Palomino (1981) Read online

  They must have been thrilled. Samantha said sarcastically as they made their way toward the kitchen. She was dying for some coffee and the food was beginning to smell good now that she had found Josh.

  And then as she helped herself to a large bowl of oatmeal, Josh leaned toward her conspiratorially. What are you doing here, Sam? Aren't you married?

  Not anymore. He nodded sagely and she volunteered no other information as they went and sat down at one of the tables. For a long time as Sam ate her oatmeal and nibbled at some toast, no one joined them, and then eventually curiosity got the better of two or three of the men. One by one Josh introduced them, and for the most part they were younger than Sam and had the rugged look of hardworking men who all but lived in the outdoors. It was by no means an easy profession, particularly at this time of year. And it was obvious how Bill King had come by the rugged lines in his face that made him look like a heavily carved statue, they had been worn by time and the elements as he rode for some fifty years on the different ranches where he worked. Josh's face was no different as Sam watched him, and she could easily see that some of the others would look very much like them in a short time.

  Lotta new faces, huh, Sam? She nodded, and he left her for a second for more coffee. She noticed on the big clock over the fireplace that it was five forty-five. In fifteen minutes they would all head for the barn to claim their horses and officially their workday would begin. She wondered who was going to assign her a horse for the day. Caroline hadn't mentioned it the previous evening, and she was suddenly anxious as she looked around for Josh. But he had disappeared somewhere with one of his cronies, and Sam found herself looking around her like a lost child. Despite the few curious glances cast her way, on the whole there was no visible interest and she suspected that what was happening was that they didn't want to pay attention to her, so most of them pretended to look away. It made her want to shout or stand on a table, just to catch their attention once and for all, tell them that she was sorry she was invading their world and that if they wanted her to she'd go home now, but the precise way in which they were ignoring her was beginning to drive her nuts. It was as though they were determined that she shouldn't be there, so they pretended to themselves and each other that she was not.

  Miss Taylor? She spun around at the sound of her name and found herself staring into a broad chest wearing a thick wool plaid shirt in blue and red.

  Yes? Her eyes traveled upward until she found herself looking into a pair of eyes of a color she had seldom seen. They were almost emerald with gold flecks. The hair was black and the temples were touched with gray. The face was leathered, the features sharp, and he was taller than any other man on the ranch, including Bill King.

  I'm the assistant foreman here. He offered only his title, no name. And there was something cold and forbidding in his voice as he said it. Had she met him in a dark alley, a chill would have rippled up her spine.

  How do you do? She wasn't quite sure what to say to him, and he was looking down at her with a tight frown.

  Are you ready to come out to the barn? She nodded in answer, awed by his commanding style, as well as his great height. She noticed, too, now that the others were watching, wondering what he was saying to her and obviously noticing that there was no trace of warmth in the way he spoke, no welcoming words, and no smile.

  Actually she had wanted another cup of coffee but she wasn't about to tell him that as he led the way to the door. She grabbed her jacket off the peg where she had finally left it, struggled into it, pulled up the hood, and closed the door behind her, feeling somehow like a child who has done something wrong. The idea of Samantha riding with them clearly irked him as he walked rapidly into the barn. Samantha shook the rain off her hood as she slipped it off her hair and watched him; He picked up a clipboard with a list of men's names and those of horses, and then with a pensive frown he walked to a nearby stall. The name outside the stall was LADY, and for some reason she wasn't sure she could have explained she found herself instantly irritated by his choice. Just because she was a woman she had to ride Lady? She instinctively felt that she was going to be stuck with that horse during the entire duration of her stay and found herself fervently hoping that Lady would at least prove to be a decent mount.

