Palomino

3

The plane ride across the country was uneventful. The country drifted below her like bits and pieces of a patchwork quilt. The rough brown nubby textures of winter fields drifted into snowy white velvets, and as they reached the West Coast there were signs of deep satiny greens and rich shiny blues, as lakes and forests and fields ran beneath them. At last, with a fiery sunset to welcome them, the plane touched down in L.A.

Samantha stretched her long legs out in front of her, and then her arms as she looked out the window once again. She had dozed most of the way across the country, and now she looked out and wondered why she had come. What point was there in running all the way to California? What would she possibly find there? She knew as she stood up, tossing her long blond mane behind her, that she had been wrong to come all this way. She wasn't nineteen years old anymore. It didn't make any sense to come and hang out on a ranch and play cowgirl. She was a woman with responsibilities and a life to lead, all of which centered around New York. But what did she have there really? Nothing-nothing at all.

With a sigh she watched the rest of the passengers begin to deplane, and she buttoned her coat, picked up her tote bag, and fell in line. She had worn a dark brown suede coat with a sheepskin lining, jeans, and her chocolate leather boots from Celine. The tote bag she had brought was in the same color and tied around the handle was a red silk scarf, which she took off and knotted loosely around her neck. Even with the worried frown between her eyebrows, and the casual clothes she had worn on the trip, she was still a strikingly beautiful woman, and heads turned as men noticed her making her way slowly out of the giant plane. None of them had seen her during the five-hour trip because she had only left her seat once and that to wash her face and hands before the late lunch that was served. But the rest of the time she had just sat there, numb, tired, dozing, trying to reason out once again why she had let them do this, why she had allowed herself to be talked into coming west.

“Enjoy your stay. Thank you for flying…” The phalanx of stewardesses spoke the familiar words like a chorus of Rockettes, and Samantha smiled at them in return.

A moment later Samantha was standing in the Los Angeles airport, looking around with a sense of disorientation, wondering where to go, who would find her, not sure suddenly if they would even meet her at all. Caroline had said that the foreman, Bill King, would probably meet her, and if he wasn't available, one of the other ranch hands would be there. “Just look for them, you can't miss 'em, not in that airport.” And then the old woman had laughed softly, and so had Sam. In an airport filled with Vuitton and Gucci and gold lame sandals and mink and chinchilla and little bikini tops and shirts left open to the navel, it would be easy to spot a ranch hand, in Stetson and cowboy boots and jeans. More than the costume, it would be easy to spot the way they moved and walked, the deep tan of their skin, their wholesome aura as they moved uneasily in the showily decked-out, decadent crowd. Sam already knew from her other visits to the ranch that there would be nothing decadent about the ranch hands. They were tough, kind, hardworking people who loved what they did and had an almost mystical tie to the land that they worked on, the people they worked with, and the livestock they tended with such care. They were a breed Samantha had always respected, but certainly a very different breed than she was accustomed to in New York. For a moment, as she stood there, watching the typical airport chaos, she suddenly realized that once she got to the ranch she would be glad she had come. Maybe this was what she needed after all.

As she looked around for the sign that said BAGGAGE CLAIM, she felt a hand on her arm. She turned, looking startled, and then she saw him, the tall, broad-shouldered, leathery old cowboy that she remembered instantly from ten years before. He stood towering over her, his blue eyes like bits of summer sky, his face marked like a landscape, his smile as wide as she remembered it; a feeling of great warmth exuded from him as he touched his hat and then enfolded her into a great big bear hug. It was Bill King, the man who had been the foreman on the Lord Ranch since Caroline had bought it some thirty years before. He was a man in his early sixties, a man of slight education, but with vast knowledge, great wisdom, and even greater warmth. She had been drawn to him the first time she'd seen him, and she and Barbara had looked up to him like a wise uncle, and he had championed their every cause. He had come with Caroline to Barbara's funeral and had stood discreetly behind the family with a floodtide of tears coursing down his face. But there were no tears now, there were only smiles for Samantha as the huge hand on her shoulder squeezed her still harder and he gave a small shout of glee.

“Damn, I'm happy to see you, Sam! How long has it been? Five, six years?”

“More like eight or nine.” She grinned up at him, equally happy to see him and suddenly delighted that she had come. Maybe Charlie hadn't been so wrong after all. The tall, weathered man looked down at her with a look that told her she had come home.

