Palomino

by Danielle Steel

  “I used to think I loved it.” She shrugged as she set down the cups of steaming coffee and sat down again. “Now sometimes I'm not so sure. It all seems terribly far away right now, and not very important. It's funny, three weeks ago I couldn't have left my office to get a haircut without calling three times in an hour just to make sure everything was okay. And now I've been gone for almost three weeks and who knows the difference? They don't. I don't. It's as if I never lived back there.” But she also knew that if she had flown back that night, by the next morning it would seem as though she had never left, and she would feel once again that she never could. “I think the thing about New York is that it's addictive. Once you break the habit, you're all right, but while you're hooked”—she smiled warmly at him—“watch out!”

  “I've known women like that in my lifetime!” His eyes danced mischievously as he sipped the steaming coffee in the delicate white cup.

  “Have you now, Mr. Jordan? Would you care to tell me about that?”

  “Nope.” He smiled again. “What about you? Did you leave anyone waiting for you in New York, or did you run away from all of that too?”

  Her eyes grew serious for a moment after he asked her and then she shook her head. “I didn't run away, Tate. I left. For a vacation…” She hesitated again. “A sabbatical, I think they called it at the office. And no, I didn't leave anyone waiting back there. I thought you understood all of that the other day.”

  “It never hurts to ask.”

  “I haven't been out with anyone since my husband.”

  “Since August?” She was surprised that he had remembered but she nodded. “Don't you think it's about time?”

  She didn't want to tell him that she was beginning to think so right now. “Maybe. It'll all happen at the right time.”

  “Will it?” He spoke softly as he leaned toward her and kissed her as he had before. Once again she felt her heart pounding against the table as her body moved toward him, and with one hand he gently cupped her face as the other smoothed her silken hair. “My God, you're beautiful, Sam. You take my breath away, do you know that?” He kissed her again, and then pushed the plates across the table and pulled her toward him, until suddenly they were both breathless as they kissed in the silent house. It was then that Sam gently pulled away from him, with a small embarrassed smile on her lips.

  “Aunt Caro would be shocked, Tate.”

  “Would she?” He looked unconvinced. “Somehow I doubt that.” And at the same moment they both found themselves thinking of Caroline and Bill King on their little trip. They would probably spend the night together somewhere on the road. It made Sam think again of the little hidden cabin, and Tate smiled as his mind drifted back to it too. “If it weren't so dark we could ride out there. I liked being there with you, Sam.”

  “At the cabin?” She had understood immediately what he had been thinking, and he nodded.

  “I felt the other day”—his voice caressed her and he stood up—“as though it had been made just for us.” She smiled at him and slowly he pulled her to her feet until she stood before him, dwarfed by his size, her own tall frame tiny beside his, her breasts suddenly pressed against him as he pulled her to him, and her mouth hungry for his once again as gently he stroked her back and her hair. He pulled away then and his voice was only a whisper. “I know this sounds crazy, Sam, but I love you. I knew it the first time I saw you. I wanted to touch you and to hold you and to run my hands through that palomino hair.” He smiled gently down at her but Samantha looked pensive. “Do you believe me, Sam?”

  Her big blue eyes found his green ones and she looked troubled. “I don't know what I believe, Tate. I was thinking of what I said to you the other day, that just making love with someone wouldn't be enough. Is that why you said all this?”

  “No.” His voice was still a whisper, his mouth near her ear as he kissed her neck. “I said it because I mean it. I've been thinking about you a lot since the other day. What you want isn't different from what I feel, Sam.” His voice grew stronger as he reached out and took her hands. “You just want me to put words to my feelings. I'm not used to doing that. It's easier to say ‘I want to make love to you’ than it is to say ‘I love you.’ But I've never met a woman I've wanted as much as I want you.”

  “Why?” She spoke in a hoarse whisper with all the hurt John had left her sharply etched in her eyes. “Why do you want me?”

