“I'm trying to convince you that it's not too late to fall in love again. Look at them, when they started out, they were older than we are now. They had to be.”
“Yeah …”But he didn't sound convinced. And then he turned his eyes back to her with a pensive expression. “What difference does it make to you if I ever fall in love again?”
“I'd like to know that it's possible.”
“Why? Are you doing research for science?”
“No,” she whispered. “For myself.”
“So that's it.” He ran a hand gently down her pale blond mane, fighting with the pins that held it firmly in the knot at the nape of her neck, and then suddenly he unleashed it and it all came tumbling down her back. “My God, your hair is lovely, Sam … palomino.…” He said it ever so softly. “Little palomino … how beautiful you are.…” The sun glinted in the window and danced among the gold threads in her hair.
“We should go back now.” She said it gently but firmly.
“Should we?”
“We should.”
“Why?” His lips were kissing her chin and her jawbone and her neck. She wasn't objecting, but she was also not going to let him go any farther than that. “Why should we go back now, Sam? Oh, God, you're so lovely.…” She could feel a shiver run through him, and she pulled away slowly with a small shake of her head.
“No, Tate.”
“Why not?” For a moment there was fire in his eyes, and she was almost afraid.
“Because it's not right.”
“For chrissake, I'm a man, you're a woman … we're not children here. What do you want?” He raised his voice in lustful irritation. “The perfect romance, a wedding ring on your finger before you go to bed?”
“What do you want, cowboy? Just a quick roll in the hay?” The force of her words hit him like a bullet, and he looked stunned as slowly he shook his head.
“I'm sorry.” He spoke coldly and then moved to the sink to wash their cups. But when he had finished, she was still standing there, watching him, and she spoke up.
“I'm not sorry. I like you. In fact”—she reached out and put a hand on his arm—“I like you a hell of a lot. But I don't want to get hurt next time.”
“You can't have the kind of guarantees you want, Sam. Not from anyone. And not from me. The only guarantees you'll ever get are lies.” There was some truth in that and she knew it, but it wasn't just the promises she wanted but something real.
“You know what I want?” She looked around at the cabin as she asked the question. “I want this. I want this kind of meshing and blending and loving after more than twenty years.”
“You think they were so sure of that in the beginning? You think they knew then what they do now? Hell no. She owned the ranch and he was a ranch hand. That was all they knew.”
“You think so?” Samantha's eyes exploded sparks at him. “You know what else I'll bet they knew then?”
“What?”
“I'll bet they knew they were in love. And until I find that, until a man loves me and I love him, then I'm not coming out to play again.”
He opened the door and locked it behind them. “Come on.” But she had seen as she walked past him that he wasn't angry. He had understood all that she had told him, and she found herself wondering what he would do now, and what she would do herself. For a moment, just a moment, she had wanted to abandon all restraint and caution, but she had decided not to. Not because she didn't want him, but because she wanted him so much. Tate Jordan was one hell of a man.
“Can we come back here?” She eyed him squarely as he cupped his hands and offered her a leg up to the huge Thoroughbred horse.
“Do you really want to?”
She nodded slowly, and he smiled at her and said nothing. She took the leg up and flew into her saddle. A moment later she had the reins in her hands, her heels in the horse's flanks, and she was flying beside Tate Jordan into the wind.
Have a nice ride, dear?” Caroline looked at her benevolently as Samantha strode into the living room, her hair loose, her face flushed, her eyes bright. She looked like a vision of youth and health and beauty, and Caroline couldn't help envying her a little as she watched the young limbs coil into a comfortable chair.
“Very, thanks, Aunt Caro.” She was dying to tell her that she had seen their cabin, but she knew she couldn't. But still the excitement lingered. From that and the kiss she and Tate had shared in Black Beauty's stall. It had been a kiss that seared her very edges and reached into the nether regions of her soul. He was a man different from any other, more powerful and more independent and more alluring than any she had ever known or ever would.
“See anyone this morning?” It was a casual question, born of thirty years of almost communal living on a large ranch. Not a single hour went by that one didn't hang out with someone, talk about something, and hear something about someone else.
Sam had been about to say “No one,” and then decided to tell Caroline the truth. “I saw Tate Jordan.”
“Oh.” It was a very small word without any great emphasis or interest. “How is Santa Claus after last night? The kids sure enjoy him every year.”
Sam was tempted to say “So do I,” but didn't dare say it. “They should. He's a very nice man.”
“You mean you've relented? You don't hate him anymore?”
“I never did.” She tried to look casual as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “We just didn't see eye to eye over my ability to ride your horse.”
“And he's changed his mind?” Samantha nodded with a grin of satisfaction. “No wonder you like him. How heartily we approve of those who approve of us. He's a good man though, no matter what he may have said about your riding Black Beauty. He knows this ranch every bit as well as Bill and I.” Every bit… even the cabin, Samantha found herself thinking and had to take a sip of coffee so as not to smile.
“What are you doing today, Aunt Caro?”
“The books, as usual.”
“On Christmas?” Samantha looked shocked.
Caroline nodded dutifully. “On Christmas.”
