Palomino (7 page)

It seemed to take forever to reach the main hall where the men ate and where some of them gathered at night to play pool or cards. It was a large, freshly painted, rambling building, with beamed ceilings, a brick fireplace tall enough to stand in, a record player, a TV, several game tables, and a handsome antique pool table. As Sam had always known her to, Caroline Lord treated her men well.

For just an instant as Sam reached the doorway, her hand froze on the knob and she suddenly wondered what she had done. She was about to invade the all-male sanctum, share their meals with them in the morning and at lunchtime, work beside them, and pretend to be one of them. What would they think of the intrusion? Suddenly Samantha's knees trembled as she wondered if Caroline or Bill had warned them, and she stood there almost too terrified to go inside. As she stood there in the rain, hesitating, with her hand on the doorknob, a voice just behind her muttered, Come on, dammit, man, it's cold. She wheeled around, startled at the voice she hadn't expected, and found herself face to face with a stocky man with dark brown hair and dark eyes, of approximately her own height and age. He looked as surprised as she did, and then with a rapid hand to his mouth at the error, his face broke into a broad grin. You're Miss Caroline's friend, aren't you? She nodded speechlessly, attempting to smile. Sorry ' but could you open the door anyway? It is cold!

Oh ' She heaved the door wide. I'm sorry. I just' did she ' did she say anything about me? Her porcelain cheeks were flushed from embarrassment and the chill rain.

Sure did. Welcome to the ranch, miss. He smiled and moved past her, welcoming but not particularly anxious to say more. He instantly greeted two or three of the other ranch hands and then moved toward the huge open kitchen, greeted the cook, and grabbed a cup of coffee and a bowl of Cream of Wheat.

Samantha saw then that the room was filled with men like the one who had just entered, all wearing blue jeans, sturdy jackets, heavy sweaters, their hats left on pegs on the wall, their cowboy boots clattering loudly as they made their way across the wood floor. There were more than twenty of them in the large hall that morning, talking in small groups or drinking coffee alone. Half a dozen were already seated at the long table, eating eggs and bacon or hot cereal, or finishing a second or third cup of coffee. But wherever one looked, there was a man engaged in his own morning ritual, in a man's world, about to engage in man's work, and for the first time in her life Samantha felt totally out of place. She felt her face flush hotly again as she walked hesitantly toward the kitchen, smiled nervously at two of the men as she helped herself to a cup of black coffee, and then attempted to disappear into the woodwork at the far end of the room.

At first glance there was not a single face she remembered. Most of them were young and probably relatively new there, and only two or three of them looked as though they could have worked anywhere for a long time. One was a broad, heavyset man in his early or mid-fifties who looked a lot like Bill King. He had the same kind of build, but his eyes weren't as warm and his face wasn't as kind. He glanced only once at Samantha and then turned his back to her to say something to a young freckled redhead. They both laughed and then walked across the room to a table where they joined two other men. For an instant of paranoia Samantha wondered if she would be the source of amusement, if it had been totally crazy of her to come here, and even crazier for her to want to ride with the men. This was a far cry from her days here with Barbara, when they had come to play around on the ranch. For one thing they had both been very young and very pretty and it had delighted all the men just to watch them hang around and ride. But this was different. Samantha was trying to masquerade as their equal, something they would surely not tolerate, if they even noticed her presence at all.

Aren't you going to have some breakfast? The voice next to her was husky but gentle, and Sam found herself looking into the face of another man of the old foreman's vintage, but this one did not look as unpleasant as the first one. In fact, after another glance at him, she gave a soft gasp.

Josh! Josh! It's me, Sam! He had been there every summer when she had come with Barbara, and he had always taken care of them. Barbara had told Sam how gently he had taught her to ride when she was a little girl. He had a wife and six kids somewhere, Sam remembered. But Sam had never seen them anywhere on the ranch. Like most of the men he worked with, he was used to living his life in an exclusively male world. It was a strange, solitary life, a lonely existence carried out among others who were equally apart. A society of loners who banded together, as though for warmth. And now he looked at Samantha, blankly for a moment and then with rapid recognition and a warm smile. Without hesitation he reached out and hugged her, and she could feel the rough stubble of his beard against her cheek.

