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,