  “Because you're so lovely.…” He reached out gently and touched her breasts with his powerful yet careful hands. “Because I like the way you laugh and the way you talk… and the way you ride that damn horse of Caro's … the way you work like an ox with the men even though you don't have to … because I like”—he grinned and let his hands slip around her—“the way your ass sits on top of your legs.” She laughed in answer and gently pushed his hands away. “Isn't that good enough reason?”

  “Good enough reason for what, Mr. Jordan?” She was teasing him now as she turned away from him and began to clear the table, but before she could get their plates to the sink, he had taken them from her, set them down, and picked her up easily in his arms and carried her out of the room, making his way across the living room until he reached the long hall that led to her room. “Is this the way, Samantha?” His voice was ever so gentle and his eyes burned into hers. She wanted to tell him to stop, to turn back, but she found that she couldn't. She only nodded and pointed vaguely down the hall, and then, giggling suddenly, she pushed away from him.

  “Come on … stop, Tate. Put me down!” His laughter joined hers but he didn't do as she told him. Instead he stopped at a halfway-opened door at the end of the hall.

  “Is this yours?”

  “Yes.” She crossed her arms as he held her in his as though she were a very small child. “But I didn't invite you in, did I?”

  “Didn't you?” One eyebrow rose and he crossed the threshold and looked around with interest. And then with no further words he set her down on the bed, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard on the mouth. The games between them were suddenly over, and the passion he unleashed in her took her very much by surprise. She was stunned at the force with which he held her to him, at the hunger of his mouth and his hands and his whole body as it reached out for hers. It seemed only moments later that he lay beside her and that her clothes seemed to melt away from her body, as did his. All she was aware of was the soft doeskin of his flesh against hers, the gentleness of his hands—ever searching, ever thrilling—the endless legs wound around hers, and his mouth drinking her own. He held her closer to him until she could bear it no longer and she pressed against him, moaning softly, longing to be his. It was then that he pulled away from her, that he looked hard into her eyes, asking her a question without words. Tate Jordan had never taken a woman, and would not take this one, not ever, and not now, unless this was what she wanted, unless he was certain, and as he searched her eyes she nodded slowly, and then seconds later he took her, pressing deep and hard into her flesh with his own. She gave a sharp gasp of pleasure as he thrust deeper, and then with another moan she let herself go to the ecstasy he brought her to again and again and again.

  It seemed hours later when he lay still beside her, the room was dark, the house quiet, and she felt his long powerful body stretched out next to her, content, sated, and she felt with pleasure his lips gentle on her neck. “I love you, Palomino. I love you.” The words sounded so real, but suddenly she wanted to ask him “Do you?” Was it real? Would anyone ever really love her again? Love her and mean it, love her and not hurt her, love her and not go away? A small trickle of tears suddenly fell from the corner of her eye to the pillow, and he looked at her sadly and nodded his head. He pulled her into his arms then and cradled her gently, crooning to her softly meaningless words as one would have to a wounded animal or a very small child. “It's all right, babe. It's all right now, I'm here with you.…”

  “I'm sorry.…” Her words were muffled as suddenly the sobs of a lifetime broke from he
r, and the grief that had lived pent up inside her broke from her like a flock of wild birds. They lay like that, locked together, for almost an hour, and when her tears were spent, she felt a familiar stirring beside her and she smiled slowly and reached down to touch him, and then guide him to the same spot again.

  “You all right now?” His voice was husky in the darkness, and she nodded. “Answer me.”

  “I'm all right.” He would go no farther and his eyes were riveted to hers.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I'm sure.” With her body she showed him the gratitude that she didn't know the words for, arching toward him and giving him as much pleasure as he had given her. It was a meshing of two people beyond any she had ever known in the years before him, and as she lay beside Tate Jordan and slept, Samantha wore a small happy smile.

  When the alarm went off at her bedside the next morning, she awoke slowly, with a smile, expecting to see him, and what she saw instead was a note beneath the small clock. He had set it for her when he had left her bed quietly at two o'clock that morning. He had turned on the alarm and written her a note on a little scrap of paper. It said only I LOVE YOU, PALOMINO. And as she read it she lay back on her pillows again, closed her eyes, and smiled. This time there were no tears.

