That's not my fault. I'm only the art director, here to make sure that the film is artistically beautiful. It's not my fault you're an ambitious bitch and you want to be C.D. He had only been kidding, but suddenly Sam looked serious as she sat down on the bed.
Is that what you think, that I want to be C.D.?
No, my love. He smiled gently at her. I don't really think that's what you want. But I think it's what you'll get. You're damn good at what you do. In fact, much as I hate to admit it, sometimes you're brilliant. And Harvey knows it, and the clients know it, and I know it, and everyone in the business knows it, and sooner or later you're going to get yours. Either someone will hire you away at a salary even you can't resist, or Harvey will retire, as he keeps threatening to do, and you'll wind up the C.D. Creative Director ' it was an awesome thought.
I don't think that's what I want. Not anymore.
Then you better do something about it while you still can, before it just comes at you and happens and it's too late to stop it. And then, after he thought about it for a moment, What do you want, Sam?
She looked at him for a long time and then sighed softly, Oh, Charlie, that's a long story.
I had a feeling it would be. His eyes didn't waver from hers. There was someone in California, wasn't there? On the ranch? She nodded. So what happened?
He left me.
Oh, shit. And right after John too. No wonder she had looked so rigid and unhappy when she had come back. For good?
I don't know. I'm still looking for him.
Don't you know where he is? She shook her head, and he looked sad for her. What are you going to do?
Keep looking. She said it With quiet determination and he nodded.
Good girl. You're a strong lady, you know that, Sam?
I don't know, love. She smiled and sighed again. Sometimes I have my doubts.
Don't. He looked at her almost proudly. I don't think there's anything you couldn't pull through. Remember that, kiddo, if the going ever gets too rough.
Remind me.
I will. They exchanged a warm smile and Sam was glad that he had come with her, he was the best friend she had, and it made the trip more fun to have him to joke with and laugh at and talk to, and behind all the clowning, there was a warm and intelligent man. It pleased her, too, to know that she had his respect and Harvey's. At first when she had come back from her months oh the ranch, she had been aware that she was having to prove herself again, not only as assistant creative director, but as a person, as their friend. And now, in such a short time, she knew that she was back in the circle of their respect and affection. That meant a lot to her, and she stood up and went over to kiss Charlie on the cheek.
You haven't told me anything about my namesake lately.
She's great. Brushing her teeth, tap dancing, doing the laundry.
Oh, shut up, you jerk. I'm serious. How is she?
Cute as a button. Girls sure are different from boys.
You're very observant, dear. By the way, are you hungry yet? I'm starving, and we have to shepherd all our little darlings to dinner at the taco joint down the street or they're going to bitch and moan.
That's what you're giving them for dinner? Tacos? He looked shocked. I'm not sure little Mr. Vuitton will like that, not to mention the poodle.
Don't be nasty. Besides, in this town I doubt if there's anything else to eat.
Wonderful.
But as it turned out, they all had a marvelous time, eating tacos, drinking beer, and telling jokes that got increasingly raunchy as they got more and more relaxed and more tired, and eventually the whole group went back to the hotel and went to bed. Charlie waved a last good night to Sam as he disappeared into his room, and she spent another half hour going over her notes to herself for the next day, and then, yawning, she turned off the light.
