by Day Leclaire
Chapter 10
Cami cleared her throat. "I don't believe I know that one. Fact is, I don't believe I want to know that one." As an afterthought, she buried her yo-yo deep in her pocket.
Holt glanced around. "You kids all right?"
"We're having an adventure," Gary announced.
"I want my mommy," Katie Sue said, and promptly burst into tears.
Cami rushed to comfort the child, but Holt beat her to it. He scooped the youngster into his arms and brushed her hair from her damp face. "Easy does it, buckaroo. Everything's going to be all right now. I promise."
The tears slowed. "Can we go home?"
"In the morning. It's not a good idea to travel at night. Would you like to tell your folks you're safe? Since the phones don't work out here, it's the next best thing to talking to them." She nodded, and he carried her to his horse. Opening a saddlebag, he pulled out a flare gun.
"We're going to talk to Mommy with a gun?" Katie Sue asked dubiously.
"Sure are. You watch." They crossed to a clearing and he aimed into the air. "Say when, and I'll pull the trigger. It'll make a loud boom and set the sky ablaze, like fireworks. Everyone at the ranch will see it and realize I've found you and you're all fine."
She covered her ears with her hands. "Okay. Shoot it."
He did. Instantly a bright flash whizzed skyward. All eyes remained riveted on the glowing red ball that burst across the night canopy. The instant the final twinkling ember drifted to earth, an answering flare streaked high overhead.
"See," he said, pointing. "There's your mother's answer. She knows you're safe and is saying goodnight."
Katie Sue sighed and snuggled against his shoulder. "G'night, Mommy."
Cami gazed at the ground, tears stinging her eyes. This was her fault. She'd done this. She'd never felt more ashamed in her life. All those worried parents. All that fear and anxiety. All because of her.
"Have you eaten?" he asked the group at large.
"We ate wieners and beans and marshmallows and hot chocolate." Aaron cataloged. "I'm stuffed."
"We've been having lots of fun," Nathan added earnestly. "Tex was going to show us some yo-yo tricks before we went to bed. Wanna watch?"
"Sounds good. Let me get Loco settled and I'll join you." He looked directly at Cami and she flinched beneath his hard gaze. "I have bedrolls for the kids. Come and get them."
She gulped. Why hadn't he just said, "Come and get them and die?" Dragging behind, she left the protective circle of firelight and allowed the menacing darkness to swallow her. She shivered, not from the chill of the night air but from the cold eyes and tense stance of the man in front of her.
"Holt—"
"Don't say a word." He kept his voice low, but his warning cracked like a whip. "First answer this. Is everyone safe?"
"Yes."
"Uninjured?"
"Yes."
"Not even a scratch? "
"Not even a scratch," she hastened to reassure.
He grabbed a fistful of shirt, tugging her close. "You scared the hell out of me, woman. You know that?"
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Shut up, Tex."
Without another word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with a desperation she couldn't mistake. She forgot everything except how good it felt to be held by him, touched by him, to be with the one man who made her whole, made her complete. She loved this man. Lordy, how she loved him.
Minutes passed. Finally, she rested her forehead against his chest, listening to the rapid, powerful beat of his heart. "I'm sorry about what happened," she said. "I'd like to explain."
Instantly his muscles tautened and he thrust her away. "Don't."
"Holt?" she whispered, bewildered by the abrupt change in him.
"I'm warning you. Let it drop."
"But, I thought..."
He rounded on her. "You thought what? That a kiss lets you off the hook? That because we made love—that we'd planned to make love again tonight—that there wouldn't be consequences for your actions? Think again." The harshness in his tone made her cringe. "Now listen up, and listen good. You aren't to offer one word of excuse about this... this adventure in front of the children. You keep it light and friendly. Tomorrow—" He leaned closer, emphasizing each word. "Tomorrow we will discuss it. Long and hard."
"Yessir, boss," she murmured. "Long and hard." He tossed the bedrolls at her and she clutched them to her chest. Tears clogged her throat and burned her eyes. She forced herself to speak, shocked at how ragged her voice sounded. "For what it's worth, I've learned my lesson."
