The Rancher's Best Gift

Peggy frowned. “Be there for what? I’ve never known of you doing ranch work.”

Normally, the woman’s remark would have rolled off Camille’s back, but for some reason it stung today. “Well, I have been known to ride a horse and herd cows. I just haven’t done that sort of thing in a long time. Anyway, I just meant they might need me to run errands or something.”

The waitress shrugged. “Okay, you go ahead and play cowgirl. I’ve got to find something spooky to wear.”

Peggy disappeared through the swinging doors, and Camille dropped the spatula and swiped a hand across her forehead. She honestly didn’t know what was coming over her.

Ever since Matthew had shown up at her door last night, she’d been thrown into a strange state of mind. All of a sudden she’d forgotten about keeping a cool distance from the man. Seeing him had evoked all sorts of poignant memories. Seeing him had been like a sweet homecoming, and his company had filled her with a sense of belonging. Which didn’t make any sense. She’d never been close to the Three Rivers foreman before. So why did she want to be close to him now?

The cowbell over the door to the diner clanged, breaking into Camille’s thoughts, and moments later, Peggy was pinning up two orders for chicken-fried steak.

Glad for the distraction, Camille went to work. But it wasn’t enough to make her forget about seeing Matthew again.

Chapter Three

The five ranch hands working with Matthew on Red Bluff were a good, dependable crew ranging in ages from twenty to sixty. Curly, the designated cook for the bunch, was the oldest, and Pate, a tall lanky cowboy with a shock of black hair and a lazy grin, was the youngest. In between, there was Scott, in his midthirties and a wizard with a lariat. Abel, a redhead with a face full of freckles and a boisterous personality to match, was 25, but already experienced in ranch work. TooTall was a Native American from the Yavapai tribe and a skilled horseman, who often worked alongside Holt. A quiet loner, TooTall had never told anyone his age. Just by looking, Matthew guessed him to be thirty, but he wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was much older.

This morning Matthew had ordered Curly and Abel to remain behind at the ranch yard to tend to the penned cattle, while the others rode with him to hunt for steers. The sky was cloudless, and by midday the Arizona sun was blazing down on the jagged hills and piers of red rock that made up the southern range of the ranch.

For the past few hours, Matthew and the men had been rounding up steers from the thick patches of chaparral and prickly pear. So far they’d gathered twenty head and penned them in a wooden corral built next to a tall rock bluff. It had been a productive morning, but Matthew knew for certain there were at least ten more steers somewhere on this section of range. It wouldn’t necessarily hurt to turn the cows and calves in with those last ten, but Blake wanted them back at Three Rivers and Matthew wasn’t the kind of man to leave anything undone.

“My arms feel like a pair of pincushions,” Pate said. “I’ll bet I’ve been stuck fifty times with thorns and pear spines.”

Matthew looked over at the young cowhand sitting next to him beneath the meager shade of a Joshua tree. A half hour ago, the group had stopped for lunch, and now the horses stood dozing and resting in the shade while the men finished the food they’d pulled from their saddlebags.

“Make sure you get all those thorns out tonight,” Matthew told him. “They’ll fester if you don’t.”

“I should’ve worn my jacket, but it’s too damned hot.” Pate turned his head and squinted at the western horizon. “If you ask me, it’s going to take another day or two to find the other steers. There’s too many arroyos and rock bluffs where they can hide. And we’ve not spotted hide nor hair of them.”

Pate was a good worker, but he still had lots to learn. The same way Matthew had all those years ago when Joel had taken him under his wing. “Whether it takes a week or ten days, we’ll get them,” he told the young cowboy.

Pate whistled under his breath. “At that rate it’ll be Thanksgiving before we get back to Three Rivers!”

Matthew’s grunt was full of humor. “What’s the matter? You don’t like sleeping on a cot, or eating Curly’s pork ’n’ beans?”

“I’m not particularly fond of either one.” The young man grimaced, then slanted Matthew a sly glance. “Guess you were comfy in the big hacienda. What’s that place like inside?”

“Nice.”

Pate frowned. “That’s all you can say? Nice?”