It was six o'clock the next morning when they got together for breakfast. And seven thirty when they finally made it to the ranch. They had decided not to shoot a sunrise on the first day, but to settle for full day shots, and eventually try for a sunset. But it was almost noon by the time everything was set up to the film crew's satisfaction and they were fully rolling with Henry Johns-Adams riding a good-looking black mare, which made Samantha long for Caroline's Thoroughbred stallion. This was no Black Beauty Henry was riding, but she was a pretty horse and would look good on film. She had a pleasing gait as they cantered again and again over the same hills, filming take after take, but the horse was as even tempered as her rider, and by the end of the day everyone was tired, but there were no frayed tempers. They were a good group to work with, and Samantha was pleased with the way it was going. She went over to talk to the ranch foreman and thanked him for letting them film on the ranch. She had already sent flowers to the ranch owner's wife and a case of bourbon to her husband, in addition to what they were paying per day in order to film there. But now she handed the foreman several bottles too, and he looked pleased with the gift and chatted with her. He was even more impressed when he learned that she had spent most of the year working on a ranch in California, and for a little while they discussed ranch business and horseflesh and cattle, and Sam felt almost as though she had come home. After a while she happened to mention Tate Jordan, wondered if he'd met him, and said that there was a commercial she wanted to use him in, if he ever crossed the foreman's path. She described him as a fine man and someone she respected a great deal. Out of respect for Tate's sentiments about ranch people knowing about his relationship with her, she didn't let on about that. The foreman took her card and assured her that he'd be happy to let her know if he came across Tate, and after that she went back to the others and drove one of the bulging station wagons back to the hotel.
She struck out equally in her search for Tate at each stop of their trip in the next three weeks, although the filming of the commercials was going brilliantly. The production crew knew that they had gotten the most beautiful footage they'd ever had, and so far the entire shoot had gone off without a hitch. As a result spirits were soaring, friendships were cemented, humors were good, and everyone was willing to work endless hours in the hot sun and seldom complained. They had even managed to get two perfect sunrises on film and several sunsets. Only Sam seemed to be dragging by the time they got to their last stop. They were filming at a ranch in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and Sam had just interviewed the last of the foremen and hung out for almost an hour with some of the ranch hands who had come by to watch them film. She knew now that if she found Tate it wouldn't be this time, and they were going home the next day, so once again her hopes had been dashed. She would go back to New York, and wait, and try again someday when she was near a ranch. And maybe, maybe, one day she would find him. Maybe. If.
As she stood looking at the mountains for a moment, she heard one of the men tell another that she had worked on the Lord Ranch in California. They knew of it, and the second cowboy looked her over with an appraising glance.
Yeah? She nodded. I figured you knew horses, but I didn't know how. I saw you riding this morning. You got a good seat, good hands.
Thank you. She smiled at him, but her sorrow had somehow crept into her eyes now. She looked tired and deflated and the man looked her over, wondering why she looked so down at the mouth.
You see our new stallion? he asked her, chewing on a wad of tobacco. Got him last week. He's out in the far barn.
Could I See him? Sam asked him the question more to be pleasant than because she had any real desire to see the stallion. She wanted to get back to the tiny motel where they were staying, wrap it all up, and get ready to go home the next day. For her, there was nothing left to stick around for. They had done the shoot, and she hadn't found Tate. But trying to look interested, she trudged after the old cowboy, and when she reached the barn beside him, she wasn't sorry she had come. What she saw in front of her was one of the biggest stallions she had ever seen, gray with a black mane and a black tail and a long white star on his forehead that seemed to mak
e his eyes look even wilder as he pawed the ground. My God, he's a beauty.
Ain't he? The ranch hand looked pleased. He's a little devil to ride though. Gave everyone a toss or two yesterday. He grinned. Even me.
Sam smiled. I've spent plenty of time down on the ground too. But this boy is worth it. She ran a hand down his neck and he whinnied, as though he liked the feel of her hand on his flesh and he wanted more. He was so big and splendid an animal that just seeing him was almost a sensual experience. She told the ranch hand then about Black Beauty, about how she had ridden him and what a great ride he had been.
Thoroughbred, eh? She nodded. Gray Devil here looks as fine to me. He runs like a racehorse, but he's a little too frisky for ranch work. I don't know but what Mr. Atkins may sell him after all. Damn shame too. He's a fine horse. And then, as though bestowing the ultimate gift on Samantha, he turned to her. You want to ride him, miss? I warn you, you may land on your butt in the dirt, but I think you can handle him from what I seen you do today. She had ridden just off camera from Henry, urging him on at sunrise, almost angering him to make him seem less complacent and ride as hard as she wanted him to. In the process she had driven the horse she was riding as hard as he could be pushed, and Sam herself had accomplished the whole performance with obvious ease. She was a spectacular rider, and her precision and ability hadn't been wasted on the men who had watched her. They had talked about her over lunch, one of them had said that she looked like a little palomino filly, and it was a pleasure now to offer her Gray Devil, as he stood in his stall, waiting, as though he had been meant for her.
