The Rancher's Best Gift

by Stella Bagwell

  “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.”

  Matthew scraped the last of the pudding from the bowl, then placed it on the coffee table. “That would be a huge responsibility,” he said. “Not to mention the money involved.”

  “I have enough and more.”

  She wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact. But then, none of the Hollisters ever bragged about their bank accounts. Maybe about their babies, or a horse or a cow, but never about money.

  “I’ve heard that cafés and restaurants are very risky businesses.”

  Nodding, she returned her bowl and cup to the tray on the coffee table. “That’s true. But this one is an old establishment. And if the blue plate thing didn’t work out, I could always go back to just short orders—like it’s always been.”

  Questions rolled through his mind. “What do you think your family would say about all this? Or have you already mentioned it to them?”

  Surprise crossed her face. “Are you kidding? You’re the only one I’ve told. And I hope you’ll not say anything—for a while, at least.”

  Using his thumb and forefinger, he pulled an imaginary zipper in front of his lips. “My lips are sealed.”

  She grinned. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s not like I want to keep the idea from them completely. But I’d rather wait—until I see if Norman will decide to sell.”

  “I’ll be honest, Camille, I don’t think they’ll be happy about your plans.”

  Shrugging, she glanced away. “No. They won’t be happy at all. But that’s okay.” Turning her gaze back to him, she reached for his hands, and as her fingers curled tightly around his, she said, “Matthew, I need to do what makes me happy. I think you can understand that, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” But did she really know what would make her happy? That’s what her mother and siblings would be asking. As for Matthew, he understood that as the baby of the family, she’d had to contend with lots of pampering and sheltering. Too much of it, in fact. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

  Her lips twisted to a wry slant. “I suppose not. But it would make me feel better to hear you say I’m not going around with my head in the clouds.”

  She wanted his approval. He’d never expected that from Camille. Maybe because Renee, and the few women he’d dated afterwards, had never seemed to care what he thought about their ideas or plans. All that mattered was their own opinions.

  Before he knew what he was doing, his thumbs began to stroke the backs of her hands. “Your head is very much attached to the rest of your body, Camille. And the way I see it, you have a right to dream and hope and plan.”

  To his dismay, her eyes began to glisten with moisture, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you, Matthew. For being so sweet.”

  His resistance didn’t crumble, it snapped like a dry twig beneath the heel of his boot. And suddenly his hands were in her hair, tugging her face away from his.

  “I’m not sweet, Camille,” he muttered roughly. “And I don’t want to see tears in your eyes. I’d rather see fire! And need!”

  She gasped, and then her eyes took on a look of wonder as they searched his face. Matthew’s fingers began to move in her hair and in the back of his mind, he could only think how she felt like silk and satin and smelled like a meadow of sweet grass and sunshine.

  “Oh, Matthew,” she whispered. “Please, kiss me. Please.”

  Her plea struck something deep inside him, but he didn’t take the time to ask himself what the feeling meant. Instead, he jerked her into his arms and wrapped his lips over hers.

  There wasn’t anything soft, or sweet, or tender about the union of their lips. It was like two winds colliding and merging to create one wild storm. He was so caught up in the hungry search of her lips, he barely heard the tiny moans in her throat or felt her arms curl tightly around his neck.

  It wasn’t until the two of them had fallen over onto the couch and his upper body was draped over hers that he finally came to his senses. But even then he was slow to pull his lips from hers.

  “I—uh—think that turned out to be more than a kiss.” His voice sounded like he’d been eating roofing tacks, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, her hands tightened on the back of his neck and tugged until his mouth was hovering above hers.

  “I’m glad that it turned out to be more,” she whispered. “Because I want much more than a kiss from you, Matthew.”

  Just hearing her say such a thing caused a battle of wills to erupt inside him. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  He started to pull away from her, but she held on tight, until giving in to the tempting call of her lips became a far easier choice than forsaking the warmth of h
er arms.

  This time when he kissed her, he tempered his need and made a slow but thorough exploration of her lips. He’d thought the calm connection would cool the fire racing along his veins, but instead, it was like pouring a slow, steady stream of gas on a simmering blaze.

