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The Rancher's Best Gift
Stella Bagwell
An ordinary cowboy… Or the love of a lifetime? Matthew Waggoner and Camille Hollister may have known each other for years, but nothing prepares them for the sudden flare of attraction that hits when Camille lets Matthew stay with her. It will take a Christmas miracle to make these two see past their differences and risk loving again….


An ordinary cowboy?
Or the love of a lifetime?
Matthew Waggoner and Camille Hollister may have known each other for years, but nothing prepares them for the sudden flare of attraction that hits when Camille lets Matthew stay with her while the foreman is doing out-of-town work for her family’s ranch. But with Christmas just around the corner, it’ll take a holiday miracle to make these two patched-up hearts see past their differences and risk loving again…
After writing more than eighty books for Mills & Boon, STELLA BAGWELL still finds it exciting to create new stories and bring her characters to life. She loves all things Western and has been married to her own real cowboy for forty-four years. Living on the south Texas coast, she also enjoys being outdoors and helping her husband care for the horses, cats and dog that call their small ranch home. The couple has one son, who teaches high school mathematics and is also an athletic director. Stella loves hearing from readers. They can contact her at stellabagwell@gmail.com
Also by Stella Bagwell (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
The Cowboy’s Christmas LullabyHer Kind of DoctorThe Arizona LawmanHer Man on Three Rivers RanchA Ranger for ChristmasHis Texas RunawayHome to Blue Stallion Ranch
Guarding His Fortune
The Little Maverick Matchmaker
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Rancher’s Best Gift
Stella Bagwell


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09190-9
THE RANCHER’S BEST GIFT
© 2019 Stella Bagwell
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
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To my family and the treasured memories
of our Christmases together.
Contents
Cover (#u09c5ea07-70e5-55e7-90b9-be28f5d13205)
Back Cover Text (#u74ba1c99-3bfd-5a6e-a158-2129a969d772)
About the Author (#u2431aaa5-2790-54f3-84aa-277f7499a9a8)
Booklist (#u52fc0215-a95a-5556-851b-a969c2db94b9)
Title Page (#u7fbe9b17-db0c-59e3-bbc7-ec6e27bc0d7d)
Copyright (#u3ba262f3-cdbe-5b5c-95a2-877de8f47b6b)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u196f9e0b-00c6-5372-9175-dae049ad4b93)
Chapter One (#ud751f40e-12ba-5827-a181-7ece89098c3b)
Chapter Two (#ub3b38653-1a6a-5b57-aaa4-45a28914ccc5)
Chapter Three (#uee777dcd-02b0-56d8-94f3-3a897cf1bd8e)
Chapter Four (#ua8b871a8-1cef-5f6d-a0c2-b58f648f9d36)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
“Two weeks! Hell, Blake, that’s a long time for me to stay down at Red Bluff.”
Saddle leather creaked as Matthew Waggoner twisted around to look at Blake Hollister, his boss and manager of Three Rivers Ranch.
With a grunt of amusement, Blake leaned forward and fondly stroked the neck of the bay horse he was riding. “What’s the matter? Afraid this place will fall apart without you?”
Matthew stared out at the herd of cattle grazing on tuffs of grass hidden among the thorny cacti and chaparral. The Arizona landscape was rough and rugged, especially in this area of the seventy-thousand-acre ranch. And with each day taking them nearer the end of October, the grass was getting as scarce as hens’ teeth.
“Three Rivers would never miss me.”
A moment passed in silence, and in the distance a coyote let out a lonesome howl, signaling that twilight was falling on the jagged peaks and deep arroyos cut by centuries of flash floods.
“No. After having you around for fourteen years, we’d never realize you were gone.” He muttered a curse. “Don’t give me that bull, Matthew. You know why I’m sending you to Red Bluff. I can’t trust anyone with the job but you.”
The Hollisters’ second ranch was located in the southern part of the state, near the tiny town of Dragoon. Although at thirty-five-thousand acres, Red Bluff was only half the size of Three Rivers, it was blessed with sheltered green valleys where mama cows and calves could graze during the deepest part of winter. Each October, they shipped a large herd of cattle to Red Bluff, so this was nothing new for Matthew. Except that normally, he finished the job in two days. Not two weeks.
Lifting his hat a few inches from his head, Matthew raked fingers through the blond curls flattened to his scalp. “Are you sending the same five men with me that went last year?” he asked.
“Yes, plus one more. Scott is going along, too.”
Matthew jammed the hat back down on his head and drew in a deep breath. “Guess that means we’d better take another cot for the bunk house. There’s hardly enough room for five beds, but we’ll jam another one in there somehow.”
“Forget about an extra cot,” Blake said. “I’ve already told Camille that you’ll be staying in the big house with her.”
Stunned, Matthew swung his head toward the other man. “You did what?”
“You heard me. You’ll be staying in the ranch house. There’s plenty of room and my sister won’t bother you.”
Bother him! Camille Hollister had bothered him ever since she’d grown into a woman more than ten years ago. But Blake hardly needed to know that bit of private information.
“I’ve always stayed in the bunkhouse with the men,” Matthew reasoned. “I don’t want to set myself apart from them.”
