longue. Only the wonderful patchwork bedspread folded back on the bed introduced some colors, and here were a riot of bright colors, reds and blues and yellows, all carefully worked in a log-cabin design. There were matching cushions on two comfortable wicker chairs near the fireplace. And on the large wicker desk rested a huge vase of multicolored flowers. And through her windows Samantha would have a perfect view of the hills. It was a room in which one would want to spend hours, if not years. The touches of Hollywood hadn't entirely left Caro. She still decorated every room with the special touches and infinite good taste that had characterized her Hollywood years.
It sure doesn't look like the bedroom of a ranch hand. Sam chuckled as she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around.
Not exactly. But if you'd prefer, I'm sure one of the men would be happy to share a bunk in one of the cottages. They grinned at each other, kissed again, and then Caroline softly closed the door. Samantha could hear the heels of the cowboy boots echo on the hardwood floors all the way down the hallway to the other side of the house where Caro had her own apartment: a large bedroom, a small den, a dressing room, a bathroom, all done in bright colors not unlike the quilted bedspread, and here she still kept a few pieces of long-ago-collected art. There was one very fine Impressionist painting. The others were all pieces she had bought in Europe, some with her husband, some after she lost him, but they were the only treasures she still kept from her old life.
In her own room Sam slowly unpacked her suitcase, feeling as though in the space of a few hours she had entered an entirely different world. Could she really have been in New York that morning, sleeping in her own apartment, talking to Harvey Maxwell in his office? Could one come this far in so short a time? It seemed more than unlikely as she listened to the horses neighing softly in the distance and felt the winter wind brush her face as she opened the window and looked out. Outside there was a landscape lit by the moon beneath a sky brilliant with every star in the heavens. It was a miraculous scene and she was more than glad to be there, glad to be visiting Caroline, and glad to be away from New York. Here she would find herself again. She knew as she stood there that she had done the right thing. And as she turned away from the window, somewhere in the distance she heard a door close near Caroline's bedroom, and for a moment she wondered, as she and Barbie had so long ago, if it was Bill King.
The alarm went off next to Sam's bedside at four the next morning. She groaned as she heard it and then reached out a hand to turn it off. But as she did she felt the breeze on her fingers and suddenly realized that something was different. She opened one eye, looked around, and realized that she wasn't at home. Not in her own at least. She looked around once more, in total confusion, and then up at the frilly white canopy above her, and suddenly she knew. She was at Caroline Lord's ranch, in California, and that morning she was going to ride with the other hands. The idea sounded a little less appealing than it had the previous evening. The prospect of leaping out of bed, taking a shower, and actually leaving the building before she even had breakfast, and then, after being faced with a plate heaped high with sausages and eggs, getting on a horse, all probably before six A.M., sounded exceedingly grim. But this was what she had come west for, and as she considered sleeping in for the first morning, she knew she couldn't do it. Not if she was going to make friends with the men. Besides, letting her ride with the men was a privilege Caroline had given her. And if she was to be respected by the ranch hands, she would have to show herself as tough, as willing, as knowing, as good with a horse, as ready to ride, as any of them.
She wasn't greatly encouraged when she peered into the darkness
It sure doesn't look like the bedroom of a ranch hand. Sam chuckled as she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around.
Not exactly. But if you'd prefer, I'm sure one of the men would be happy to share a bunk in one of the cottages. They grinned at each other, kissed again, and then Caroline softly closed the door. Samantha could hear the heels of the cowboy boots echo on the hardwood floors all the way down the hallway to the other side of the house where Caro had her own apartment: a large bedroom, a small den, a dressing room, a bathroom, all done in bright colors not unlike the quilted bedspread, and here she still kept a few pieces of long-ago-collected art. There was one very fine Impressionist painting. The others were all pieces she had bought in Europe, some with her husband, some after she lost him, but they were the only treasures she still kept from her old life.
In her own room Sam slowly unpacked her suitcase, feeling as though in the space of a few hours she had entered an entirely different world. Could she really have been in New York that morning, sleeping in her own apartment, talking to Harvey Maxwell in his office? Could one come this far in so short a time? It seemed more than unlikely as she listened to the horses neighing softly in the distance and felt the winter wind brush her face as she opened the window and looked out. Outside there was a landscape lit by the moon beneath a sky brilliant with every star in the heavens. It was a miraculous scene and she was more than glad to be there, glad to be visiting Caroline, and glad to be away from New York. Here she would find herself again. She knew as she stood there that she had done the right thing. And as she turned away from the window, somewhere in the distance she heard a door close near Caroline's bedroom, and for a moment she wondered, as she and Barbie had so long ago, if it was Bill King.
The alarm went off next to Sam's bedside at four the next morning. She groaned as she heard it and then reached out a hand to turn it off. But as she did she felt the breeze on her fingers and suddenly realized that something was different. She opened one eye, looked around, and realized that she wasn't at home. Not in her own at least. She looked around once more, in total confusion, and then up at the frilly white canopy above her, and suddenly she knew. She was at Caroline Lord's ranch, in California, and that morning she was going to ride with the other hands. The idea sounded a little less appealing than it had the previous evening. The prospect of leaping out of bed, taking a shower, and actually leaving the building before she even had breakfast, and then, after being faced with a plate heaped high with sausages and eggs, getting on a horse, all probably before six A.M., sounded exceedingly grim. But this was what she had come west for, and as she considered sleeping in for the first morning, she knew she couldn't do it. Not if she was going to make friends with the men. Besides, letting her ride with the men was a privilege Caroline had given her. And if she was to be respected by the ranch hands, she would have to show herself as tough, as willing, as knowing, as good with a horse, as ready to ride, as any of them.
She wasn't greatly encouraged when she peered into the darkness
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