Palomino (1981) Read online

  I did. Once. But it was just some vague gossip that you two were separated. I hoped that it was a lie, just some stupid publicity to make him seem more appealing. I know how those things are, how they get planted and don't mean a thing.

  This one did. You haven't watched them together on the broadcast?

  I never did.

  Neither did I. Samantha looked rueful. But I do now.

  You ought to stop that.

  Samantha nodded silently. Yeah, I will. There's a lot I have to stop. I guess that's why I came out here.

  And your job?

  I don't know. I've somehow managed to keep it through all this. At least I think so if they meant what they said when I left. But to tell you the truth, I don't know how I did it. I was a zombie every waking minute I was in the office. She dropped her face into her hands with a soft sigh. Maybe it's just as well that I left. She felt Caroline's hand on her shoulder a moment later.

  I think so too, Sam. Maybe the ranch will give you time to heal, and time to collect your thoughts. You've been through a tremendous trauma. I know, I went through the same thing when Arthur died. I didn't think I'd live through it. I thought it would kill me too. That's not quite the same thing as what happened to you, but in its own way death is a rejection. There was a vague frown in her eyes as she said the last words, but it rapidly flitted away as she smiled again at Sam. But your life isn't over, you know, Samantha. In some ways perhaps it's just begun. How old are you now?

  Samantha groaned. Thirty. She made it sound like eighty and Caroline laughed, a delicate, silvery sound in the pretty room.

  You expect me to be impressed?

  Sympathetic. Samantha spoke with a grin.

  At my age, darling, that's too much to ask. Envious, perhaps, that would be more like it. Thirty. She looked dreamily into the fire. What I wouldn't give for that!

  What I wouldn't give to look like you do now, age be damned!

  Flattery, flattery ' But it was obvious that it pleased her, and then she turned to Sam again with a question in her eyes. Have you been out with anyone else since it happened? Sam rapidly shook her head. Why not?

  Two very good reasons. No one decent has asked me, and I don't want to. In my heart I'm still married to John Taylor. If I went out with another man, it would feel like cheating. I'm just not ready. And you know? She looked somberly at the older woman. I don't think I ever will be. I just don't want to. It's as though part of me died when he walked out that door. I don't care anymore. I don't give a damn if nobody ever loves me again. I don't feel lovable. I don't want to be loved ' except by him.

  Well, you'd better do something about that, Samantha. Caroline eyed her with gentle disapproval. You've got to be realistic, and you can't wander around like a mobile dead body. You have to live. That's what they told me, you know. But it does take time. I know that. You've had how many months now?

  Three and a half.

  Give it another six. She smiled softly. And if you're not madly in love by then, we'll do something radical.

  Like what? A lobotomy? Samantha looked serious as she took another sip of hot chocolate.

  We'll think of something, but I don't really think we'll have to.

  Hopefully by then I'll be back on Madison Avenue, killing myself with a fifteen-hour workday.

  Is that what you want? Caroline looked at her sadly.

  I don't know. I used to think so. But now that I look back at it, maybe I was in competition with John. Still, I have a good shot at becoming creative director of the agency, and there's a lot of ego involved in that.

  Do you enjoy it?

  Samantha nodded and smiled. I love it. And then she cocked her head to one side with a shy smile. But there have been times when I've liked this kind of life more. Caro She hesitated, but only for an instant. Can I ride Black Beauty tomorrow? She suddenly looked like a very young girl.

  But Caroline slowly shook her head. Not yet, Sam. You ought to warm up on one of the others. How long has it been since you've been on a horse?

  About two years.

  Then you don't want to start with Black Beauty.

  Why not?

