Palomino

12

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.

“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 her, 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.