Blake said, “You’re the foreman and their boss. And they see you as such. Besides, you’re the only man I’d trust in the house with Camille.”
Careful to hide his reluctance, he said, “I don’t expect your sister is going to appreciate this setup.”
“Camille doesn’t own or run Red Bluff Ranch. She’s simply staying there until—” He broke off, a sour grimace on his face. “She gets that damned head of hers on straight,” he said sourly.
Camille had left for Red Bluff more than two years ago, and since that time she’d not been back once to Three Rivers. The whole family believed she was still pining for the no-account bastard who’d broken their engagement. As for Matthew, he refrained from expressing any sort of opinion as to why the youngest member of the Hollister family had chosen to stay away. He only knew it was going to be worse than awkward sharing the ranch house with her.
“She’s been down there a long time,” Matthew said. “I expect by now she’s thinking straight.”
“Then why the hell doesn’t she come home?” Blake asked, directing the question as much to himself as to Matthew. “It’s no wonder that Mom is in such a dark state of mind. And Camille could do plenty to make it better for her, but no, she’s too busy thinking about herself.”
Matthew inwardly winced. It wasn’t often that Blake voiced such strong opinions about his siblings. Usually, he was very easygoing and especially forgiving. This ire directed at Camille was unlike him. But the weight the man carried on his shoulders as manager of Three Rivers was far more than Matthew could begin to bear.
“You think that’s what your sister is doing?” Matthew asked.
“I don’t know. I’m tired of trying to figure her out.” He reined his horse in the direction of the ranch house. “Let’s go. It’s going to be dark before we get back to the ranch yard.”
Matthew guided the buckskin he was riding alongside Blake’s mare, and the two men urged the horses into a long trot.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the horse barn. As Blake had predicted, it was dark, and the ranch hands had already finished the evening chores and lit out for the bunkhouse. Except for T.J., the barn manager, and the rows of stalled horses, the cavernous building was empty.
As the two men unsaddled their mounts and put the tack away, Matthew asked, “When did you want the cows rounded up? I figure that’s going to take three days, maybe more.”
“Better start tomorrow,” Blake told him. “The new herd should be here by then.”
This was the first Matthew had heard about a new herd. “You’ve bought more cattle?”
Grunting, Blake shoved his saddle onto a pipe rack. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to discuss the matter with you. But I’ve just been so damned busy, Matthew. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. You’re the man who has to keep the hands going and the cattle tended to. You need to know what you’re dealing with.”
“So how many new cows are you talking about?”
“Five hundred more head. And I want them all to go to Red Bluff with the rest. They’ll need shots and ear tags after you get them there. So figure that in with everything else you’ll need to get done. Two weeks might not be enough time.”
Matthew was going to make damn sure everything was wrapped up in two weeks. He wanted to get back to his own house and own bed and away from Camille Hollister as quickly as possible.


Later that same night, Camille Hollister walked across the courtyard at the back of the hacienda-style ranch house and let herself into the kitchen. After switching on a light that swung over a long table made of hand-hewn pine, she hung her jean jacket on a hook by the door, then crossed to a short row of cabinets and put a pot of coffee on to brew.
Funny, she thought, how she worked for long hours each day at a diner in Dragoon and the waitresses were constantly filling coffee cups for the customers, but Camille rarely had the chance to enjoy a cup for herself. She was too busy cooking short orders and baking pies in between. But she wasn’t about to complain. She loved her job. Even if it wasn’t the sort of career her family expected of her.
While she waited for the coffee to drip into the carafe, she plucked bobby pins from the bun on top of her head and allowed her long, light brown hair shaded with a mixture of red highlights to fall down to her waist.
Massaging her scalp with one hand, she pulled a cell phone from her handbag and quickly scanned for any calls or messages she might have missed.
She found one message from Blake and punched the screen of the phone to open it.
Matthew and the crew should be there Friday. I’d appreciate it if you’d make him feel welcome.
Camille rolled her blue eyes toward the low ceiling of the kitchen. Make Matthew feel welcome. What the heck did her brother think she was going to do? Give the Three Rivers foreman the cold shoulder? Just because she hadn’t been home in a couple of years, Blake must think she’d turned into a hateful hag or something.
Well, haven’t you, Camille? For a long time after Graham asked for his engagement ring back, you didn’t want to communicate with any human being. You buried yourself here on Red Bluff and rarely got off the property. And you’re not exactly Miss Sociable now.
Smirking at the sardonic voice in her head, Camille walked back to the cabinet and poured herself a large mug of the coffee. As far as Matthew Waggoner went, she didn’t need to be Miss Sociable. Over the past ten years, the man had probably spoken twenty words to her, and that would probably be stretching things. And the way he looked at her—she’d never been able to decide if he liked her or if she grated on his nerves.
Either way, she’d not given the man much thought these past couple of years. But then her family would say she’d not given anyone much thought, except for herself.
And maybe they were right, she pondered as she sat down at the table and propped her feet on the chair next to her. She had gone a little crazy when Graham had jilted her. But she’d gotten over him ages ago. She was getting on with her life now and she was doing it without a man. And without her family breathing down her neck. It felt good. And that’s the way she intended for things to stay.