  By the time he managed to straighten himself away from her, a hot ache was gripping his loins and he was sure he’d never be able to get enough oxygen back into his lungs.

  “I’m sorry, Camille. But that isn’t going to happen.” He still sounded hoarse and a hank of hair was stabbing his right eye. He shoved the curl back off his forehead and attempted to clear his throat. “This—whatever this was—should’ve never happened.”

  He was expecting her reaction to be angry or, at the very least, offended. But it was neither. Instead, she sat up, and with a soft little smile on her face, she touched fingers to his cheek.

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  He was trying to come up with some sort of response when she suddenly turned away and began gathering the dirty dishes on the coffee table.

  Jarred by the sudden switch of her attention, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Isn’t it clear? I’m picking up our mess.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. Moments ago they’d been on their way to having sex. Now she was cleaning up their dessert dishes as though nothing had happened!

  “And that’s all you have to say?”

  She stood and picked up the tray from the coffee table. “No. I say you’re very tired. Go to bed.”

  Go to bed? For one damned minute he thought about grabbing her hand and leading her straight to the bedroom. The trouble with that notion was that Matthew knew she wouldn’t resist. And later, after the fire in his body had cooled, he’d hate himself.

  Not bothering to say more, she left the living room.

  Matthew watched her go and then, cursing under his breath, he pushed himself off the couch and went straight to his bedroom. But even after he climbed into the queen-sized bed and shut off the lights, he knew it would be hours before he’d be able to sleep.

  * * *

  Sunday was the only day the diner was closed, and Camille usually used the off time to catch up on errands that she couldn’t normally do during the week.

  After church, she made the twenty-minute drive to Benson and purchased a large supply of groceries before she drove home to Red Bluff. She’d carried everything into the house and was putting the last of the canned goods away when her phone rang.

  Seeing it was her mother, Camille carried the phone out to the courtyard and made herself comfortable on a chaise lounge.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Hello, honey! We just finished Sunday dinner and I thought I’d call to check on you.”

  The last of October meant winter was coming for most people, but the sun was still exceptionally warm in southern Arizona, and Camille loved the feel of it sinking into her skin and warming her face.

  “I’m doing great. What about you?”

  Camille could hear her mother’s sigh. It was full of weariness or sadness. She wasn’t exactly sure which, but she did know they were sounds that weren’t normally made by her mother.

  “I’m okay. We’ve been very busy up here—moving all the cattle down from the Prescott range. Snow has already hit Flagstaff. We don’t want to take any chances with the cow/calf pairs being caught in a snowstorm.”

  Camille could’ve reminded her mother that there was no need for her to spend hours of the day in the saddle, doing a job that was tiring, even for a man. But she’d be wasting her breath. Maureen loved to be outside, riding and working with the cattle. It was something she’d done all her life and it had especially bonded her with Joel during the years of their long marriage.

  “Do you have them all moved?” Camille asked.

  “No. We’re heading back up there in the morning. Tomorrow should wrap it up, though.”

  “It’s hot down here,” Camille said. “I don’t look for it to cool much until Christmas.”

  There was a long pause, and then Maureen said, “I don’t suppose you’ve thought much about coming home for the holidays.”

  “No. I wouldn’t dream of leaving Norman at such a busy time at the diner.”

  “But it doesn’t bother you to neglect your family during Thanksgiving and Christmas.” She let out another long sigh. “Camille, there are times I just don’t understand you. If you’re worried that people around here are still talking about Graham Danby jilting you, then you’re wrong.”

  Camille let out an unladylike curse. “Mom, I’ve told you a hundred times or more. The guy means nothing to me. He did me a giant favor when he asked for his ring back. I’m happier now than I ever have been. And if I saw Graham today, I’d thank him for having more sense than I did. He knew we didn’t belong together—it just took me a while to see that.”

  Maureen snorted. “That would be easy to believe if I hadn’t seen all those tears you shed when you were packing your bags and leaving Three Rivers. You were crushed.”

  “No, Mom. I wasn’t crushed. Only my pride,” Camille assured her, then said, “You know, you and my brothers and sisters are all welcome to come down here and spend the holidays at Red Bluff. I think there would be plenty of room, even with all the babies.”

