The Rancher's Best Gift. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
minors, we had to go live with Uncle Odin or be dealt out to foster homes.”
“I take it that your uncle wasn’t father material,” she said quietly.
Matthew snorted. “He had about as much business trying to take care of two young kids as a rattlesnake with a nest full of bird eggs. As soon as Claire and I were old enough, we lit out of there. I wound up in Gila Bend, and my sister didn’t stop until she reached California. She lives in Bishop now.”
“Is she married?”
“She was. But it didn’t work out. I guess us Waggoners aren’t built for marriage.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but before he could figure out what she was thinking, her gaze returned to the thorns in his arm.
“So, how did you find your way up to Three Rivers Ranch?”
“It was branding time and Joel had put an ad in the Phoenix newspaper for dayworkers. I took a chance and drove up there. I knew it was a huge, respected ranch and I figured if I could get hired to work for a few days, the reference would help me get hired at a ranch that needed to fill full-time positions.”
She continued to probe for the thorn. “After you came to Three Rivers I don’t ever remember you leaving.”
“No. To this day I’ll never know what Joel saw in me. I was young and green with so much to learn.”
She glanced up long enough to give him a faint smile. “Guess you did learn. Mom and Blake say they couldn’t run the ranch without you.”
“They won’t have to try. I’d never leave Three Rivers.” Renee had tried to pull him away, to drag him to California, where she thought there would be bigger and brighter things for both of them. But even his infatuation for his pretty young wife hadn’t been enough to lure him away from the only real home he’d ever known.
“No,” she said. “I don’t expect you would.”
Matthew didn’t make any sort of reply, and for the next few minutes Camille concentrated on removing the thorns from his arms. After disinfecting the areas, she began to smooth ointment over the torn skin.
Her fingers were velvety soft, like a butterfly’s wings, and he found himself mesmerized by the gentle touch. So much so that he hardly noticed when she rolled down his sleeves and snapped the cuffs back around his wrists.
“There,” she said softly. “That should help, but you need to keep an eye on them.”
“Thank you, Camille. You’re a good nurse.”
The smile on her face was a little mysterious and definitely tempting. “I’d rather be called a good cook.”
As she started to gather up the medical supplies, Matthew rose to his feet. “All right. You’re a good cook, too. Thanks for supper.”
“Why don’t you go on into the living room and make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you some dessert and coffee.”
He didn’t need dessert and coffee. Nor did he need to lounge around in her living room like he belonged there. What he needed was to get as much distance as he could from the woman. If he didn’t, he was going to end up doing something very stupid. Like kiss her.
“It’s getting late. I really should go to bed,” he said.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.”
“That doesn’t change anything for me and the men. We’re heading out again at five thirty.”
Disappointment caused her features to droop. “Oh. I thought I might talk you into going to church with me. It’s a simple nondenominational church over by Dragoon.”
Matthew truly would’ve liked going with her. Attending church with the Hollisters was a routine he’d never broken since he’d gone to work for the family. It gave him a feeling of togetherness and a sense of belonging.
“I’ll try to go while I’m here. Maybe next Sunday. Okay?”
He didn’t deserve the wide smile she gave him. “Okay. So you go sit. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She practically shooed him out of the kitchen, and Matthew found his way through a wide arched doorway and into the living room. The long room was mostly dark, with only two small table lamps lighting the area around a red leather couch and matching armchair. Across from the leather furniture, another couch and two armchairs were covered in a brown, nubby-type fabric. At the far end of the room, a TV was playing without the sound. Currently, there was an old Western on the screen. A group of cowboys were riding frantically to turn a stampeding herd of cattle.
As Matthew took a seat on the leather couch, he felt like he’d been run over by a stampeding herd just like the one on the TV screen. The thorn wounds on his arms stung, his shoulders ached from hours of riding, and his eyes burned from lack of sleep and squinting for hours in the fierce sun.
Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax against the soft cushions. Outside he could hear the faint sound of the wind rattling the bougainvillea growing near the window, and farther away, the cattle continued to bawl. Not as loudly as last night, but they were still impatient to be on the open range.
The hypnotic sounds lulled him closer to the edge of sleep. He didn’t know Camille was anywhere in the room until he felt her hand cupping the side of his face.
The contact of Camille’s hand against his cheek caused Matthew’s eyes to fly open, and he looked around to see she was sitting close to his side, studying him with a mixture of concern and indulgence.
“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