"You think Buttercup has the idea now?" he whispered against her lips.
"Not yet," she whispered back. "Perhaps you should make it a bit clearer."
He instantly complied. Sweeping off her hat, he tossed it onto the grass at their feet. His fingers sank into the tight curls of her hair and he tilted her head to a more accessible angle. Then his hands stroked downward. She trembled beneath the onslaught of his work-roughened touch, trembled when he eased past the fragile bones beneath her throat and dipped into the vee of her shirt.
The buttons fell open beneath his expert management and a startled gasp escaped her. The warmth and fit of his caress felt so right, so natural it didn't occur to her to protest. On the contrary, it took every ounce of willpower to keep from sinking to the ground and allowing nature to take its course.
She wanted this man. Wanted him more than any man she'd ever known. More, she suspected, than any man she ever would know. That knowledge, undeniable and inescapable, terrified her.
A sharp, unexpected nudge knocked them apart and Buttercup released a plaintive moo, the sound forcing Cami back to reality. She took a hasty step away from pure bliss and fumbled with her shirt buttons. She risked a peek at Holt and a flush mounted her cheeks. At first glance, he appeared unaffected by their encounter. But upon closer inspection, she noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the betraying stiffness of his stance.
"For a man with a grudge against city girls, you sure do give them the sweetest kisses," she informed him, picking up her hat and whacking the dust from the brim.
"A temporary aberration."
She lifted her head and met his remote gaze dead on. "Meaning?"
His jaw tightened. "Meaning that in less than two weeks I suspect you'll be returning home with your mother."
She shot him a pitying look. "You suspect wrong. I'll be here for the summer, count on it."
He shrugged. "Two weeks or summer's end, it's still a temporary situation. Knowing that, I don't mind the occasional indulgence."
She felt the first stirring of anger as well as a mountain of hurt. "An occasional indulgence, so long as it doesn't get serious?"
"So long as it doesn't get serious," he confirmed.
She slapped her hat low on her brow. "In that case, I'll stick with Buttercup. At least his affections are sincere."
"I never said my affections weren't sincere."
"Just temporary." At his nod, she stepped back. "No, thanks. I won't be anybody's way station."
"And I won't put my ranch at risk again." His black gaze hardened. "And you, Tex, are a big risk. You're dangerous. To me. To my ranch. To my way of life."
"Now there you're wrong," Cami dared to say. "She was a danger. Not me." Without a backward glance, she snagged Petunia's reins and climbed aboard. "Which way's camp?"
"We'll ride together," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Ten minutes later they rode into camp, Buttercup at their heels. Amusement soon replaced the initial shock of having a huge steer tagging behind Cami.
"First time I've ever seen Buttercup bringing up the tail end of a line," Frank commented to Charlotte. "He's our best leader. Sets a good pace. Never balks at anything in his path. Makes moving the herd a hell of a lot easier."
"Best put Tex in front on point," Gabby offered his opinion. "Or we'll never get to Lullabye."
Cami listened to the exchange with interest, wondering why Holt looked less than pleased with Gabby's suggestion. Perhaps he rode point, too, and didn't care for her company. She sighed. Well, fine. If he didn't want her anymore, she'd stay clear of him to the best of her ability. He'd have nothing to complain about. She'd see to that.
All through dinner and the sing along that followed, she tried her level best to avoid Holt. Not a problem since he seemed equally intent on avoiding her. And Buttercup did his part, sticking to her side like glue and shoving anyone who came between them from his path. Finally Gabby intervened, leading a pathetically mooing Buttercup off to the holding pen. Evening deepened and one-by-one the guests drifted toward the cabin.
Charlotte stood and collected a few overlooked pieces of litter. "You coming, Camellia?"
"Think I'll sleep out here." Cami tossed her bedroll by the fire. "I don't often get the chance to sleep under the stars." She frowned. Cute, but a long stretch from the truth. She wanted to sleep here because it came the closest to sleeping with Holt she’d ever experience.