"No, I don't think you have," he replied coolly, stripping the saddle off Loco. "But come morning, you will."
She stumbled back into camp and gave each child a bedroll, helping them arrange their sleeping spots. Then she passed out the yo-yos and quietly set about teaching them some of her simpler tricks. Eventually Holt joined in. Before long Katie Sue sought her bed, battling yawns. The three boys weren't far behind.
Holt shifted closer to the fire, banking it for the night. Cami settled onto her saddle blanket and watched. A breeze caught at the upper reaches of the trees, rustling the leaves. In the distance a great horned owl hooted, the bass sound echoing across the hills. The fire snapped and sparks shot into the air. Holt lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers.
"I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm sorry," she said softly. "Truly sorry."
He shoved back his hat and nodded. "I know you are, Tex. But you disobeyed my direct order just to prove a point about your worth as a cowboy. Well, you did that, all right." He tossed a stick at the fire. "But the sad fact is, you proved just the opposite of what you'd hoped. And you put these kids in jeopardy to do it."
She didn't say another word. Instead she hunkered down on top of the blanket, battling guilt and grief. Honesty compelled her to admit the truth. She had been trying to prove a point, one aimed directly at Holt in the hopes of convincing him to keep her after summer's end. And she had used the children in order to do it. And in so doing, she had put them at risk.
She wasn't worthy of being a cowboy.
"Good night, Holt," she whispered.
"Night, Tex." He hesitated, then added gently, "Sweet dreams."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Not likely. Seemed she was plumb out of dreams, sweet or otherwise.
* * *
A wakeup lick from Git rousted Cami at the crack of dawn. She busied herself heating water in the rinsed bean cans and preparing hot chocolate and trail mix for breakfast. Then she watered and saddled the horses. The children took more effort. Still, she managed to deal with their morning grumpies and get them fed, spit polished and ready to go, hoping her hard work would help atone for her poor judgment.
Holt crossed to her side and handed her a tin cup. "I know you don't drink coffee. Thought you might like to make an exception this morning. It's instant."
"Thanks," she said gruffly and took a quick swallow. It tasted even worse than she remembered, but she forced herself to drink it. Before this day ended, she'd need the caffeine.
"Roll up your beds," Holt told the children, "and douse the fire with dirt. Gary, you make sure it's done right." He turned cool, stern eyes in Cami's direction. "Tex and I are going for a quick stroll. You kids don't budge from this spot. Understand?"
As one, the children nodded solemnly. Cami could tell from their expressions they'd obey his order to the letter. He snagged her arm and led the way out of camp.
"Where are we going?" she asked anxiously.
"You'll know when we get there." They walked about a hundred feet. "What do you see?"
She stopped and glanced around, bewildered. "Woods to both sides. A clearing up ahead."
"Take another look at that clearing." He tugged her a step closer.
Cami gasped, scrambling back. A yard in front of her the ground abruptly ended, plunging to a very deep, very narrow, and practically invisible chasm. "Oh, Lordy," she gulped.
"Wh
ich way were you traveling yesterday?"
She paled. "This way."
"I thought as much," he said with a nod. "You wouldn't have seen the drop coming until it opened beneath you. You realize that, don't you?"
She couldn't speak. Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth and nodded, fighting a sharp, near overwhelming bout of nausea.
"If for some reason you'd chosen to detour into the woods, you'd have hit this same gorge there, too," he continued relentlessly. "The accident would've been avoidable, because the drop's more visible. Not that it matters. Because unless you'd decided to go back the way you came, eventually you would have returned here, on the only path that looks passable. Then you and the children would have ridden for a fall."
She fought for breath. "I didn't know. I'm sorry," she gasped.
"I believe you, Tex. But let me make one more point. What we're doing here," he swept his arm to encompass the surrounding territory, "isn't even true cowboy work. This is taking folks for a pleasant ride in the mountains. Cowboy work is much more. It involves dangerous animals and machinery and adverse weather conditions. It requires skill and care, and most important of all, thought."
