“Morning, Miss Taylor.” The firm voice broke into Sam's reverie, and when she looked up at Tate Jordan, she suddenly knew that however uncomfortable he may have made her, or wanted to, she was not willing to ride a bad horse all day in order to prove that he was in charge. There was something stubborn and determined just in the way he looked at her, and it set her back up just watching the way he moved his head. “Tired after yesterday?”

“Not really.” Not to him would she admit the aches and the pains. Tired? Of course not. Just to look at him one knew how powerful and important he thought he was. Assistant foreman on the Lord Ranch. Not bad, Mr. Assistant Foreman. And Sam knew it was possible that at sixty-three, Bill King might retire at any moment and leave Tate Jordan his oversize shoes to fill. Not that Jordan would fill them as impressively as Bill King had, or as intelligently or as kindly or as wisely… She didn't know why, but Tate Jordan annoyed the hell out of her, and there was an unspoken friction between them one could sense instantly as he brushed past. “Ahh… Mr. Jordan.” She suddenly felt an odd pleasure in putting a spoke in his wheels.

“Yes?” He turned to face her, holding a saddle perched on one shoulder.

“I thought I'd try a different ride.” Her eyes were cool as glass as his slowly began to blaze.

“What did you have in mind?” There was an undertone of challenge.

She was dying to say Black Beauty, but decided not to waste the irony of the suggestion on him. “Caroline thought that Navajo might do.”

He looked momentarily annoyed, but then nodded and turned away, muttering distractedly over his shoulder, “Go ahead.” The very words irritated Samantha. Why did she need his permission for what horse she rode? Reason provided a simple answer, but she still bristled at his style as she found Navajo's stall and his saddle and bridle in a little tack room just beyond it and went back to saddle up. He was a beautiful Appaloosa, mottled whipped-cream-and-chocolate face, rich brown flanks, and the characteristic white hindquarters with big brown spots. He was gentle as Samantha put the saddle on him and then strapped the girth beneath him, but it was also evident as she led him out of his stall that he had a great deal more spirit than Rusty. In fact she had to work to control him once she was astride, and he pranced for a full five minutes as she attempted to join the others beginning to move out. She had been assigned the same group as the previous day, and she saw Tate Jordan watching her with open disapproval as they rode toward the hills.

“Think you can manage him, Miss Taylor?” His voice was clear as a bell and Samantha suddenly felt a strong urge to hit him as he rode alongside her and observed the frisky maneuvers of her horse.

“I'll certainly try, Mr. Jordan.”

“I think we probably should have given you Lady.” Samantha said nothing at all in answer and moved on. Half an hour later they were all engrossed in what they were doing: looking for strays and once again checking fences. They found a sick heifer, which two of the men roped in order to lead back to one of the main cattle barns. And by the time they stopped for lunch, they had already put in six hours of work. They stopped in a clearing and tied the horses to the surrounding trees. The usual sandwiches and soup and coffee were handed around, and conversation was sparse but relaxed. No one said much to Samantha, but she was comfortable with them nonetheless and let her thoughts drift as she sat for a few moments with her eyes closed in the winter sun.

“You must be tired, Miss Taylor.” It was that voice again. She opened one eye.

“Not really. I was enjoying the sunshine. Does that bother you very much?”

“Not at all.” He smiled pleasantly. “How are you enjoying Navajo?”

“Very much.” She opened both eyes and smiled at him. And then she suddenly couldn't resist teasing him a little. “Not as much as I'd enjoy Black Beauty of course.” She smiled mischievously at him and it was hard to tell if she meant it or not.

“That, Miss Taylor”-he returned the smile to her like a rapid volley in tennis-“is a mistake I hope you never make.” He nodded wisely. “You'd get hurt. And that”-he smiled gently at her again-“would be a great shame. A stallion like that, there are damn few people who should ride him. Even Miss Lord herself has to be careful when she takes him out. He's a dangerous beast, and not…” He looked for the right words.”… not the kind of horse a ‘sometime rider’ ought to play with.” The green eyes looked infinitely patronizing as he gazed down at her with his steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“Have you ridden him?” The question was blunt and her eyes didn't smile.

“Once.”

“How did you find him?”

“He's a beautiful animal. No doubt about that.” The green eyes smiled again. “He's quite a different ride than Navajo.” But there was an implication in his words that suggested that Navajo was all she could handle. “Looks like he gave you a little bit of a hard time when we started out.”

“And you thought I couldn't handle it?” She was almost amused.

“I was concerned. After all, if you get hurt, it's my responsibility, Miss Taylor.”

“Spoken like a true foreman, Mr. Jordan. But I don't really think Miss Lord would hold you responsible for what happens to me with a horse. She knows me too well.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I'm not used to riding horses like Rusty.”

“But you think you're up to a stallion like Black Beauty?” He knew that neither Caroline Lord nor Bill King would let her ride him. Hell, they'd only let him ride the exquisite Thoroughbred once.

Samantha nodded quietly. “Yes, I think I could ride him.”

He looked amused. “Do you? You're that sure of yourself, are you?”

“I just know how I ride. I ride hard. I take chances. I know what I'm doing, and I've been riding since I was five. That's been a while.”

“Every day?” There was a challenge again. “Ride much in New York, do you?”

“No, Mr. Jordan.” She smiled sweetly. “I don't.” But as she said it she vowed to ride Black Beauty as soon as Caroline would let her, because she wanted to, and because she wanted to show this arrogant cowboy that she could.