Matthew shrugged. “I didn’t take that much notice to the house.”

“No. Don’t guess you would when you got Camille Hollister to look at.”

Matthew stabbed him with a steely glare. “I’m going to forget that you said that, Pate. But if I ever hear it again, I’ll knock your damned head off.”

The young cowboy looked stunned and just a little scared. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You heard me.”

Matthew stuffed the leftovers of his lunch into a set of saddlebags, then carried them over to the dun he was riding. After tying them onto the back of the saddle, he made a circling motion with his arm.

“Let’s go. We’ll search this draw until we reach the southern fence. If we don’t find anything there, we’ll haul the ones we have into the ranch yard and start again tomorrow.”

Nearly an hour later, Matthew was riding along the edge of a rocky wash when Pate reined his horse alongside him.

“You find anything?” Matthew asked him.

“No. None of us have seen a sign of a steer.” He lifted his hat and swiped a hand through his thick black hair. “I—uh—I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. I wasn’t meaning to be disrespectful about Miss Hollister. I just meant—well, I’ve never met her, but some of the men say she’s really pretty.”

Matthew let out a long sigh. Pate couldn’t possibly know that he’d spent all night and most of today trying to get Camille out of his head, but everywhere he looked he was seeing her face and thinking about all the things she’d said to him. She wasn’t the same woman who’d left Three Rivers more than two years ago and this new Camille was eating at his common sense.

“Forget it, Pate. My fuse is running short and—staying in the ranch house is a prickly subject with me.”

“Why? I mean, this is hard work. You deserve the extra comfort.”

“I don’t like being away from you men.”

“But you’re the boss.”

“Yeah. And sometimes that means doing things you don’t want to do.”

Pate shook his head. “No need to worry about us men, Matthew. We won’t let you down. When we get back to Three Rivers, Blake will be proud of the job we’ve done down here.”

Proud. Pate’s word drifted through Matthew’s mind later that night as he let himself in the back door of the ranch house. Would Blake be proud if he knew his foreman had carnal thoughts toward his sister? Like hell. He’d probably be hopping mad. Or would he?

The Hollisters were far from snobs. Even though they owned two of the biggest ranches in the state of Arizona, they treated everyone as equals. Unless a person crossed them, which didn’t happen often.

“Matthew, is that you?”

He was about to turn down the hallway to his room when he heard Camille’s voice and looked over his shoulder to see her standing in the arched doorway that led to the living room. Tonight she was wearing a long flowing skirt with swirls of green and purple and turquoise. Her blouse was green velvet and cinched in at the waist with a belt of silver conchas. If possible she looked even lovelier than she had last night, and the sight of her caused his stomach to clench in a nervous knot.

“Yes. I used my key so I wouldn’t disturb you.”

She walked down the hallway to where he stood, and for one wild second he wondered how she would react if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was something he’d often thought about over the years. Kissing Camille. Making love to Camille. It was a crazy fantasy and one that he definitely couldn’t act upon.

“Trying to sneak past me?” she asked.

Her smile was shrewd, but held just enough warmth to let him know it didn’t matter if he had been trying to avoid her. One way or the other, she was going to catch him.

He shrugged. “It didn’t work, did it?”

She shook her head. “When you get washed up I have something for you in the kitchen.”

“Camille, I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” she interrupted. “But as long as you’re here, you’re going to eat what I give you. No arguments.”

His nostrils flared at the sweet fragrance drifting from her body. “It’s Saturday night. Why aren’t you out doing whatever it is you do for entertainment?”

She smiled. “I’ve already had plenty of entertainment at the diner today. Why? Are you planning on going out tonight? They’ve opened a nice club on the edge of Benson. I hear they have a great live band. You might want to check it out and kick up your heels.”

It was already past ten. Did she think he was up to that sort of nightlife after sitting in the saddle all day, popping brush?

“I’m thirty-three, not twenty-three, Camille.”

Laughing, she turned and left him standing there staring after her.