Picking up the phone, she typed in a reply to her brother: Don’t worry. I’ll roll out the red carpet for Matthew.


Friday evening when Camille arrived home from work, the ranch yard was buzzing with activity. Pickup trucks, along with several semi-truck cattle haulers, were parked at different angles near the barn area. Portable pens had been erected next to the permanent wooden corrals to hold the extra cattle that were being unloaded.
Working dogs were barking and nipping at the heels of the lagging cattle, while misplaced calves bawled for their mamas to find them. Dust boiled high in the air, men shouted to communicate above the din of noise, and horses neighed to each other.
For a couple of minutes, Camille stood watching the activity, and then an odd thing happened. A hard lump lodged in her throat and tears filled her eyes to the point where the ranch yard became nothing but a watery blur.
Cursing to herself, she entered the house and wiped her eyes. Darn it, she’d been done with tears a long time ago. And she sure as heck wasn’t homesick. No, she’d spent twenty-six years of her life on Three Rivers and that was enough. She loved it here on Red Bluff. But seeing the men on horseback, the cattle and dogs had all reminded her of her late father, Joel. Next to his wife and children, ranching had been his deepest joy and if he’d still been alive, he’d be out there right now with the rest of the men, doing the job he’d loved.
Nearly nine years had passed since her father had died, yet Camille still endured unbearable moments when she longed to see his grinning face and feel his comforting arms around her. She’d been a daddy’s girl and once he’d died nothing had been the same.
Giving herself a hard mental shake, Camille walked straight to her bedroom and stripped off her slacks and blouse that were permeated with the odors of fried food and burnt cooking oil. It being Friday, the diner had been extra busy all day. She’d lost count of the burgers and chicken strips she’d cooked today. Now, instead of relaxing with a cup of coffee and the book she’d been reading, she had to shower and get ready for Matthew Waggoner.
Oh well, it would only be for a couple of weeks, she reminded herself. Surely she could put up with the man’s company for that long.


The Red Bluff ranch house was built in a square with a low sandstone wall and a slatted iron gate serving as an entryway at the back of the structure. On the bottom floor, a covered porch ran the whole length of the house, while the second floor was structured with a roofed balcony. The thick walls were covered with stucco and painted a dark beige, while the flat-style roof consisted of board shingles weathered to a pale gray. The windows and doors were framed with wood that had once been black, but had long ago faded to a charcoal color.
It was a gorgeous example of a traditional hacienda ranch house and made even more charming by the inner courtyard landscaped with succulents, a tall saguaro and three large Joshua trees. Years ago, the Hollisters would often drive down in the dead of winter and enjoy a few days of the warmer climate. But plenty had changed since then. Joel was gone and all of the Hollister siblings, except for Camille, were married with children. And she would’ve been a wife by now, too, if Graham Danby hadn’t changed his mind about marrying her.
That last thought was going through Matthew Waggoner’s mind as he let himself through the wrought-iron gate that connected the sandstone wall and walked around the edge of the courtyard to the back door of the house.
Although he had keys to both front and back doors, Matthew was loath to use either one. Even though the house didn’t belong solely to Camille, it was currently her residence, and he didn’t want to barge in as though he had a right to the place.
After knocking on the back door, he glanced over his shoulder to a view of the ranch yard. From where Matthew stood, he could see a corner of the bunkhouse. Smoke was coming from the chimney and though it was well after ten, lights blazed in the windows. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since Matthew and the other men had called it a night. Now he figured they were all pestering Curly, who’d reluctantly taken on the job of cook, to fix them something to eat. As for Matthew, he didn’t care if he ate a bite of anything. After the exhausting day he’d put in, all he wanted was a mattress and pillow.
The sound of the door creaking open caused his head to turn back to the house, and he suddenly found himself staring straight into Camille Hollister’s face.
“Hello, Matthew.”
“Hello, Camille.”
A long stretch of silence passed, and all the while Matthew could hear a pack of coyotes yipping in the far distance, while closer to the house the penned cattle continued to bawl in protest.
Red Bluff was wild, rugged land and far from town or any kind of civilization, yet Camille lived here alone. What kind of twenty-eight-year-old woman made such a choice? The kind that was still nursing a broken heart?
He was trying to answer that question as she pushed the door wide and gestured for him to enter.
“Please, come in,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been knocking long. I dozed off on the couch. And the walls of the house are so thick it’s hard to hear outside noises.”
“I’ve only been here a minute.” He stepped into the kitchen and blinked as she switched on a light hanging over the table. The room basically looked the same as it had the last time he’d been in the house, and that had been at least five or six years ago when Blake and Maureen had come down to stay a few days during fall roundup. For the past couple of years since Camille had moved in, Matthew and the men had steered wide of the ranch house.
“Sorry it’s so late,” he apologized. “I hope you didn’t wait up just to let me in. I have a key.”