  You ride fairly well? Again she only nodded, afraid to toot her own horn, afraid to offend him, when the truth would have been that she probably rode better than most of the men on the ranch, but he would have to see that for himself, if he even bothered to look. Samantha watched him again as he went back to his list, and found herself watching the sweep of his neck as his dark hair brushed his collar. He was a powerful, sensuous-looking man, somewhere in his early forties. There was something almost frightening about him, something fierce and stubborn and determined. She could sense it without knowing him, and she felt almost a ripple of fear go through her as he turned to her again and shook his head. No good. She might just be too much for you. I want you to ride Rusty. He's on the far side of the barn. Grab one of the free saddles in the tack room and mount up. We ride out in ten minutes. And then with a look of annoyance, Can you be ready by then? What did he think, she wondered, that it took her two hours to saddle a horse?

  Suddenly as she watched him her temper flared. I can be ready in five. Or less. He said nothing in answer and merely walked away, put the clipboard back on the wall from which he'd taken it, and strode quickly across the barn to the stalls, where he saddled his own horse and led it slowly outside. Within five minutes all the men had returned from breakfast and the barn was a madhouse of catcalls and laughter and noises mixed with the sounds of horses shifting their feet, greeting their habitual riders, and whinnying at each other as the men who rode them took them from their stalls, creating a veritable traffic jam at the entrance as the entire group emerged into the damp yard beyond and congregated happily in the light rain.

  Most of the men had donned slickers over their jackets, and Josh had handed Sam one as she walked her horse slowly outside. He was a large unexciting-looking chestnut, with no particular verve and no spark to his step. Samantha already suspected that what she could anticipate was a horse that would want to stop by the stream, walk when he could, nibble at bushes, graze on whatever grass he could find, and beg to go home whenever Sam happened to turn even slightly in the direction of the barn. It promised to be a day filled with aggravation, and she found herself suddenly remorseful over her anger about Lady only moments before. But more than that, what she felt as she waited was that she wanted to prove to the assistant foreman that she was worthy of a much better mount. Like Black Beauty, she smiled to herself as she thought of Caroline's Thoroughbred stallion. She was looking forward to riding him, and wouldn't that just show this rigid chauvinist ranchman what kind of a rider she was. She wondered if Bill King had ever been like him, and had to admit to herself that he had probably been worse. Bill King had been, and was still, a tough foreman, and this one hadn't really done much to Sam except offer her a pretty tame horse, which, she had to admit in spite of herself, was a reasonable thing to do with an unknown rider out from a place like New York. How did he know she could ride, after all? And if Caroline hadn't tried to prejudice them in her favor, it was just as well.

  The men sat on horseback in the rain in their slickers, chatting in little clusters, waiting for the assistant foreman to give them their instructions for the day. The twenty-eight ranch hands never rode together, but usually broke into four or five groups to perform whatever needed doing at various ends of the ranch. Every morning Bill King, or his assistant, moved among them, verbally giving out assignments, telling which men to work with which others and where. Now, as he did every morning when Bill King wasn't around, the tall, dark-haired assistant foreman quietly moved among them, giving them their assignments for the day. He assigned Josh four men to work the south end of the ranch, looking for strays and cattle in trouble. Two other groups went to check some fences he thought were down. Another foursome had two sick cows to br
ing in down by the river. And he and another four men and Samantha were checking the north boundaries for three cows he knew were loose and about to calve. Samantha followed the group quietly out of the main compound, riding sedately on Rusty and wishing that the rain would stop. It seemed forever before they got into a good canter, and she had had to remind herself again that in a Western saddle you didn't post to trot. It was odd to sit in the big comfortable saddle, she was far more accustomed to the smaller, flatter English saddles she had always used for jumping and competition in Madison Square Garden, but this was a whole other life.