Do you mean it? She was awed by the offer, knowing that it was both a compliment and a gift. May I ride him? It was going to be her last ride for a long time. She was flying back to New York the next day, and there were no ranches in her immediate future. Only hard work at her desk in New York. I'd love to.
Go on. I'll get his saddle. He did so, and a moment later he had him saddled for Samantha, although he had to do it carefully so as not to get kicked. He had twice the devil in him that she had seen in Black Beauty, and he seemed to be almost bursting from his skin, aching to be allowed to run free. He's a little fresh. Go easy with him in the beginning ' Miss ' He hunted for her name.
Sam. She smiled easily, suddenly anxious to get on the huge gray horse. He was even bigger than Black Beauty, and suddenly it was as though she could sense Tate beside her, shouting at her as he had about Caro's black stallion, trying to force her to ride horses like Lady and Rusty. She grinned to herself. Hell, he had left her. She could ride anything she wanted to now. And as she thought of it the full pain of having lost him ripped through her once again; she took the leg up the old ranch hand gave her, pulled the reins taut, and let the huge gray stallion dance her around. She didn't let him get out of hand, and his two efforts to toss her were fruitless, much to the old man's delight.
Slowly she walked past the big barn, toward the old corral. By then several of the men had seen her, at first they watched with interest, and then they began to cheer as they saw how she controlled the prancing gray beast. As though everyone nearby suddenly sensed an intriguing performance, they turned to watch Samantha as she rode Gray Devil through the ranch's main compound, past her crew, and Charlie, and Henry and his friend and the poodle; and then sensing her own passion for horses and the countryside surge within her, she forgot them all and began cantering out into the fields beyond. She cantered for only a few moments and then she gave him what he wanted, letting him free to gallop at his own speed, racing until it felt as if he were flying, his hooves beating hard on the ground. As Sam rode Gray Devil she was smiling, with the wind on her face and her heart pounding as they rode along. Riding this horse was like waging a special kind of battle, against the horse's strength and his mind, with only her capabilities and her skill on her side. But she was an even match for Gray Devil, and although several times he tried to throw her, he didn't succeed, and she felt all the tension and anguish and disappointment of not finding Tate well up within her, and she began to press Gray Devil forward, urging him to go even faster than he had before. She would beat him at his own game, if she could.
It was then that the crowd watching grew silent. Until then she had been a beautiful sight to see, her golden hair stretched out behind her, in sharp contrast to the black mane and tail of Gray Devil, as they flew across the fields. She moved as one with the giant stallion, her every muscle in tune with his. But now one of the ranch hands jumped off the fence to stop her, several others caught their breath, and the foreman shouted, as though she could hear him. But it was already too late. There was a hidden narrow stream out in the field she had just sailed into. It was narrow enough to jump with ease if she saw it, but it was also very deep, and if the horse stumbled, she would be thrown into a rocky ravine. The foreman was running now, waving wildly, and Charlie saw him and began to run too. It was as though both men knew what was coming, but at precisely that moment they saw her. The stallion stopped dead as he reached the stream he had seen before Sam did, and Samantha, unprepared, flew through the air with a wild, fearful grace, hair fanned out, arms extended, until she silently disappeared.
As Charlie saw it happen he ran for the station wagon, turned the key in the ignition, shoved it into gear, and surged forward he didn't give a damn who he ran down. It was too far to run. He signaled wildly to the foreman, who hopped in, and they drove off with the tires screeching on the gravel and then bumping terribly as they crossed the fields. Charlie made horrible guttural sounds as he muttered to himself, praying all the way. What's over there? he asked the foreman, without taking his eyes off the field. He was going almost sixty, and Gray Devil had flashed past him only moments earlier, hell-bent on the barn.
