change my life-style, that maybe New York doesn't suit me anymore, that this is better and it's what I want.”
“So buy yourself a ranch, like Caroline.”
“And then what? You'll believe I'm for real?”
“Maybe you can give me a job.”
“Go to hell.”
“Why not? And then I could sneak in and out of your bedroom for the next twenty years. Is that what you want, Sam? To end up like them, with a secret cabin you're too old and tired to go to, and all you've got left are secret dreams? You deserve a lot better, and if you're not smart enough to know that, then I am.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” She eyed him with terror, but he would not meet her eyes.
“Nothing. It just means put your clothes on. I'm taking you home.”
“To New York?” She tried to sound flip and failed.
“Never mind the smart shit, just put on your clothes.”
“Why? What if I don't want to?” She looked like a frightened belligerent child, and he walked over to where she had dropped her clothes in a pile when they made love earlier that evening; he scooped them all up and dumped them in her lap.
“I don't care what you want. This is what I want. Get dressed. I seem to be the only grown-up here.”
“Like hell you are!” She jumped to her feet and dropped the pile of clothes to the floor. “You're just locked into your old-fashioned ideas about ranchers and ranch hands, and I won't listen to that bullshit anymore! It's a cop-out and you're wrong and it's stupid.” She was sobbing as she stooped to the floor, picked up her clothes piece by piece, and began to dress. If he was going to be like this, she would go back to the big house. Let him stew in his own juice overnight.
Five minutes later she was dressed and he stood looking at her, with despair and disbelief, as though tonight he had discovered a side of her he had never known, as though she were suddenly a different person. She stood staring at him unhappily and then walked slowly toward the door.
“Do you want me to walk you home?”
For a moment she almost relented, but then she decided not to. “No, thanks, I can manage.” She tried to calm herself as she stood in the doorway. “You're wrong, you know, Tate.” And then she couldn't help whispering softly, “I love you.” As tears filled her eyes she closed the door and ran home, grateful that once again Caroline was away at a nearby ranch. She did that often on Sundays, and tonight Samantha didn't want to see her as she came through the front door, her face streaked with tears.
17
The next morning Sam lingered in Caroline's kitchen over coffee, staring bleakly into the cup and thinking her own thoughts. She wasn't sure if she should try to talk to him again that evening, or let it sit for a few days and let him come to his senses on his own. She replayed in her mind the previous night's conversation, and her eyes filled with tears again as she stared into her cup. She was grateful that this morning there was no one around her. She had decided not to go to breakfast in the main hall. She wasn't hungry anyway, and she didn't want to see Tate until they went to work. She was careful not to go to the barn until five minutes before six, and when she saw him, he was in a far corner, with his familiar clipboard, quietly issuing orders, waving toward the far boundaries, pointing toward some of the animals they could see on the hills, and then turning to point to something else. Quietly Sam saddled Navajo as she did every morning, and a few minutes later she was mounted and waiting out in the yard. But for some reason he had put Josh in charge of Sam's group today, and it was obvious that he wouldn't be riding, or at least not with them. All of which annoyed Sam further, it was as though he was going out of his way to avoid her. And with a nasty edge to her voice she leaned toward him and said loudly as her horse walked past him, “Playing hookie today, Mr. Jordan?”
“No.” He turned to look at her squarely. “I've got some business to discuss with Bill King.” She nodded, not sure what to answer, but as she turned Navajo at the gate to lock it behind the others, she saw him standing in the yard, watching her with a look of sorrow, and then quietly he turned and walked away. Maybe he was sorry about the fuss he had made about her ex-husband. Maybe he had understood that the differences that existed between them were differences that may have mattered to him, but not to Sam. For an instant she wanted to call out to him, but she didn't dare, the others might hear her, so she spurred Navajo on and joined them for the usual hard day's work.
Twelve hours later, riding more slowly and slumping with fatigue in the heavy Western saddles, they all rode back into the main yard and dismounted, led their horses into the barn, and removed the bridles and the saddles and put them away. Samantha was particularly exhausted that evening, she had spent the whole day thinking about Tate and everything he had said the night before. She was vague and distracted when she said good night to the others, and she looked strained when she walked in Caroline's front door.
“You look beat, Sam. Are you feeling all right, dear?” Caroline looked at her worriedly and hoped that it was only hard work that had made her look so worn. But she had a sudden uneasy suspicion that it was more serious than that. But she was not going to add still further to Samantha's worries. She said nothing, only urged Sam to take a hot bath before dinner, while she put on some steaks and made some soup and a salad. But when Sam came back, it was in clean jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, and she looked more than ever like a tidy cowgirl, as Caroline commented with a smile.
Nonetheless dinner that evening was less than joyful and it seemed hours before Sam could flee through her window and make her way through the garden and past the orchard to the little cabin where she went to see Tate. But when she got there, she knew with a terrible certainty that he was even more upset than she had imagined. The lights were off and it was too early for him to be asleep. Either he was pretending or he was hanging out at the main hall with the others, which was unlike him, but certainly effective if he was trying to avoid her. Tentatively she knocked on the door and there was no answer. She turned the knob as she always did and walked in. But what greeted her was not the usual disarray of Tate's belongings. What met her eyes instead was a dusty, barren emptiness that engulfed her, and the sound of astonishment that she made reverberated against the empty walls. What had he done? Had he actually switched cabins again to avoid her? She felt a wave of panic engulf her as she realized that she had no idea where he was. With her heart pounding, as she steadied herself in the doorway, she reassured herself that wherever he was he couldn't have gone very far. She knew that somewhere in the complex there were still two or three empty cabins, and he had obviously spent the day moving lock, stock, and baggage to avoid her. If it hadn't been so unnerving, and such a sign of how ferociously he felt about what they had discussed the previous evening, she would have been amused. But as she walked back to Caroline's house in the darkness, she was anything but amused.
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.”