  Only once did she smile to herself and wonder what was happening that morning in her office. It was insane to think that only two days before she had been wearing a blue Dior suit and conducting a creative meeting with a new client, and now she was out looking for stray cows on a ranch. The very thought of it almost made her laugh aloud as they crested a small hill, and she had to concentrate to keep from openly smiling, the whole contrast of what she had done and what she was doing was so totally absurd. Several times she noticed the assistant foreman's eyes on her, as though checking to see if she could manage her mount. Once she almost said something unpleasant to him as he reminded her to rein in as he rode past her, while Rusty was desperately trying to nibble at some grass. For just a moment Samantha had let the animal have his way, hoping to pacify the dull-spirited beast before they moved on. The dark-haired tyrant seemed to think that Samantha couldn't control him, and the very thought of that almost made her scream. I did it on purpose, she wanted to shout after him, but he seemed totally uninterested in her doings as he moved on to talk quietly to two of his men. She noticed also that all of them seemed to regard him as something of an authority. The men had the same way of dealing with him as they did with Bill King, with quiet awe, curt respectful answers, and quick nods. No one questioned what he suggested, no one argued with what he said. There was very little humor exchanged between him and the others, and he smiled very rarely as the men talked or he talked to them. Somehow Sam found that he annoyed her. The very sureness with which he spoke was an open challenge to her.

  Enjoying your ride? he asked her a little while later as he rode along beside her for a moment.

  Very much, she said through clenched teeth as the pouring rain grew worse. Lovely weather. She smiled at him, but he didn't answer. He only nodded and moved on, and she mentally accused him of being a humorless pain in the ass. As the day wore on, her legs grew tired, her seat ached, the insides of her knees screamed from the no-longer-unfamiliar friction of saddle against jeans. Her feet were cold, her hands were stiff, and just as she wondered if it would ever end they broke for lunch. They stopped at a small cabin on the far reaches of Caroline's ranch, set aside for just such occasions. It boasted a table, some chairs, and the equipment they needed to assist them with making lunch: hot plates and running water. Sam discovered that the assistant foreman himself had brought the necessary provisions in his saddlebag, and everyone was handed a fat sandwich filled with turkey and ham, and two huge Thermoses were brought out and rapidly emptied. One had been filled with soup, the other with coffee, and it wasn't until she was cherishing the last of her coffee that he spoke to her again.

  Holding up all right, Miss Taylor? There was the faintest trace of mockery in his voice, but this time there was a kinder light in his eyes.

  Fine, thanks. What about you, Mr.' er' you know, I don't know your name. She smiled sweetly at him and this time he grinned. There was definitely some pepper to the girl. He had sensed that right at the first, when he had suggested Lady. He had seen the look of annoyance flare up in her eyes, but he hadn't given a damn what kind of horse she wanted. He was going to give her the quietest mount on the place. He didn't need some dizzy broad from New York breaking her ass on the north boundary that morning. That was all he needed, but so far she seemed to have managed all right. And he had to admit that it was hard to figure out what kind of rider she was on that lazy horse.

  My name's Tate Jordan. He held out a hand, and once again she wasn't sure if he was mocking her or being sincere. How are you enjoying your stay?

  Terrific. She smiled angelically at him. Great weather. Superb horse. Wonderful people.' She faltered a moment and he raised an eyebrow.

  What? Nothing to say about the food?

  I'll think of something.

  I'm sure you will. I must say, I'm surprised you decided to ride today. You could have waited for a better day to start out.

  Why should I? You didn't, did you?

  No. He looked at her almost derisively. But that's hardly the same thing.

  Volunteers always try harder, or didn't you know that, Mr. Jordan?

  I guess I didn't. We haven't had too many around here. Have you been out here before? He looked her over with interest for the first time, but it was curiosity, rather than any friendship he was intending to form.

  Yes, I have, but not in a long time.

  Did Caroline let you ride with the men before too?

  Not really ' oh, once in a while ' but it was more for fun.

  And this time? The questioning eyebrow raised again.

  I guess this is for fun too. She smiled at him more genuinely this time. She could have told him it was therapy, but she wasn't about to disclose her secrets to him. On the spur of the moment she decided to thank him instead. I do appreciate your letting me ride with you. I know it must be difficult having someone new around. She wasn't going to apologize for being a woman. That would have been too much to bear. I hope that eventually I might be of some use.

