Palomino (40 page)

What's he going to do now? Sam looked suddenly nervous. What if he stayed around there, or got a job at the Bar Three?

He's going back up there tomorrow. Josh had seen the fear in her eyes. And then, I'll see him tonight, Sam, if you should change your mind.

I won't.

Timmie came home then and she thanked Josh again and went in to make dinner. For some reason she didn't want to eat in the main hall, and Timmie had been with the other kids all day. But she was nervous and jumpy all evening, and that night as she lay in the dark all she could think of was Tate. Was she wrong? Should she see him? What did it matter? It was too late now and she knew it, but suddenly, for the first time since she'd been back to the ranch, she wanted to go back to their old places, just to see them ' the cabin he had lived in behind the orchards, the hills they had ridden, and the secret cabin. In all the time she'd been back on the ranch, over a year now, she had never gone back to the cabin or the little lake, until they buried Jeff nearby. But you couldn't see the c'abin. from the graves. She had promised herself for months that one day she would go out there, just to retrieve Caroline's things. She really ought to take the place apart, but she didn't have the heart to, or even to see it. All she would think of there would be Tate ' Tate ' Tate ' his name rang in her ears all night long.

In the morning she was exhausted and shaken, and Timmie asked her if she felt sick when they went to breakfast in the main hall. She was relieved when he went off to school with the others and she had time to herself. She wheeled slowly over to see Black Beauty. Occasionally she took the stallion out for a ride, but she hadn't ridden him in a long time, and she kept him now more out of sentiment than anything else. He was too high-strung for most of the others to ride, the ranch hands didn't really like him, he wasn't Josh's kind of horse, and when she taught or led the children, she really needed a quieter horse like Pretty Girl. But now and then, when she was alone, she still rode him. He was a sensitive animal and now he seemed to gear himself down to accommodate her. Even after Gray Devil in Colorado, she wasn't afraid of him.

And now, as she looked at him, she knew what she had to do. She asked one of the men to saddle him up, and a few minutes later he lifted her up into the saddle. Sam walked the huge horse slowly out into the yard and turned toward the hills with a pensive expression. Maybe now was the time when she finally had to face it, when she had to go back and see it and know that it could no longer touch her, because none of it belonged to her anymore. Tate Jordan had loved a woman she hadn't been for years now, and never would be again. And as she began to canter slowly over the hills she knew that, and she looked at the sky and wondered if she would ever love a man again. Maybe if she faced it once and for all and let his memory go, she could let herself care for someone, maybe someone on the ranch, or a doctor she met through the children, or a lawyer like Norman, or ' But how pale they all looked next to Tate. As she thought of him in the yard only the day before, she smiled softly, and then piece by piece she remembered the time they had shared, the times they had run over these hills, the days they had worked side by side, the respect they'd had for each other, the nights she had spent in his arms ' And then, as the full impact of what she had felt for him began to hit her, she came over the last hill, rounded the trees, and there she saw it, the little lake and the cabin where she had come with him. She didn't want to go any closer. It was as though, for her, it were haunted. It belonged to another lifetime, to different people, but she saw it and saluted it, and then slowly she wheeled the powerful black stallion and cantered over the little knoll where they had laid Jeff to rest. She stood there for a long moment and smiled at the people they had left there, a man and a woman and a boy, all of them people she had cared about a great deal. But suddenly, as she stood there, with tears running slowly down her face, she felt Black Beauty sidestep and buck gently, he whinnied and she looked around and saw him, sitting tall and proud in the saddle as always, Tate Jordan, astride a new Appaloosa she had just bought. He had come to say a last good-bye to his son. For a long moment he said nothing to her, and there were tears on his cheeks too, but his eyes bored into hers and she felt her breath catch as she watched him, not sure whether to say something or simply ride away. Black Beauty was dancing gracefully around, and as she reined him in she nodded at Tate.

Hello, Tate.

I wanted to see you yesterday, to thank you. There was something infinitely gentle in his face. Gentle and yet so powerful. He would have been frightening, had he not looked so kind. But his frame was so large, his shoulders so broad, his eyes so deep set. He looked as though he could have picked up Samantha and her stallion and set them down gently somewhere else.