When Matthew appeared in the kitchen some fifteen minutes later, Camille set a plate of enchiladas, Spanish rice and refried beans in front of him, along with several warm flour tortillas.

“I suppose you just happened to whip this up in your spare time,” he said as he took his seat at the table.

“Listen Matthew, don’t go getting the idea that my cooking is something special I’m doing just for you. I’m not a sandwich person. Nor do I like things out of a box. I cook for myself. You get what’s left over. Does that make you feel any better?”

“Okay. I won’t say another word about it.”

She clapped her hands together. “Yay! We’re finally getting somewhere.”

She placed a beer in front of him, then opened one for herself and took the same seat she’d sat in last night. Apparently she had no plans to leave him alone while he ate.

“You could eat in the dining room if you like,” she offered. “But it’s much nicer in here.”

“This is fine with me.”

“So, how did things go today?” she asked. “I noticed there were lots of cattle still penned out by the barns.”

Her long hair was loose and it slid over her shoulder as she rested a forearm against the table. When he’d first gone to work at Three Rivers, Camille had been in high school. She’d worn her hair bobbed to chin-length and it had matched her perky personality. The years since had transformed her into a very sensual female. One who was impossible for Matthew to ignore.

He said, “We’ve not moved any yet. We’ve been rounding up steers. Blake wants all of them shipped back to Three Rivers. So that has to be done before we turn the cows out on the range.”

“And after that?”

He finished chewing a bite of tortilla before he spoke. “We’ll move certain herds to different areas of the ranch. It all depends on the available grazing.” He glanced at her. “We’re doing the same job this year that we did last year. You didn’t come around or ask questions then.”

Shaking her head, she said, “You men have enough to do without a woman showing up and getting in the way. Unless you’re talking about Mom, or Vivian, or Isabelle. They all know what they’re doing on the back of a horse or in a cow lot. I was never good at any of that.”

Her admission surprised him. “You never wanted to learn?”

“I tried, but I usually ended up getting in trouble more than being helpful. Once I dropped my rein, and when I leaned forward to pick it up, my spur hit the flank of the horse. I ended up being bucked off into the fence and got two black eyes from the wild ride. Another time I was helping at the branding fire and somehow got my arm caught between the rope and the calf. I wore a cast for two months after that incident.”

“Those things happen all the time in ranch work.”

“Yes, but they never happen to Mom or Viv. They’re smart enough to avoid trouble.”

He leveled a challenging look at her. “So you’re afraid to get out among the cows and horses.”

Her spine stiffened to a straight line. “I’m not afraid of anything!”

“Hmm. Maureen will be glad to hear that. She thinks you’re afraid to come home.”

Her chin thrust forward. “I am home. Red Bluff is Hollister range, too, you know.”

Yeah, he knew. Just like he knew that she was like a piece of dynamite. Jostle her too much and she might just explode in his face.

“So, what are you afraid of, Matthew?” she tossed the question at him. “Getting burned again by another piece of fluff like Renee?”

Compared to the heat of the day, the kitchen was cool. So why did he feel a sheen of sweat collecting beneath the collar of his shirt?

“I’ve learned about women since Renee,” he said, his gaze fixed firmly on the food in front of him.

He heard her let out a long sigh.

“I’ve learned about men since Graham, too,” she said, then reached over and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

“Ouch! Damn!”

She jerked her hand back and stared at him in comical confusion. “Oh! I guess I don’t know my own strength. Sorry if I hurt you.”

He shook his head. “It’s not you—I was in a lot of thorns and cacti today. I think some are still stuck in my arms.”

Concern wiped the humor from her face and she quickly rose to her feet. “Finish eating,” she instructed. “And don’t get up until I get back.”

She was bossier than Blake ever thought about being, Matthew thought. But what the hell, giving in was easier than trying to argue with her.

A few minutes later, as he shoveled in the last bite of food from his plate, Camille returned carrying a large straw basket.

She placed it on the table and then, pushing his dirty plate aside, ordered him to roll up his sleeves.

Seeing the basket was full of first aid items, he let out a loud groan.

“No! I don’t need doctoring! Forget it!”