She shut and locked the door, then walked over to where he stood. Matthew desperately tried not to notice the soft scent of flowers emanating from her hair and skin. It swirled around him and pulled his gaze to the gentle features of her face. She’d always been beautiful, but tonight she seemed to be even lovelier. Or was that because he’d not seen her in two long years?
“I didn’t know whether you had a key or not. But it’s no big deal,” she said. “I usually don’t get into bed until eleven anyway. Uh, would you like something to eat, or drink?”
“Don’t worry about feeding me,” he said. “I can fend for myself.”
Her lips pursed together as though his answer offended her. “I didn’t ask whether you could fend for yourself. It’s a simple question. Are you hungry?”
She sounded so much like her mother, Maureen, he very nearly smiled. “Put like that, then yes, I’m hungry. But it’s late and I’m tired. I’ll grab something in the morning.”
To his complete surprise, she clamped a hand around his arm. “Come with me,” she said in a tone that warned him not to argue.
With her hand still burning a ring around his forearm, she guided him out of the kitchen. Before they reached the living room, she turned to the left and down a long hallway. Soft nightlights glowed from the baseboards and illuminated the rich tile on the floor. The walls were decorated with huge framed prints of the Hollisters and the ranch hands doing various jobs here on Red Bluff.
She came to a sudden stop and pointed to one of the photos. “Just in case you’re wondering if you’re in any of these, here’s one of you and Daddy. Remember that day?”
Shoving the brim of his hat back off his forehead, he stepped forward and peered at the picture. The image struck him hard.
“I’ve never seen this before,” he said, his voice thick. “That horse is Dough Boy. He always bucked when you first got on him, so you had to be ready. Your father was riding him that day. We’d been gathering cattle in Lizard Canyon. Dough Boy was a real gentleman that day and Joel joked that he was the only cowboy on the ranch who could ride him.”
“Yeah,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Isn’t it ironic that Daddy was on Major Bob the day he was killed instead of Dough Boy?”
Ironic? No. Matthew’s views on Joel Hollister’s death were no different than those of the family. No matter the horse he’d been riding, Joel would’ve died that day because someone had meant to kill him.
“I’d rather remember other days. Not that one,” Matthew told her.
He heard her long sigh, and then the hand on his arm was urging him toward the nearest door to their right.
“This will be your room while you’re here. I could’ve given you one overlooking the courtyard, but I figured you’d rather have the best mattress than the best view.”
She pushed the door open and gestured for him to enter. Matthew felt like he was stepping into the room of a Mexican villa. The dark wooden furniture was heavy, the bed fashioned with four posts that nearly touched the ceiling. The tall headboard was intricately carved with the images of blazing suns, fighting bulls and trailing moonflowers. At the windows, thick burgundy-colored drapes were pulled to show a moonlit view of the desert mountains.
“Is that one bag all you have?” she asked.
“No. I have another case in the truck, but I don’t need to unpack it tonight.”
She nodded. “Well, just put your things wherever you like. There’s a private bath through the door over by the closet. Make yourself at home.”
He moved into the room while thinking with each step that he didn’t belong in this house with this woman. They were both too rich for his blood. But being here was Blake’s order and Matthew would bend over backwards to make the man happy. Not because he was his boss, but because Blake and his three brothers were like his blood brothers and always would be.
“Thanks. This is nice.” He placed his duffel bag on the green-and-burgundy-patterned spread, then glanced over to her. “I—uh—think I ought to tell you that it wasn’t my idea for me to stay here in the house.”
“I never imagined it was.”
Although he didn’t know why, he felt the need to further explain. “Blake sent an extra man this time. There wasn’t enough room for another bed in the bunkhouse.”
She shrugged. “No problem. You won’t bother me. And I’m gone most of the time so I shouldn’t bother you.”
Maybe not, but she sure as hell was bothering him right now. Strange how he’d not remembered her looking exactly like this. Her hair had grown and now reached the back of her waist. She was wearing some sort of loose flowing pants made of flower-printed material. The top that matched had a low V-neck, and when she turned a certain way he could see a hint of cleavage. Before she’d left Three Rivers she’d been extremely slender. Now she was voluptuous and it sure looked good on her, he thought.
“Don’t worry. The men and I have so much work to do while we’re down here that I doubt our paths will cross much.”
Her plush lips curved into something close to a smile. “Go wash up and come back to the kitchen. I’ll have something for you to eat.”
He wanted to argue with her, but he knew it would be a losing battle. And why bother? After tonight, he expected she’d leave him to see after himself.
“All right. Thanks.”
Chapter Two (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
Back in the kitchen, Camille opened the fridge and pulled out a ribeye steak she’d been marinating. As she heated an iron skillet and tossed in several hunks of butter, her mind spun with thoughts of Matthew Waggoner.
When had he turned into such a hunk of a man? She’d not exactly remembered him being so broad through the shoulders, his waist so trim, or his legs being that long and corded with muscles. And that blond, blond hair. He used to wear it buzzed up the sides. Now it was long and curled against the back of his neck and around his ears. But it wasn’t just the hair or the breadth and strength of his body that had caught Camille’s attention. There was something different about his rugged features. Perhaps it was the hardened glint in his gray eyes or the unyielding thrust of his jaw. Whatever it was, he looked too damned sexy for her peace of mind.