  Maybe so. He nodded at her then and moved on. He didn't speak to her again for the rest of the afternoon. They never found the strays they had been concerned about, and by two o'clock in the afternoon they met up with one of the parties mending fences and joined them. Samantha was of only minimal use in what they were doing, and the truth of it was that by three o'clock she was so tired, she was ready to fall asleep, in the pouring rain, on the horse, and despite whatever conditions prevailed. By four she was looking truly miserable, and by five thirty when they went back, she was sure that once she got off the horse she would never move again. She had been on horseback and in the rain for eleven out of eleven and a half hours, and she thought that there was a distinct possibility that she might die that night. She could barely crawl off the horse when they got back to the barn, and only Josh's firm hands assisting her kept her from falling bowlegged and exhausted onto the. ground. She met his concerned look with an exhausted chuckle and gratefully took a firm hold of his supporting arm.

  I think maybe you overdid it today, Sam. Why didn't you go home early?

  Are you kidding? I'd have died first. If Aunt Caro can do it, so can I.' And then she looked ruefully at her old buddy. Or can I?

  I hate to tell you this, babe, but she's been doing it for a lot longer than you have, and every day. You're going to hurt like the devil by tomorrow.

  Never mind tomorrow! You should know what it feels like right now. All of this was being conducted in whispers from just inside Rusty's stall. Rusty was already impervious to them, gorging himself on hay.

  Can you walk?

  I'd better. I'm sure as hell not going to crawl out of here.

  Want me to carry you?

  I'd love it. She grinned at him. But what would they all say? They both laughed at the thought of it, and then as Sam glanced up, suddenly her eyes took on a new sparkle. She had just noticed a name on a pretty little bronze plaque outside another stall. Josh. Suddenly her eyes didn't look as though she were in any kind of agony. Is that Black Beauty?

  Yes, ma'am. He said it with an admiring grin, for her as much as for the Thoroughbred. Want to see him?

  I would take my last dying steps across a bed of nails to see him, Joshua. Take me to him. He put an arm under hers to support her and helped her hobble across the barn to the other stall. All of the others had gone by then, and there were suddenly no other voices in the barn except theirs.


  From the distance the stall appeared to be empty, but as Samantha approached it she saw him in the far corner and whistled softly as he walked slowly toward them and nuzzled her hand. He was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen in her entire lifetime, a masterpiece of black velvet with a white star on his forehead and two perfectly matched white socks on his front legs. His mane and his tail were the same perfect shiny raven-black as the rest of his body, and his eyes were large and gentle. His legs were incredibly graceful, and he was also the biggest horse Sam thought she had ever seen. My God, Josh, he's incredible.

  He's a beauty, ain't he?

  Better than that, he's the best-looking horse I've ever seen. Sam sounded awed. How big is he?

  Seventeen and a half hands, almost eighteen. Josh said it with pride and pleasure and Samantha whistled softly in the big barn.

  What I'd give to ride that.

  Think she'll let you? Mr. King doesn't even like her to ride him, you know. He's got a hell of a lot of spirit. Almost threw her a couple of times, and that ain't easy to do. I ain't seen a horse yet could throw Miss Caro.

  Samantha never took her eyes off the horse. She said I could ride him, and I'll bet he doesn't try to throw me.

  I wouldn't chance it, Miss Taylor. The voice from directly behind her wasn't Josh's voice, it was another voice, a deep, smoky one that spoke softly, but without warmth. She turned slowly to see Tate Jordan and suddenly her eyes blazed.

  And why don't you think I should chance it? Do you think Rusty is more my style? She was suddenly very angry as exhaustion, pain, and annoyance mingled almost beyond control.

  I don't know about that. But there's a world between these two horses, and Miss Caroline is probably the best woman rider I've ever seen. If she has trouble with Black Beauty, you can bet that you'd fare a lot worse. He looked too sure of himself, and Josh looked suddenly uncomfortable at the exchange.