“No, thanks, Tate.” This time his name seemed easier on her lips. “I should be moving on. I'm on the cookie-making detail. What about you?” He grinned at her and stretched to whisper in her ear.
“I'm Santa.” He said it with mixed embarrassment and glee.
“What?” She looked at him with confused amusement, not sure if he was kidding.
“I'm Santa.” He said it again, barely doing more than mouth the words, and then, leaning closer to her, he explained. “Every year I get all dressed up in a costume and Miss Caroline's got this huge bag of toys for the kids. I play Santa.”
“Oh, Tate, you?”
“Hell, I'm the tallest guy here. It makes sense.” He tried to pass it off as ordinary but it was obvious that he enjoyed it. “The kids really make it all worthwhile.” And then he looked down at her questioningly again. “You got kids?”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes giving away nothing of the emptiness she felt. “You?” She had momentarily forgotten the ranch gossip she'd heard from Josh.
“I've got one. Works on a ranch near here now. He's a good kid.”
“Does he look like you?”
“Nope. Not at all. He's kind of slight and redheaded like his mother.” He smiled slowly as he said it, thinking of the boy with obvious pride.
Her voice was husky again when she spoke to him. “You're a very lucky man.”
“I think so too.” He smiled at her. And then his voice lowered again as it almost caressed her. “But don't worry, little palomino, one of these days you're gonna be lucky too.” He touched her gently on the shoulder then and moved on.
“Santa … Santa! … Over here.…”
“Now just a minute, Sally. You've got to wait for me to come over to that side of the room.” Tate Jordan in the heavy white beard and red velvet costume was slowly making his way around the room, endowing each child with a much awaited present, bestowing candy canes and other candies, pats on the cheek, hugs, and even kisses. It was a side of Tate Jordan that no one knew except the people who saw him do this every year on the ranch. It made one actually believe in Santa, just to watch him chuckle and cavort and pull yet another surprise from his enormous sack. Had he not told her earlier that evening that he was playing Santa, Samantha would never have suspected that it was he. Even his voice sounded different as he chatted and chuckled gently, exhorting children to be good to their mommies and their daddies this year, to stop teasing their little sisters, to do their homework, and to stop being mean to the cat or the dog. He seemed to know everything about everyone, which of course wasn't difficult on a ranch. But as they touched him and were touched by him, the children were ecstatic, and even Samantha was caught up in the magic of his “ho ho ho.” The entire performance seemed to take him hours, and when he was through, after eating a whole plate of cookies and six glasses of milk, he vanished with a last “Ho ho ho” toward the barn, not to be seen again for another year.
Forty-five minutes later, bereft of makeup, padded belly, white wig, and red suit, he reappeared in the main hall, unnoticed as he wandered through the crowd admiring the toys and the dolls and tickling and teasing the children. Soon he made his way to where Samantha stood, with Bill and Caroline, in a simple black velvet skirt with a very pretty white lace blouse. Her hair was knotted loosely at her neck and tied with a black velvet ribbon, and she was wearing makeup for the first time since she had come to the ranch.
“Is that you, Sam?” he teased after accepting a glass of punch and a fervent thank-you to his employer.
“I could say the same to you, you know.” And then in a soft voice, “That was just terrific. Are you that good every year?
“I get better and better.” He grinned happily. The Santa Claus role always made Christmas for him.
“Is your son here?”
“No.” He shook his head quickly. “Jeff's boss isn't as generous as mine.” He smiled at Samantha. “He's working tonight.”
“That's too bad.” She looked genuinely sorry.
“I'll see him tomorrow. And it's all right. He's a big guy now. He doesn't have time for his old man.” But there was no resentment as he said it. He had enjoyed watching his son become a man. For a moment he wanted to ask Samantha why she had had no children, he had been watching her all evening as she hungrily eyed all the little boys and girls, but he finally decided that it was far too personal a question and he settled instead for a question about New York.
