“No, it's a top floor in a town house, a walk-up, if that makes you feel any better.”
“And it's filled with antiques.”
“I have some.”
“They ought to look real cute here.” He said it with feeling and turned away from her to put on his shoes.
“Why the hell are you so angry?” She was shouting again and crying at the same time. “I'm sorry if I didn't tell you I was married to John Taylor. As it so happens, you're much more impressed with him than I am. I just didn't think it mattered as much as you seem to think.”
“Anything else you didn't tell me? Your father is the. president of General Motors, you grew up in the White House, you're an heiress?” He looked at her with hostility, and stark naked, she sprang from his bed like a long, lithe cat.
“No, I'm an epileptic and you're about to give me a fit.” But he didn't even smile at her attempt to tease him out of his mood. He simply went into the bathroom and closed the door, while Sam waited, and when he came out, he glanced at her impatiently.
“Come on, put on your clothes.”
“Why? I don't want to.” She felt terror creep into her heart. “I'm not leaving.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I'm not.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Not until we hash this thing out. I want you to know once and for all that that man doesn't mean anything to me and that I love you. Do you think you can get that through your fat head?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a big difference to me. Because I love you, you big dummy.” She lowered her voice and smiled gently at him, but he didn't return the smile. Instead he looked at her pointedly and picked up a cigar, but he only played with it, he didn't light it.
“You should go back to New York.”
“Why? To chase after a husband I don't want? We're divorced. Remember that? I like it that way now. I'm in love with you.”
“What about your job? You're going to give that up for ranch life too?”
“As a matter of fact…” She took a deep breath and almost trembled. What she was about to say now was the biggest step of all, and she knew that she hadn't yet completely thought it through, but it was the time to say it, tonight. She didn't have more time to think it out. “… that's exactly what I've been thinking of doing. Quitting my job and staying here for good.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“You don't belong here.” He sounded exhausted as he said the words. “You belong there, in your apartment, working at your high-powered job, getting involved with some man in that world. You don't belong with a cowboy, living in a one-room cabin, shoveling horse shit, and roping steer. Besides, for chrissake, you're a lady.”
“You make it sound very romantic.” She tried to sound sarcastic again but tears stung her eyes.
“It isn't romantic, Sam. Not a bit. That's the whole point. You think it's a fantasy and it's not. Neither am I. I happen to be real.”
“So am I. And that's the issue. You refuse to believe that I'm real too, that I have real needs and am a real person and can exist away from New York and my apartment and my job. You refuse to believe that I might want to change my life-style, that maybe New York doesn't suit me anymore, that this is better and it's what I want.”
“So buy yourself a ranch, like Caroline.”
“And then what? You'll believe I'm for real?”
“Maybe you can give me a job.”
“Go to hell.”
“Why not? And then I could sneak in and out of your bedroom for the next twenty years. Is that what you want, Sam? To end up like them, with a secret cabin you're too old and tired to go to, and all you've got left are secret dreams? You deserve a lot better, and if you're not smart enough to know that, then I am.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” She eyed him with terror, but he would not meet her eyes.
“Nothing. It just means put your clothes on. I'm taking you home.”
“To New York?” She tried to sound flip and failed.
“Never mind the smart shit, just put on your clothes.”
“Why? What if I don't want to?” She looked like a frightened belligerent child, and he walked over to where she had dropped her clothes in a pile when they made love earlier that evening; he scooped them all up and dumped them in her lap.
“I don't care what you want. This is what I want. Get dressed. I seem to be the only grown-up here.”
“Like hell you are!” She jumped to her feet and dropped the pile of clothes to the floor. “You're just locked into your old-fashioned ideas about ranchers and ranch hands, and I won't listen to that bullshit anymore! It's a cop-out and you're wrong and it's stupid.” She was sobbing as she stooped to the floor, picked up her clothes piece by piece, and began to dress. If he was going to be like this, she would go back to the big house. Let him stew in his own juice overnight.
Five minutes later she was dressed and he stood looking at her, with despair and disbelief, as though tonight he had discovered a side of her he had never known, as though she were suddenly a different person. She stood staring at him unhappily and then walked slowly toward the door.
“Do you want me to walk you home?”
For a moment she almost relented, but then she decided not to. “No, thanks, I can manage.” She tried to calm herself as she stood in the doorway. “You're wrong, you know, Tate.” And then she couldn't help whispering softly, “I love you.” As tears filled her eyes she closed the door and ran home, grateful that once again Caroline was away at a nearby ranch. She did that often on Sundays, and tonight Samantha didn't want to see her as she came through the front door, her face streaked with tears.
