The Rancher's Best Gift

by Stella Bagwell

  “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 ra
ther 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

  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.”