“Why don't we have Christmas dinner instead?”
“As I recall,” Caroline said, looking at her with amusement, “we already did that last night.”
“That was different. That was everyone. Why don't you and I cook dinner today for Bill King and Tate?” Caroline eyed her very hard for a moment and then shook her head.
“I don't really think that would work.”
“Why not?”
Caroline sighed softly. “Because they're ranch hands, Samantha, and we're not. There really is a very definite hierarchy on a ranch.”
“Don't you ever have dinner with Bill?” Sam looked shocked.
“Very rarely. Only on state occasions, when someone gets married or dies. Only on nights like last night, at Christmas, do all the fences come down. The rest of the time, you are who you are, and they—they're careful to keep the fences up, Sam.”
“But why?”
“Out of respect. That's just the way it is.” She seemed to accept it, but it continued to annoy Sam.
“But it's all so stupid. What difference does the hierarchy make, for heaven's sake! Who cares?”
“They do.” Caroline's voice was like a splash of cold water. “They care very much, about form, about position, about who you are and the respect they feel they owe you. As a ranch owner, you're put on a pedestal by them, and they never let you come down. It's tiring sometimes, but that's the way it is. You have to accept it. If we invited Bill and Tate here today, they would be genuinely shocked.” But Sam found it hard to believe as she remembered Tate's earlier entreaties to sleep with him at the cabin. It hadn't occurred to her yet that that was different; it was private. It wasn't like having dinner together at the big house.
“Well, it still doesn't make any sense to me.”
Caroline smiled warmly at her. “It never did to me either, but I accept it now, Sam. It's simpler that way. That's just th
e way they are.” Was that the reason for the cabin, then? Because he was a ranch hand and she was something very different, the ranch owner? Could all the secrecy have been for something as simple as that? She was suddenly dying to ask her but knew that she could not. “There will be cold turkey dinners all day at the main hall, Samantha. You could go over there and chat with whoever's around. But I really have to work with Bill for a few hours in my office. I feel terrible about neglecting you on Christmas, Sam, but we have to get this done.” Caroline and Bill's single-minded purpose together, over all the years, had always been the ranch. But now Sam found herself wondering if they ever missed the cabin. They would have to. It was such a perfect place to hide out. She wondered, too, how long it had been since they had last been there, how often they had gone in the beginning, if they'd had it then … and she wondered, too, how soon she would go there again with Tate.
“I'll be fine, Aunt Caro. I have some letters to write. I'll go get something to eat at the main hall when I get hungry.” And suddenly she realized that she wanted to catch a glimpse of Tate again. It was as though he had got under her skin that morning and now she couldn't get him out. All she could think of was him, and his hands and his lips and his eyes.…
But when she went to the main hall for lunch half an hour later, she found that there was no sight of him, and Josh mentioned to her casually when she saw him near the barn a few hours later that Tate had gone to the Bar Three Ranch, twenty-five miles away, to visit his son.
In the silvery early morning darkness Tate Jordan gave the signal, and the two dozen ranch hands who followed his orders kicked their horses and followed him toward the main gate. Today most of them were rounding up young bulls for castration, and Tate himself and another small group were riding to a narrow canyon to see if the bridge there was down. When they reached it an hour later, they saw that all was pretty much in order, but on the way back they found that two trees had been hit by lightning and had gone through the roof of a shed, damaging a tractor and some small tools. For two hours the men worked pulling branches away from the building, checking over the tools, trying to start the tractor, and finally activating a huge saw so that they could remove the broken trees. It was grueling work for all of them, and most of all Samantha, and when they stopped at long last for lunch, Samantha's long blond hair was damp from her efforts and her thick flannel shirt clung to her chest.
“Coffee, Sam?” Tate handed it to her as he did to the others, and only for a fraction of an instant did she think that she saw something special lingering in his eyes. But a moment later when he gave her some more instructions on what he wanted done with the broken tools, she felt certain that she'd imagined the earlier attention. It was obvious that their relationship was once again strictly business. And by the end of the day she was sure. He treated her well now, as he did the others, joked with her once or twice, and told her to rest when he saw that she could do no more. But he offered her no special words, no particular encouragement, as she sweated and labored. At the end of the day, when she left Navajo in his stall, Tate said nothing to her as he left the barn and headed back to his own cabin not far from the main hall.
“Hard work today, eh, Sam?” Josh called to her over his shoulder as he put up his saddle, and she nodded, glancing briefly at Tate's back and suddenly wondering if the moments at the hidden cabin had been a kind of aberration, a brief flash when they both had lost control and then regained it. And she was suddenly glad that she hadn't succumbed to the powerful attraction she had felt. By now he would have been laughing at her, she thought briefly, trying to remember what Josh had said. “You look beat.”