The next morning Sam lingered in Caroline's kitchen over coffee, staring bleakly into the cup and thinking her own thoughts. She wasn't sure if she should try to talk to him again that evening, or let it sit for a few days and let him come to his senses on his own. She replayed in her mind the previous night's conversation, and her eyes filled with tears again as she stared into her cup. She was grateful that this morning there was no one around her. She had decided not to go to breakfast in the main hall. She wasn't hungry anyway, and she didn't want to see Tate until they went to work. She was careful not to go to the barn until five minutes before six, and when she saw him, he was in a far corner, with his familiar clipboard, quietly issuing orders, waving toward the far boundaries, pointing toward some of the animals they could see on the hills, and then turning to point to something else. Quietly Sam saddled Navajo as she did every morning, and a few minutes later she was mounted and waiting out in the yard. But for some reason he had put Josh in charge of Sam's group today, and it was obvious that he wouldn't be riding, or at least not with them. All of which annoyed Sam further, it was as though he was going out of his way to avoid her. And with a nasty edge to her voice she leaned toward him and said loudly as her horse walked past him, “Playing hookie today, Mr. Jordan?”
“No.” He turned to look at her squarely. “I've got some business to discuss with Bill King.” She nodded, not sure what to answer, but as she turned Navajo at the gate to lock it behind the others, she saw him standing in the yard, watching her with a look of sorrow, and then quietly he turned and walked away. Maybe he was sorry about the fuss he had made about her ex-husband. Maybe he had understood that the differences that existed between them were differences that may have mattered to him, but not to Sam. For an instant she wanted to call out to him, but she didn't dare, the others might hear her, so she spurred Navajo on and joined them for the usual hard day's work.
Twelve hours later, riding more slowly and slumping with fatigue in the heavy Western saddles, they all rode back into the main yard and dismounted, led their horses into the barn, and removed the bridles and the saddles and put them away. Samantha was particularly exhausted that evening, she had spent the whole day thinking about Tate and everything he had said the night before. She was vague and distracted w
hen she said good night to the others, and she looked strained when she walked in Caroline's front door.
“You look beat, Sam. Are you feeling all right, dear?” Caroline looked at her worriedly and hoped that it was only hard work that had made her look so worn. But she had a sudden uneasy suspicion that it was more serious than that. But she was not going to add still further to Samantha's worries. She said nothing, only urged Sam to take a hot bath before dinner, while she put on some steaks and made some soup and a salad. But when Sam came back, it was in clean jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, and she looked more than ever like a tidy cowgirl, as Caroline commented with a smile.
Nonetheless dinner that evening was less than joyful and it seemed hours before Sam could flee through her window and make her way through the garden and past the orchard to the little cabin where she went to see Tate. But when she got there, she knew with a terrible certainty that he was even more upset than she had imagined. The lights were off and it was too early for him to be asleep. Either he was pretending or he was hanging out at the main hall with the others, which was unlike him, but certainly effective if he was trying to avoid her. Tentatively she knocked on the door and there was no answer. She turned the knob as she always did and walked in. But what greeted her was not the usual disarray of Tate's belongings. What met her eyes instead was a dusty, barren emptiness that engulfed her, and the sound of astonishment that she made reverberated against the empty walls. What had he done? Had he actually switched cabins again to avoid her? She felt a wave of panic engulf her as she realized that she had no idea where he was. With her heart pounding, as she steadied herself in the doorway, she reassured herself that wherever he was he couldn't have gone very far. She knew that somewhere in the complex there were still two or three empty cabins, and he had obviously spent the day moving lock, stock, and baggage to avoid her. If it hadn't been so unnerving, and such a sign of how ferociously he felt about what they had discussed the previous evening, she would have been amused. But as she walked back to Caroline's house in the darkness, she was anything but amused.
She scarcely slept that night as she tossed and turned, wondering why he had done something as radical as switch cabins, and at three thirty she got up, unable to bear it anymore. She puttered around her room for another half an hour, showered, and was still ready too early. She had another half hour to kill, with a cup of coffee in Caroline's kitchen, before she could go to the main hall to eat. And this morning she definitely wanted to be there. If she could catch him even for a moment, she wanted to ask him why he had changed cabins and tell him that he was acting like an impetuous child.
But as she stood on line, waiting for bacon and eggs and her third cup of coffee, she heard two of the men talking and turned to Josh with an expression of horror and a blank stare.
“What did they just say?”
“They were talking about Tate.”
“I know. What did they say?” Her face looked ghostly pale. She couldn't have heard right.
“They said it's too bad.”
“What's too bad?” She was trying desperately not to scream.
“That he left yesterday.” Josh smiled pleasantly and moved forward in the line.
“For where?” Her heart began to pound in her ears so loudly, she could barely hear his answers, but he only shrugged before answering this time.
“No one seems to know. His boy over at the Bar Three ought to know though.”
“What the hell do you mean?” She was almost shouting.
“Christ, Sam, take it easy. Tate Jordan. He quit.”
“When?” She thought for a moment that she might faint.
“Yesterday. That was why he stuck around to talk to Bill King. To tell you the truth, yesterday morning he told me he was going to when he asked me to ride for him. He told me he'd been wanting to do it for a long time. He said it was time to move on.” Josh shrugged. “Damn shame. He would have been good in Bill King's shoes.”
“So he just left? No two-week notice, no breaking in someone new to do his job for him? That's it?” There were already tears stinging her eyes.
“Yeah, Sam, this ain't Wall Street. When a man wants to move on, he does. He bought himself a truck yesterday morning, put all his stuff in it, and took off.”
“For good?” She could barely choke out the words.
