Danielle Steel - Palomino

“Been riding much lately?” As though reading her thoughts, Bill leaned toward her with a smile.

She shook her head. “You know, I don't think I've been on a horse in two years.”

“You'll be mighty sore by this time tomorrow.”

“Probably.” They exchanged a quiet smile as they drove on in the early evening. “But it'll probably feel good. That's a nice kind of sore.” Tired knees and aching calves-it wasn't like the aching spirit she had borne these last months.

“We've got some new palominos, a new pinto, and a whole mess of Morgans, all of which Caroline bought this year. And then”-he almost grunted as he said it-“she's got this crazy damn horse. Don't ask me why she bought it, except some damn fool nonsense about he looks like a horse in some movie her husband made.” He looked at Sam disapprovingly. “She bought herself a Thoroughbred. Hell of a fine horse. But we don't need a horse like that on a ranch. Looks like a damn racehorse… runs like one too. She's going to kill herself on it. No doubt about it. Told her so myself.”

He glared at Sam and she smiled. She could just imagine elegant Caroline on her Thoroughbred, racing across the fields as though she were still a young girl. It would be wonderful to see her again, wonderful to be back there, and suddenly Samantha felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. She was so glad she had come after all. She cast a sideways glance at Bill as he drove the last few miles toward the ranch that had been his home for more than two decades, and Samantha found herself wondering again just exactly how far his involvement with Caroline went. At sixty-three, he was still virile and handsome, the broad frame, the long legs, the strong arms, the powerful hands, and the brilliant blue eyes all combined to give him an aura of power and style. On him the Stetson looked marvelous, on him the blue jeans seemed to be molded to his legs. None of it looked trite or silly. He was the best of his breed, the proudest of his kind. The rugged lines of his face only helped to enhance the well-chiseled features, and the deep husky baritone voice was precisely what it had been. He was easily six feet four without the Stetson, and with it, he was literally a towering man.

As they drove through the front gates of the ranch, Samantha breathed a sigh of relief-of pain-of lots of feelings. The road stretched on for another mile after the sign that said LORD RANCH with a handsomely carved L, which they also used in their brand. Samantha felt like an anxious child as she caught her breath, expecting to see the house suddenly loom toward them, but it was another ten minutes before they rounded the last turn in the private road, and then suddenly there it was. It looked almost like an old plantation, a beautiful big white house with dark blue shutters, a brick chimney, a wide front porch, broad front steps, surrounding flower beds, which became a riot of color in the summer, and, behind it all, a veritable wall of gigantic, handsome trees. Just down the slope from the house was a single willow tree and a little pond, which was covered with lillies and filled with frogs. Near at hand were the stables, beyond them the barns, and all around were cottages for the men. In Sam's mind it always stood out as the way a ranch should look, but whenever she had seen others, she had rapidly discovered that few did. Few other ranches were as impeccably kept, as handsome, as well run… and none of them boasted either Caroline Lord or Bill King.

“Well, little lady, how does it look to you?” The pickup had stopped, and as he always did, Bill looked around with obvious pride. He had helped to make the Lord Ranch something special, and that was just what it was, most of all to him. “Does it look different?”

“No.” She smiled as she looked around her in the darkness. But the moon was high, the house was well lit, there were lights on in the men's cottages and the main hall where they ate and played cards, there was a strong light near the stables, and it was easy to see that not much had changed.

“There are a few technical improvements, but you can't see them.”

“I'm glad. I was afraid it might all have changed.”

“Nope.” He sounded the horn twice, and as he did so the door to the main house opened and a tall slim white-haired woman stood in the doorway, smiling first at Bill, and then instantly at Sam. There was only a moment's hesitation as she stood gazing at the young woman, and then with a light step she ran down the stairs, held out her arms, and took Samantha in a tight hug.

“Welcome home, Samantha. Welcome home.” And then suddenly, as she smelled the dusty rose of Caroline Lord's perfume, felt her thick white hair brush her cheek, she felt tears in her eyes and a sense of having come home. After a moment the two women parted, and Caroline stood back and looked at her with a smile. “My God, you're pretty, Sam. Prettier even than last time.”

“You're crazy. And good Lord, look at you!” The older woman was as tall and as thin and as ramrod straight as she ever had been, her eyes were bright, and her whole being suggested sparkle and life. She was as pretty as she had been the last time Sam saw her in her fifties, and now at sixty-six, she was still beautiful, and even in jeans and a man's cotton shirt she had her own undeniable style. There was a bright blue scarf knotted at her neck, she wore an old Indian belt, and her cowboy boots were a deep jade-green. Samantha happened to look down as she followed Caroline up the steps to the ranch house and gasped with a little exclamation of delight. “Oh, God, they're wonderful, Caroline!”

“Aren't they?” Caroline had understood instantly and looked down at them with a girlish smile. “I had them made specially. It's a final extravagance at my age, but what the hell. It may be my last chance.” Sam was suddenly struck by that kind of reference, and it jolted her just to realize that Caroline thought like that now. Sam was silent as she walked into the familiar house, and Bill followed her with her bags. The entrance hall that they stood in boasted a handsome Early American table, a brass chandelier, and a big bright-colored hooked rug. In the living room beyond there was a huge fire blazing in the fireplace, surrounded by a cluster of comfortable well-upholstered chairs covered in a deep blue. It was a color picked up again in an antique rug, this one littered with bright flowers woven into the hooked design. The room was entirely done in blues and reds and greens, there was a brightness to it that seemed to perfectly reflect Caroline herself, and all of it was set off by the many antique pieces in rich woods. There were leather-bound books, brass fixtures everywhere, andirons in front of the fireplace, candelabra, buckets and planters, and sconces on the walls with lights like delicate candles. It was a wonderful old-fashioned room with elegance and warmth, much like Caroline herself, and it was perfectly in keeping with the fact that it was on the ranch. It was a room that would have been perfect in Town & Country or House and Garden , but which, of course, Caroline had never shown. It was her home and not a showplace, and after the very visible years she had spent in Hollywood she felt very strongly about her privacy now. In effect, for all but a few, she had virtually disappeared some twenty-five years before.

“Do you need some more firewood, Caroline?” Bill was looking down at her from his great height, his snow-white hair revealed now that he had his big-brimmed Stetson in his hand.

She smiled and shook her head, looking ever more youthful, the light in his eyes reflected in her own. “No, thanks, Bill. I've got enough for the rest of the night.”

“Fine. Then I'll see you ladies in the morning.” He smiled warmly at Sam, nodded respectfully to Caroline, and with his long stride rapidly left the living room and went out. They heard the door close gently behind him, and as Samantha and Barbara had decided a hundred times during the visits while they were in college, Sam decided once again that the two couldn't be involved with each other after all. Not if they said good night to each other like that. And their greetings were never more personal than they had just been, friendly nods, casual smiles, warm greetings, serious conversations about the ranch. Nothing else was ever evident between them, and yet as one watched them one had a feeling, as though they had some secret understanding, or as Sam had once put it to Barbara, “as though they were really husband and wife.”