She answered without hesitation. “Yes. Very.”

“And that's why you're here?” It was a very direct question and she looked at him for a minute before answering.

“Partially.” As she answered he found himself wondering if she had had a nervous breakdown. He was sure that there was a serious reason why she had come to the ranch, and he was also sure that this was not just an ordinary housewife running away from home. But there was nothing to indicate that she was even slightly crazy. He really had no clue.

“Samantha, what do you do when you're not in California working on ranches?”

She didn't really want to answer but she liked his openness as he stood there talking to her. She didn't want to spoil their working relationship by being cute with glib answers and scaring him away. This was a man she liked and respected, sometimes detested, but thought was good at his job. What was the point of playing games with him now?

“I write commercials.” It was an oversimplification of her job, but it was a start. In an odd way she was not unlike the assistant foreman at Crane, Harper, and Laub. Realizing that suddenly made her smile.

“What's so funny?” He looked puzzled as he watched her.

“Nothing. I just realized that in some ways our jobs are alike. At the advertising agency where I work there's a man named Harvey Maxwell. He's kind of like Bill King. And he's also old and one of these days he's going to retire, and-” Suddenly she was sorry she had said it. All he would do is resent her if he thought she was going to step into the man's job, but Tate Jordan was smiling as she abruptly ended her recital.

“Go ahead, say it.”

“Say what?” She tried hard to look blank.

“That you'll probably get his job.”

“What makes you think that?” Despite the fresh suntan she was blushing. “I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. You said our jobs were alike. So you're an assistant foreman, are you?” For some reason she couldn't fathom, he looked pleased, as though that amused him. “Very nice. Do you like what you do?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it's hectic and crazy and I hate it.”

“At least you don't have to ride twelve hours in the rain.”

“There is that.” She returned the smile, suddenly intrigued by this big gentle man who had been so harsh and so demanding during her first days on the ranch, and so livid with her for riding Black Beauty, and now he seemed like a totally different person as they drank coffee and ate cookies next to the Christmas tree. She looked at him closely for a moment and then decided to ask him something. She suddenly felt that she had nothing to lose. As he stood there he looked impossible to anger, impossible to annoy. “Tell me something. Why did you get so furious with me for riding Black Beauty?”

He stood very still for a moment and then set down his coffee cup and looked deep into her eyes. “Because I thought it was dangerous for you.”

“Because you didn't think I was good enough to ride him?” This time it wasn't a challenge, it was a straight question, and he gave her a straight answer.

“No, I knew you were good enough that first day. The way you sat on Rusty in the pouring rain and even got a little work out of the old nag, I knew damn well you were good. But it takes more than that to ride Black Beauty. It takes caution and strength, and I'm not sure you're long on either. In fact I'm sure you're not. One day that horse is going to kill somebody. I didn't want it to be yoti.” He paused for a moment, his voice husky. “Miss Caroline should never have bought him. He's a bad horse, Sam.” He looked at her strangely. “I feel it in my gut. He frightens me.” And then he startled her again by speaking ever so softly. “I don't want you to ride him again.” She said nothing in answer, and after a long moment she looked away. “But that's not like you, is it? To turn down a challenge, to pass up a risk? Maybe especially now.”

“What do you mean by that?” She was puzzled by what he had just said.

He looked her straight in the eye again as he answered. “I have the feeling you've lost something very precious to you… someone, most likely-that's the only thing most of us give a damn about. Maybe right now you don't care about yourself as much as you should. That's a bad time to ride a demon horse like that stallion. I'd rather see you on any horse on the ranch except that one. But I don't suppose you'd give up riding a Thoroughbred stallion just for me.” She wasn't sure what to say to him when he stopped talking, and her voice was husky when she answered at last.

“You're right about a lot of things, Tate.” His name was new and strange on her lips, and when she lifted her eyes to his, her voice grew softer. “I was wrong to ride him-the way I did. I took a lot of chances that morning.” And then after a brief pause, “I won't promise you that I won't ride him again, but when I do, I'll be careful. I will promise you that. Broad daylight, terrain I know, no jumping over a rock bed and a stream I can barely see…”

“My God, how reasonable!” He looked down at her and grinned. “I'm impressed!” He was teasing her and she grinned.

“You should be! You can't imagine the crazy things I've done on horses over the years.”

“You ought to quit doing stuff like that, Sam. It's not worth the price you may have to pay.” They both fell silent for a moment. They both knew of the accidents that befell others, the paraplegics who spent the rest of their lives in wheelchairs because they risked a mad jump and fell. “I never did see the point of that crazy Eastern jumping. Christ, you can kill yourself like that, Sam. Is it worth it?”

She let her eyes drift into his. “Does it matter?”

He looked at her long and hard. “It may not matter to you right now, Sam. But one of these days it will again. Don't do something foolish. You can't change that back.” She nodded slowly and smiled. He was a strange and perceptive man, and she could see that he had qualities she hadn't originally noticed. At first she had seen him only as a tyrannical but effective assistant foreman. Now she saw that he was a man of much greater depth. The years he had spent around people and ranchers and ranch hands, living and losing and working till he almost dropped, hadn't been wasted. He had learned what he did well, and along with it he had learned to read people-no simple art. “More coffee?” He looked down at her again with a small smile and she shook her head.

“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.

9

“Santa… Santa!… Over here…”