The Rancher's Best Gift. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
id="ud751f40e-12ba-5827-a181-7ece89098c3b">
“Two weeks! Hell, Blake, that’s a long time for me to stay down at Red Bluff.”
Saddle leather creaked as Matthew Waggoner twisted around to look at Blake Hollister, his boss and manager of Three Rivers Ranch.
With a grunt of amusement, Blake leaned forward and fondly stroked the neck of the bay horse he was riding. “What’s the matter? Afraid this place will fall apart without you?”
Matthew stared out at the herd of cattle grazing on tuffs of grass hidden among the thorny cacti and chaparral. The Arizona landscape was rough and rugged, especially in this area of the seventy-thousand-acre ranch. And with each day taking them nearer the end of October, the grass was getting as scarce as hens’ teeth.
“Three Rivers would never miss me.”
A moment passed in silence, and in the distance a coyote let out a lonesome howl, signaling that twilight was falling on the jagged peaks and deep arroyos cut by centuries of flash floods.
“No. After having you around for fourteen years, we’d never realize you were gone.” He muttered a curse. “Don’t give me that bull, Matthew. You know why I’m sending you to Red Bluff. I can’t trust anyone with the job but you.”
The Hollisters’ second ranch was located in the southern part of the state, near the tiny town of Dragoon. Although at thirty-five-thousand acres, Red Bluff was only half the size of Three Rivers, it was blessed with sheltered green valleys where mama cows and calves could graze during the deepest part of winter. Each October, they shipped a large herd of cattle to Red Bluff, so this was nothing new for Matthew. Except that normally, he finished the job in two days. Not two weeks.
Lifting his hat a few inches from his head, Matthew raked fingers through the blond curls flattened to his scalp. “Are you sending the same five men with me that went last year?” he asked.
“Yes, plus one more. Scott is going along, too.”
Matthew jammed the hat back down on his head and drew in a deep breath. “Guess that means we’d better take another cot for the bunk house. There’s hardly enough room for five beds, but we’ll jam another one in there somehow.”
“Forget about an extra cot,” Blake said. “I’ve already told Camille that you’ll be staying in the big house with her.”
Stunned, Matthew swung his head toward the other man. “You did what?”
“You heard me. You’ll be staying in the ranch house. There’s plenty of room and my sister won’t bother you.”
Bother him! Camille Hollister had bothered him ever since she’d grown into a woman more than ten years ago. But Blake hardly needed to know that bit of private information.
“I’ve always stayed in the bunkhouse with the men,” Matthew reasoned. “I don’t want to set myself apart from them.”
Blake said, “You’re the foreman and their boss. And they see you as such. Besides, you’re the only man I’d trust in the house with Camille.”
Careful to hide his reluctance, he said, “I don’t expect your sister is going to appreciate this setup.”
“Camille doesn’t own or run Red Bluff Ranch. She’s simply staying there until—” He broke off, a sour grimace on his face. “She gets that damned head of hers on straight,” he said sourly.
Camille had left for Red Bluff more than two years ago, and since that time she’d not been back once to Three Rivers. The whole family believed she was still pining for the no-account bastard who’d broken their engagement. As for Matthew, he refrained from expressing any sort of opinion as to why the youngest member of the Hollister family had chosen to stay away. He only knew it was going to be worse than awkward sharing the ranch house with her.
“She’s been down there a long time,” Matthew said. “I expect by now she’s thinking straight.”
“Then why the hell doesn’t she come home?” Blake asked, directing the question as much to himself as to Matthew. “It’s no wonder that Mom is in such a dark state of mind. And Camille could do plenty to make it better for her, but no, she’s too busy thinking about herself.”
Matthew inwardly winced. It wasn’t often that Blake voiced such strong opinions about his siblings. Usually, he was very easygoing and especially forgiving. This ire directed at Camille was unlike him. But the weight the man carried on his shoulders as manager of Three Rivers was far more than Matthew could begin to bear.
“You think that’s what your sister is doing?” Matthew asked.
“I don’t know. I’m tired of trying to figure her out.” He reined his horse in the direction of the ranch house. “Let’s go. It’s going to be dark before we get back to the ranch yard.”
Matthew guided the buckskin he was riding alongside Blake’s mare, and the two men urged the horses into a long trot.
Twenty 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.