  “Ha! It would take a caravan to move us all down there. But I might take you up on the invitation—at least for a few days. The boys have really been getting on my nerves.”

  Camille frowned. It wasn’t like her mother to complain about her sons for any reason. Especially now that all of them had settled down with their own families. “What are my brothers doing to get on your nerves?”

  “Hovering over me like they expect me to fall apart any minute. I may not look like I did ten years ago, but I’m hardly ready to sit in a rocker!”

  “Give them a break, Mom. Now that they all have wives, I think they’re just more aware of how hard you work.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t believe that’s the cause of their behavior. Especially Joe. He thinks I’m having some sort of PTSD over Joel’s death. And none of them appreciate the fact that I’ve told them to let the whole incident go. They’re all like terriers digging beneath a chain link fence. They refuse to give up until they’ve reached some sort of conclusion.” She heaved out a heavy breath. Then, after a brief pause, she said, “Sorry, Camille. You don’t want to hear this. And I don’t want to talk about it. So tell me, how’s it going with Matthew?”

  Camille sat straight up. “Matthew?”

  “Yes. Our foreman,” she answered drolly. “Blake tells me he’s staying there in the house with you. But I don’t guess you see him that much. I know how busy the men stay when they’re moving cattle down there.”

  “Oh, well—I see him when he comes in at night. I’ve been feeding him and uh—making sure he has everything he needs.”

  “That’s good. I was hoping you’d be nice to him.”

  Camille frowned. “Mom, did you honestly believe I wouldn’t be nice?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I always got the impression that he rubbed you the wrong way.”

  Except for those hot kisses last night, he’d never rubbed her in any way. That was the problem. Funny how it had taken Camille years to figure that out.

  In the most innocent tone she could manage, she said, “I can’t imagine where you got that idea.”

  “Well, you practically laughed with glee when he and Renee divorced.”

  “That’s because she was horrible for him,” Camille reasoned. “And Matthew should have realized she was a horrible fit for him.”

  “Uh-huh. You mean like you should’ve seen how Graham was all wrong for you?” Maureen asked smugly.

  “Exactly,” Camille retorted, then sighed as images of last night whirled through her mind. “
Actually, Mom, I’m—enjoying Matthew. He’s a lot different than the way I remembered.”

  “Different? In what way?”

  Instead of a spindly young guy, who’d been totally unsure of himself, Matthew had turned into a sexy hunk of confident man, she thought. To her mother, she said, “Well, he was always sort of quiet. That hasn’t changed much. But I’m learning he has a bit of a sense of humor and he’s a good listener.” Pausing, she chuckled. “Or he might just be letting me talk so he won’t have to.”

  Several seconds of silence passed and just when Camille was wondering what her mother was thinking, Maureen said, “I’m glad you’re enjoying him, honey. I don’t have to tell you how much Matthew means to the family. And he’s—well, I’m not sure he’s ever gotten over his difficult childhood.”

  The things Matthew had told her about his family, or lack of one, were still haunting Camille, and she wondered how he’d grown up to be such a responsible man. If asked, he’d probably give all the credit to Joel, but that wouldn’t be entirely right. He’d been a hardworking, trustworthy man when he’d first come to Three Rivers. Joel had simply nourished the goodness in him.

  Camille said, “Last night he mentioned having a sister. I wasn’t aware that he had a sibling. I’ve never heard any of you mention her. Does he ever see her?”

  “Not often. The last time was right after you left for Red Bluff. Blake purchased a bull over in California and he sent Matthew to haul him home. The trip gave Matthew a chance to stop by Claire’s place.”

  “I see.” Deciding she’d better change the subject before her mother started to think her interest in Matthew was a bit excessive, she said, “I guess you’re going to have a Halloween party. Do all the kids have their costumes yet?”

  Maureen chuckled. “Abagail and Andrew are going to be cats with tails and whiskers. That’s the most important thing, of course.”

  “How cute,” Camille said with a laugh. “What about Nick and Hannah? They probably think they’re too old to party with the babies.”