“I'm sorry.” He spoke coldly and then moved to the sink to wash their cups. But when he had finished, she was still standing there, watching him, and she spoke up.

“I'm not sorry. I like you. In fact”-she reached out and put a hand on his arm-“I like you a hell of a lot. But I don't want to get hurt next time.”

“You can't have the kind of guarantees you want, Sam. Not from anyone. And not from me. The only guarantees you'll ever get are lies.” There was some truth in that and she knew it, but it wasn't just the promises she wanted but something real.

“You know what I want?” She looked around at the cabin as she asked the question. “I want this. I want this kind of meshing and blending and loving after more than twenty years.”

“You think they were so sure of that in the beginning? You think they knew then what they do now? Hell no. She owned the ranch and he was a ranch hand. That was all they knew.”

“You think so?” Samantha's eyes exploded sparks at him. “You know what else I'll bet they knew then?”

“What?”

“I'll bet they knew they were in love. And until I find that, until a man loves me and I love him, then I'm not coming out to play again.”

He opened the door and locked it behind them. “Come on.” But she had seen as she walked past him that he wasn't angry. He had understood all that she had told him, and she found herself wondering what he would do now, and what she would do herself. For a moment, just a moment, she had wanted to abandon all restraint and caution, but she had decided not to. Not because she didn't want him, but because she wanted him so much. Tate Jordan was one hell of a man.

“Can we come back here?” She eyed him squarely as he cupped his hands and offered her a leg up to the huge Thoroughbred horse.

“Do you really want to?”

She nodded slowly, and he smiled at her and said nothing. She took the leg up and flew into her saddle. A moment later she had the reins in her hands, her heels in the horse's flanks, and she was flying beside Tate Jordan into the wind.

11

Have a nice ride, dear?” Caroline looked at her benevolently as Samantha strode into the living room, her hair loose, her face flushed, her eyes bright. She looked like a vision of youth and health and beauty, and Caroline couldn't help envying her a little as she watched the young limbs coil into a comfortable chair.

“Very, thanks, Aunt Caro.” She was dying to tell her that she had seen their cabin, but she knew she couldn't. But still the excitement lingered. From that and the kiss she and Tate had shared in Black Beauty's stall. It had been a kiss that seared her very edges and reached into the nether regions of her soul. He was a man different from any other, more powerful and more independent and more alluring than any she had ever known or ever would.

“See anyone this morning?” It was a casual question, born of thirty years of almost communal living on a large ranch. Not a single hour went by that one didn't hang out with someone, talk about something, and hear something about someone else.

Sam had been about to say “No one,” and then decided to tell Caroline the truth. “I saw Tate Jordan.”

“Oh.” It was a very small word without any great emphasis or interest. “How is Santa Claus after last night? The kids sure enjoy him every year.”

Sam was tempted to say “So do I,” but didn't dare say it. “They should. He's a very nice man.”

“You mean you've relented? You don't hate him anymore?”

“I never did.” She tried to look casual as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “We just didn't see eye to eye over my ability to ride your horse.”