“Ready?” He crooked an arm and with a nod and a smile she took it, and they went in search of her baggage, which was already spinning lazily on the turntable when they got downstairs. “This it?” He looked at her questioningly, holding the large black leather suitcase with the red and green Gucci stripe. He held the heavy case easily in one hand, her tote slung over his shoulder.

“That's it, Bill.”

He frowned at her briefly. “Then you can't be meaning to stay long. I remember the last time you came out here with your husband. You must have had seven bags between the two of you.”

She chuckled at the memory. John had brought enough clothes with him for a month at Saint-Moritz. “Most of that was my husband's. We had just been to Palm Springs.”

He nodded, saying nothing, and then led the way to the garage. He was a man of few words but rich emotions. She had seen that often during her early visits to the ranch. Five minutes later they had reached the large red pickup, stowed her suitcase in the back, and were driving slowly out of the parking lot of the Los Angeles International Airport, and Sam suddenly felt as though she were about to be set free. After the confinement of her life in New York, her job, her marriage, and now the confusion of bodies pressing around her on the plane and then in the airport terminal after the trip, finally she was about to go out to open places, to be alone, to think, to see mountains and trees and cattle, and to rediscover a life she had almost forgotten. As she thought of it, a long, slow smile lit up her face.

“You look good, Sam.” He cast an eye at her as they left the airport, and he shifted into fourth gear as they reached the freeway beyond.

But she only smiled and shook her head at him. “Not as good as all that. It's been a long time.” Her voice softened on the words, remembering the last time she had seen him and Caroline Lord. It had been a strange trip, an awkward mingling of past and present. The ranch hadn't been much fun for John. And as they drove along the highway, Sam's mind filled with memories of the last trip. It seemed a thousand years later when she felt the old foreman's hand on her arm, and when she looked around, she realized that the countryside around them had altered radically. There was no evidence of the plastic ugliness of the L.A. suburbs, in fact there were no houses in sight at all, only acres and acres of rolling farmland, the far reaches of large ranches, and uninhabited government preserves. It was beautiful country all around her, and Sam rolled down the window and sniffed the air. “God, it even smells different, doesn't it?”

“Sure does.” He smiled the familiar warm smile and drove on for a while without speaking. “Caroline sure is looking forward to seeing you, Sam. It's been kind of lonely for her ever since Barb died. You know, she talks about you a heck of a lot. I always wondered if you'd come back. I didn't really think so after the last time.” They had left the ranch early, and John had made no secret of the fact that he'd been bored stiff.

“I would have come back, sooner or later. I was always hoping to stop here when I went to L. A. on business, but I never had enough time.”

“And now? You quit your job, Sam?” He had only a vague idea that she had something to do with commercials, but he had no clear picture of what, and he didn't really care. Caroline had told him that it was a good job, it made her happy, and that was all that counted. He knew what her husband did, of course. Everyone in the country knew John Taylor, by face as well as by name. Bill King had never liked him, but he sure as hell knew who he was.

“No, Bill, I didn't quit. I'm on leave.”

“Sick leave?” He looked worried as they drove through the hills.

Sam hesitated for only a moment. “Not really. Kind of a rest cure, I guess.” For a minute she was going to leave it at that and then she decided to tell him. “John and I split up.” He raised a questioning eyebrow But said nothing, and she went on. “Quite a while ago actually. At least it seems like it. It's been three or four months.” A hundred and two days, to be exact. She had counted every one of them. “And I guess they just thought I needed the break at the office.” It sounded lousy to her as she said it, and suddenly she felt panic rise in her as it had that morning when she spoke to Harvey. Were they really firing her and just didn't want to tell her yet? Did they think she couldn't take the pressure? Did they think she'd already cracked up? But when she looked at Bill King, she saw that he was nodding, as though it all made perfect sense to him.

“Sounds right to me, babe.” His voice was reassuring. “It's damn hard to keep on going when you hurt.” He stopped for a moment and then went on. “I found that out years ago when my wife died. I thought I could still handle my job on the ranch I was working on then. But after a week my boss said, ‘Bill, my boy, I'm givin’ you a month's money, you go on home to your folks and come back when the money's gone.' You know, Sam, I was mad as fire when he did it, thought he was telling me that I couldn't handle the job, but he was right. I went to my sister's outside Phoenix, stayed for about six weeks, and when I came back, I was myself again. You can't expect a man nor a woman to keep going all the time. Sometimes you have to give him room for grief.”