I'll be damned! It's Sam! He gave a soft whoop and she laughed with him. Now why the hell didn't I figure it out when Miss Caroline told us about her friend'? He slapped his leg and grinned at her some more. How've you been, dammit? Boy, you look good! She found it hard to believe with her face still half asleep and her body encased in her worst and oldest clothes.

So do you! How are your wife and kids?

Grown and gone, thank God. Except for one and the wife. And then he lowered his voice, as though telling some terrible secret. They live here on the ranch now, you know. Miss Caroline made me. Said it wasn't right for them to live in town with me living here.

I'm glad.

He rolled his eyes in answer and they both laughed.

Aren't you going to eat some breakfast? Miss Caroline told us that a friend of hers was coming from New York to help us out. He grinned evilly for a moment. You should have seen their faces when she told them her friend was a woman.

They must have been thrilled. Samantha said sarcastically as they made their way toward the kitchen. She was dying for some coffee and the food was beginning to smell good now that she had found Josh.

And then as she helped herself to a large bowl of oatmeal, Josh leaned toward her conspiratorially. What are you doing here, Sam? Aren't you married?

Not anymore. He nodded sagely and she volunteered no other information as they went and sat down at one of the tables. For a long time as Sam ate her oatmeal and nibbled at some toast, no one joined them, and then eventually curiosity got the better of two or three of the men. One by one Josh introduced them, and for the most part they were younger than Sam and had the rugged look of hardworking men who all but lived in the outdoors. It was by no means an easy profession, particularly at this time of year. And it was obvious how Bill King had come by the rugged lines in his face that made him look like a heavily carved statue, they had been worn by time and the elements as he rode for some fifty years on the different ranches where he worked. Josh's face was no different as Sam watched him, and she could easily see that some of the others would look very much like them in a short time.

Lotta new faces, huh, Sam? She nodded, and he left her for a second for more coffee. She noticed on the big clock over the fireplace that it was five forty-five. In fifteen minutes they would all head for the barn to claim their horses and officially their workday would begin. She wondered who was going to assign her a horse for the day. Caroline hadn't mentioned it the previous evening, and she was suddenly anxious as she looked around for Josh. But he had disappeared somewhere with one of his cronies, and Sam found herself looking around her like a lost child. Despite the few curious glances cast her way, on the whole there was no visible interest and she suspected that what was happening was that they didn't want to pay attention to her, so most of them pretended to look away. It made her want to shout or stand on a table, just to catch their attention once and for all, tell them that she was sorry she was invading their world and that if they wanted her to she'd go home now, but the precise way in which they were ignoring her was beginning to drive her nuts. It was as though they were determined that she shouldn't be there, so they pretended to themselves and each other that she was not.

Miss Taylor? She spun around at the sound of her name and found herself staring into a broad chest wearing a thick wool plaid shirt in blue and red.

Yes? Her eyes traveled upward until she found herself looking into a pair of eyes of a color she had seldom seen. They were almost emerald with gold flecks. The hair was black and the temples were touched with gray. The face was leathered, the features sharp, and he was taller than any other man on the ranch, including Bill King.

I'm the assistant foreman here. He offered only his title, no name. And there was something cold and forbidding in his voice as he said it. Had she met him in a dark alley, a chill would have rippled up her spine.

How do you do? She wasn't quite sure what to say to him, and he was looking down at her with a tight frown.

Are you ready to come out to the barn? She nodded in answer, awed by his commanding style, as well as his great height. She noticed, too, now that the others were watching, wondering what he was saying to her and obviously noticing that there was no trace of warmth in the way he spoke, no welcoming words, and no smile.

Actually she had wanted another cup of coffee but she wasn't about to tell him that as he led the way to the door. She grabbed her jacket off the peg where she had finally left it, struggled into it, pulled up the hood, and closed the door behind her, feeling somehow like a child who has done something wrong. The idea of Samantha riding with them clearly irked him as he walked rapidly into the barn. Samantha shook the rain off her hood as she slipped it off her hair and watched him; He picked up a clipboard with a list of men's names and those of horses, and then with a pensive frown he walked to a nearby stall. The name outside the stall was LADY, and for some reason she wasn't sure she could have explained she found herself instantly irritated by his choice. Just because she was a woman she had to ride Lady? She instinctively felt that she was going to be stuck with that horse during the entire duration of her stay and found herself fervently hoping that Lady would at least prove to be a decent mount.

