“Aunt Caro would be shocked, Tate.”

“Would she?” He looked unconvinced. “Somehow I doubt that.” And at the same moment they both found themselves thinking of Caroline and Bill King on their little trip. They would probably spend the night together somewhere on the road. It made Sam think again of the little hidden cabin, and Tate smiled as his mind drifted back to it too. “If it weren't so dark we could ride out there. I liked being there with you, Sam.”

“At the cabin?” She had understood immediately what he had been thinking, and he nodded.

“I felt the other day”-his voice caressed her and he stood up-“as though it had been made just for us.” She smiled at him and slowly he pulled her to her feet until she stood before him, dwarfed by his size, her own tall frame tiny beside his, her breasts suddenly pressed against him as he pulled her to him, and her mouth hungry for his once again as gently he stroked her back and her hair. He pulled away then and his voice was only a whisper. “I know this sounds crazy, Sam, but I love you. I knew it the first time I saw you. I wanted to touch you and to hold you and to run my hands through that palomino hair.” He smiled gently down at her but Samantha looked pensive. “Do you believe me, Sam?”

Her big blue eyes found his green ones and she looked troubled. “I don't know what I believe, Tate. I was thinking of what I said to you the other day, that just making love with someone wouldn't be enough. Is that why you said all this?”

“No.” His voice was still a whisper, his mouth near her ear as he kissed her neck. “I said it because I mean it. I've been thinking about you a lot since the other day. What you want isn't different from what I feel, Sam.” His voice grew stronger as he reached out and took her hands. “You just want me to put words to my feelings. I'm not used to doing that. It's easier to say ‘I want to make love to you’ than it is to say ‘I love you.’ But I've never met a woman I've wanted as much as I want you.”

“Why?” She spoke in a hoarse whisper with all the hurt John had left her sharply etched in her eyes. “Why do you want me?”

“Because you're so lovely…” He reached out gently and touched her breasts with his powerful yet careful hands. “Because I like the way you laugh and the way you talk… and the way you ride that damn horse of Caro's… the way you work like an ox with the men even though you don't have to… because I like”-he grinned and let his hands slip around her-“the way your ass sits on top of your legs.” She laughed in answer and gently pushed his hands away. “Isn't that good enough reason?”

“Good enough reason for what, Mr. Jordan?” She was teasing him now as she turned away from him and began to clear the table, but before she could get their plates to the sink, he had taken them from her, set them down, and picked her up easily in his arms and carried her out of the room, making his way across the living room until he reached the long hall that led to her room. “Is this the way, Samantha?” His voice was ever so gentle and his eyes burned into hers. She wanted to tell him to stop, to turn back, but she found that she couldn't. She only nodded and pointed vaguely down the hall, and then, giggling suddenly, she pushed away from him.

“Come on… stop, Tate. Put me down!” His laughter joined hers but he didn't do as she told him. Instead he stopped at a halfway-opened door at the end of the hall.

“Is this yours?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms as he held her in his as though she were a very small child. “But I didn't invite you in, did I?”

“Didn't you?” One eyebrow rose and he crossed the threshold and looked around with interest. And then with no further words he set her down on the bed, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard on the mouth. The games between them were suddenly over, and the passion he unleashed in her took her very much by surprise. She was stunned at the force with which he held her to him, at the hunger of his mouth and his hands and his whole body as it reached out for hers. It seemed only moments later that he lay beside her and that her clothes seemed to melt away from her body, as did his. All she was aware of was the soft doeskin of his flesh against hers, the gentleness of his hands-ever searching, ever thrilling-the endless legs wound around hers, and his mouth drinking her own. He held her closer to him until she could bear it no longer and she pressed against him, moaning softly, longing to be his. It was then that he pulled away from her, that he looked hard into her eyes, asking her a question without words. Tate Jordan had never taken a woman, and would not take this one, not ever, and not now, unless this was what she wanted, unless he was certain, and as he searched her eyes she nodded slowly, and then seconds later he took her, pressing deep and hard into her flesh with his own. She gave a sharp gasp of pleasure as he thrust deeper, and then with another moan she let herself go to the ecstasy he brought her to again and again and again.

It seemed hours later when he lay still beside her, the room was dark, the house quiet, and she felt his long powerful body stretched out next to her, content, sated, and she felt with pleasure his lips gentle on her neck. “I love you, Palomino. I love you.” The words sounded so real, but suddenly she wanted to ask him “Do you?” Was it real? Would anyone ever really love her again? Love her and mean it, love her and not hurt her, love her and not go away? A small trickle of tears suddenly fell from the corner of her eye to the pillow, and he looked at her sadly and nodded his head. He pulled her into his arms then and cradled her gently, crooning to her softly meaningless words as one would have to a wounded animal or a very small child. “It's all right, babe. It's all right now, I'm here with you…”

“I'm sorry…” Her words were muffled as suddenly the sobs of a lifetime broke from her, and the grief that had lived pent up inside her broke from her like a flock of wild birds. They lay like that, locked together, for almost an hour, and when her tears were spent, she felt a familiar stirring beside her and she smiled slowly and reached down to touch him, and then guide him to the same spot again.

“You all right now?” His voice was husky in the darkness, and she nodded. “Answer me.”

“I'm all right.” He would go no farther and his eyes were riveted to hers.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” With her body she showed him the gratitude that she didn't know the words for, arching toward him and giving him as much pleasure as he had given her. It was a meshing of two people beyond any she had ever known in the years before him, and as she lay beside Tate Jordan and slept, Samantha wore a small happy smile.

When the alarm went off at her bedside the next morning, she awoke slowly, with a smile, expecting to see him, and what she saw instead was a note beneath the small clock. He had set it for her when he had left her bed quietly at two o'clock that morning. He had turned on the alarm and written her a note on a little scrap of paper. It said only I LOVE YOU, PALOMINO. And as she read it she lay back on her pillows again, closed her eyes, and smiled. This time there were no tears.

13

At the end of the day's work Samantha looked as fresh and alive as she had at the beginning, and Josh commented on it with disgust as she hung up her saddle with a grin.