Danielle Steel - Palomino

She scarcely slept that night as she tossed and turned, wondering why he had done something as radical as switch cabins, and at three thirty she got up, unable to bear it anymore. She puttered around her room for another half an hour, showered, and was still ready too early. She had another half hour to kill, with a cup of coffee in Caroline's kitchen, before she could go to the main hall to eat. And this morning she definitely wanted to be there. If she could catch him even for a moment, she wanted to ask him why he had changed cabins and tell him that he was acting like an impetuous child.

But as she stood on line, waiting for bacon and eggs and her third cup of coffee, she heard two of the men talking and turned to Josh with an expression of horror and a blank stare.

“What did they just say?”

“They were talking about Tate.”

“I know. What did they say?” Her face looked ghostly pale. She couldn't have heard right.

“They said it's too bad.”

“What's too bad?” She was trying desperately not to scream.

“That he left yesterday.” Josh smiled pleasantly and moved forward in the line.

“For where?” Her heart began to pound in her ears so loudly, she could barely hear his answers, but he only shrugged before answering this time.

“No one seems to know. His boy over at the Bar Three ought to know though.”

“What the hell do you mean?” She was almost shouting.

“Christ, Sam, take it easy. Tate Jordan. He quit.”

“When?” She thought for a moment that she might faint.

“Yesterday. That was why he stuck around to talk to Bill King. To tell you the truth, yesterday morning he told me he was going to when he asked me to ride for him. He told me he'd been wanting to do it for a long time. He said it was time to move on.” Josh shrugged. “Damn shame. He would have been good in Bill King's shoes.”

“So he just left? No two-week notice, no breaking in someone new to do his job for him? That's it?” There were already tears stinging her eyes.

“Yeah, Sam, this ain't Wall Street. When a man wants to move on, he does. He bought himself a truck yesterday morning, put all his stuff in it, and took off.”

“For good?” She could barely choke out the words.

“Sure. Ain't no sense coming back. Never the same if you do. I did it once. It was a mistake. If he was unhappy here, then he done the right thing.” Oh? Did he? How lovely to hear it. And then Josh looked at her more closely. “You okay, Sam?”

“Yeah. Sure.” But she was terrifying-looking, she was so gray. “I haven't been sleeping too well lately.” She had to fight back the tears… had to… had to… besides, there was no reason to panic. Bill King would know where he was, and if he didn't, the boy would. She'd go and see him herself. But she wasn't going to let this man slip through her fingers. Never. And after she found him, he'd never do something like this to her again.

“You know”-Josh was still staring at her-“you looked lousy yesterday too. Think maybe you're getting the flu?”

“Yeah.” She tried to look unaffected by what he had just told her about Tate Jordan. “Maybe.”

“Then why the hell don't you go back to the big house and climb back into bed?”

She started to resist him and then knew that there was no way she could ride for the next twelve hours, driving herself mad, wondering where Tate had gone. So she nodded vaguely, thanked Josh for the suggestion, and left the main hall. She hurried back to the big house, let herself in through the front door, and then just stood there, as uncontrollable sobs racked her and she dropped to her knees beside a couch and bowed her head in despair. She felt as though she wouldn't survive this second loss in her life, not now, not Tate. As she agonized over what had happened, sobbing uncontrollably into the couch, she suddenly realized that Caroline was next to her, gently touching her shoulder and then smoothing the tangled blond hair. Samantha looked up after a few moments, her face red and swollen, her eyes wild, and looked into her friend's eyes to learn what she could there, but Caroline only nodded and cooed gently and took her into her arms and slowly brought her to sit on the couch.

It was fully half an hour before she could speak. Caroline said nothing. She only sat there and rubbed her back gently and waited. There was nothing one could say. It cut her to the core to realize that Sam had come to her to recover from one major loss and had now sustained another. She knew in her gut about Sam and Tate. She had agonized over it the day before when Bill had told her that Tate Jordan had left. But it was too late to stop him, or to discuss it. He had already left when Bill told Caroline in the late afternoon, and all she could think of was how Samantha would take the news. But Caroline hadn't dared to tell her the night before. She had hoped it would wait.