You don't have to thank me. We loved him. Her eyes were like blue velvet as she looked into his.

He was a good boy. He shook his head slowly then. He did a real foolish thing. I saw Mary Jo last night. And then he smiled. My, she's gotten big.

Sam laughed softly. It's been three years.

He nodded, and then he looked at her, with a question in her eyes, and slowly he let the Appaloosa approach. Sam? It was the first time he had said her name and she tried to feel nothing as he did. Will you ride with me for a few minutes? She knew that he wanted to see the cabin, but she couldn't bear the thought of returning there with him. She had to fight with everything she had to keep her distance, not to reach out to this gentle giant who suddenly stood facing her across a chasm of three years. But each time she wanted to say something to him, to say his name, to reach out while she had the chance, she looked down at her legs, tightly strapped to the saddle, and knew what she had to do. Besides, he had left her three years ago, for his own reasons. It was better left as it had been.

I should get back, Tate. I have a lot to do. She also didn't want to give him time to figure out why there was a strap around her legs. But he hadn't seemed to notice. He was much too intent on her face.

It's quite a place you put together. What made you do it?

I told you in my letter, it was in Caroline's will.

But why you? Then he didn't know. She felt a sweep of relief.

Why not?

You never went back to New York? That seemed to shock him. I thought you would. Did you? Was that why you left, Tate? So I would go back to where you thought I belonged?

I did. For a while. She sighed softly in the early morning. I came back after she died. She looked out at the hills as she spoke. I still miss her.

His voice was soft beside her. So do I. And then, Can we ride? Just a few minutes. I won't be back here for a long time. He looked at her, almost pleading, and then feeling her heart pull inside her, she nodded and let him lead the way. When they rounded the knoll, they stopped as they came to the little lake. Do you want to get down for a minute, Sam?

No. She shook her head firmly.

I don't mean go into the cabin. I wouldn't do that. And then he looked at her with a question. Are their things still there?

I haven't touched them.

He nodded. I'd like to talk to you for a minute, Sam. But this time she shook her head. There's a lot I never said. His eyes pleaded but hers were gentle.

You don't have to say it, Tate. It's a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore.

Maybe not to you, Sam. But it does to me. I won't bore you with a long speech about it. I just want you to know one thing. I was wrong. She looked at him, suddenly startled.

What do you mean?

To leave you. He sighed softly. The funny thing is that I even had a falling-out with Jeff about it. Well, not about you, about running from the ranch. He said that all my life I ran away from the important things, from the things that mattered. He said I could have been a foreman, or owned a ranch if I wanted to. He and I drifted for about six months, and then we gave each other hell. I went up to Montana then and bought that little ranch. He smiled then. I made a damn good investment, too, and all with a loan. I did it to show Jeff he was wrong, and now he shrugged it really doesn't matter anymore. Except for what I learned from it. I learned that it doesn't mean a damn if you're a rancher or a ranch hand or a man or a woman, if you live right and you love well and you do good, that's all that matters. Those two he nodded toward the cabin look at them, in the end they're buried together side by side, because they loved each other, and no one cares whether or not they were married or whether Bill King kept it a secret all his life that he loved her. What a damn waste of time! He looked annoyed at himself, and she smiled at him and held out her hand.

It's all right, Tate. Her eyes were damp but she was still smiling, and he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Thank you for what you just said.

It must have been hard as hell on you when I left, Sam, and I'm sorry. Did you stay long after?

I looked for you everywhere for about two months and then Caro pretty much threw me out.

She was right. I wasn't worth the effort. And then he grinned. Then.

She laughed at the correction, And I suppose you are now?

Maybe not. But I'm a rancher now too. This time they both laughed, and how comfortable it felt to be talking to him. It was almost, but not quite, like old times, when she first knew him, after they had begun to become friends. Remember the first time we came here? She nodded, knowing that they were getting onto delicate ground and they had already come far enough.

Yes, but that's a long time ago, Tate.