A mocking laugh trilled inside her head. Just what I thought, Camille. You weren’t really serious when you swore off men for the next ten years. You take one look at the Three Rivers foreman and you start swooning like a silly schoolgirl. Snap out of it, girl! You have nowhere else to run to!
Run? No, Camille thought as she shoved the voice right out of her head. She wasn’t going anywhere. And she wasn’t afraid of her heart or anything else getting tangled up with Matthew. She’d known the man since she was a teenager and they’d hardly been anything more than acquaintances. Nothing was different now. Nothing at all.
She was still frying the steak when Matthew returned to the kitchen. He’d not changed out of the clothes he’d been working in, but he’d knocked off most of the dust. The long sleeves were rolled up to expose thick forearms burnt to the same nut-brown color of his face. He’d left his hat behind and Camille decided he must have run wet hands through his hair. Damp tendrils fell across his forehead and tickled the tops of his ears.
Just looking at him caused a flutter in her stomach.
“Go ahead and have a seat at the table, Matthew. Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?”
He pulled out a chair at the end of the table and sank into it. “A beer would be nice.”
She carried a tall bottle and a glass mug over to the table and set both in front of him. “If you’re wondering if I’ve turned into a drinker, don’t worry. I mostly keep beer and wine to cook with.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything like that,” he said.
She went back over to the gas range and switched off the blaze under the steak. By now the French fries were done and she loaded a pile of them along with the steak onto a large plate, then gathered a small bowl of tossed salad from the fridge.
When she set the whole thing in front of him, he cut his gray eyes up to her. “This is overdoing it, Camille.”
Her heart was beating fast and it had nothing to do with his words and everything to do with the way he was looking at her, the way he smelled, the way his masculine presence filled up the small kitchen.
“What’s wrong? I cooked the steak too long?”
He shook his head. “This is not a part of the deal.”
“What deal? I didn’t know we had a deal?”
He made a flustered sound as he reached for the knife and fork she’d placed next to his plate. “I’m not your guest. I’m here to work cattle.”
“You don’t have to tell me why you’re here, Matthew.” She left the table and walked over to the cabinets. “You’ve been doing this for years.”
Yes, fourteen years to be exact. When Matthew had first gone to work for Three Rivers Ranch, Joel had brought him and four other hands down here to Red Bluff. The work had been exhausting, but the special time working closely with Joel had changed Matthew’s life. He’d found the father he’d always needed and the home he’d never had.
She plunked a bottle of salad dressing along with a pair of salt and pepper shakers in front of him. “You want any ketchup or steak sauce?”
Her question pulled him out of his memories and with a tired sigh, he pulled the plate toward him. “No, thanks. This is good.”
Once he started to eat, he thought she might leave the kitchen and go on about her business. Instead, she pulled out the chair angled to his right elbow.
“Looks like Blake sent plenty of cattle this time. I saw the extra pens.”
He glanced at her. “He’s been on a buying spree. When prices drop, your brother takes advantage.”
She smiled wanly. “Blake always did know how to turn a profit.”
The steak melted in his mouth, a fact that surprised Matthew. He would’ve never guessed Camille could do much in the kitchen. Reeva had ruled as the Three Rivers house cook for long before Camille had been born and the woman wasn’t the sort who wanted to share the domain.
“I guess you’ve taken to living here on Red Bluff,” he said. “You’ve been gone from Three Rivers for a long time.”
She slanted him a shrewd look. “Did my family send you on a fishing expedition?”
He chewed another bite of steak before he answered. “That’s funny. But I’m too tired to laugh.”
“What’s funny about it? You’re a part of the family. You know as well as I do that they’re trying to figure me out—or come up with a way to get me back to Three Rivers.”
He glanced over to see a smirk on her face, but whether her ire was directed at him or her family he couldn’t guess.
“I didn’t ask you anything,” he said. “I only made an observation. Guess the subject of you living here on Red Bluff is a prickly one.”
“You know it is.”
Deciding it took too much energy to talk to this woman, he focused on finishing the food on his plate.
Quietness settled around them until she spoke again. “Sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean to sound so—defensive. It’s just that I’m beyond weary of answering my family’s questions. They can’t accept that I want to live here and leave it at that.”
“They think you’re still pining over that Danby guy and that makes them worry about you.”
Her lips pressed to a thin line. “For your information and theirs, Graham Danby is a thing of the past,” she said firmly. “I’m perfectly happy living single and I have no interest in the male population in Yavapai County, or here in Cochise County, or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Okay.”
His simple response didn’t ease the frown on her face.
She said, “Since my personal life seems to be fair game, maybe it’s time I asked you a few questions. Like have you ever gotten over your failed marriage with Renee?”
Although he was stunned that she’d brought up the subject of his divorce, he realized he couldn’t tell her to mind her own business. Not without looking like an ass.
“Renee who?”
She snorted. “You can’t fool me, Matthew. That was what—at least ten years ago and you’ve never remarried. You’re either still crazy in love with the woman or too scared to try marriage again.”
He stabbed his fork into the fries. “Your first assumption is dead wrong. Your second one is not exactly right, either.”