  At the end of the day's work Samantha looked as fresh and alive as she had at the beginning, and Josh commented on it with disgust as she hung up her saddle with a grin.

  “Christ, woman! Look at you, Sam, tough as nails. Three weeks ago you could hardly walk after a day's ride, you were so out of shape. Now you fly off that damn horse and look as bright-eyed at six o'clock at night as you do in the morning when you get up. Makes me sick. You ought to be carrying me back to my cabin. My ass is sore as hell, and my arms are killing me from roping those damn steers. Maybe what you need is to shake your butt and work a little harder.”

  “Bullshit. I worked harder than you did today!”

  “Oh, yeah?” He snarled playfully at her and swatted her behind with his hat as she walked past.

  “Yeah!” She ran past him with a grin on her face and a long blond ponytail tied with a bright red ribbon. She had almost flown in her saddle all day long. All she had been able to think of was Tate Jordan, but neither of them had given anything away as they worked. If anything, he had been indifferent and almost surly, and she had done her best to ignore him the few times they might have had occasion to speak. He spoke to her casually only once over coffee at lunchtime and then strolled away to chat with some of the other men while Sam hung back with the ranch hands she knew best. It was only now that the day was over that she allowed her thoughts to soar toward Tate again. All day she had remembered moments of their night together, an instant, a glimmer, the shape of his leg as he had lain naked and uncovered amidst the tousled sheets, a look in his eye as he leaned toward her to kiss her again, the way the back of his neck looked as he lay down for a moment with a happy sigh and let her run long, tantalizing fingers slowly down his tingling spine. She loved the way he looked and the way he felt and what he did to her, and now it was all she could think of as she ran back to Aunt Caro's house. She had no idea when she might see him alone again. His cabin was highly visible, so near to the main hall where the men ate, and Aunt Caro was back from her brief trip with Bill. It was obvious that a meeting between them would take some arranging, but she felt certain that he would find a way. The thought that now he and Bill King would both tiptoe into the house and then creep out again at midnight brought a gurgle of laughter to her lips as she opened the front door.

  “My, aren't you happy this evening, Miss Samantha.” Caroline eyed her with pleasure from where she sat. And for the first time in four months she saw John's familiar face and felt not a twinge. She checked for a moment, narrowed her eyes pensively as she watched him, and then shrugged with a small quiet smile as she went to her room to wash up.

  “I'll be back in a minute, Aunt Caro.”

  When she returned, they shared dinner, only tonight Samantha found herself wondering where Tate was. Was he in the main dining hall with the others? Had he opted to stay in his cabin and cook for himself, as a few of the men did? But most of them preferred to eat dinner with the others. Even the men with wives on the ranch often came to the main hall after dinner for coffee and a smoke and the companionship of the men they rode with all day long. Suddenly Samantha ached to be with them, but she also sensed that if she joined them all of a sudden in the evening they would begin to wonder why she was there. They accepted her in their midst in the daytime, but in the evening they expected her to stay at the big house with Caroline, where she belonged. It would have shocked them to see her there in the evening, and it would have been impossible to seek out Tate without causing comment. Someone would have easily figured it out. Gossip on any ranch was rampant, and there was a kind of sensitive radar that all of them seemed to have. Romances and marriages and divorces were almost instantly discovered, along with illicit affairs and illegitimate babies, which made it all the more remarkable that Bill King and Caroline had kept their secret for so long. Even if some of the old timers, or those who knew them well, suspected, no one on the ranch had ever been sure. Samantha found now that she respected that and understood all the more how difficult the clandestine life-style must have been. Now she felt herself fairly throbbing with excitement, aching to be with the man, to talk to him, to laugh, to tease him, to touch him, to go for a walk in the night air, to look up at him with interest and pride and hold his hand, and after that to come back to her bedroom and discover each other's bodies once again, as they had the night before.

