad as she asked. It was as though she needed to know for herself how long it would go on.

  “No.” Caroline answered the question gently. “I'm not sure I ever really did, not after the beginning. Oddly enough, this was always more my style. For a long time I didn't know that, but I discovered that once I came here. I've always been happy here, Samantha. It's the right place for me to be.”

  “I know. I've always sensed that about you.” She envied her. Sam had not yet found her own place. All she had was the apartment she had shared with John Taylor. There was nothing that was exclusively Sam's.

  “Do you miss New York terribly, Sam?”

  Sam shook her head slowly. “No, not New York. Some of my friends. My friend Charlie and his wife, Melinda, and their three little boys. One of them is my godson.” She felt suddenly lonely and bereft as she said it, homesick for the people she had left behind. “And my boss maybe, Harvey Maxwell. He's the creative director at CHL. He's been like a father to me. I suppose I miss him too.” And then, as she said the words, she felt a wave of loneliness overtake her as she thought of John again—and this first Christmas without him. Involuntarily her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she looked away, but Caroline saw them and gently reached out and took her hand.

  “It's all right. I understand.…” She reached out and pulled Samantha to her. “I remember what it was like when I first lost my husband. That was a very difficult year for me too.” And then after a moment, “But it gets better. Just give it time.” Sam only nodded, and her shoulders shook gently as she bowed her head on Aunt Caro's delicate should
er, and then a moment later she sniffed and pulled away.

  “I'm sorry.” She smiled in embarrassment through her tears. “How maudlin. I don't know why that happened.”

  “Because it's Christmas and you were married to him for all those years. It's perfectly normal, you know, Sam. For God's sake, what do you expect?” But again, as she sat there, as she had been a thousand times since she'd heard that John had left Sam, Caroline was outraged at what he had done. How could he leave this perfectly exquisite young woman for that cold little bitch that she had stealthily watched on TV the other night, trying to understand what had happened, trying to see some reason why he had chosen her instead of Sam. The only reason she could see was the baby, but that hardly seemed a reason to go totally crazy and leave a woman like Sam. Nonetheless he had done it, however little she understood what he had done. “Are you going over to help decorate the tree?”

  Sam nodded and smiled valiantly again. “I also promised to bake cookies, but you may be sorry about that. The men I've been working with all tease me that any woman who can ride the way I do probably can't cook. And the worst of it is that they're right.” They both laughed and Sam gently kissed Aunt Caro and then held her close one more time. “Thank you.” It was a fierce whisper.

  “For what? Don't be silly.”

  “For being my friend.” She let go of the older woman then, and when she did, there were tears in Caroline's eyes as well.

  “Foolish woman. Don't ever thank me for being your friend! Or I won't be!” She tried to look angry but couldn't, and then shooed Sam out the door to go decorate the tree. A half an hour later Sam was in the main dining hall, perched on a tall ladder, hanging silver and green and red and blue and yellow baubles on the tree. There were small children working on the lower branches, and tiny ones hanging up little paper ornaments they'd made. There was an older group stringing popcorn and cranberries together, and a circle of men and women choosing ornaments and making as much noise, or more, as their kids. It was a large and happy congregation, with women circulating large bowls of popcorn, platters of brownies, boxes of cookies, all made on the ranch or sent from “back home.” There were people working everywhere in the best of the Christmas spirit, even Tate Jordan had come in, and as the official ranch giant, he had just agreed to put the star on the top of the tree. He was carrying a child on each shoulder and the black Stetson hung on a hook near the door. It was only when he reached the tree that he saw Samantha, and then, setting the children down, he smiled. From her perch on the ladder for once she was actually taller than he.

  “Put you to work, did they, Sam?”

  “Of course.” She smiled, but ever since her earlier moment of nostalgia there had been something sparkling missing from her smile. For a moment he commandeered the ladder and clambered up it quickly to hang the huge gold star. He added a few angels and some bright Christmas balls near the top, adjusted the lights, and then stepped down and handed Samantha up again. “Very nice.”

  “There have to be some advantages to being as tall as I am. Do you want a cup of coffee?” He said it casually, as though they had always been friends, and this time when she answered there was more life in her smile.

  “Sure.”

  He came back with two cups and some cookies and proceeded to hand her an assortment of ornaments, which she hung from her perch as occasionally she sipped her coffee and munched a cookie and he commented on where she should hang the next ball. At last she grinned at him after he had just told her where to hang a little silver angel.

  “Tell me, Mr. Jordan, do you always give orders?”

  He stopped to think for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  She sipped her coffee and watched him. “Don't you find it tiresome?”

  “No.” And then he looked at her pointedly. “Do you… find it tiresome to give orders, I mean?” He sensed that she was used to running things too. There was something about her that suggested an aura of command.

  She answered without hesitation. “Yes. Very.”

  “And that's why you're here?” It was a very direct question and she looked at him for a minute before answering.

  “Partially.” As she answered he found himself wondering if she had had a nervous breakdown. He was sure that there was a serious reason why she had come to the ranch, and he was also sure that this was not just an ordinary housewife running away from home. But there was nothing to indicate that she was even slightly crazy. He really had no clue.