Her vivid blue eyes continued to peruse his face, and Matthew wondered what she was looking for. A sign of weakness? A crack in his armor? Well, if anyone could find it, she could.
He said, “I’ll admit that when Renee and I divorced it knocked me off my feet.”
“It shouldn’t have,” she said bluntly. “I could’ve told you before you ever married her that she was all fluff.”
He scowled at her. “How would you know that? You were only a teenager back then.”
“A girl doesn’t have to reach the age of twenty before she learns how to spot a female piranha.”
He grunted. “Men are slow learners.”
A faint smile touched her face. “The last I heard you were dating a redhead from Yarnell. Are you getting serious about her?”
“No. I haven’t seen her in more than a year. And I’m not planning on getting serious about anyone. I’m going to leave marriage up to you and Vivian, and your brothers.”
Her face went void. “Leave me off that list, Matthew. The chance of me ever marrying is as about as good as snow falling here on Red Bluff. And that’ll be a cold day in hell.”
The bitterness in Camille’s voice matched the feelings he’d carried around inside him for all these years. He understood the humiliation she’d gone through when Danby had chosen another woman over her. He’d felt that same sting when Renee had left him high and dry.
“So what do you do with yourself now?” he asked. “I imagine it’s awfully quiet around here when the ranch hands aren’t around.”
Faint surprise arched one of her delicate brows. “You mean none of the family has mentioned my job to you? That’s a shocker.”
He shook his head. “No. You found an office job over in Benson or Tucson?”
Rolling her eyes, she got up from the table and walked over to the cabinets located directly behind him.
“Lord no! I’d have to be starving to death before I ever work in an office again.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see she was filling a coffeemaker with grounds and water.
“Why? That is the reason you went to college,” he stated the obvious. “What are you going to do? Let all that education go to waste?”
He didn’t know why he’d let himself be sucked into such a personal conversation with this woman. Maybe because in the quieter moments of his life, he’d often thought of her and hoped she was happy.
With the coffee dripping, she walked back over to the table and took her seat. “No. That isn’t why I went to college. I worked to get my degree in business management because that’s what Daddy wanted for me and I promised him I would.”
“He died shortly after you graduated high school. He would’ve never known if you’d chosen to take a different path.”
“Maybe not. But I would have known it. I made a promise to him and I wasn’t about to break it.”
Her loyalty to her father didn’t surprise Matthew. Even though Camille had never been the cowgirl that her mother and sister were, she’d been very close to Joel, and he to her. Perhaps because she was the baby of the family, or perhaps it was the fact that she was so different from Vivian that Joel had been extra protective of his youngest.
“So if you don’t have an office job, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m a cook in a diner over by Dragoon.”
Hearing she’d been hired on as a cook was almost too much for his tired brain to register. “The population can’t be three hundred there. I wasn’t aware it had an eating place. I only remember it having a few houses and old buildings.”
“It’s there. Not far from the interstate. Lots of folks from Wilcox traveling through to Benson and Tucson stop to eat. The building isn’t much to look at and we mostly just have short orders, but the customers seem to enjoy it and I love working there.”
The moment she’d started to talk about her job, the taut expression on her face had relaxed.
“To tell you the truth, Camille, I didn’t even know you could cook until tonight.” He gestured to his empty plate. “By the way, it was delicious.”
“Thanks. That’s what I like to hear.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms across her breasts. “I think Mom regrets that Reeva allowed me to help her in the kitchen. I probably don’t have to tell you that she expects more out of me than being a cook.”
“Why? Because you’re a Hollister?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment of thought. “It’s a lot to live up to.”
She smiled and the expression on her face was suddenly sunny and sweet and exactly the way he remembered her when he’d first come to Three Rivers. The sight sent a poignant pang rifling through him and he hated himself for being so sentimental. Especially with Camille. Of all the Hollister siblings, she’d often been more of a rebel than Holt.
She said, “I actually think you understand.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m not a Hollister, but Joel always expected a lot from me. More than I thought I was capable of. It was never easy trying to live up to the expectations he had of me. I tried. But I honestly don’t know if it was ever enough.”
“It was more than enough. You were like a son to him.”
Hearing those words from Camille twisted something deep inside him, and he wondered why seeing her again was bringing up thoughts he’d tried so hard to keep in the past.
She picked up his empty plate and carried it over to the sink. While she was gone, Matthew rubbed both hands over his face. These next two weeks were going to be even longer than he’d first imagined, he thought. And he was wondering just how early he’d need to get up in the morning to avoid running into her before he left the house. Or how late he would need to stay out at night until she went to bed.
Her fragrance drifted to him and he dropped his hands to see she’d returned to the table with a small plate of chocolate pie and a cup of coffee.
“I realize you’re tired, but I thought you might like dessert.”
“Did you make this?” he asked.
She gave him a half smile. “Yes. I bake pies for the diner, too. They’re a big hit with the customers, so the owner pays me extra for doing it.”
She’s simply staying on Red Bluff until she gets her head on straight.