Cami bowed her head. "I admit to a lack in one or two of those areas."
He muttered an unflattering comment. "The fact is, you're lacking in all those areas. Period. You don't think, Tex. And cowboys who don't think, don't live long enough to regret it. A wrangler has to be able to count on his fellow wranglers, has to trust them with his very life at times. I can't have someone I don't trust workin' for me. It's as simple as that."
"Holt, please..."
He didn't relent. "Your time for explanations is over. You stand here while I finish getting us packed. And you think about what I've said. We leave in five minutes." With that, he turned and stalked away.
Cami stared at the yawning pit in front of her. She and the children could have been down there, hurt and broken. Or worse. And it would have been all her fault, because she'd been so hell-bent on proving her worth. Well, she'd done that, hadn't she?
Holt was right. She didn't deserve to be a cowboy. Her chin wobbled. Deserve? Time to face facts. She wasn't a cowboy. Which left her with one option and only one option. She stiffened her spine. First things first. Time to face her mistakes.
She whistled for Git and returned to camp, inspecting the site for anything they might have left behind. She checked whether Gary extinguished the fire properly and made certain to erase all evidence of their passing. A bit of plastic lay on the ground and she picked it up, shoving it in her pocket.
"Shake a leg," Holt called. "We've several hours of riding to go."
By midmorning, they arrived at the ranch, a happy, chattering group, all except for a silent, abashed Cami. Approaching the first of the cabins Holt drew to a stop.
"You kids go ahead and let your folks know you're safe." He waited until they'd ridden off before addressing Cami. "If you'd rather, you can cut around the back way."
For an instant, she didn't understand what he meant. Then hot color flooded her face. "I'm no coward," she stated fiercely. "I made a mistake and I'll own up to it." She kicked Petunia in the rump and trotted after the children, rejoining them just as they reached the barn.
The parents came running from the ranch house, gathering around the children. Two of the mothers were crying. The fathers' faces were set in identical relieved yet weary lines. She doubted a single one had gotten any sleep. Remorse consumed her.
"Excuse me, folks," she spoke in a loud, clear voice. They turned and looked at her, their expressions ranging from anger to suspicion.
"Are you the girl who got our kids lost?" Katie Sue's mother demanded.
Holt reined in beside her, but she pointedly ignored him. "I am. And I'd like to offer my most sincere apologies. I'd also like to assure you that Mr. Winston had no idea I'd taken on such a huge responsibility. And he'd never have approved, if he had known. I hope you won't hold him accountable since it was entirely my own doing. I have no excuse—" She shrugged. "Leastwise none that would make anyone any happier about this whole, unfortunate situation. But I do regret my actions. I'm sorry."
"Don't be mad, Mommy," Katie Sue said, tugging at the woman's arm. "We had fun. I want to do it again."
The unexpected statement brought quick laughter and helped ease some of the tension. Holt took advantage of the temporary lull. "If anyone has any questions or concerns, you address them to me." He glanced at Cami and murmured. "Go take care of the horses, Tex. The sooner you're out of sight, the sooner this will blow over."
Obediently Cami led the animals into the barn and set to work. No need to hurry. Only one other job remained—to talk to her mother. And that could wait a little longer. An hour later, she crossed to the ranch house. She expected to find Charlotte in an absolute panic and weeping buckets. Instead Cami found her mother calmly discussing wedding cakes with Agnes.
"Momma, may I speak to you for a minute?"
"Back from your little escapade, are you?" Agnes said, slapping closed her cookbook. "Half the town's been callin' for updates. I told 'em you were probably dead at the bottom of some gulch and good riddance."
"Thank you."
The housekeeper snorted. "They didn't believe me, neither. They're on their way, you know. I think they're hopin' to see a lynchin'."
"They probably will."
Agnes's eyes narrowed and she planted her hands on her hips. "You realize what their comin' means, don't you? It means I'll have to brew up gallons of coffee. Everyone was up so late worryin' about you, they're plumb tuckered out this morning."
"You could just shoot me and save everyone a lot of misery," Cami suggested.