A ravine. The foreman looked tense as he answered, straining to see what was ahead. They could still see nothing and a moment later he shouted Stop! which Charlie did, and the foreman led the way through the grass, down a little incline to where Gray Devil had balked at the stream. At first they saw absolutely nothing, and then Charlie saw her, her white shirt almost torn from her body, her chest and her face and her hands lacerated almost beyond recognition, her hair fanned out around her, as she lay there broken, bleeding, and terribly, terribly still.
Oh, my God ' oh, my God ' Charlie began crying as he rushed toward her, but the foreman was already kneeling beside her, with two fingers pressed gently to the side of her neck.
She's still alive. Get in the car, go back to the house, call for the sheriff, tell him to bring the helicopter out here right away. And if he can get one, bring a paramedic, or a doctor, or a nurse. The town of Steamboat Springs was not heavily endowed with medical personnel suited to the occasion. It was obvious from the position in which she lay, Sam had probably broken several bones, and possibly even her neck or her back. Go on, man, get going! he shouted at Charlie, who wiped his face on his sleeve and ran back to the car, shot back a little distance, turned around, and pounded on the accelerator, wondering frantically if Samantha would live. Fucking horse, he was shouting to himself as he drove back to where the others waited tensely. And then he jumped out of the car and gave orders.
He went back to Sam then and knelt beside her, trying to hold her and stanch the flow of blood from the cuts on her face with a towel he'd found in the car. And when he got into the helicopter beside her twenty minutes later, his face was grim. The two assistants were left to wrap up with the others. They were all to meet him in the hospital in Denver later that night.
It seemed to take forever for the helicopter to reach Denver, and by the time it did, it was obvious that Samantha's life was in grave danger. A paramedic had traveled with them, and for the last ten minutes of the trip he had given her artificial respiration as Charlie had sat anxiously by. He was aching to ask the paramedic if he thought she would make it, but he was afraid, so he said nothing and just watched them and continued to pray. They set her down as gently as they could on the lawn of St. Mary's Hospital, having al
erted all air traffic that they were coming through and coming down with a code blue. Charlie desperately searched his mind for what that meant, and thought he remembered that it meant someone was literally almost dead.
A doctor and three nurses were waiting on the lawn with a gurney, and she was rushed inside as soon as they landed, with Charlie left to follow as quickly as he could. He never thought to thank the young paramedic or the pilot, all he could think of was Samantha, so broken and so still. The only thing still recognizable about the long narrow form he saw draped in sheets a few minutes later was the tangled mass of golden palomino hair. It was then that he finally made himself say it, as two nurses stood by monitoring her vital signs while they prepared to take her to X ray and possibly surgery. They had already decided that the lacerations on her face were only superficial and could wait.
Will she make it? His voice was barely a croak in the brilliantly lit white hall.
Excuse me? His voice had been barely audible, and the nurse spoke to him without taking her eyes off of Sam.
Will she make it?
I don't know. She spoke softly. Are you the next of kin? Her husband?
Charlie shook his head dumbly. No, I'm And then he realized that maybe he should be. That if they thought he was family they'd tell him something more. I'm her brother. She's my sister. He barely made sense as he stood there, feeling suddenly dizzy and sick as he realized that Sam might not live. She already looked as though she might be dead. But she was still breathing faintly, the nurse told him, and before she could say more, two residents, the doctor, and a whole flock of nurses in what looked like blue pajamas came to whisk Sam away. Where is she going? Where is she ' ? No one listened and he just stood there, once again with tears coursing silently down his face. There was nothing they could tell him, they just didn't know.
It was an hour and a half later when they came back to find Charlie sitting frozen like a lost child in a waiting-room chair. He hadn't moved, he hadn't smoked, he hadn't even had a cup of coffee. He had just sat there, waiting, barely daring to breathe himself.
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