“It's a lot colder there, but I don't think I've ever been anywhere where there's as much Christmas spirit as this.”
“That has nothing to do with California. That's Caroline Lord, and nothing else.” Samantha nodded, and this time when they exchanged a smile their eyes met and held.
Shortly thereafter Samantha met Josh's wife and two of his married children, and a number of the men she'd been riding with for the last two weeks sheepishly brought her their wives or their girl friends, their sons and their daughters and their nieces, and for the first time since she'd come there, she knew that she belonged.
“Well, Sam? Very different from your usual Christmas?” Caroline was looking at her with a warm smile and Bill was standing nearby.
“Very different. And I love it.”
“I'm glad.” It was only a few minutes after Caroline had warmly hugged her and wished her a merry Christmas that Samantha noticed that she seemed to have disappeared. And shortly thereafter she realized that the old foreman had too. She wondered how many others had noticed. But Samantha was equally aware of the fact that she never heard any gossip about them on the ranch. She wondered if perhaps she was jumping to inappropriate conclusions. It didn't seem likely that she was, but one never knew.
“Tired?” It was Tate Jordan's voice just above her again, and she turned toward him with a little nod.
“I was just about to go back to the house. I was looking for Aunt Caro, but I guess she's already gone.”
“She always leaves quietly so as not to spoil anyone's fun.” He spoke with nothing but the greatest admiration. It was a bond that he shared with Sam. “Are you ready to go too?” Sam nodded and tried unsuccessfully to squelch a yawn. “Come on, sleepyhead, I'll walk you home.”
“Can I help it if the guy I work for is a slave driver? It's a wonder I don't fall out of my saddle half dead by the end of the day.”
“Once or twice”—he grinned at her—“I thought you might.” And then he laughed out loud. “That first day, Sam, I thought you'd stick it out if you died in the saddle.”
“I almost did. Josh almost had to carry me home.”
“And you still got up on Black Beauty after that! You're crazy!”
“About that horse … yes!” He looked unhappy after she said it, and she changed the subject as they stepped into the frosty night. “Feels like snow.”
“It does, but it's not very likely. At least I hope not.” He looked up at the sky but didn't seem overly concerned. And by then they had already reached the door of the big house, where Sam lived.
Samantha hesitated for a moment and then as she opened the door she stepped aside and looked up at the dark-haired giant with the deep green eyes. “Would you like to come in, Tate, for a glass of wine or a cup of coffee?” But he was quick to shake his head, almost as though she had suggested something outrageous that he could never accept.
“I promise,” she said, grinning at him, “I won't attack you. I'll sit on another couch.” He let out a roar of laughter as she said it, and it was difficult to recognize the man she had been at odds with for more than two weeks.
“It's not that, but ranch etiquette, I guess. This is Miss Caroline's house. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to … it's difficult to explain.…”
Samantha smiled at him pleasantly from the doorway. “Would you like me to wake her so she can ask you in herself?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hardly, but thanks for the thought. Another time.”
“Chicken.” She looked like a kid as she stood there, and he
laughed.
Because she had done so for the past ten days, Samantha woke up at four thirty the next morning. She forced herself to lie in bed, pretending even to herself to be asleep, and finally, after an hour of lying with her eyes closed and her mind racing, she got out of bed. It was still dark outside and the stars were shining brightly, but she knew that in little over an hour, life on the ranch would begin. Christmas morning or no, the animals would begin stirring, there would be men in the corral tending to the horses, even though no one would be riding the hills.
