Danielle Steel - Palomino

She laughed in answer. “You're a sly one.”

His face sobered. “I just don't want to see you give up this ranch.”

“I don't want to either, Josh. But I just don't know enough about ranching to make it worth it. The only thing that makes sense is if we do what we said.”

“Well, why don't we?”

“Give me a chance to think it over.”

“You do that.” And then he leaned down and gave her a bear hug and turned to say good-bye to Charlie and Melinda and the three boys.

They waved good-bye to him for as long as they could see him, and in comparison to the trip out, it was a very quiet trip back. The boys were exhausted and disappointed that they were going back to New York. Charlie and Mellie alternated sleeping on part of the trip, and Sam was pensive all the way to New York. She had a lot to think about, about whether she herself could make it, about whether selling the livestock on the ranch would give her enough money to make the improvements, about whether or not it was what she wanted. Was she really ready to leave the safety of her life in New York? She had been so engrossed in the makings of her decision that all the way home she had barely thought of Tate.

She left Charlie and Mellie in the lobby of their building and disappeared into her apartment to make some notes, and she still looked preoccupied the next morning at the office when Charlie knocked on her door.

“Well, cowgirl, made up your mind yet?”

“Shhh!” She put a finger to her lips and beckoned him in. No one else knew in the office and she particularly didn't want Harvey to know yet. Not until she was sure.

“What are you going to do, Sam?” He threw himself down on the couch and grinned at her. “Want to know what I would do if I were you?”

“No.” She tried to look forbidding, but he always made her laugh. “I want to make up my own mind.”

“That's smart. Just don't make any mistakes and tell your mother what you're considering. She'd probably have you locked up in the nut house.”

“Maybe she'd be right.”

“Hardly. Or at least not for those reasons.” He smiled at Sam and sat up just as Harvey's secretary appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Taylor?”

“Yes?” Sam turned to face her.

“Mr. Maxwell would like to see you.”

“God himself?” Charlie looked impressed and went back to his office as Sam followed Harvey's secretary down the hall.

And when she reached his office, she found him looking tired and pensive. There was a mountain of papers on his desk and he only glanced at Samantha as he finished some notes. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hi, Harvey, what's up?” It was another minute before he turned his attention to her, and he went over the amenities before getting down to the reason she had been called.

“How was Thanksgiving?”

“Very nice. Yours?”

“Fine. How did you spend it?” It was a loaded question and Sam felt suddenly nervous.

“With the Petersons.”

“That's nice. At their place or yours?”

“Mine.” But it was truthful, she reassured herself. The ranch was hers now after all.

“That's terrific, Sam.” He smiled at her. “You're really doing amazingly well.”

“Thank you.” It was a compliment that meant a lot to her, and for a moment they exchanged a smile.

“Which brings me to why I called you into the office this morning. You haven't given me your answer.” He looked expectant and Samantha sighed and slumped back in her chair.

“I know I haven't, Harvey… I feel awful about that, but I just needed time to think.”

“Is it really a choice?” He looked surprised. What choice did she have after all? “If you're still worried about the travel, all you really have to do is hire a competent assistant”-he grinned at her-“like I did, and you'll be all set. The rest you can certainly handle. Hell, Sam, you've been doing my job and your own for years now!” He was teasing but she wagged a finger at him.

“Now you admit it! I should ask you to sign a statement to that effect.”

“Not on your life. Come on, Sam, get me off the hook. Give me an answer.” He sat back and smiled at her. “I want to go home.”

“The bitch of it is, Harvey,” she said, looking at him sadly, “so do I.”

But it was obvious that he didn't understand her. “But this is your home, Sam.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, Harvey, I just realized something this weekend. It's not.”

“You're unhappy at CHL?” He looked shocked. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. Did she mean that she wanted to quit?

But she quickly shook her head. “No, I'm not unhappy. Not here… but… well… I don't know if I can explain it, but it has to do with New York.”

“Sam.” He held up a hand to stop her. “I'm warning you, if you've come in here to tell me that you're moving to Atlanta with your mother, I will go into shock. Call my doctor now if that's what you're going to tell me.” She could only laugh in answer and shake her head again.

“No, it is most certainly not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I've been holding out on you, Harvey.” She looked guiltily at her boss of ten years. “My friend Caroline left me her ranch.”

“Left it to you?” He looked startled. “Are you going to sell it?”

Samantha shook her head slowly. “I don't think so. That's just it.”

“You're not going to keep it, Sam, are you? What could you possibly do with it?”

