Stella Bagwell – The Rancher's Best Gift (страница 7)
“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.”
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.”