On bare feet Samantha silently padded to the kitchen, plugged in the electric coffee maker Caroline used, and then sat waiting in the dark kitchen, letting her mind drift back to the night before. It had been a lovely Christmas party she had shared with the others. Like one gigantic family, all of them linked to each other, each one caring about the other, the children familiar with everyone who lived there, happy and shouting and running around the big beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Thinking about the children at the Christmas party the night before suddenly made her think of Charlie and Melinda's children. This was the first Christmas that she hadn't sent them gifts. She remembered her promise to Charlie with a pang, but she had been nowhere near a store. As Samantha sat in the empty kitchen she felt suddenly very lonely, and without warning, her thoughts shifted instantly and very painfully to John. What was his Christmas like this year? How did it feel to be married to a woman who was pregnant? Had they already done the nursery? The pain Samantha felt knife through her was almost beyond bearing, and as though by reflex action she felt herself reach for the phone. Without thinking, yet desperately wanting to reach out and hear a friendly voice, she dialed a familiar number and only a moment later she heard Charlie Peterson answer the phone. His mellifluous voice boomed into the receiver with a resounding rendition of “Jingle Bells.” He was halfway into the second verse before Sam could squeeze in her name.
“Who? … ‘O'er the fields we go …’”
“Shut up, Charlie! It's me, Sam!”
“Oh … hi, Sam.… ‘Dashing all the wayyyy…’”
“Charlie!” She was laughing as she listened, between rounds of trying to outshout him, but despite the amusement of listening to him, there was another pang of loneliness and she felt terribly far away. She suddenly wished she were with them, and not three thousand miles away on a ranch. There was no choice but to wait for him to finish singing.
“Merry Christmas!”
“You mean you're through? You're not going to sing ‘Silent Night’?”
“I wasn't planning to, but if you're making a special request, Sam, I'm sure I could.…”
“Charlie, please! I want to talk to Mellie and the boys. But first”—she almost gulped as she said it—“tell me how things are at the office.” She had forced herself not to call. Harvey had practically ordered her not to and she had obeyed. They had her number if they needed her, and her boss had thought it would do her good to forget about them as completely as she could. And actually she had done better than she had expected to. Until now. “How are my accounts doing? Have you lost them all yet?”
“Every one of them.” Charlie beamed into the phone with pride and lit a cigar, and then suddenly he frowned and looked at his watch. “What in hell are you doing up at this hour? It must be … what? Not even six o'clock in the morning out there! Where are you?” He suddenly wondered if she had abandoned the ranch and returned.
“I'm still here. I just couldn't sleep. I've been getting up at four thirty every morning, now I don't know what to do with myself. This feels like the middle of the afternoon.” Not quite, but she was certainly wide awake. “How are the kids?”
“Wonderful.” There was a moment's hesitation in his voice, and he hurried on to ask her how she was. “They riding you ragged out there, I hope?”
“Absolutely. Come on, Charlie, tell me what's happening back there.” Suddenly she wanted to know everything, from the office gossip to who was threatening to steal which account from another house.
“Nothing much, kiddo. New York hasn't changed much in the last two weeks. What about you?” He sounded serious for a moment and Sam smiled. “You happy out there, Sam? You all right?”
“I'm fine.” And then with a small sigh, “It was the right thing to do, much as I hate to admit it. I guess I needed something as radical as this. I haven't watched the six o'clock news all week.”
“That's something at least. If you're up at four thirty, you're probably asleep by six o'clock at night.”
“Not quite, but close.”
“And your friend … Caroline, and ail the horses? They're okay?” He sounded so much like a New Yorker that it made her laugh as she pictured him puffing on his cigar and staring into space wearing his pajamas and his bathrobe and maybe something the children had given him for Christmas, like a baseball cap or a mitt or a pair of red-and-yellow-striped socks.
“Everyone here is fine. Let me talk to Mellie.” She did, and Melinda didn't catch Charlie's signal. She almost instantly told Sam the news. She was pregnant. The baby was due in July, and she had just found out that week. For just a fraction of a second there was a strange silence and then suddenly Sam was full of effusive congratulations as in the distance Charlie closed his eyes and groaned.
“Why did you tell her?” He was whispering hoarsely at his wife as she attempted to continue to talk to Sam.
“Why not? She'll find out when she comes back anyway.” Melinda had put her hand over the phone, whispered back to him, then took her hand away and went on. “The kids? They all say they want another brother, but if it isn't a girl this time, I quit.” Charlie made impatient gestures, let her say a rapid good-bye, and recovered the phone.