“A lot of things.” And then, as she looked at him, she knew her answer. “It's just something I have to do. Maybe I won't be able to do it, maybe it'll be too much for me, maybe it'll be a terrible fiasco, but I just want to give it a try. I want to set it up as a place to teach handicapped kids to ride, teach them how to be independent, to cover ground in something other than a wheelchair-on a horse.” Harvey was looking thoughtfully at her. “You think I'm crazy, don't you?”

He smiled sadly. “No, I was wishing that you were my daughter. Because I would wish you luck, and give you all the money I have and tell you to do it. I wish I could tell you that I think you're crazy, Sam, but I don't. It's a long way from being a creative director on Madison Avenue though. Are you sure that's what you want?”

“The funny thing is that I wasn't sure. Until right now when I told you, but now I know. I am sure.” And then with a small sigh, “What are you going to do about the job? Give it to Charlie?” He thought for a minute and nodded.

“I guess so. He'll do a good job.”

“Are you sure you want to retire, Harvey?” But she had to admit that he looked ready and that she would do the same thing in his place.

He nodded, looking at her. “Yes, Sam, I'm sure. As sure as you are about your ranch, which is to say that I want to retire and it's always a little scary to deal with the unknown. You never know for sure that you're doing the right thing.”

“I guess not.”

“Think Charlie will want the job?”

“He'll be thrilled.”

“Then it's his. Because it has to be like that. You have to want to work fifteen hours a day, take it home on the weekends, louse up your vacations, eat, sleep, and drink commercials. I just don't want that anymore.”

“Neither do I. But Charlie does.”

“Then go tell him he has a new job, or should I?”

“Would you let me do it?” It was the last thing she would do at CHL that would mean something to her.

“Why not? You're his closest friend.” And then he looked at Sam sadly. “How soon are you leaving us?”

“What would be reasonable?”

“Why don't I leave that up to you.”

“First of the year?” It was in five weeks. That was a reasonable notice, and Harvey seemed to think so too.

“We'll retire together then. Maggie and I may even come to visit you on the ranch. My advanced age should be a sufficient handicap for us to qualify as guests.”

“Bull.” She moved her wheelchair around his desk and came over to kiss his cheek. “You'll never be that old, Harvey, not until you're a hundred and three.”

“That happens to be next week.” He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. “I'm proud of you, Sam. You're quite a girl.” And then he coughed in embarrassment, fumbled on his desk, and waved her out. “Now go tell Charlie he has a new job.”

Without saying anything further, she left his office and rolled her way down the hall, wearing a broad smile. She stopped in the doorway of Charlie's office, which was in its usual state of chaos, and she barged in on him as he attempted to find his tennis racket under the couch. He had a date to play at lunchtime, and all he could find were the balls.

“What are you looking for, slobbo? I don't know how you find anything in this mess.”

“Huh?” He emerged, but only briefly. “Oh, it's you. I don't. You don't happen to have a spare tennis racket, do you?” Only from Charlie could she take jokes like that.

“Sure. I play twice a week. Ice skating too. And cha-cha lessons.”

“Oh, shut up. You're disgusting. What's the matter? Don't you have any decency, any taste?” He eyed her with mock outrage and she started laughing.

“Speaking of which, you'd better buy some of both, you're going to need them.”

“What?” He looked blank.

“Taste.”

“Why? I've never needed taste before.”

“You were never creative director of a large ad agency before.” He stared at her, not comprehending.

“What are you saying?” His heart pounded for a moment. But it couldn't be. Harvey was offering the job to Samantha… unless… “Sam?”

“You heard me, Mr. Creative Director.” She beamed at him.

“Sam…? Sam!” He jumped to his feet. “Did he-am I-?”

“He did. And you are.”

“But what about you?” He looked shocked. Had they passed her over for the job? If that was the case, he wouldn't take it. They would both quit, they could open up shop together, they could…

She could see his mind racing and held up a hand. “Relax. The job is yours. Me, I'm going to California, Charlie, to run a ranch for handicapped children. And if you're real nice to me, maybe I'll let you and the kids come and visit me in the summers and-” He didn't let her finish. Instead he ran to her and hugged her tight. “Oh, Sam, you did it! You did it! When did you decide?” He was as thrilled for her as he was for himself. He was almost jumping up and down like a kid.

“I don't know.” She was laughing as he held her. “I think just now in Harvey's office… or last night on the plane… or yesterday morning when I talked to Josh… I don't know when it happened, Charlie. But I did it.”

“When are you going out?”

“When you get your new job. On January first.”

“My God, Sam, does he really mean it? Creative director? Me? But I'm only thirty-seven.”

“It's all right,” she reassured him. “You look fifty.”

“Gee, thanks.” He was still beaming as he reached for the phone to call his wife.

“So? How's it going? When do you open?” Charlie called her every week, to cry on her shoulder about all the work on his desk and find out about the progress at the ranch.