"Well, I... Well, now," the housekeeper sputtered, and turned to Charlotte. "Call the doc, Charlie. The girl's sick as a gut-swollen mule."
"I don't need a doctor. I need to talk." She managed a smile. "Momma, could we?"
Her mother stood and linked arms. "Why don't we go to my room?" she suggested. "I'll return shortly, Agnes. But I really would appreciate it if you'd consider the strawberry whipped icing."
"I'll consider it," Agnes said pleasantly enough, before muttering beneath her breath, "when hell freezes over."
"You had everyone very upset," Charlotte remarked, stepping into her bedroom and closing the door behind them.
"Yes, Momma, I know. I'm sorry about that." She should just stamp the words on her forehead and be done with it.
"I knew, of course, that you'd be perfectly safe," her mother continued, clearly pleased with herself. "After all, cowboying is in your blood, as you've reminded me so many times."
Cami groaned to hear her own words parroted back. She climbed onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "I've changed my mind about that. I'm afraid the Greenbush cowboying gene must have skipped a generation or something." She looked up at Charlotte, tears filling her eyes. "Oh, Momma, I've been such a fool. I've hurt Holt and I've jeopardized those poor kids and upset their parents and gotten the whole town in a tizzy. And for what?"
"So you could prove to Holt you're a cowboy and worth hanging on to."
"So I could—" She broke off and stared at her mother. "You know?"
"I think most of Lullabye has it figured out by now." She slanted her daughter a teasing look. "It might have something to do with the two of you sneaking off to steal a few moonlit kisses. Everyone pretends not to notice, but of course we all do."
Cami nodded. "Naturally."
Charlotte sat down and put an arm around her daughter, giving her a tender hug. "Oh, sweetie, it's not that bad. Has Holt fired you?"
"Not in so many words. But he was so mad he had trouble even speaking." She dropped her chin to her knees. "Give him time."
"Trust me. If Holt Winston hasn't found the words yet, he's never going to. You made a little mistake. He'll forgive you and everything will be back to normal."
Cami shook her head. "You don't understand. All these years, I've been kidding mys
elf. But I'm finally facing reality. I'm no cowboy. I never was. Hell's bells. After this latest fiasco, I don't even deserve to be Texan."
Charlotte stiffened. "Oh, dear," she murmured faintly.
Cami frowned. "You've gone all white and funny looking. What's wrong?"
Her mother's arm slid away and she twisted her diamond engagement ring. "It... it seemed harmless enough at the time."
"What seemed harmless enough at the time?" Cami asked, bewildered.
"I mean, your daddy was a Texan and if we hadn't been visiting my mother at the time, and if I hadn't gotten my dates mixed up..." She shot Cami an apologetic glance. "It seemed so important to you, that I didn't have the heart to tell you the truth."
A horrible, impossible, distressing suspicion took hold. Cami swallowed. "Tell me what, Momma?"
"You aren't precisely a Texan. Legally, I mean," Charlotte confessed. "You were born in Richmond. But... but that's okay, isn't it? I mean your father was a Texan, so that has to count, doesn't it? It makes you a sort of Texan, right? A step-Texan or half Texan or something?"
"Not..." She fought to draw air. Somehow the room had run out. "I'm not...?"
"Camellia? Sweetheart?" Her mother's voice rose. "Cami? Are you okay?"
"I think I'm going to be sick."
It felt as though the bottom had fallen out of her world. All this time she'd believed herself a cowboy and a Texan. She'd thought ranching flowed through her veins. She'd been so certain that with a little practice her natural born skills would come to the fore. Now she understood why they never had. What a fool she'd been. Holt had been right all along.
It took every scrap of willpower to stand. "I have to leave now."
Her mother jumped up, wringing her hands. "What precisely do you mean by leave? Go to your room? Is that what you mean?"
"Yep. I'm going to my room now. The one in Richmond." She squared her shoulders. "I'm here under false pretenses. And I'm honor bound to correct that. I'll pack my bags and leave. It'll save everyone a lot of trouble."
"Now, Camellia, there's no sense in doing anything rash."