Blake couldn’t be more wrong, Matthew thought as the man’s remark came back to him. Camille didn’t look or sound like she was suffering a broken heart. In fact, she appeared to be content. If the Hollisters were expecting her to return to Three Rivers to cry on their shoulders, they were all in for a rude surprise.
“This is very good,” he said after he’d taken the first bite. “It tastes like Reeva’s.”
“Thanks. That’s the best compliment you could’ve given me.”
“Are you not having any?”
“No. I’ve already eaten my quota of sweets for today.”
She propped her elbows on the table and rested folded hands beneath her chin. “So, what’s been happening at Three Rivers lately? Mom mostly keeps me informed, but I think she purposely avoids talking about certain things.”
“Like what?”
“Like my brothers’ and sister’s babies. She thinks hearing about them makes me sad because I don’t have any.” She moved her head back and forth. “And I guess in a way, it does. But if I’m meant to have children I’ll have them in due time.”
She had the frankness of her mother and the practicality of her father, Matthew thought. Together, she was unlike any of her siblings.
“All the children are fine and it won’t be long until Holt’s baby arrives. It’s going to be strange to hear him called Daddy.”
“I’m very happy for him. And Isabelle is wonderful. She’s the perfect match for him,” she said, then gave him a long, pointed look. “So, what about my brothers and their search into Dad’s death?”
Matthew shook his head. “You know about that?”
“Mom and my brothers don’t talk to me about it, but Vivian does. She says Mom clams up if she asks her anything about it and our brothers are obsessed with the subject.”
“What do you think?” he asked curiously. “That they should continue to search for answers or leave the whole thing be?”
Sighing, she closed her eyes, and Matthew used the moment to study her face. She’d always had beautiful features but now they held a maturity that made her even more attractive. All he could think was how stupid Graham Danby had been to ask for his engagement ring back and how lucky Camille was that he had.
“Answers would be good, I suppose,” she finally said. “But in the end it won’t bring Daddy back. That’s harder for me to live with than the not knowing.”
“Your brothers want justice.”
“Don’t you mean vengeance?”
“Maybe. I’d definitely like to serve up a little vengeance of my own.”
He rose from the chair and picked up the dirty dessert plate along with his cup. “Thanks for the meal, Camille. I really need to get to bed. The men are going to be saddled up by five thirty. That’s going to come pretty early.”
Nodding, she rose along with him and reached for the dishes in his hands. “I’ll take care of those. You go on.”
He started out of the room, then paused at the doorway to look back at her. “Camille, from now on you really need to let me fend for myself.”
The faint smile on her face said it didn’t matter what he said. Ultimately she’d do whatever she wanted to do.
“Good night, Matthew.”
“Good night, Camille.”


The next morning at the diner in Dragoon, Camille slid a stack of pancakes and a pair of over-easy eggs onto a warm plate, placed it on a tall counter and slapped a bell to alert Peggy that the order was ready.
The waitress immediately snatched up the plate and hurried away. Camille reached for the next order and recognized with a sigh of relief there wasn’t a next order. For the moment she was caught up.
“Wow! What a run. I haven’t had time to draw in a good breath!” Peggy exclaimed as she pushed through the swinging door and into the small kitchen. “Where are all of these people coming from?”
Camille sank onto a wooden stool and looked over at the tall woman with a messy black bun pinned to the top of her head. In her early thirties, with big brown eyes and a wide smile that hid all kinds of disappointments in her life, Peggy had become a dear friend to Camille.
“The few times I glanced out to the dining area, I didn’t spot one familiar face. They must all be travelers.”
“Hmm, good thing, I guess. If we had to depend on customers from Dragoon, we might as well close up the doors.” She looked over at Camille and shook her head. “Honey, I’ll never understand why you’re wasting yourself in this lonely little spot in the desert.”
She smiled wanly at her friend. “Because I like this little lonely spot in the desert. I’ve tried the big city thing. The traffic and hustle and bustle. The business suits and high heels. Yes, I made a nice salary, but it wasn’t worth it to me.”
Peggy tightened the bobby pins holding her bun. “Hmm. I wouldn’t mind trying it someday. Just to see what it was like to live in a house that wasn’t filled with dust and to smell like a woman instead of burnt coffee and cooking grease.”
“Who cares about dust?” Camille retorted. “And if men were honest, most of them would say they’d rather have a woman who smelled like food instead of flowers.”
“And who around here wants a man?” Peggy asked with a cynical laugh. “I certainly don’t! And even if I did, the single male population around here is darned scarce.”
Camille thoughtfully regarded her friend. If Peggy took more pains with her appearance, she’d be a knockout. But makeup or a hairdo wouldn’t take the jaded shadows from her eyes. Only deep-down happiness could do that.
“So it is, but that doesn’t mean you should stop looking. You’ve told me before how much you’d like a child of your own,” Camille reasoned. “You can’t very well make one without a man.”
Peggy slanted her a tired look. “There’s always a fertility clinic.”
Camille couldn’t believe her friend would actually go to that length to have a baby on her own. “Are you saying you’re ready to do that?”
Peggy shrugged. “Wouldn’t that be better than putting up with a creep who spouts words of love, then cheats every chance he gets?”