“Sure. Ain't no sense coming back. Never the same if you do. I did it once. It was a mistake. If he was unhappy here, then he done the right thing.” Oh? Did he? How lovely to hear it. And then Josh looked at her more closely. “You okay, Sam?”
“Yeah. Sure.” But she was terrifying-looking, she was so gray. “I haven't been sleeping too well lately.” She had to fight back the tears … had to … had to … besides, there was no reason to panic. Bill King would know where he was, and if he didn't, the boy would. She'd go and see him herself. But she wasn't going to let this man slip through her fingers. Never. And after she found him, he'd never do something like this to her again.
“You know”—Josh was still staring at her—“you looked lousy yesterday too. Think maybe you're getting the flu?”
“Yeah.” She tried to look unaffected by what he had just told her about Tate Jordan. “Maybe.”
“Then why the hell don't you go back to the big house and climb back into bed?”
She started to resist him and then knew that there was no way she could ride for the next twelve hours, driving herself mad, wondering where Tate had gone. So she nodded vaguely, thanked Josh for the suggestion, and left the main hall. She hurried back to the big house, let herself in through the front door, and then just stood there, as uncontrollable sobs racked her and she dropped to her knees beside a couch and bowed her head in despair. She felt as though she wouldn't survive this second loss in her life, not now, not Tate. As she agonized over what had happened, sobbing uncontrollably into the couch, she suddenly realized that Caroline was next to her, gently touching her shoulder and then smoothing the tangled blond hair. Samantha looked up after a few moments, her face red and swollen, her eyes wild, and looked into her friend's eyes to learn what she could there, but Caroline only nodded and cooed gently and took her into her arms and slowly brought her to sit on the couch.
It was fully half an hour before she could speak. Caroline said nothing. She only sat there and rubbed her back gently and waited. There was nothing one could say. It cut her to the core to realize that Sam had come to her to recover from one major loss and had now sustained another. She knew in her gut about Sam and Tate. She had agonized over it the day before when Bill had told her that Tate Jordan had left. But it was too late to stop him, or to discuss it. He had already left when Bill told Caroline in the late afternoon, and all she could think of was how Samantha would take the news. But Caroline hadn't dared to tell her the night before. She had hoped it would wait.
Samantha looked at her then, her face blotched, her eyes hideously bloodshot and swollen, and there was no dissimulation in the look she gave her friend. “He's gone. Oh, God, Caro, he's gone. And I love him.…” She couldn't go on then, and Caroline nodded slowly. She understood only too well. She had tried to tell her that here things were different, that there were things that would matter to him that didn't seem important to her.
“What happened, Sam?”
“Oh, God, I don't know. We fell in love at Christmas.…” She looked around nervously suddenly, wondering if any of the Mexican women were cleaning, but there was no one in sight. “We went to—” She looked at Caroline in embarrassment. “We found your cabin and we met there at first, but not often. We weren't snooping—”
“It's all right, Sam.” Caroline's voice was very quiet.
“We just wanted someplace to go and be alone.”
“So did we.” Caroline said it almost sadly.
“And then he switched cabins with someone else and I used to go to him every night… through the orchard.…” Her speech was disjointed and her face awash with tears. “And then the other night, he …
we were watching television and John came on doing a special broadcast, and we were just kidding around at first, and he wanted to know … if I thought John was handsome or something … and I happened to mention that we'd been married … and Tate went nuts. I don't understand it.” She gulped horribly and went on. “He just went crazy, telling me that I couldn't be married to a movie star one minute and a cowboy the next, that I'd never be happy, that I deserved better, that—” She couldn't go on then, she was overwhelmed by tears. “Oh, God, and now he's left. What will I do? How will I find him?” Panic ran through her again as it had all morning. “Do you know where he's gone?” Caroline shook her head sadly. “Does Bill?”
“I don't know. I'll call him up right now at his office and ask him.” She walked away from Sam then and stepped to the phone on her desk. Sam listened in agony to the entire conversation, and it was clear at the end of it that Bill knew nothing at all, and he was sorry that Tate had gone too. He had been counting on him to take over for him cone day when he was too old to run the ranch. But now that would never happen. He knew that Tate was gone for good.
“What did he say?” Samantha looked at her dismally as she came back and sat down.
“Not much. He said that Tate said he'd be in touch one of these days, but Bill says he wouldn't count on it. He knows the way these men are. He left no forwarding address.”
“Then I'll have to find his son at the Bar Three.” She said it almost with desperation, but Caroline shook her head.
“No, Sam. The boy quit and went with him. That much Bill knew. They packed the truck up together and then left.”
“Oh, my God.” Samantha dropped her head into her hands and began to sob again, softly this time, as though her heart were already shattered and there were nothing left.
“What can I do for you, Sam?” There were tears now in Caroline's eyes too. She realized how easily it could have happened to her years earlier, and the conversation Sam had related sounded exactly like an argument that she and Bill had had for years. Eventually they had resolved it differently, but Bill was a good deal less stubborn than Tate. He was also just a shade less noble, a fact for which Caroline was deeply grateful as she sat helplessly and watched the agony of her young friend.
Palomino Page 17
