Once Upon a Cowboy (16 page)

"Holt!" she shrieked. "Save me!"

Chapter 7

Holt hit his feet at a dead run, skidded to an abrupt stop, and burst out laughing. "Why, Buttercup," he drawled. "It's a little late to come a-courtin', don't you think?"

"Buttercup!" Cami jumped up, relief and amusement replacing her earlier fear. With a sigh, she approached the longhorn and rubbed his nose. "What are you doing here?"

"Musta broke through the fence," Gabby groused. He left his bedroll and grabbed his boots. "Better check the rest of the herd. Probably have one or two escapees to deal with."

"We'll find them in the morning," Holt said. "Tex, see if you can encourage Buttercup to return to his pen while we fix the fence."

Obediently, she gave Buttercup a final rub and crossed to the holding pen. The steer trotted behind. She opened the gate and walked boldly in. Without a murmur of protest, her hulking shadow followed. She latched the gate behind him and climbed onto the fence rail, noting with relief that only one or two longhorns had decided to follow Buttercup's example and vamoose. The rest were settled in for the night.

The huge steer joined her at the rail, blowing warm air into her cupped hand. He nudged her until she gave in and scratched his heavily muscled neck. Beneath the light of a nearly full moon, she made out Gabby and Holt resetting the rails Buttercup had knocked down, their quiet words and muted grunts drifting to her through the still night air.

She glanced up, amazed by the clarity and brilliance of the heavens. Despite the wash of moonlight, a multitude of stars burned with almost savage radiance, a proper match for the untamed land they crowned. How she loved this place. This life. It fit. Richmond and her former job and friends, in fact everything up until now, seemed like a far distant memory, unreal and undesirable. She belonged here. This land nourished her soul and fulfilled her in a way she instinctively knew to be right and true.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She smiled, not in the least surprised by Holt's silent appearance. He, too, belonged. He, too, felt natural and at home. Without him, the dream would be incomplete. "It surely is," she agreed softly. "It's all I hoped it would be. All I ever wanted."

"Enjoy it while you can." His words held a warning. A warning she didn't care to hear. Not now. Not tonight. Not when all about her lay perfection.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't spoil it."

"It won't last, Tex. Sooner or later you'll have to face that fact."

She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "No!"

He wrapped an arm around her waist and tipped her backward into his arms. She felt his whipcord strength and power, felt the heat of his body envelop her. He set her on her feet, tucked tight within his hold, pressing her into the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. Thigh rode thigh. Hips locked. Curves keyed into angles, a perfect joining.

His breath stirred the curls resting along her cheek. "This isn't real," he murmured in her ear. "It's the illusion you love, not this life."

"No," she denied fervently. "You're wrong."

He sighed, sending an uncontrollable shiver down the length of her spine. "You're like a young buck, Tex, in love with a fancy lady. You first see her in the evening, when she's at her best, the candlelight and makeup hiding the flaws. And you fall in love with a passion you've never experienced before. But then morning comes and the makeup is washed from her face and sunlight shines through the window, and you see the truth behind the illusion. It's raw and cold and lonely."

"I don't understand. If you have something to say, say it straight."

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. The moonlight sculpted his face in hard, remote crags and valleys, and his eyes gleamed with the cold glitter of polished jet. "Ranch life is like that fancy lady." He spoke with a ruthless passion. "You're seeing us at our best, with the grass green and lush and the sun warm against your face. And life is full and rich and rewarding. It isn't always like that."

"I know."

"You don't know." His retort held a cutting sharpness. "You haven't seen the ranch in the dead of winter when the snow is so deep it's worth your life to leave the safety of the house. Still, you leave because there's livestock counting on you for survival. And the cold, Tex. The cold is so intense it worms into the very marrow of your bones and stays, gnawing at you until you're sick with cabin fever."

"I wouldn't mind. I'd cope. I know I would."

He shook his head. "Maybe the first year you would. But what about the year after and the one after that? What about when you realize you're trapped and there's nowhere to go, no one to talk to?"

"There'd be you."

The words hung between them. She'd answered without thinking, and yet she'd spoken the truth. A truth she hadn't been aware of until that very minute. A fierce passion flared in his eyes. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he yanked her closer.

"You're a fool. And I'm an even bigger fool," he muttered. And he kissed her.

He kissed her with a rough passion unlike anything that had gone before. She felt his anger, fierce and unrelenting. And she felt his desolation and pain. She could sense a terrible void in this man. An emptiness that would take an endless supply of love to fill and all the years in a lifetime. She gave him all the love she had, and then gave some more.

Within seconds he broke free, stepping away, his expression closed to her, his body rigid, rejecting all she'd offered.

"Holt?"

"You're riding for a fall, Tex," he informed her in a clipped voice. "If you were smart, you'd get off this particular horse and head home before you break something."

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid," she whispered.

His hands clenched. "So be it. But don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Cami stared at his retreating back until the darkness swallowed him. Oh, it was too late all right. Much too late. She'd already taken that fall. And what she'd broken was her heart.