Her mother hesitated. "Okay. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."
"G'night, Momma," Cami said with a smile.
A few minutes later, Frank stood. "Think I'll turn in, too."
"You gone soft or something?" Gabby asked in disbelief. "Since when do you sleep inside?"
Holt stretched his legs close to the fire. "Since a certain widow lady appeared on the scene. Would that be about right, neighbor?"
Frank grinned, unfazed by their ribbing. "'Bout right," he concurred. Whistling tunelessly, he strolled toward the cabin.
Cami nibbled on her lip in concern. She hoped his feelings weren't seriously engaged, since it could only lead to disaster. Her mother would never permit herself to care for a cowpoke again. Her fear of losing another man to ranching would get in the way. If Frank thought he could change her mind, he'd soon learn different, sort of like she'd recently learned with Holt. Because Holt Winston would no sooner love a city slicker than her mother would a rancher.
She stewed over the similarities.
When she finally looked up again, she discovered that she, Holt, and Gabby were the only ones remaining by the fire. Holt lay propped against his bedroll, his Stetson pulled low over his face. She stared at his hat, overcome with curiosity. Unable to explain why, she reached out to finger the brim.
"Touch that at your peril."
Cami jerked her hand back as though stung. "Why? You have a thing about your hat?" she demanded.
"'Course he does," Gabby spoke up. "A man is his hat, Tex. Hell, any cowman worth his salt guards a good Stetson with his life. Fact is, the only time it should leave his head is during the national anthem. And even then I hang tight to mine lest some varmint tries to lift it off me."
"You don't sleep in it?"
"Dang tootin'. Why, I even shower in it."
Holt crushed his hat more firmly over his face. "Old man, you talk too much."
"You see what he just did?" Gabby asked, completely ignoring his employer.
"You mean the way he squashed it down?"
"That's what I mean, all right. Now you watch next time he does that. Because it speaks to you, loud and clear."
"Really?" Fascinating. "What does it say?"
"It says, he's plumb annoyed and intends to be annoyin' in exchange."
"You might take heed of your own words," Holt suggested, one eye peering out from beneath his brim.
"Sure thing. Now. If'n you see him shove that old John B. to the back of his head, why, count on it. He's perplexed, bewildered, or surprised."
Cami smiled, settling more comfortably onto her bedroll. "I take it that doesn't happen often?"
"You take it right."
"What about when he yanks it low on his forehead like this?" She demonstrated.
"Why, that means he's aimin' to git what he's aimin' to git." Gabby dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. "But if he ever throws it into the dust—whew-ee, Tex, run for cover."
"My hat's not the only thing about to eat dust," Holt grumbled. "You going to shut up, or do we need to discuss the matter?"
"Fine thing," Gabby muttered, his mustache bristling. "Fine thing when a man can't express his opinion without bein' threatened with bodily harm." He slouched down on his bedroll, closing his mouth with a snap.
Cami grinned, laying back. For a while she stared at the stars. Then, deciding to work some more on her cowboy skills, she propped her hat to the exact same angle as Holt's. Perfect, was her last thought. Life was perfect.
Within minutes something cold and wet a
nd fuzzy changed her mind. She sat up with a gasp, her hat tumbling off her face and rolling across the ground to land beside Holt. A huge, hulking form hovered over her, so close she could feel its hot, noxious breath on her face.
"Holt!" she shrieked. "Save me!"
Chapter 7
HOLT HIT HIS feet at a dead run, skidded to an abrupt stop, and burst out laughing. "Why, Buttercup," he drawled. "It's a little late to come a-courtin', don't you think?"
"Buttercup!" Cami jumped up, relief and amusement replacing her earlier fear. With a sigh, she approached the longhorn and rubbed his nose. "What are you doing here?"
"Musta broke through the fence," Gabby groused. He left his bedroll and grabbed his boots. "Better check the rest of the herd. Probably have one or two escapees to deal with."