“Don't we all! It's always hard work out here.” But she didn't look unhappy about it as she said it, and she was glad, as she had been that morning, that she had been spared the all-day session of castrating the young bulls. From what she had seen of it years before it was a bloody and unpleasant experience, and she would rather have spent the day as she had with Tate and the others, fighting with the branches of the stricken trees and wrestling with the awkward farm tools in the crushed shed. “See you tomorrow!” She waved at him with a tired smile and headed toward the big house, suddenly eager for a hot bath and some dinner, and shortly thereafter her warm bed. Her life on the ranch seemed to grow simpler daily. She slept, she got up, she ate, and she worked her tail off. But it was just what she had wanted. She barely had any time to think. Though lately there were thoughts that seemed to crowd her: visions of Tate's face as they had stood side by side in the cabin, talking about Bill and Caro … and themselves.
When she walked into the friendly ranch house, she called out to Caroline but was met with only silence. And a few minutes later, in the kitchen, she found a note that explained that Caroline had driven a hundred miles with Bill King. There were problems with some of the tax material that couldn't be explained on the phone, so they had gone to see the accountant. They would either be back late that night or in the morning, but in either case obviously, Sam was not to wait up. There was a chicken already roasted in the oven, a big baked potato alongside it, and a salad in the fridge. But despite the hard day's work Sam found that she wasn't as hungry as she'd thought a few moments earlier. The prospect of eating alone didn't have much appeal. Instead she wandered slowly into the living room, thinking that later she'd make herself a sandwich, but almost without thinking, she stooped, flicked a switch, and turned on the TV. And then she could almost feel something akin to an electric shock run through her as she heard John's voice boom into the cozy living room, and then moments later saw Liz's swelling belly and her smiling face. It brought home again just what had happened, and as Sam watched them her eyes held the same sadness that she had brought with her from New York. She was staring at them and listening to them go through their usual patter, when she suddenly realized that for the past few minutes someone had been knocking on the door. For what had seemed like hours she had been mesmerized by the two smiling people on the evening newscast, and she had been almost unable to tear herself away. With a quick flick of the switch they disappeared from the screen, and with a small unhappy frown around her eyes, Sam walked to the door and pulled it open. Gone was the New York caution of “Who is it?” Here it could only be ranch hands or friends, there were simply no foes. As she pulled open the door she found herself staring at a navy-blue plaid shirt and a familiar denim jacket, and she let her eyes move rapidly upward until they reached Tate Jordan's face.
“Hi, Tate.” She looked tired and distracted as she stood there, her mind still crammed with the images of her ex-husband and his new wife.
“Something wrong?” He looked instantly worried as he watched her, but she shook her head. “You look like you've had bad news.”
“No.” She looked vague as she said it. Even if she felt lousy, she could hardly call it “news” anymore. “Not really. I guess I'm just tired.” She smiled at him but it wasn't the easy, relaxed smile he was growing used to, and he wondered what had made her unhappy enough to look like that. He thought maybe she'd had a phone call from back home, or a nasty letter from her ex-husband. He knew that kind of look himself from his own hassles with his ex-wife years before.
“You worked your ass off out there today, little Palomino.” His smile was like a reward at the end of a hard day, and this time when Sam grinned it was real.
“I'm glad you noticed.” But she knew by now that Tate Jordan saw everything. It was part of why he was such a valuable man to have on the ranch. He knew all of his men, the quality of their work, their loyalty, their devotion, what they took from and gave to the Lord Ranch in every possible way. And then, eyeing him with a question, she stood aside. “Would you like to come in?”
“I didn't mean to bother you, Sam.” He looked momentarily embarrassed as he stepped inside. “I just heard that Bill and Caroline drove in to see the accountant. I thought I'd make sure you were okay. Want to come over to the hall for dinner?” She was touched by his thoughtfulness and suddenly wondered
if she saw something more in his smile. But it was difficult to tell with Tate Jordan. There were times when one could read nothing at all in the deep green eyes and even less on the heavily lined face. “Have you already eaten?” He could smell the chicken still in the oven, and she shook her head.
“No, Caroline left me a chicken, but I wasn't… I didn't have time to …” She flushed suddenly, remembering the evening broadcast she had sat and stared at instead of eating. And then, as she looked at him, she waved at the kitchen and cocked her head to one side, brushing her thick blond mane off her shoulders and down her back.
“Do you want to have dinner with me here, Tate? There's plenty to eat out there.” They could divide the potato, there was the whole chicken, and the salad was big enough to feed half the men on the ranch. Caroline always cooked as though she were expecting an army. It came from years of being surrounded by ranch hands and friends.
“Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble for you?” He looked hesitant, his big bulk suddenly seeming too large for the low ceilings, but Samantha quickly shook her head.
“Don't be silly. Caroline left enough food here for ten.” He laughed and followed her into the kitchen, and as they chatted about the ranch and the day's work, she set the table, and a few minutes later they were devouring the chicken and the salad as though they ate dinner together every day.
“What's New York like?” He looked at her, grinning, after he had finished his meal.
“Oh … crazy, I guess, is the best way to describe it. Too crowded, too noisy, too dirty, but exciting too. Everyone in New York seems to be doing something: going to the theater, starting a business, rehearsing for a ballet, going broke, getting rich, getting famous. It really isn't a place for mere mortals.”
“And you?” He eyed her carefully as she got up to pour them both coffee.
Palomino Page 13