A moment later he strode back toward his men and gave them the signal. They mounted up and spent the rest of the afternoon checking the boundaries of the ranch. They found some more loose heifers at the outermost reaches and drove them home at sunset, when once again Samantha wondered if she would even be able to get off her horse. But Josh was waiting for her outside the barn when they got there, and he gave her a hand as she swung her leg over Navajo with a groan.

“You gonna make it, Sam?”

“I doubt it.” He grinned at her in answer as she untacked her horse and almost staggered to the tack room to put her saddle and bridle away.

“How'd it go today?” He followed her and stood in the doorway.

“All right, I guess.” She realized with a tired smile that she was beginning to speak like the rest of the cowboys, in the same sparse fashion. Only Jordan spoke differently than they did, and only when he was speaking to her. Then the education he'd had was obvious; the rest of the time he sounded just like them. Not unlike Bill King, who was subtly different when he was with Caroline, but not as much. Bill King and Tate Jordan were very different men. Jordan was much less of a rough diamond than most.

“Long way from New York, ain't it, Samantha?” The wizened little old cowboy grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

“It sure is. But that's why I came out here.”

He nodded. He didn't really know why she had come. But he understood. A ranch was a good place to be when one had problems. Lots of hard work, fresh air, good food, and good horses would cure almost anything. Your belly got full, your rump got tired, the sun came up and went down, and another day went by with nothing more complicated to worry about than if your horse needed new shoes or the fence on the south forty needed fixing. It was the only life Josh had ever known but he had seen plenty of other people try other things and come back to it. It was a good life. And he knew it would do Sam good too. Whatever she was running away from, it would help her. He had noticed the dark circles under her eyes the previous morning. They already looked clearer today.

Together, they wandered past Black Beauty, and almost instinctively Sam reached out and patted his neck. “Hello, boy.” She spoke softly to him and he whinnied as though he knew her. She gazed at him thoughtfully, as though once again seeing him for the first time. And then an odd light came into her eyes as she left the big barn with Josh at her side, bid him good night, and walked slowly back to the big house, where Bill King was talking to Caroline. They stopped when she came in.

“Hello, Bill… Caro.” She smiled at them both. “Am I interrupting something?” She looked embarrassed for a moment, but they were both quick to shake their heads.

“Of course not, dear.” Caroline kissed her and Bill King picked up his hat and got up.

“I'll be seein' you tomorrow, ladies.” He was quick to leave them and Samantha sprawled out on the couch with a sigh.

“Hard day?” Caroline looked at her gently as she lay there. She herself hadn't ridden all week. She and Bill still had a lot of paperwork to do before year's end, and there were only two weeks left in which to do it. She'd at least have to get out and ride Black Beauty one of these days before he became totally wild, but she didn't really even have time for that. “Are you very tired, Sam?” Caroline looked sympathetic.

“Tired? Are you kidding? After sitting at a desk for all these years? I'm not tired. I'm broken. If Josh didn't drag me off that horse every night, I'd probably have to sleep out there.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” The two women laughed and the Mexican woman who helped Caroline with the cleaning and cooking signaled from the kitchen. Dinner was ready. “Mmm, what is it?” Samantha wrinkled her nose happily on the way into the big handsomely done country kitchen.

“Enchiladas, chiles rellenos, tamales… All my favorites, I hope some of them are yours.”

Samantha smiled at her happily. “After a day like that you could feed me cardboard, as long as there was lots of it, with a bath and a bed at the end of the meal.”

“I'll remember that, Samantha. Otherwise how's it going? Everyone being civil to you, I hope?” She furrowed her brows as she asked the question, and Samantha nodded and smiled.

“Everyone's perfectly pleasant.” But there was a tiny catch in her voice and Caroline was quick to hear it.

“Except?”

“No except's. I don't think Tate Jordan and I will ever be best friends, but he's perfectly civilized. I just don't think he approves of what he calls ‘sometime riders.’”

Caroline looked amused. “Probably not. He is an odd sort. In some ways he thinks like a rancher, but he's perfectly happy to break his back working on the ranch. He is the last of the real thing. Real cowboys, the hard-riding, hardworking, down-to-the-core ranchman who would die for the ranchers he works for and do anything he could to save the ranch. He's a good man to have here, and one day,” she sighed softly, “he'll be the right man to step into Bill's shoes. If he stays.”

“Why wouldn't he? He has a hell of a nice life here. You've always provided your men with more comforts than anyone else.”

“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “And I've never been convinced that that mattered to them as much as I thought it should. They're a funny breed. Almost everything they do is a matter of pride and honor. They'll work for one man for nothing because they feel they owe him or because he's done right by them, and then leave someone else because they feel they should. It's impossible to predict what any of them will do. Even Bill. I never even fully know with him what he's going to do.”

“It must be quite something to try and run a ranch like that.”

“It's interesting.” Caroline smiled. “Very interesting.” And then suddenly she noticed Samantha glancing at her watch. “Something wrong, Sam?”

“No.” Sam looked suddenly strangely quiet. “It's six o'clock.”

“Yes?” For a moment Caroline didn't understand and then she did. “The news broadcast?” Samantha nodded. “Do you watch it every night?”

“I try not to.” The look of pain was back in Sam's eyes as she said it. “But in the end I always do.”

“Do you think you ought to?”

“No.” Slowly Samantha shook her head.

“Do you want me to have Lucia-Maria bring the television in? She can, you know.” But Sam shook her head again.

“I have to stop watching sometime.” A tiny sigh escaped her. “I might as well stop watching right now.” It was like fighting an addiction. The addiction of staring into John Taylor's face every night.