“Don't you ever have dinner with Bill?” Sam looked shocked.

“Very rarely. Only on state occasions, when someone gets married or dies. Only on nights like last night, at Christmas, do all the fences come down. The rest of the time, you are who you are, and they-they're careful to keep the fences up, Sam.”

“But why?”

“Out of respect. That's just the way it is.” She seemed to accept it, but it continued to annoy Sam.

“But it's all so stupid. What difference does the hierarchy make, for heaven's sake! Who cares?”

“They do.” Caroline's voice was like a splash of cold water. “They care very much, about form, about position, about who you are and the respect they feel they owe you. As a ranch owner, you're put on a pedestal by them, and they never let you come down. It's tiring sometimes, but that's the way it is. You have to accept it. If we invited Bill and Tate here today, they would be genuinely shocked.” But Sam found it hard to believe as she remembered Tate's earlier entreaties to sleep with him at the cabin. It hadn't occurred to her yet that that was different; it was private. It wasn't like having dinner together at the big house.

“Well, it still doesn't make any sense to me.”

Caroline smiled warmly at her. “It never did to me either, but I accept it now, Sam. It's simpler that way. That's just the way they are.” Was that the reason for the cabin, then? Because he was a ranch hand and she was something very different, the ranch owner? Could all the secrecy have been for something as simple as that? She was suddenly dying to ask her but knew that she could not. “There will be cold turkey dinners all day at the main hall, Samantha. You could go over there and chat with whoever's around. But I really have to work with Bill for a few hours in my office. I feel terrible about neglecting you on Christmas, Sam, but we have to get this done.” Caroline and Bill's single-minded purpose together, over all the years, had always been the ranch. But now Sam found herself wondering if they ever missed the cabin. They would have to. It was such a perfect place to hide out. She wondered, too, how long it had been since they had last been there, how often they had gone in the beginning, if they'd had it then… and she wondered, too, how soon she would go there again with Tate.

“I'll be fine, Aunt Caro. I have some letters to write. I'll go get something to eat at the main hall when I get hungry.” And suddenly she realized that she wanted to catch a glimpse of Tate again. It was as though he had got under her skin that morning and now she couldn't get him out. All she could think of was him, and his hands and his lips and his eyes…

But when she went to the main hall for lunch half an hour later, she found that there was no sight of him, and Josh mentioned to her casually when she saw him near the barn a few hours later that Tate had gone to the Bar Three Ranch, twenty-five miles away, to visit his son.

12

In the silvery early morning darkness Tate Jordan gave the signal, and the two dozen ranch hands who followed his orders kicked their horses and followed him toward the main gate. Today most of them were rounding up young bulls for castration, and Tate himself and another small group were riding to a narrow canyon to see if the bridge there was down. When they reached it an hour later, they saw that all was pretty much in order, but on the way back they found that two trees had been hit by lightning and had gone through the roof of a shed, damaging a tractor and some small tools. For two hours the men worked pulling branches away from the building, checking over the tools, trying to start the tractor, and finally activating a huge saw so that they could remove the broken trees. It was grueling work for all of them, and most of all Samantha, and when they stopped at long last for lunch, Samantha's long blond hair was damp from her efforts and her thick flannel shirt clung to her chest.

“Coffee, Sam?” Tate handed it to her as he did to the others, and only for a fraction of an instant did she think that she saw something special lingering in his eyes. But a moment later when he gave her some more instructions on what he wanted done with the broken tools, she felt certain that she'd imagined the earlier attention. It was obvious that their relationship was once again strictly business. And by the end of the day she was sure. He treated her well now, as he did the others, joked with her once or twice, and told her to rest when he saw that she could do no more. But he offered her no special words, no particular encouragement, as she sweated and labored. At the end of the day, when she left Navajo in his stall, Tate said nothing to her as he left the barn and headed back to his own cabin not far from the main hall.

“Hard work today, eh, Sam?” Josh called to her over his shoulder as he put up his saddle, and she nodded, glancing briefly at Tate's back and suddenly wondering if the moments at the hidden cabin had been a kind of aberration, a brief flash when they both had lost control and then regained it. And she was suddenly glad that she hadn't succumbed to the powerful attraction she had felt. By now he would have been laughing at her, she thought briefly, trying to remember what Josh had said. “You look beat.”

“Don't we all! It's always hard work out here.” But she didn't look unhappy about it as she said it, and she was glad, as she had been that morning, that she had been spared the all-day session of castrating the young bulls. From what she had seen of it years before it was a bloody and unpleasant experience, and she would rather have spent the day as she had with Tate and the others, fighting with the branches of the stricken trees and wrestling with the awkward farm tools in the crushed shed. “See you tomorrow!” She waved at him with a tired smile and headed toward the big house, suddenly eager for a hot bath and some dinner, and shortly thereafter her warm bed. Her life on the ranch seemed to grow simpler daily. She slept, she got up, she ate, and she worked her tail off. But it was just what she had wanted. She barely had any time to think. Though lately there were thoughts that seemed to crowd her: visions of Tate's face as they had stood side by side in the cabin, talking about Bill and Caro… and themselves.