  Because you'll land on your fanny halfway out the gate. He's not easy to ride, Sam. And then more gently, Not even for you, I suspect. Caroline had seen years before that Samantha was a splendid rider, but she knew only too well that Black Beauty was an unusual horse. He even gave her a hard time, and he terrified the foreman and most of the ranch hands. Give it time. I promise I'll let you ride him when you feel sure of yourself again. They both knew that that wouldn't take Sam long. She had spent too much time with horses to feel rusty for long. You know, I was hoping you wanted to do some serious riding. Bill and I have spent the last three weeks tearing our hair out over the ranch papers. We have a lot of things to tie up at year end. As I told you, we're two men short on top of it. We could use an extra hand. If you want to, you could ride with the men.

  Are you serious? Samantha looked stunned. You'd let me do that? Her big blue eyes lit up by the light of the fire, her golden hair was alight with its glow.

  Of course I would let you. In fact I'd be grateful to you. And then, with a gentle smile, You're as competent as they are. Or you will be again after a day or two. Think you'd survive starting out with a full day in the saddle?

  Hell yes! Samantha grinned, and Caroline walked toward her with a look of affection in her eyes.

  Then get to bed, young lady. You have to be up at four o'clock. In fact I was so sure you'd say yes, I told Tate Jordan to expect you. Bill and I have to go into town. She looked at her watch then. It was a simple watch that Bill King had given her that Christmas. Once, thirty years earlier, the only watches that had graced her wrist had been Swiss and encrusted with diamonds. There had been one in particular that her husband had bought her in Paris, at Cartier's. But she had long since put it away. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that she had ever had another life. She stood looking at Samantha now with a warm smile and gave the younger woman another firm hug. Welcome home, darling.

  Thank you, Aunt Caro.

  With that, the two women walked slowly down the hall. Caroline knew that the fire was safely contained in the fireplace, and she left the tray for the Mexican woman who arrived every morning to work on the ranch and clean her house.

  She walked Samantha to her bedroom doorway and watched as Sam eyed the room with delight. It was a different room than she had shared with Barbara during the summers. Caroline had long since turned that room into a study. It had pained her too much to remember the young girl who had visited and lived there, growing into young womanhood in the pink frills of that room. This room was entirely different. It was equally feminine, but stark white. Everything was white eyelet and wonderfully frilly, from the canopied bed to the handmade cushions to the wicker chaise longue. Only the wonderful patchwork bedspread folded back on the bed introduced some colors, and here were a riot of bright colors, reds and blues and yellows, all carefully worked in a log-cabin design. There were matching cushions on two comfortable wicker chairs near the fireplace. And on the large wicker desk rested a huge vase of multicolored flowers. And through her windows Samantha would have a perfect view of the hills. It was a room in which one would want to spend hours, if not years. The touches of Hollywood hadn't entirely left Caro. She still decorated every room with the special touches and infinite good taste that had characterized her Hollywood years.

  It sure doesn't look like the bedroom of a ranch hand. Sam chuckled as she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around.

  Not exactly. But if you'd prefer, I'm sure one of the men would be happy to share a bunk in one of the cottages. They grinned at each other, kissed again, and then Caroline softly closed the door. Samantha could hear the heels of the cowboy boots echo on the hardwood floors all the way down the hallway to the other side of the house where Caro had her own apartment: a large bedroom, a small den, a dressing room, a bathroom, all done in bright colors not unlike the
quilted bedspread, and here she still kept a few pieces of long-ago-collected art. There was one very fine Impressionist painting. The others were all pieces she had bought in Europe, some with her husband, some after she lost him, but they were the only treasures she still kept from her old life.

  In her own room Sam slowly unpacked her suitcase, feeling as though in the space of a few hours she had entered an entirely different world. Could she really have been in New York that morning, sleeping in her own apartment, talking to Harvey Maxwell in his office? Could one come this far in so short a time? It seemed more than unlikely as she listened to the horses neighing softly in the distance and felt the winter wind brush her face as she opened the window and looked out. Outside there was a landscape lit by the moon beneath a sky brilliant with every star in the heavens. It was a miraculous scene and she was more than glad to be there, glad to be visiting Caroline, and glad to be away from New York. Here she would find herself again. She knew as she stood there that she had done the right thing. And as she turned away from the window, somewhere in the distance she heard a door close near Caroline's bedroom, and for a moment she wondered, as she and Barbie had so long ago, if it was Bill King.