From what Peggy had told her, she’d been engaged once, but the guy had turned out to be a verbal abuser and she’d dumped him before the wedding plans could get started. After that misjudgment, she’d married a car salesman from Tucson, but a week after they’d gotten back from their honeymoon, he’d cheated on her. Given the briefness of the marriage, she’d gotten an annulment. Now she looked at men as though they all had horns and a forked tongue.
“Peggy, there’s a good man out there just waiting for you to find him.”
Peggy’s short laugh was mocking. “Coming from you, Camille, that’s very funny. A beauty like you, hiding yourself away.” She pushed away from the work counter and started out of the kitchen, only to pause at the swinging doors. “By the way, what are you doing tonight? I thought I’d drive over to Benson and try to find something to wear to Gideon’s Halloween party. Wanta come?”
“Gideon is having a party?”
Gideon was a seventy-five year old war veteran and widower who bussed the tables here at the diner. He was a happy-go-lucky guy, but Camille couldn’t picture him throwing a Halloween party.
“His grandchildren are coming to visit and he wants to do something special for them, so I’ve offered to lend him a hand.”
Any other time, Camille would have given her friend a quick yes. But she hated to think of Matthew dragging himself in tonight, exhausted and hungry, and her not being there to take care of him.
What the heck are you thinking, Camille? Matthew isn’t your man. He’s a grown man who’s lived alone for years. He doesn’t need you or anyone to take care of him!
The sardonic voice going off in her head couldn’t have been more right, Camille thought. She’d be more than stupid to start planning her life around Matthew. In two weeks he’d be gone back to Three Rivers and she wouldn’t see him again until next year. On the other hand, if she did want to spend any time with the foreman, she needed to make the most of the next fourteen days while he and the roundup crew were at Red Bluff.
Rising from the stool, she picked up a spatula. As she scraped grease and meat particles from the flat grill, she said, “Thanks for asking, Peggy, but the crew from Three Rivers is at Red Bluff now and I feel like I need to be there.”
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 (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
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.
The hypnotic sounds lulled him closer to the edge of sleep. He didn’t know Camille was anywhere in the room until he felt her hand cupping the side of his face.
Chapter Four (#udab6ec8a-0ccf-532a-bba2-40ad50b7ec2a)
The contact of Camille’s hand against his cheek caused Matthew’s eyes to fly open, and he looked around to see she was sitting close to his side, studying him with a mixture of concern and indulgence.
“Uh—sorry—I guess I must’ve dozed off.”
“Yes. I could tell,” she said softly. “I should’ve let you sleep. But I was afraid you’d stay here on the couch all night. And you need to be in bed.”
He needed to be in bed, all right, Matthew thought. With her soft body beneath his. The erotic thought was a hopeless one, but he couldn’t stop it from entering his mind and lingering there like a haunting dream.
“No need to worry,” he said a little gruffly. “I’m awake now.”
She dropped her hand and leaned forward toward the long coffee table in front of the couch. Matthew’s head had cleared enough for him to see she’d brought a tray with two cups and two bowls. Apparently she was planning to have dessert with him.
“I brought coffee and bread pudding,” she said. “I made it at the diner today and the customers seemed to enjoy it. You might like it, too.”
She handed him the bowl and cup, and Matthew expected her to take hers to a different chair, or at least scoot a cushion or two down the couch from him. But she didn’t. Instead, she remained by his side, so close that her shoulder and thigh were touching his.
Trying to ignore the tempting contact, he asked, “Are you the only cook at the diner?”
“Yes. It’s not big enough to need more than one. Although the owner does have a backup in case I’m sick or need to take off for some reason. But that only happens rarely.”
He spooned a bite of the pudding into his mouth and very nearly groaned at the delicious taste of cinnamon, raisins and custard-soaked bread. “This is delicious,” he said, then shook his head with disbelief. “I’ll be honest, Camille, I never thought of you as liking to cook. But apparently you do. I can see you take pride in your work.”
“Thank you, Matthew. I do. It makes me happy to create something that gives people joy.” She turned an eager look on him. “I’d like for you to come by and see the place before you leave. If you get a chance, that is.”
“I’ll try.”
His half-hearted promise was enough to put a bright smile on her face, and Matthew was suddenly thinking about Blake’s remark about Camille needing to get her head on straight. As far as Matthew could see, she had her head on perfectly straight. She wasn’t crying, or pining, or miserable, and though the whole family believed she was hiding from life, she seemed to be doing just the opposite.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Matthew. I’ve been having some serious talks with the man who owns the diner. The place is getting busier every day. And I want to expand the menu and start having daily specials. You know, the old-fashioned blue-plate thing—like meat loaf and pinto beans and that sort of home-style food. He’s not sure he’d profit over the expense, but I’m sure he would. Since he’s been hedging, I decided to offer to buy him out.”
That sounded like she’d already made up her mind to stay here in Cochise County permanently, Matthew thought.
“And how did the owner react to your offer?”
“He’s thinking on it. Which I understand. He’s owned the place for twenty years. But he’s talked a lot about retiring so that he and his wife can travel. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he’ll decide to sell.”

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