He didn't tell her that he had taken three months off twenty-five years later, time off from the Lord ranch, when his son was killed during the early days of Vietnam. For three months he had been so stricken that he had barely been able to talk. It was Caroline who had nursed him out of it, who had listened, who had cared, who had finally come to find him in a bar in Tucson and dragged him home. He had a job to do on the ranch, she had told him, and enough was enough. She barked at him like a drill sergeant and heaped work on him until he thought he would die. She had shouted, yelled, argued, bullied, until finally one day they had almost come to blows out in the south pasture. They had gotten off their horses, and she had swung at him, and he had knocked her right on her ass, and then suddenly she had been laughing at him, and she laughed until the tears ran from her eyes in streams, and he laughed just as hard and knelt beside her to help her up, and it was then that he had kissed her for the first time.

It had been eighteen years ago that August, and he had never loved another woman as he loved her. She was the only woman he had actually ached for, longed for, lusted after, laughed with, worked with, dreamed with, and respected more than he respected any man. But she was a very special kind of woman. Caroline Lord was no ordinary woman. She was a superwoman. She was brilliant and amusing, attractive, kind, compassionate, intelligent. And he had never been able to understand what she wanted with a ranch hand. But she had known her mind from the beginning and never regretted the decision. For almost twenty years now she had secretly been his woman. And she would have made the affair public long before, had he let her. But he felt that her position as mistress of the Lord Ranch was sacred, and although here and there it was suspected, no one had ever known for certain that they were lovers, the only thing anyone knew for certain was that they were friends. Even Samantha had never been sure that there was more between them, though she and Barbara had suspected and often giggled, but they had never really known.

“How's Caroline, Bill?” She looked over at him with a warm smile and saw a special glow come to his eyes.

“Tough as ever. She's tougher than anyone on that ranch.” And older. She was three years older than he. She had been one of the most glamorous and elegant women in Hollywood in her twenties, married to one of the most important directors of her day. The parties they had given were still among the early legends, and the home they had built in the hills above Hollywood was still on some of the tours. It had changed hands often but was still a remarkable edifice, a monument to a bygone era rarely equaled in later years. But at thirty-two Caroline Lord had been widowed, and after that, for her, life in Hollywood had never been the same again. She had stayed on for two more years, but they had been painful and lonely, and then suddenly without explanation she had disappeared. She had spent a year in Europe, and then another six months in New York. It took her another year after that to decide what she really wanted, but as she drove for hours, alone in heir white Lincoln Continental, she suddenly knew where it was she longed to be. Out in the country, in nature, away from the champagne and the parties and the pretense. None of it had had any meaning for her after her husband was gone. All of that was over for her now. She was ready for something very different, a whole new life, a new adventure, and that spring, after looking at every available piece of property in a two-hundred-mile radius of Los Angeles, she bought the ranch.

She paid a fortune for it, hired an adviser and the best ranch hands around. She paid everyone a handsome wage, built them pleasant, cozy quarters, and offered them a kind of warmth and comfort that few men could deny. And in return, she wanted sound advice and good teaching, she wanted to learn how to run the ranch herself one day, and she expected them all to work as hard as she did herself. It was in her first year at the ranch that Bill King found her, took the place in hand, and taught her all he knew himself. He was a foreman of the kind most ranchers would die for, and it was purely by accident that he landed on the Lord Ranch. And even more so that he and Caroline Lord wound up as lovers. All that Samantha knew of Bill's history on the ranch was that he had been there almost since the beginning and had helped make the place a financial success.

Theirs was one of the few California cattle ranches that showed a profit. They bred Angus cattle and sold a few Morgan horses as well. Most of the big ranches were in the Midwest or the Southwest; only a precious few in California had good luck, and many were kept in operation as tax losses by their owners-city dwellers, stockbrokers, lawyers, and movie stars who bought them as a kind of game. But the Lord Ranch was no game, not to Bill King or Caroline Lord, or to the men who worked there, and Samantha also knew that while she stayed there she would be expected to perform certain chores as well. No one came to the ranch just to be lazy. It seemed indecent, considering how hard everyone else worked.