“How come you didn't tell me, kiddo?” Sam tried to sound nonchalant, but as always when she heard that kind of news, especially lately, it touched something very old and sad and still sensitive near her very core. “Afraid I couldn't take it? I'm not mentally ill, you know, Charlie, I'm just divorced. That is not the same thing.”
“Who cares about that stuff anyway.” There was something sad and worried in his voice.
“You do.” Sam's voice was very soft. “And Mellie does. And I do. And you're my friends. She was right to tell me. Don't yell at her when you get off the phone.”
“Why not?” He grinned guiltily. “She needs to be kept in line.”
“Some way you have of keeping her in line, Peterson. It's a good thing you're the most overpaid art director in the business. You're going to need it for all those kids.”
“Yeah,” he growled contentedly, “ain't I just.” And then after a long moment, “Well, kid, be good to your horses, and call if you need us. And Sam”—there was a heavy pause—“we all think about you a lot, and we miss you. You know that, don't you, babe?” She nodded, unable to speak, her voice and her eyes instantly filled with tears.
“Yeah, I know.” It was all she could finally choke out. “And I miss you too. Merry Christmas!” And then, as she smiled through her tears and blew him a kiss, she hung up. She sat in the kitchen afterward for almost half an hour, her coffee cold in the cup, her eyes riveted to the table, her heart and her mind three thousand miles away in New York. And when she looked up again, she saw that outside the day was slowly breaking, the night had faded from deep blue to pale gray, and she stood up and slowly walked with her cup over to the sink. She stood very still and knew exactly what she wanted to do. With a determined step she walked down the hall, slipped quietly into her clothes, and bundled herself up in two warm sweaters and a jacket, put on the cowboy hat Caroline had lent her a few days before, and with a last look over her shoulder to make sure that no one was stirring, she walked quietly out of her room, down the hall, and out the front door, closing it softly behind her.
It took her only a few moments to reach the stables, and when she did, she stopped a few feet away from his stall. There was no sound stirring within, and she wondered if he was still sleeping, the giant
shining ebony animal she suddenly knew that she wanted to ride. She gently opened the half door and stepped inside, running a hand smoothly down his neck and his flanks and speaking so gently that she almost cooed. He was awake, but he wasn't restless. Black Beauty looked as though he had been waiting for her to come; he gazed meaningfully at her from behind the bristling black lashes, and Samantha smiled at him as she quietly let herself out of the stall, went to get his saddle and bridle, and returned to prepare him for their ride. There had been no one in the stable to see her when she got there, and there was still no one there now.
When she led him slowly out the main door a few minutes later into the early morning, there was no one in the vast yard outside. She walked Black Beauty to a nearby block and quickly climbed it. After hoisting herself into the saddle with ease and pulling the reins taut, she moved away toward the now familiar hills. She knew exactly where she wanted to ride him, she had seen a trail through some woods a few days before and now she knew that this was where she wanted to go. At first she cantered gently toward her destination, and then after a while, sensing the huge beast straining to go faster, she let him lope from a canter into a gallop as he made his way toward the rising sun. It was one of the most exquisite feelings she could remember, and she held her knees to his flanks and pressed harder as effortlessly they cleared a series of low bushes and then a narrow stream. She remembered the first time she had jumped him but knew that this was different. She was taking no chances with Black Beauty this morning, but she wasn't angry either. She only wanted to become a part of Black Beauty's very body and soul. She felt like an ancient myth, or Indian legend, as she let him slow on the crest of a hill, and she watched the sun begin in earnest its climb into the sky. It was only then that she heard the hooves behind her, then that she knew she'd been followed, and then that she turned in surprise. But when she saw him riding the ivory and onyx pinto toward her, she wasn't really surprised to see Tate Jordan. It was as though he were also a part of the legend, as though he also belonged there, as though he too had fallen from the fiery golden morning sky.
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