minutes later, they arrived at the horse barn. As Blake had predicted, it was dark, and the ranch hands had already finished the evening chores and lit out for the bunkhouse. Except for T.J., the barn manager, and the rows of stalled horses, the cavernous building was empty.
As the two men unsaddled their mounts and put the tack away, Matthew asked, “When did you want the cows rounded up? I figure that’s going to take three days, maybe more.”
“Better start tomorrow,” Blake told him. “The new herd should be here by then.”
This was the first Matthew had heard about a new herd. “You’ve bought more cattle?”
Grunting, Blake shoved his saddle onto a pipe rack. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to discuss the matter with you. But I’ve just been so damned busy, Matthew. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. You’re the man who has to keep the hands going and the cattle tended to. You need to know what you’re dealing with.”
“So how many new cows are you talking about?”
“Five hundred more head. And I want them all to go to Red Bluff with the rest. They’ll need shots and ear tags after you get them there. So figure that in with everything else you’ll need to get done. Two weeks might not be enough time.”
Matthew was going to make damn sure everything was wrapped up in two weeks. He wanted to get back to his own house and own bed and away from Camille Hollister as quickly as possible.
Later that same night, Camille Hollister walked across the courtyard at the back of the hacienda-style ranch house and let herself into the kitchen. After switching on a light that swung over a long table made of hand-hewn pine, she hung her jean jacket on a hook by the door, then crossed to a short row of cabinets and put a pot of coffee on to brew.
Funny, she thought, how she worked for long hours each day at a diner in Dragoon and the waitresses were constantly filling coffee cups for the customers, but Camille rarely had the chance to enjoy a cup for herself. She was too busy cooking short orders and baking pies in between. But she wasn’t about to complain. She loved her job. Even if it wasn’t the sort of career her family expected of her.
While she waited for the coffee to drip into the carafe, she plucked bobby pins from the bun on top of her head and allowed her long, light brown hair shaded with a mixture of red highlights to fall down to her waist.
Massaging her scalp with one hand, she pulled a cell phone from her handbag and quickly scanned for any calls or messages she might have missed.
She found one message from Blake and punched the screen of the phone to open it.
Matthew and the crew should be there Friday. I’d appreciate it if you’d make him feel welcome.
Camille rolled her blue eyes toward the low ceiling of the kitchen. Make Matthew feel welcome. What the heck did her brother think she was going to do? Give the Three Rivers foreman the cold shoulder? Just because she hadn’t been home in a couple of years, Blake must think she’d turned into a hateful hag or something.
Well, haven’t you, Camille? For a long time after Graham asked for his engagement ring back, you didn’t want to communicate with any human being. You buried yourself here on Red Bluff and rarely got off the property. And you’re not exactly Miss Sociable now.
Smirking at the sardonic voice in her head, Camille walked back to the cabinet and poured herself a large mug of the coffee. As far as Matthew Waggoner went, she didn’t need to be Miss Sociable. Over the past ten years, the man had probably spoken twenty words to her, and that would probably be stretching things. And the way he looked at her—she’d never been able to decide if he liked her or if she grated on his nerves.
Either way, she’d not given the man much thought these past couple of years. But then her family would say she’d not given anyone much thought, except for herself.
And maybe they were right, she pondered as she sat down at the table and propped her feet on the chair next to her. She had gone a little crazy when Graham had jilted her. But she’d gotten over him ages ago. She was getting on with her life now and she was doing it without a man. And without her family breathing down her neck. It felt good. And that’s the way she intended for things to stay.
Picking up the phone, she typed in a reply to her brother: Don’t worry. I’ll roll out the red carpet for Matthew.
Friday evening when Camille arrived home from work, the ranch yard was buzzing with activity. Pickup trucks, along with several semi-truck cattle haulers, were parked at different angles near the barn area. Portable pens had been erected next to the permanent wooden corrals to hold the extra cattle that were being unloaded.
Working dogs were barking and nipping at the heels of the lagging cattle, while misplaced calves bawled for their mamas to find them. Dust boiled high in the air, men shouted to communicate above the din of noise, and horses neighed to each other.
For a couple of minutes, Camille stood watching the activity, and then an odd thing happened. A hard lump lodged in her throat and tears filled her eyes to the point where the ranch yard became nothing but a watery blur.
Cursing to herself, she entered the house and wiped her eyes. Darn it, she’d been done with tears a long time ago. And she sure as heck wasn’t homesick. No, she’d spent twenty-six years of her life on Three Rivers and that was enough. She loved it here on Red Bluff. But seeing the men on horseback, the cattle and dogs had all reminded her of her late father, Joel. Next to his wife and children, ranching had been his deepest joy and if he’d still been alive, he’d be out there right now with the rest of the men, doing the job he’d loved.
Nearly nine years had passed since her father had died, yet Camille still endured unbearable moments when she longed to see his grinning face and feel his comforting arms around her. She’d been a daddy’s girl and once he’d died nothing had been the same.
Giving herself a hard mental shake, Camille walked straight to her bedroom and stripped off her slacks and blouse that were permeated with the odors of fried food and burnt cooking oil. It being Friday, the diner had been extra busy all day. She’d lost count of the burgers and chicken strips she’d cooked today. Now, instead of relaxing with a cup of coffee and the book she’d been reading, she had to shower and get ready for Matthew Waggoner.
Oh well, it would only be for a couple of weeks, she reminded herself. Surely she could put up with the man’s company for that long.
The Red Bluff ranch house was built in a square with a low sandstone wall and a slatted iron gate serving as an entryway at the back of the structure. On the bottom floor, a covered porch ran the whole length of the house, while the second floor was structured with a roofed balcony. The thick walls were covered with stucco and painted a dark beige, while the flat-style roof consisted of board shingles weathered to a pale gray. The windows and doors were framed with wood that had once been black, but had long ago faded to a charcoal color.
It