* * *

Holt waited until he heard the crunch of Cami's boots striking out for camp before stepping from the darkness and returning to the holding pen. He leaned against the rail and stared at the cattle, wishing for the first time that he smoked. Better yet, he wished he'd had the foresight to tuck away a flask of something potent and numbing.

Think of the ranch. Think of the men who have fought to carve a place in this country and who have died protecting it. Think of the land. Winston land. My land.

Instead he thought of hair as black as a raven's wing, tumbling in silky ringlets around a face that occupied every moment of his day... and haunted every moment of his nights. He thought of kissing each freckle decorating her pert little nose, and of finding less obvious freckles to kiss. He thought of brilliant blue eyes darkening to navy with the strength of her passion.

And he thought of long winter nights and how they could be spent... with the right woman.

His fist slammed into the fence post, the pain bringing with it a measure of reason and calm. He couldn't afford the risk, anymore than he could afford to make another mistake. One more like the last and he'd lose everything. He had to keep his focus on his top priority. His ranch. He sure as hell couldn't risk a distraction like Cami Greenbush, no matter how badly parts south of the border disagreed with that assessment.

He found the decision an easy one. Too bad if it left him with an almost unbearable ache. Aches could be eased. Eventually. They just couldn't be eased by city slickers. There were plenty of women raised on ranches who knew the score. He'd have to find one. He'd have to forget about black hair and dimples and freckles.

He grimaced. Although forgetting those freckles might just about kill him.

* * *

The next day Cami barely found time to think, let alone brood over Holt's remarks. Work began at daybreak with each wrangler teamed with a couple of guests. The different areas around camp were divided among the groups, and the mountains, brush, and gullies swept thoroughly for cattle. To her surprise, she enjoyed herself, relaxing and joking with the guests and taking bets to see who could round up the most longhorns.

"'Fraid I have a bit of bad news," Holt informed them over lunch. "We have a storm on the way. Which means the sooner we've collected and penned the herd, the happier we'll all be. I'd appreciate it if you'd follow the wranglers' directions to the letter. That way we can get the job done as quick as possible and beat that rain."

His announcement set the tone and they didn't waste any time after that. The guests and wranglers worked fast, scouring the surrounding countryside. The afternoon winged by, successful and exhausting. At long last, a satisfied if weary band brought in the final reluctant longhorn.

Over dinner, Cami watched with concern while clouds filled the sky with the heavy threat of rain. The instant they'd scraped the last bean from the last tin plate, the heavens opened.

"Haul tail inside," Gabby shouted, clanging a bell attached to the wall of the cabin. "Frank's got a nice little fire goin' in the hearth and a whole bag of marshmallows just waitin' to be toasted."

Everyone scrambled to collect plates and cups. Laughing at the mad dash, Cami and Charlotte darted beneath the covered porch and stared at the downpour.

"I guess you won't be sleeping under the stars tonight," Charlotte said.

Cami nodded, fighting a stab of regret. "Doesn't look like it."

"I think you should know something." Hesitating only a moment, Charlotte took a quick breath and rushed on. "I'm actually having a good time. I know it's sort of funny after the fuss I kicked up about your working here and the danger and everything." Her gaze grew distant, as if filled with bittersweet memories. "I guess I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed ranch life."

Cami threw an arm around her mother's shoulders and gave her an understanding hug. "You didn't forget, Momma," she corrected gently.

Charlotte stiffened, releasing a ragged laugh. "You're right. I didn't forget. I put it from my mind. I didn't want to remember, because some of those memories caused so much pain."

"I know," Cami said, compassion welling up inside. "And I understand. You still planning to stay the rest of your two weeks?"

"I'm staying," her mother confirmed.

"And then?"

"And then I guess I learn to let you live your own life." She laughed again, a lighter, freer laugh. "It won't be easy and I don't promise not to interfere every once in a while. But I'll do my best."

Cami grinned. "I love you, Momma."

Her mother grinned back. "I love you, too, Camellia."

The door opened behind them and Frank appeared. "Come in and join the sing along, Charlie," he suggested, drawing Charlotte off. "You've got the prettiest voice here. It would be a darned shame to let it go to waste."

She glanced over her shoulder, a quick bonding mother/daughter sort of look, before linking arms with Frank. "Why, thank you. Don't mind if I do."

They entered the cabin, leaving Cami alone with her thoughts. Her mother had finally found a small portion of happiness and peace of mind. She sighed. If only she could find a similar peace, one she could share with Holt. She gazed out at the rain falling in a steady gray sheet.

Her mouth curved in a wistful smile.
Give it up.
No sense in wishing for the impossible. Some things were never meant to be. She turned toward the light and laughter. Opening the door to the cabin, she abandoned the chilly solitude of hopeless wishing for the certainty of warmth and companionship.

* * *

Holt stirred from his stance at the far end of the porch, fighting the urge to catch Cami before she disappeared inside. He wanted to run with her into the drenched night and find a private spot where they could be alone, where he could indulge their passion and sate the craving gnawing at his gut.

His mouth curved in a self-deprecatory smile.
Give it up.
No sense in wishing for the impossible. Some things were never meant to be. He turned from the light and laughter. Stepping from the porch, he abandoned the possibility of warmth and companionship for the chilly solitude of a purging rain.