Her pretty lips formed a tight line as she stared at him. “I’m not forgetting anything. And I’m not going to hurt you! So quit being a big baby.”

“The guys that rode with me today also got thorns and stickers. Are you going to go out to the bunkhouse and treat them, too?” he demanded.

“No. The men in the bunkhouse can help each other. You only have me.”

She began to lay out an assortment of cotton swabs, ointment, peroxide and a pair of tweezers. Matthew bit back a groan, and rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt past his elbows.

“Hell, Camille, you act like I’ve never been stuck with a thorn before,” he muttered. “This happens all the time.”

“Maybe it does. But I happen to know that mesquite thorns are poisonous to humans. If you don’t get them out and disinfect the spot, it will become infected.”

“I know all that. I told the men to be careful.”

“Humph. Guess you think your hide is so tough you’re immune,” she said.

She sat down and reached for the arm nearest to her. Matthew tried to ignore the feel of her hands on his bare flesh, but it was impossible to do, and after a moment, he decided to quit fighting the sensation and simply enjoy it.

Bending her head, she carefully studied the back of his forearm. “This is awful. It’s no wonder you yelled when I squeezed your arm. I see three, maybe four thorns still stuck in the flesh.”

“We rode through thick brush today.”

“Guess you were wearing your chaps.” She picked up the tweezers and, after disinfecting them, attempted to pull out one of the longer thorns.

He said, “I don’t leave home without them.”

“Good thing. Otherwise your legs would be full of these things.”

And Matthew couldn’t imagine her hands touching his legs. No. That would be more than he could handle.

“This is probably going to hurt,” she warned. “I’m going to have to probe with a needle.”

“Go ahead. You’re a long distance from my heart.”

She lifted her head and their gazes locked.

“Really?” she asked. “I never believed you had one of those things.”

He had one, all right, Matthew thought. And at the moment it was banging against his ribs with the desperation of a trapped bird.

“You think I’m a rock—or something?”

Her gaze fell to his lips and for a crazy second he thought she was going to lean forward and kiss him. But his thinking must have been dead wrong because all of a sudden she dropped her gaze back to his arm.

“Or something,” she murmured. “Except for Daddy, I always thought you never felt much about anyone or thing.”

A hollow sensation spread through his chest and made his voice stilted when he spoke. “Joel was the first man who ever treated me like I was more than a doormat. He taught me that I was just as worthy as the next man and just as capable if I wanted to be. He changed my life.”

She stopped the probing and, clasping her hands warmly over his arm, she lifted her gaze to his. “Daddy was special like that. But I—I’m missing something, Matthew. What about the uncle who raised you?”

He grimaced. “I’m surprised you knew about him.”

“I don’t. I mean, I remember Daddy saying you came from Gila Bend and that an uncle had raised you. That’s all I ever knew.”

“Odin Waggoner was a bastard and his brother, my father, was no better.”

Her eyes were full of questions as she studied his face, and Matthew wanted to tell her that he didn’t talk to anyone about his growing-up years. But that wasn’t entirely right. He used to talk to Joel about them. Because he knew the big-hearted rancher had understood and never looked down on him for being raised in a dysfunctional family.

“Well, guess you couldn’t put your feelings about them any plainer than that.”

The questions in her eyes were now shadowed with something like sorrow. That wasn’t what Matthew wanted or needed from her.

“No use trying to make something ugly sound pretty. When I was just a little boy, my father would leave for months at a time, to work in the copper mines, or so my mother would say. He supposedly would send money to her to keep me and my older sister fed and clothed and a roof over our heads. But if he did, it was very little. My mother worked cleaning houses for the more well-to-do families around Gila Bend. That’s how we actually survived.”

Shaking her head, she asked, “How did you end up with your uncle?”

He let out a long sigh. “Well, Mom eventually saw the writing on the wall and divorced Aaron, and not long afterwards, we got word that he’d been killed in a mining accident down in Bisbee. The news hardly caused a ripple through our house. My sister and I could only think that our mother was finally and truly free of the man. But a couple of years later, she developed a blood disease and died. And because my sister and I were still minors, we had to go live with Uncle Odin or be dealt out to foster homes.”