  “Samantha, what do you do when you're not in California working on ranches?”

  She didn't really want to answer but she liked his openness as he stood there talking to her. She didn't want to spoil their working relationship by being cute with glib answers and scaring him away. This was a man she liked and respected, sometimes detested, but thought was good at his job. What was the point of playing games with him now?

  “I write commercials.” It was an oversimplification of her job, but it was a start. In an odd way she was not unlike the assistant foreman at Crane, Harper, and Laub. Realizing that suddenly made her smile.

  “What's so funny?” He looked puzzled as he watched her.

  “Nothing. I just realized that in some ways our jobs are alike. At the advertising agency where I work there's a man named Harvey Maxwell. He's kind of like Bill King. And he's also old and one of these days he's going to retire, and—” Suddenly she was sorry she had said it. All he would do is resent her if he thought she was going to step into the man's job, but Tate Jordan was smiling as she abruptly ended her recital.

  “Go ahead, say it.”

  “Say what?” She tried hard to look blank.

  “That you'll probably get his job.”

  “What makes you think that?” Despite the fresh suntan she was blushing. “I didn't say that.”

  “You didn't have to. You said our jobs were alike. So you're an assistant foreman, are you?” For some reason she couldn't fathom, he looked pleased, as though that amused him. “Very nice. Do you like what you do?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it's hectic and crazy and I hate it.”

  “At least you don't have to ride twelve hours in the rain.”

  “There is that.” She returned the smile, suddenly intrigued by this big gentle man who had been so harsh and so demanding during her first days on the ranch, and so livid with her for riding Black Beauty, and now he seemed like a totally different person as they drank coffee and ate cookies next to the Christmas tree. She looked at him closely for a moment and then decided to ask him something. She suddenly felt that she had nothing to lose. As he stood there he looked impossible to anger, impossible to annoy. “Tell me something. Why did you get so furious with me for riding Black Beauty?”

  He stood very still for a moment and then set down his coffee cup and looked deep into her eyes. “Because I thought it was dangerous for you.”

  “Because you didn't think I was good enough to ride him?” This time it wasn't a challenge, it was a straight question, and he gave her a straight answer.

  “No, I knew you were good enough that first day. The way you sat on Rusty in the pouring rain and even got a little work out of the old nag, I knew damn well you were good. But it takes more than that to ride Black Beauty. It takes caution and strength, and I'm not sure you're long on either. In fact I'm sure you're not. One day that horse is going to kill somebody. I didn't want it to be yoti.” He paused for a moment, his voice husky. “Miss Caroline should never have bought him. He's a bad horse, Sam.” He looked at her strangely. “I feel it in my gut. He frightens me.” And then he startled her again by speaking ever so softly. “I don't want you to ride him again.” She said nothing in answer, and after a long moment she looked away. “But that's not like you, is it? To turn down a challenge, to pass up a risk? Maybe especially now.”

  “What do you mean by that?” She was puzzled by what he had just said.

  He looked her straight in the eye again as he answered. “I have the
feeling you've lost something very precious to you … someone, most likely—that's the only thing most of us give a damn about. Maybe right now you don't care about yourself as much as you should. That's a bad time to ride a demon horse like that stallion. I'd rather see you on any horse on the ranch except that one. But I don't suppose you'd give up riding a Thoroughbred stallion just for me.” She wasn't sure what to say to him when he stopped talking, and her voice was husky when she answered at last.

  “You're right about a lot of things, Tate.” His name was new and strange on her lips, and when she lifted her eyes to his, her voice grew softer. “I was wrong to ride him—the way I did. I took a lot of chances that morning.” And then after a brief pause, “I won't promise you that I won't ride him again, but when I do, I'll be careful. I will promise you that. Broad daylight, terrain I know, no jumping over a rock bed and a stream I can barely see.…”

  “My God, how reasonable!” He looked down at her and grinned. “I'm impressed!” He was teasing her and she grinned.

  “You should be! You can't imagine the crazy things I've done on horses over the years.”

  “You ought to quit doing stuff like that, Sam. It's not worth the price you may have to pay.” They both fell silent for a moment. They both knew of the accidents that befell others, the paraplegics who spent the rest of their lives in wheelchairs because they risked a mad jump and fell. “I never did see the point of that crazy Eastern jumping. Christ, you can kill yourself like that, Sam. Is it worth it?”

  She let her eyes drift into his. “Does it matter?”

  He looked at her long and hard. “It may not matter to you right now, Sam. But one of these days it will again. Don't do something foolish. You can't change that back.” She nodded slowly and smiled. He was a strange and perceptive man, and she could see that he had qualities she hadn't originally noticed. At first she had seen him only as a tyrannical but effective assistant foreman. Now she saw that he was a man of much greater depth. The years he had spent around people and ranchers and ranch hands, living and losing and working till he almost dropped, hadn't been wasted. He had learned what he did well, and along with it he had learned to read people—no simple art. “More coffee?” He looked down at her again with a small smile and she shook her head.