And now you're an old woman.

She looked at him oddly. Yes, I am.

He returned her gaze. I thought you'd remarry.

Her eyes turned hard for a moment. You were wrong.

Why? Did I hurt you that much? He looked sad for her, but she only shook her head and didn't answer, and he held his hand out to her again. Let's go for a walk, Sam.

I'm sorry, Tate, I can't now. She grew sad and insistent. I have to get back.

Why?

Because I have to.

Why won't you let me tell you what I'm feeling? His eyes looked very green and very deep.

Because it's too late. She spoke softly, and as she said it he happened to glance down at her saddle with a look of despair. As he did he frowned and was about to ask her a question, but she seized the opportunity to begin to ride away.

Sam ' wait.' And then, as he watched her ride along, suddenly he knew the answer, the piece that had been missing from the puzzle for the past two days, why she had done it, why she had come back and not remarried, why it was too late.' Sam! But she wouldn't listen. It was as though she sensed something different in his tone now, and smacking the reins against Black Beauty's neck, she urged him to go faster, and as he watched her again for a long moment he was sure. The heels that had been so tight in the stirrups, that had pressed the stallion's flanks three years before, hung lifeless, toes pointed down. Never would she have allowed that to happen if she'd had any control. Now he understood the strange aspect of her saddle. He'd been so busy watching her that he hadn't seen the most important thing of all. But now he had to spur on the Appaloosa to catch her, and finally, just before the last hill before they got back to the main complex, he urged on the Appaloosa like a racehorse and reached out to the stallion's bridle and reined it in. Stop, dammit! I have something to ask you! His green eyes bored into hers, but when she turned, her blue eyes blazed.

Let go, dammit!

No, now I want to know something and. I want the truth or I'll knock you off that damn horse I've always hated and we'll see what happens!

Try it, you bastard! Her eyes dared him and she fought him for the reins.

And then what would happen?

I'd get up and walk home. She prayed that he would believe her.

Would you? Would you, Sam? Well then maybe we ought to try it.' He made to push her gently from her seat and she forced the stallion sideways.

Stop, damn you.

Why won't you tell me? Why? His eyes were the greenest she had ever seen and on his face there was almost immeasurable pain. I love you, dammit, woman, don't you know that? I've loved you every minute since I left here three years ago. But I left for your sake, not for mine, so you could go back to where you belonged with the people you belonged with and forget about me. But I never, ever, forgot you, Sam, I've dreamed of you every lousy night for the last three years, and now suddenly here you are again, ten times more beautiful, and I want you just as much and you won't let me near you. Why? Is there someone else? Tell me, I'll go away and you'll never hear from me again. But it's something else, isn't it? You're like the others, aren't you? Like the children? And you're as big a fool as I was then. I thought being a ranch hand made a difference, now you think not being able to walk does, don't you, because you can't walk, can you, Sam? Can you? Dammit, answer me! It was an anguished roar as the tears poured slowly down his cheeks and she looked at him, torn between despair and anger, and nodded slowly, and then, with her own tears pouring freely, she pulled the stallion's reins from him and began to walk the horse away.

But first she looked back over her shoulder. That's right. You're right, Tate. But the funny thing is that you were right. Oh, not then, but now. Some things do make a difference. And believe me, this does. She wheeled the horse slowly. Now do me a favor. You've said good-bye to your son and you told me what you had to tell me, now go. For both our sakes, go.

I won't. He was adamant, more powerful than the stallion that she rode. I'm not going, Sam. Not this time. If you don't want me, you tell me, and we'll see, but not because of your damn legs. I don't care if you can't walk or crawl or move. I love you. I love your head and your heart and your mind and your soul. I love what you gave me and what you gave my son, and what you've given to those children. He told me, you know, Jeff did. He wrote to me about the extraordinary woman who ran the ranch. The stupid thing is that I never understood what he was doing. I never knew that it was you. He had a lady boss here, that's all I knew. I figured some saintly crazy had started something new on Caro's ranch. But I didn't know it was you, Sam ' and now I'm not leaving.