  The alarm went off next to Sam's bedside at four the next morning. She groaned as she heard it and then reached out a hand to turn it off. But as she did she felt the breeze on her fingers and suddenly realized that something was different. She opened one eye, looked around, and realized that she wasn't at home. Not in her own at least. She looked around once more, in total confusion, and then up at the frilly white canopy above her, and suddenly she knew. She was at Caroline Lord's ranch, in California, and that morning she was going to ride with the other hands. The idea sounded a little less appealing than it had the previous evening. The prospect of leaping out of bed, taking a shower, and actually leaving the building before she even had breakfast, and then, after being faced with a plate heaped high with sausages and eggs, getting on a horse, all probably before six A.M., sounded exceedingly grim. But this was what she had come west for, and as she considered sleeping in for the first morning, she knew she couldn't do it. Not if she was going to make friends with the men. Besides, letting her ride with the men was a privilege Caroline had given her. And if she was to be respected by the ranch hands, she would have to show herself as tough, as willing, as knowing, as good with a horse, as ready to ride, as any of them.

  She wasn't greatly encouraged when she peered into the darkness after her shower and saw that the countryside was shrouded in a thin veil of rain. She climbed into an old pair of blue jeans, a white button-down shirt, a thick black turtleneck sweater, wool socks, and her own riding boots that she had worn religiously when she rode in the East. They were beautiful custom-made boots from Miller's and not at all the kind of thing to wear on a ranch, but she figured that she could buy a pair of cowboy boots in town that weekend, and in the meantime she'd have to make do. She pulled her long blond hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, splashed some more cold water on her face, grabbed an old blue down parka that she had worn skiing and a pair of brown leather gloves. Gone were the days of Halston, Bill Blass, and Norell. But what she was going to be doing was no longer that kind of work. Elegance didn't matter, only warmth and comfort. And she knew that when she returned to her room that evening she would do so with every muscle shrieking, every joint aching, her seat numb, her knees raw, her eyes blurred from the wind, her face tingling, her hands clenched in the position she would use all day with the reins. Knowing that was certainly no incentive to get up. She slipped out of her room into the hall and noticed the narrow sliver of light under Caroline's door. She thought of saying good morning, but it seemed an ungodly hour to disturb anyone, and on tiptoe Sam continued toward the front door. She closed it softly behind her, pulling the hood of her parka over her head and pulling the string tight in the soft rain, her boots making little squishing noises in the puddles that had already formed on the ground.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the main hall where the men ate and where some of them gathered at night to play pool or cards. It was a large, freshly painted, rambling building, with beamed ceilings, a brick fireplace tall enough to stand in, a record player, a TV, several game tables, and a handsome antique pool table. As Sam had always known her to, Caroline Lord treated her men well.

  For just an instant as Sam reached the doorway, her hand froze on the knob and she suddenly wondered what she had done. She was about to invade the all-male sanctum, share their meals with them in the morning and at lunchtime, work beside them, and pretend to be one of them. What would they think of the intrusion? Suddenly Samantha's knees trembled as she wondered if Caroline or Bill had warned them, and she stood there almost too terrified to go inside. As she stood there in the rain, hesitating, with her hand on the doorknob, a voice just behind her muttered, Come on, dammit, man, it's cold. She wheeled around, startled at the voice she hadn't expected, and found herself face to face with a stocky man with dark brown hair and dark eyes, of approximately her own height and age. He looked as surprised as she did, and then with a rapid hand to his mouth at the error, his face broke into a broad grin. You're Miss Caroline's friend, aren't you? She nodded speechlessly, attempting to smile. Sorry ' but could you open the door anyway? It is cold!