When Sam had called Caroline this time, she had told Sam that at the moment they were short two men and Samantha was welcome to help out. It was going to be a busy vacation for Samantha, of that she was sure. She figured that most likely she would do small jobs in the stables, take care of some of the horses, and maybe help clean out some of the stalls. She knew just how unlikely it was that she would get a chance to do much more. Not that she wasn't able to. Samantha had long since proven her skill on a horse. A rider at five, in horse shows at seven, Madison Square Garden at twelve, and three blue ribbons and a red, jumping competitions thereafter, and a couple of years when she had dreamed of the Olympics and when she had spent every living moment she had with her own horse. But once she'd gone to college there hadn't been much time for horses, the dream of the Olympics faded, and in the years afterward she almost never had time to ride. It was only when she had visited the ranch with Barbara, or when she met someone with horses once in a great while, that she still got a chance to ride. But she knew that as a “city gal,” she would not likely be trusted by hands to work with them, unless Caroline interfered on her behalf.

“Been riding much lately?” As though reading her thoughts, Bill leaned toward her with a smile.

She shook her head. “You know, I don't think I've been on a horse in two years.”

“You'll be mighty sore by this time tomorrow.”

“Probably.” They exchanged a quiet smile as they drove on in the early evening. “But it'll probably feel good. That's a nice kind of sore.” Tired knees and aching calves-it wasn't like the aching spirit she had borne these last months.

“We've got some new palominos, a new pinto, and a whole mess of Morgans, all of which Caroline bought this year. And then”-he almost grunted as he said it-“she's got this crazy damn horse. Don't ask me why she bought it, except some damn fool nonsense about he looks like a horse in some movie her husband made.” He looked at Sam disapprovingly. “She bought herself a Thoroughbred. Hell of a fine horse. But we don't need a horse like that on a ranch. Looks like a damn racehorse… runs like one too. She's going to kill herself on it. No doubt about it. Told her so myself.”

He glared at Sam and she smiled. She could just imagine elegant Caroline on her Thoroughbred, racing across the fields as though she were still a young girl. It would be wonderful to see her again, wonderful to be back there, and suddenly Samantha felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. She was so glad she had come after all. She cast a sideways glance at Bill as he drove the last few miles toward the ranch that had been his home for more than two decades, and Samantha found herself wondering again just exactly how far his involvement with Caroline went. At sixty-three, he was still virile and handsome, the broad frame, the long legs, the strong arms, the powerful hands, and the brilliant blue eyes all combined to give him an aura of power and style. On him the Stetson looked marvelous, on him the blue jeans seemed to be molded to his legs. None of it looked trite or silly. He was the best of his breed, the proudest of his kind. The rugged lines of his face only helped to enhance the well-chiseled features, and the deep husky baritone voice was precisely what it had been. He was easily six feet four without the Stetson, and with it, he was literally a towering man.

As they drove through the front gates of the ranch, Samantha breathed a sigh of relief-of pain-of lots of feelings. The road stretched on for another mile after the sign that said LORD RANCH with a handsomely carved L, which they also used in their brand. Samantha felt like an anxious child as she caught her breath, expecting to see the house suddenly loom toward them, but it was another ten minutes before they rounded the last turn in the private road, and then suddenly there it was. It looked almost like an old plantation, a beautiful big white house with dark blue shutters, a brick chimney, a wide front porch, broad front steps, surrounding flower beds, which became a riot of color in the summer, and, behind it all, a veritable wall of gigantic, handsome trees. Just down the slope from the house was a single willow tree and a little pond, which was covered with lillies and filled with frogs. Near at hand were the stables, beyond them the barns, and all around were cottages for the men. In Sam's mind it always stood out as the way a ranch should look, but whenever she had seen others, she had rapidly discovered that few did. Few other ranches were as impeccably kept, as handsome, as well run… and none of them boasted either Caroline Lord or Bill King.

“Well, little lady, how does it look to you?” The pickup had stopped, and as he always did, Bill looked around with obvious pride. He had helped to make the Lord Ranch something special, and that was just what it was, most of all to him. “Does it look different?”