  “Do you want some more salad, Samantha?” They were halfway through dinner before Samantha seemed to remember where she was. For half an hour she had been silent and dreamy and drifting as Caroline watched her and wondered what was the cause. Sam didn't look unhappy, so she didn't think she was upset that Caroline had been watching the newscast. She didn't look homesick. In fact she looked fine, so it had to be something else. “Something wrong, Sam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Something right?”

  “What? … Oh … I'm sorry.” Samantha blushed like a schoolgirl and then shook her head with a brief girlish laugh. “No, I was just distracted. It was a long day today, but I enjoyed it.” It was the only way she could explain the outrageous glow she knew she wore and the look on her face.

  “What on earth did you do?”

  “Nothing special. Roped some horses, checked the fences, the men roped some steers this afternoon.…” She tried to remember. Mostly she had dreamed about Tate. “It was just a nice day really.”

  The wise old woman watched her closely. “I'm glad that you're happy here on the ranch.”

  Samantha's face grew oddly serious as she remembered. “I am, Aunt Caro. I'm happier here than I've been anywhere else in a long time.”

  Caroline nodded and addressed herself to her salad as Samantha went back to dreaming of Tate. But it wasn't until the next morning that she saw him. The night before she had heard Bill King come and go, with envy this time. But there had been no way that Tate could come to her, and as she lay in her bed, longing for him, she smiled to herself, it was like being eighteen and having an illicit affair. She felt suddenly young and girlish, terribly clandestine, and impatient to be with him again.

  It was seven o'clock the next morning, Sunday, when she gulped her coffee, zipped up her jeans, donned her jacket, brushed her hair one last time, and then ran out to the barn, hoping that she might find him there. As it turned out, when she got there, there was no one. The men who had come to feed the horses had already gone back to the main hall to eat, and she was alone in the huge barn with the familiar horses, each one in its stall, quietly eating or resting or softly greeting each other, as Samantha slowly made her way to Black Beauty's stall. She ran a hand slowly down his muzzle and then felt the soft whiskered lips brush her hand, looking for something to eat.

  “I didn't bring you anything this morni
ng, Beauty. I'm sorry, boy.”

  “Never mind him.” The low voice came from behind her. “What did you bring me?”

  “Oh!” She wheeled around to face him, startled, and before she could catch her breath, he had taken her swiftly in his arms, almost crushing the air out of her lungs as he held her and kissed her quickly, and then let her go.

  “Good morning, Palomino.” He spoke in a whisper and she blushed.

  “Hello … I missed you.”

  “I missed you too. Do you want to go to the cabin this morning?” Anyone even a few feet from them couldn't have heard him speaking, and Samantha nodded quickly with a bright light of anticipation in her eyes.

  “I'd like that.”

  “I'll meet you at the south fence, in the clearing. Do you know where that is?” He looked suddenly worried as he watched her as though he were afraid she might get lost, but she only laughed.

  “Are you kidding? Where do you think I've been all week long while you've been working?”

  “I don't know, babe.” He grinned at her. “Same place I've been, I suspect. Halfway out of your head.”

  “You're not far wrong.” And then, as he made to go, she grabbed at his sleeve and whispered, “I love you.”

  He nodded, brushed her lips with his own, and whispered in answer, “I love you too. See you at ten.” And then he was gone, his heels clicking loudly on the barn floor, and a moment later as he turned a bend there was a shouted greeting to two of the men coming to tend their horses. A moment earlier and they would have seen him kissing Samantha. Instead all they saw now was Sam diligently feeding Caroline's best horse.

  They met at five minutes before ten in the south clearing, their horses fresh, the sky blue, their eyes bright with desire. It was a little crazy, this brand-new passion, she couldn't explain it but deep in her gut, she knew that she had to be with him, and she was ready to make a commitment to him for the rest of her life. She tried to explain it to him later that morning, as they lay in the big comfortable brass bed in the pale blue bedroom, their bodies tired, their hearts light, and his arm encircling her as she nestled at his side.