You ride fairly well? Again she only nodded, afraid to toot her own horn, afraid to offend him, when the truth would have been that she probably rode better than most of the men on the ranch, but he would have to see that for himself, if he even bothered to look. Samantha watched him again as he went back to his list, and found herself watching the sweep of his neck as his dark hair brushed his collar. He was a powerful, sensuous-looking man, somewhere in his early forties. There was something almost frightening about him, something fierce and stubborn and determined. She could sense it without knowing him, and she felt almost a ripple of fear go through her as he turned to her again and shook his head. No good. She might just be too much for you. I want you to ride Rusty. He's on the far side of the barn. Grab one of the free saddles in the tack room and mount up. We ride out in ten minutes. And then with a look of annoyance, Can you be ready by then? What did he think, she wondered, that it took her two hours to saddle a horse?

Suddenly as she watched him her temper flared. I can be ready in five. Or less. He said nothing in answer and merely walked away, put the clipboard back on the wall from which he'd taken it, and strode quickly across the barn to the stalls, where he saddled his own horse and led it slowly outside. Within five minutes all the men had returned from breakfast and the barn was a madhouse of catcalls and laughter and noises mixed with the sounds of horses shifting their feet, greeting their habitual riders, and whinnying at each other as the men who rode them took them from their stalls, creating a veritable traffic jam at the entrance as the entire group emerged into the damp yard beyond and congregated happily in the light rain.

Most of the men had donned slickers over their jackets, and Josh had handed Sam one as she walked her horse slowly outside. He was a large unexciting-looking chestnut, with no particular verve and no spark to his step. Samantha already suspected that what she could anticipate was a horse that would want to stop by the stream, walk when he could, nibble at bushes, graze on whatever grass he could find, and beg to go home whenever Sam happened to turn even slightly in the direction of the barn. It promised to be a day filled with aggravation, and she found herself suddenly remorseful over her anger about Lady only moments before. But more than that, what she felt as she waited was that she wanted to prove to the assistant foreman that she was worthy of a much better mount. Like Black Beauty, she smiled to herself as she thought of Caroline's Thoroughbred stallion. She was looking forward to riding him, and wouldn't that just show this rigid chauvinist ranchman what kind of a rider she was. She wondered if Bill King had ever been like him, and had to admit to herself that he had probably been worse. Bill King had been, and was still, a tough foreman, and this one hadn't really done much to Sam except offer her a pretty tame horse, which, she had to admit in spite of herself, was a reasonable thing to do with an unknown rider out from a place like New York. How did he know she could ride, after all? And if Caroline hadn't tried to prejudice them in her favor, it was just as well.

The men sat on horseback in the rain in their slickers, chatting in little clusters, waiting for the assistant foreman to give them their instructions for the day. The twenty-eight ranch hands never rode together, but usually broke into four or five groups to perform whatever needed doing at various ends of the ranch. Every morning Bill King, or his assistant, moved among them, verbally giving out assignments, telling which men to work with which others and where. Now, as he did every morning when Bill King wasn't around, the tall, dark-haired assistant foreman quietly moved among them, giving them their assignments for the day. He assigned Josh four men to work the south end of the ranch, looking for strays and cattle in trouble. Two other groups went to check some fences he thought were down. Another foursome had two sick cows to bring in down by the river. And he and another four men and Samantha were checking the north boundaries for three cows he knew were loose and about to calve. Samantha followed the group quietly out of the main compound, riding sedately on Rusty and wishing that the rain would stop. It seemed forever before they got into a good canter, and she had had to remind herself again that in a Western saddle you didn't post to trot. It was odd to sit in the big comfortable saddle, she was far more accustomed to the smaller, flatter English saddles she had always used for jumping and competition in Madison Square Garden, but this was a whole other life.