“No.” She smiled as she looked around her in the darkness. But the moon was high, the house was well lit, there were lights on in the men's cottages and the main hall where they ate and played cards, there was a strong light near the stables, and it was easy to see that not much had changed.

“There are a few technical improvements, but you can't see them.”

“I'm glad. I was afraid it might all have changed.”

“Nope.” He sounded the horn twice, and as he did so the door to the main house opened and a tall slim white-haired woman stood in the doorway, smiling first at Bill, and then instantly at Sam. There was only a moment's hesitation as she stood gazing at the young woman, and then with a light step she ran down the stairs, held out her arms, and took Samantha in a tight hug.

“Welcome home, Samantha. Welcome home.” And then suddenly, as she smelled the dusty rose of Caroline Lord's perfume, felt her thick white hair brush her cheek, she felt tears in her eyes and a sense of having come home. After a moment the two women parted, and Caroline stood back and looked at her with a smile. “My God, you're pretty, Sam. Prettier even than last time.”

“You're crazy. And good Lord, look at you!” The older woman was as tall and as thin and as ramrod straight as she ever had been, her eyes were bright, and her whole being suggested sparkle and life. She was as pretty as she had been the last time Sam saw her in her fifties, and now at sixty-six, she was still beautiful, and even in jeans and a man's cotton shirt she had her own undeniable style. There was a bright blue scarf knotted at her neck, she wore an old Indian belt, and her cowboy boots were a deep jade-green. Samantha happened to look down as she followed Caroline up the steps to the ranch house and gasped with a little exclamation of delight. “Oh, God, they're wonderful, Caroline!”

“Aren't they?” Caroline had understood instantly and looked down at them with a girlish smile. “I had them made specially. It's a final extravagance at my age, but what the hell. It may be my last chance.” Sam was suddenly struck by that kind of reference, and it jolted her just to realize that Caroline thought like that now. Sam was silent as she walked into the familiar house, and Bill followed her with her bags. The entrance hall that they stood in boasted a handsome Early American table, a brass chandelier, and a big bright-colored hooked rug. In the living room beyond there was a huge fire blazing in the fireplace, surrounded by a cluster of comfortable well-upholstered chairs covered in a deep blue. It was a color picked up again in an antique rug, this one littered with bright flowers woven into the hooked design. The room was entirely done in blues and reds and greens, there was a brightness to it that seemed to perfectly reflect Caroline herself, and all of it was set off by the many antique pieces in rich woods. There were leather-bound books, brass fixtures everywhere, andirons in front of the fireplace, candelabra, buckets and planters, and sconces on the walls with lights like delicate candles. It was a wonderful old-fashioned room with elegance and warmth, much like Caroline herself, and it was perfectly in keeping with the fact that it was on the ranch. It was a room that would have been perfect in Town & Country or House and Garden, but which, of course, Caroline had never shown. It was her home and not a showplace, and after the very visible years she had spent in Hollywood she felt very strongly about her privacy now. In effect, for all but a few, she had virtually disappeared some twenty-five years before.

“Do you need some more firewood, Caroline?” Bill was looking down at her from his great height, his snow-white hair revealed now that he had his big-brimmed Stetson in his hand.

She smiled and shook her head, looking ever more youthful, the light in his eyes reflected in her own. “No, thanks, Bill. I've got enough for the rest of the night.”

“Fine. Then I'll see you ladies in the morning.” He smiled warmly at Sam, nodded respectfully to Caroline, and with his long stride rapidly left the living room and went out. They heard the door close gently behind him, and as Samantha and Barbara had decided a hundred times during the visits while they were in college, Sam decided once again that the two couldn't be involved with each other after all. Not if they said good night to each other like that. And their greetings were never more personal than they had just been, friendly nods, casual smiles, warm greetings, serious conversations about the ranch. Nothing else was ever evident between them, and yet as one watched them one had a feeling, as though they had some secret understanding, or as Sam had once put it to Barbara, “as though they were really husband and wife.”

But before Samantha could ponder the matter further, Caroline put a tray on a low table near the fire, poured a cup of hot chocolate, uncovered a plate of sandwiches, and waved to Sam to sit down.

“Come on, Sam, sit down and make yourself comfortable.” And then, as she did, the older woman smiled at her again. “Welcome home.”

For the second time that evening Sam's eyes filled with tears and she reached a long graceful hand toward Caroline. They held hands for a moment, as Sam held the bony fingers tight.