  Oh ' She heaved the door wide. I'm sorry. I just' did she ' did she say anything about me? Her porcelain cheeks were flushed from embarrassment and the chill rain.

  Sure did. Welcome to the ranch, miss. He smiled and moved past her, welcoming but not particularly anxious to say more. He instantly greeted two or three of the other ranch hands and then moved toward the huge open kitchen, greeted the cook, and grabbed a cup of coffee and a bowl of Cream of Wheat.

  Samantha saw then that the room was filled with men like the one who had just entered, all wearing blue jeans, sturdy jackets, heavy sweaters, their hats left on pegs on the wall, their cowboy boots clattering loudly as they made their way across the wood floor. There were more than twenty of them in the large hall that morning, talking in small groups or drinking coffee alone. Half a dozen were already seated at the long table, eating eggs and bacon or hot cereal, or finishing a second or third cup of coffee. But wherever one looked, there was a man engaged in his own morning ritual, in a man's world, about to engage in man's work, and for the first time in her life Samantha felt totally out of place. She felt her face flush hotly again as she walked hesitantly toward the kitchen, smiled nervously at two of the men as she helped herself to a cup of black coffee, and then attempted to disappear into the woodwork at the far end of the room.

  At first glance there was not a single face she remembered. Most of them were young and probably relatively new there, and only two or three of them looked as though they could have worked anywhere for a long time. One was a broad, heavyset man in his early or mid-fifties who looked a lot like Bill King. He had the same kind of build, but his eyes weren't as warm and his face wasn't as kind. He glanced only once at Samantha and then turned his back to her to say something to a young freckled redhead. They both laughed and then walked across the room to a table where they joined two other men. For an instant of paranoia Samantha wondered if she would be the source of amusement, if it had been totally crazy of her to come here, and even crazier for her to want to ride with the men. This was a far cry from her days here with Barbara, when they had come to play around on the ranch. For one thing they had both been very young and very pretty and it had delighted all the men just to watch them hang around and ride. But this was different. Samantha was trying to masquerade as their equal, something they would surely not tolerate, if they even noticed her presence at all.

  Aren't you going to have some breakfast? The voice next to her was husky but gentle, and Sam found herself looking into the face of another man of the old foreman's vintage, but this one did not look as unpleasant as the first one. In fact, after another glance at him, she gave a soft gasp.

  Josh! Josh! It's me, Sam! He had been the
re every summer when she had come with Barbara, and he had always taken care of them. Barbara had told Sam how gently he had taught her to ride when she was a little girl. He had a wife and six kids somewhere, Sam remembered. But Sam had never seen them anywhere on the ranch. Like most of the men he worked with, he was used to living his life in an exclusively male world. It was a strange, solitary life, a lonely existence carried out among others who were equally apart. A society of loners who banded together, as though for warmth. And now he looked at Samantha, blankly for a moment and then with rapid recognition and a warm smile. Without hesitation he reached out and hugged her, and she could feel the rough stubble of his beard against her cheek.

  I'll be damned! It's Sam! He gave a soft whoop and she laughed with him. Now why the hell didn't I figure it out when Miss Caroline told us about her friend'? He slapped his leg and grinned at her some more. How've you been, dammit? Boy, you look good! She found it hard to believe with her face still half asleep and her body encased in her worst and oldest clothes.

  So do you! How are your wife and kids?

  Grown and gone, thank God. Except for one and the wife. And then he lowered his voice, as though telling some terrible secret. They live here on the ranch now, you know. Miss Caroline made me. Said it wasn't right for them to live in town with me living here.

  I'm glad.

  He rolled his eyes in answer and they both laughed.

  Aren't you going to eat some breakfast? Miss Caroline told us that a friend of hers was coming from New York to help us out. He grinned evilly for a moment. You should have seen their faces when she told them her friend was a woman.