"We'll find them in the morning," Holt said. "Tex, see if you can encourage Buttercup to return to his pen while we fix the fence."
Obediently, she gave Buttercup a final rub and crossed to the holding pen. The steer trotted behind. She opened the gate and walked boldly in. Without a murmur of protest, her hulking shadow followed. She latched the gate behind him and climbed onto the fence rail, noting with relief that only one or two longhorns had decided to follow Buttercup's example and vamoose. The rest were settled in for the night.
The huge steer joined her at the rail, blowing warm air into her cupped hand. He nudged her until she gave in and scratched his heavily muscled neck. Beneath the light of a nearly full moon, she made out Gabby and Holt resetting the rails Buttercup had knocked down, their quiet words and muted grunts drifting to her through the still night air.
She glanced up, amazed by the clarity and brilliance of the heavens. Despite the wash of moonlight, a multitude of stars burned with almost savage radiance, a proper match for the untamed land they crowned. How she loved this place. This life. It fit. Richmond and her former job and friends, in fact everything up until now, seemed like a far distant memory, unreal and undesirable. She belonged here. This land nourished her soul and fulfilled her in a way she instinctively knew to be right and true.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
She smiled, not in the least surprised by Holt's silent appearance. He, too, belonged. He, too, felt natural and at home. Without him, the dream would be incomplete. "It surely is," she agreed softly. "It's all I hoped it would be. All I ever wanted."
"Enjoy it while you can." His words held a warning. A warning she didn't care to hear. Not now. Not tonight. Not when all about her lay perfection.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't spoil it."
"It won't last, Tex. Sooner or later you'll have to face that fact."
She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "No!"
He wrapped an arm around her waist and tipped her backward into his arms. She felt his whipcord strength and power, felt the heat of his body envelop her. He set her on her feet, tucked tight within his hold, pressing her into the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. Thigh rode thigh. Hips locked. Curves keyed into angles, a perfect joining.
His breath stirred the curls resting along her cheek. "This isn't real," he murmured in her ear. "It's the illusion you love, not this life."
"No," she denied fervently. "You're wrong."
He sighed, sending an uncontrollable shiver down the length of her spine. "You're like a young buck, Tex, in love with a fancy lady. You first see her in the evening, when she's at her best, the candlelight and makeup hiding the flaws. And you fall in love with a passion you've never experienced before. But then morning comes and the makeup is washed from her face and sunlight shines through the window, and you see the truth behind the illusion. It's raw and cold and lonely."
"I don't understand. If you have something to say, say it straight."
He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. The moonlight sculpted his face in hard, remote crags and valleys, and his eyes gleamed with the cold glitter of polished jet. "Ranch life is like that fancy lady." He spoke with a ruthless passion. "You're seeing us at our best, with the grass green and lush and the sun warm against your face. And life is full and rich and rewarding. It isn't always like that."
"I know."
"You don't know." His retort held a cutting sharpness. "You haven't seen the ranch in the dead of winter when the snow is so deep it's worth your life to leave the safety of the house. Still, you leave because there's livestock counting on you for survival. And the cold, Tex. The cold is so intense it worms into the very marrow of your bones and stays, gnawing at you until you're sick with cabin fever."
"I wouldn't mind. I'd cope. I know I would."
He shook his head. "Maybe the first year you would. But what about the year after and the one after that? What about when you realize you're trapped and there's nowhere to go, no one to talk to?"
"There'd be you."
The words hung between them. She'd answered without thinking, and yet she'd spoken the truth. A truth she hadn't been aware of until that very minute. A fierce passion flared in his eyes. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he yanked her closer.
"You're a fool. And I'm an even bigger fool," he muttered. And he kissed her.
He kissed her with a rough passion unlike anything that had gone before. She felt his anger, fierce and unrelenting. And she felt his desolation and pain. She could sense a terrible void in this man. An emptiness that would take an endless supply of love to fill and all the years in a lifetime. She gave him all the love she had, and then gave some more.