“I take it that your uncle wasn’t father material,” she said quietly.

Matthew snorted. “He had about as much business trying to take care of two young kids as a rattlesnake with a nest full of bird eggs. As soon as Claire and I were old enough, we lit out of there. I wound up in Gila Bend, and my sister didn’t stop until she reached California. She lives in Bishop now.”

“Is she married?”

“She was. But it didn’t work out. I guess us Waggoners aren’t built for marriage.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but before he could figure out what she was thinking, her gaze returned to the thorns in his arm.

“So, how did you find your way up to Three Rivers Ranch?”

“It was branding time and Joel had put an ad in the Phoenix newspaper for dayworkers. I took a chance and drove up there. I knew it was a huge, respected ranch and I figured if I could get hired to work for a few days, the reference would help me get hired at a ranch that needed to fill full-time positions.”

She continued to probe for the thorn. “After you came to Three Rivers I don’t ever remember you leaving.”

“No. To this day I’ll never know what Joel saw in me. I was young and green with so much to learn.”

She glanced up long enough to give him a faint smile. “Guess you did learn. Mom and Blake say they couldn’t run the ranch without you.”

“They won’t have to try. I’d never leave Three Rivers.” Renee had tried to pull him away, to drag him to California, where she thought there would be bigger and brighter things for both of them. But even his infatuation for his pretty young wife hadn’t been enough to lure him away from the only real home he’d ever known.

“No,” she said. “I don’t expect you would.”

Matthew didn’t make any sort of reply, and for the next few minutes Camille concentrated on removing the thorns from his arms. After disinfecting the areas, she began to smooth ointment over the torn skin.

Her fingers were velvety soft, like a butterfly’s wings, and he found himself mesmerized by the gentle touch. So much so that he hardly noticed when she rolled down his sleeves and snapped the cuffs back around his wrists.

“There,” she said softly. “That should help, but you need to keep an eye on them.”

“Thank you, Camille. You’re a good nurse.”

The smile on her face was a little mysterious and definitely tempting. “I’d rather be called a good cook.”

As she started to gather up the medical supplies, Matthew rose to his feet. “All right. You’re a good cook, too. Thanks for supper.”

“Why don’t you go on into the living room and make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you some dessert and coffee.”

He didn’t need dessert and coffee. Nor did he need to lounge around in her living room like he belonged there. What he needed was to get as much distance as he could from the woman. If he didn’t, he was going to end up doing something very stupid. Like kiss her.

“It’s getting late. I really should go to bed,” he said.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“That doesn’t change anything for me and the men. We’re heading out again at five thirty.”

Disappointment caused her features to droop. “Oh. I thought I might talk you into going to church with me. It’s a simple nondenominational church over by Dragoon.”

Matthew truly would’ve liked going with her. Attending church with the Hollisters was a routine he’d never broken since he’d gone to work for the family. It gave him a feeling of togetherness and a sense of belonging.

“I’ll try to go while I’m here. Maybe next Sunday. Okay?”

He didn’t deserve the wide smile she gave him. “Okay. So you go sit. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She practically shooed him out of the kitchen, and Matthew found his way through a wide arched doorway and into the living room. The long room was mostly dark, with only two small table lamps lighting the area around a red leather couch and matching armchair. Across from the leather furniture, another couch and two armchairs were covered in a brown, nubby-type fabric. At the far end of the room, a TV was playing without the sound. Currently, there was an old Western on the screen. A group of cowboys were riding frantically to turn a stampeding herd of cattle.

As Matthew took a seat on the leather couch, he felt like he’d been run over by a stampeding herd just like the one on the TV screen. The thorn wounds on his arms stung, his shoulders ached from hours of riding, and his eyes burned from lack of sleep and squinting for hours in the fierce sun.

Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax against the soft cushions. Outside he could hear the faint sound of the wind rattling the bougainvillea growing near the window, and farther away, the cattle continued to bawl. Not as loudly as last night, but they were still impatient to be on the open range.