“Thank you for Jetting me come here.”

“Don't say that.” Caroline let go and handed her the hot chocolate. “I'm glad that you called me. I've always loved you…”She hesitated for a moment, glancing into the fire and then back at Sam, “Just as much as I loved Barb.” And then she sighed softly. “Losing her was like losing a daughter. It's hard to believe it's been almost ten years.” Sam nodded silently, and then Caroline smiled at her. “I'm glad to know that I didn't lose you too. I've loved your letters, but for the last few years I've been wondering if you'd ever come back.”

“I wanted to, but… I've been busy.”

“Do you want to tell me about all that, or are you too tired?” It had been a five-hour flight, and then a three-hour drive. By California time it was only eight thirty, but by Sam's time, in New York, it was eleven thirty at night. But she wasn't even tired, she was just exhilarated to see her old friend.

“I'm not too tired… I just don't know where to start.”

“Then start with the hot chocolate. Then the sandwiches. Then talk.” The two women exchanged another smile, and then Sam couldn't resist reaching out to her again, and Caroline gave her a warm hug. “Do you know how good it is to have you back here?”

“Only half as good as it is to be back.” She took a big bite out of a sandwich and then sat back against the couch with a broad grin. “Bill says you have a new Thoroughbred. Is he a beauty?”

“Oh, God, Sam, he sure is!” And then she laughed again. “Better even than my green boots.” She looked down with amusement and then back at Sam with a sparkle in her eye. “He's a stallion and so full of fire that even I can hardly ride him. Bill is terrified I'll kill myself riding him, but when I saw him, I really couldn't resist. The son of one of the other ranchers near here bought him in Kentucky, and then needed some quick money so he sold him to me. It's almost a sin to ride him just for pleasure, but I can't help it. I just have to. I don't give a damn if I'm an arthritic old woman, or what kind of fool anyone thinks me, he is the one horse in my lifetime I want to ride till I die.” Sam flinched again at the mention of death and old age. In that sense both she and Bill had changed since the last time. But after all, they were both in their sixties now, maybe it was indeed a preoccupation that was normal for their age. Nonetheless it was impossible to think of either of them as “old people,” they were too handsome, too active, too powerful, too busy. And yet, it was obviously an image of themselves that they both now had. “What's his name?”

Caroline laughed out loud and then stood up and walked toward the fire, holding out her hands for warmth. “Black Beauty, of course.” She turned toward Samantha, her exquisite features delicately lit by the fire until she looked almost like a carefully etched cameo, or a porcelain figure.

“Has anyone told you lately how beautiful you are, Aunt Caro?” It was the name Barbara had used for her, and this time there were tears in Caroline's eyes.

“Bless you, Sam. You're as blind as ever.”

“The hell I am.” She grinned and nibbled at the rest of her sandwich before taking a sip of the hot chocolate that Caroline had poured from a Thermos jug. She was the same gracious hostess she always had been in the days when Samantha had first visited the ranch and all the way back to her legendary parties in Hollywood in 1933. “So.” Sam's face sobered slowly. “I guess you want to know about John. I don't suppose there's much more than what I told you the other night on the phone. He had an affair, he got her pregnant, he left me, they got married, and now they await the birth of their first child.”

“You say it so succinctly.” Then after a moment, “Do you hate him?”

“Sometimes.” Sam's voice fell to a whisper. “Most of the time I just miss him and wonder if he's all right. I wonder if she knows that he's allergic to wool socks. I wonder if anyone buys him the kind of coffee he loves, if he's sick or healthy or happy or freaked out, if he remembers to take his asthma medicine on a trip… if -if he's sorry-” She stopped and then looked back at Caroline still standing by the fire. “That sounds crazy, doesn't it? I mean, the man walked out on me, cheated on me, dumped me, and now he doesn't even call to find out how I am, and I worry that his feet itch because his wife might make a mistake and buy him wool socks. Is that crazy?” She laughed but it was suddenly a half sob. “Isn't it?” And then she squeezed her eyes shut again. Slowly she shook her head, keeping her eyes tightly closed, as though by closing them she wouldn't see the images that had danced in her head for so long. “God, Caro, it was so awful and so public.” She opened her eyes. “Didn't you read about it?”

“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.