Samantha looked at her then, her face blotched, her eyes hideously bloodshot and swollen, and there was no dissimulation in the look she gave her friend. “He's gone. Oh, God, Caro, he's gone. And I love him…” She couldn't go on then, and Caroline nodded slowly. She understood only too well. She had tried to tell her that here things were different, that there were things that would matter to him that didn't seem important to her.

“What happened, Sam?”

“Oh, God, I don't know. We fell in love at Christmas…” She looked around nervously suddenly, wondering if any of the Mexican women were cleaning, but there was no one in sight. “We went to-” She looked at Caroline in embarrassment. “We found your cabin and we met there at first, but not often. We weren't snooping-”

“It's all right, Sam.” Caroline's voice was very quiet.

“We just wanted someplace to go and be alone.”

“So did we.” Caroline said it almost sadly.

“And then he switched cabins with someone else and I used to go to him every night… through the orchard…” Her speech was disjointed and her face awash with tears. “And then the other night, he… we were watching television and John came on doing a special broadcast, and we were just kidding around at first, and he wanted to know… if I thought John was handsome or something… and I happened to mention that we'd been married… and Tate went nuts. I don't understand it.” She gulped horribly and went on. “He just went crazy, telling me that I couldn't be married to a movie star one minute and a cowboy the next, that I'd never be happy, that I deserved better, that-” She couldn't go on then, she was overwhelmed by tears. “Oh, God, and now he's left. What will I do? How will I find him?” Panic ran through her again as it had all morning. “Do you know where he's gone?” Caroline shook her head sadly. “Does Bill?”

“I don't know. I'll call him up right now at his office and ask him.” She walked away from Sam then and stepped to the phone on her desk. Sam listened in agony to the entire conversation, and it was clear at the end of it that Bill knew nothing at all, and he was sorry that Tate had gone too. He had been counting on him to take over for him cone day when he was too old to run the ranch. But now that would never happen. He knew that Tate was gone for good.

“What did he say?” Samantha looked at her dismally as she came back and sat down.

“Not much. He said that Tate said he'd be in touch one of these days, but Bill says he wouldn't count on it. He knows the way these men are. He left no forwarding address.”

“Then I'll have to find his son at the Bar Three.” She said it almost with desperation, but Caroline shook her head.

“No, Sam. The boy quit and went with him. That much Bill knew. They packed the truck up together and then left.”

“Oh, my God.” Samantha dropped her head into her hands and began to sob again, softly this time, as though her heart were already shattered and there were nothing left.

“What can I do for you, Sam?” There were tears now in Caroline's eyes too. She realized how easily it could have happened to her years earlier, and the conversation Sam had related sounded exactly like an argument that she and Bill had had for years. Eventually they had resolved it differently, but Bill was a good deal less stubborn than Tate. He was also just a shade less noble, a fact for which Caroline was deeply grateful as she sat helplessly and watched the agony of her young friend.

Sam looked at her now, in answer to her question, “Help me find him. Please, oh, if you could do that…”

“How?”

Sam sat back against the couch and sniffed as she thought. “He'll go to a ranch somewhere. He Won't want any other kind of work. How would I get a list of ranches?”

“I can tell you all the ones I know in this area, the men can tell you others. No, let me ask them, we'll cook up some excuse, some reason. Sam”-Caroline's eyes lit up-“you'll find him.”

“I hope so.” She smiled for the first time in hours. “I won't stop until I do.”

By mid-April Sam had contacted sixty-three ranches. At first she had called the ones in the area, looking for Tate, then those farther north, some farther south, then she had begun to call other states. Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Texas, Arkansas, she had even called one in Nebraska that one of the men had suggested. He had talked to Tate about the place and said the food and the pay were real good. But no one had seen Tate Jordan. Sam left her name and address and Caroline's number and asked them to call her if Tate should appear. She used Caroline Lord's name everywhere and it helped her, and the two pored hourly over directories, want ads, listings, advertisements, and the names they got from the men. She had long since asked her office for an extension and had promised them some kind of definitive answer by May 1. If she wasn't coming back to New York, they wanted to know by then. Until then the job would be hers. But she didn't give a damn about her job, all she wanted was Tate Jordan, and he was nowhere to be found. It was as though a month before he had dropped off the face of the earth never to be seen again. He had to be somewhere, Sam knew, but the question was where? It was becoming an obsession with her. She no longer rode with the men, no matter that that began rumors or confirmed their suspicions. From the day that he left she rode with them no more.