Within seconds he broke free, stepping away, his expression closed to her, his body rigid, rejecting all she'd offered.
"Holt?"
"You're riding for a fall, Tex," he informed her in a clipped voice. "If you were smart, you'd get off this particular horse and head home before you break something."
"It's too late for that, I'm afraid," she whispered.
His hands clenched. "So be it. But don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
Cami stared at his retreating back until the darkness swallowed him. Oh, it was too late all right. Much too late. She'd already taken that fall. And what she'd broken was her heart.
* * *
HOLT WAITED UNTIL he heard the crunch of Cami's boots striking out for camp before stepping from the darkness and returning to the holding pen. He leaned against the rail and stared at the cattle, wishing for the first time that he smoked. Better yet, he wished he'd had the foresight to tuck away a flask of something potent and numbing.
Think of the ranch. Think of the men who have fought to carve a place in this country and who have died protecting it. Think of the land. Winston land. My land.
Instead he thought of hair as black as a raven's wing, tumbling in silky ringlets around a face that occupied every moment of his day...and haunted every moment of his nights. He thought of kissing each freckle decorating her pert little nose, and of finding less obvious freckles to kiss. He thought of brilliant blue eyes darkening to navy with the strength of her passion.
And he thought of long winter nights and how they could be spent…with the right woman.
His fist slammed into the fence post, the pain bringing with it a measure of reason and calm. He couldn’t afford the risk, anymore than he could afford to make another mistake. One more like the last and he'd lose everything. He had to keep his focus on his top priority. His ranch. He sure as hell couldn’t risk a distraction like Cami Greenbush, no matter how badly parts south of the border disagreed with that assessment.
He found the decision an easy one. Too bad if it left him with an almost unbearable ache. Aches could be eased. Eventually. They just couldn't be eased by city slickers. There were plenty of women raised on ranches who knew the score. He'd have to find one. He'd have to forget about black hair and dimples and freckles.
He grimaced. Although forgetting those freckles might just about kill him.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY Cami barely found time to think, let alone brood over H
olt's remarks. Work began at daybreak with each wrangler teamed with a couple of guests. The different areas around camp were divided among the groups, and the mountains, brush, and gullies swept thoroughly for cattle. To her surprise, she enjoyed herself, relaxing and joking with the guests and taking bets to see who could round up the most longhorns.
"'Fraid I have a bit of bad news," Holt informed them over lunch. "We have a storm on the way. Which means the sooner we've collected and penned the herd, the happier we'll all be. I'd appreciate it if you'd follow the wranglers' directions to the letter. That way we can get the job done as quick as possible and beat that rain."
His announcement set the tone and they didn't waste any time after that. The guests and wranglers worked fast, scouring the surrounding countryside. The afternoon winged by, successful and exhausting. At long last, a satisfied if weary band brought in the final reluctant longhorn.
Over dinner, Cami watched with concern while clouds filled the sky with the heavy threat of rain. The instant they’d scraped the last bean from the last tin plate, the heavens opened.
"Haul tail inside," Gabby shouted, clanging a bell attached to the wall of the cabin. "Frank's got a nice little fire goin' in the hearth and a whole bag of marshmallows just waitin' to be toasted."
Everyone scrambled to collect plates and cups. Laughing at the mad dash, Cami and Charlotte darted beneath the covered porch and stared at the downpour.
"I guess you won't be sleeping under the stars tonight," Charlotte said.
Cami nodded, fighting a stab of regret. "Doesn't look like it."
"I think you should know something." Hesitating only a moment, Charlotte took a quick breath and rushed on. "I'm actually having a good time. I know it's sort of funny after the fuss I kicked up about your working here and the danger and everything." Her gaze grew distant, as if filled with bittersweet memories. "I guess I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed ranch life."
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