The Rancher's Best Gift. Stella Bagwell

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      The sound of the door creaking open caused his head to turn back to the house, and he suddenly found himself staring straight into Camille Hollister’s face.

      “Hello, Matthew.”

      “Hello, Camille.”

      A long stretch of silence passed, and all the while Matthew could hear a pack of coyotes yipping in the far distance, while closer to the house the penned cattle continued to bawl in protest.

      Red Bluff was wild, rugged land and far from town or any kind of civilization, yet Camille lived here alone. What kind of twenty-eight-year-old woman made such a choice? The kind that was still nursing a broken heart?

      He was trying to answer that question as she pushed the door wide and gestured for him to enter.

      “Please, come in,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been knocking long. I dozed off on the couch. And the walls of the house are so thick it’s hard to hear outside noises.”

      “I’ve only been here a minute.” He stepped into the kitchen and blinked as she switched on a light hanging over the table. The room basically looked the same as it had the last time he’d been in the house, and that had been at least five or six years ago when Blake and Maureen had come down to stay a few days during fall roundup. For the past couple of years since Camille had moved in, Matthew and the men had steered wide of the ranch house.

      “Sorry it’s so late,” he apologized. “I hope you didn’t wait up just to let me in. I have a key.”

      She shut and locked the door, then walked over to where he stood. Matthew desperately tried not to notice the soft scent of flowers emanating from her hair and skin. It swirled around him and pulled his gaze to the gentle features of her face. She’d always been beautiful, but tonight she seemed to be even lovelier. Or was that because he’d not seen her in two long years?

      “I didn’t know whether you had a key or not. But it’s no big deal,” she said. “I usually don’t get into bed until eleven anyway. Uh, would you like something to eat, or drink?”

      “Don’t worry about feeding me,” he said. “I can fend for myself.”

      Her lips pursed together as though his answer offended her. “I didn’t ask whether you could fend for yourself. It’s a simple question. Are you hungry?”

      She sounded so much like her mother, Maureen, he very nearly smiled. “Put like that, then yes, I’m hungry. But it’s late and I’m tired. I’ll grab something in the morning.”

      To his complete surprise, she clamped a hand around his arm. “Come with me,” she said in a tone that warned him not to argue.

      With her hand still burning a ring around his forearm, she guided him out of the kitchen. Before they reached the living room, she turned to the left and down a long hallway. Soft nightlights glowed from the baseboards and illuminated the rich tile on the floor. The walls were decorated with huge framed prints of the Hollisters and the ranch hands doing various jobs here on Red Bluff.

      She came to a sudden stop and pointed to one of the photos. “Just in case you’re wondering if you’re in any of these, here’s one of you and Daddy. Remember that day?”

      Shoving the brim of his hat back off his forehead, he stepped forward and peered at the picture. The image struck him hard.

      “I’ve never seen this before,” he said, his voice thick. “That horse is Dough Boy. He always bucked when you first got on him, so you had to be ready. Your father was riding him that day. We’d been gathering cattle in Lizard Canyon. Dough Boy was a real gentleman that day and Joel joked that he was the only cowboy on the ranch who could ride him.”

      “Yeah,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Isn’t it ironic that Daddy was on Major Bob the day he was killed instead of Dough Boy?”

      Ironic? No. Matthew’s views on Joel Hollister’s death were no different than those of the family. No matter the horse he’d been riding, Joel would’ve died that day because someone had meant to kill him.

      “I’d rather remember other days. Not that one,” Matthew told her.

      He heard her long sigh, and then the hand on his arm was urging him toward the nearest door to their right.

      “This will be your room while you’re here. I could’ve given you one overlooking the courtyard, but I figured you’d rather have the best mattress than the best view.”

      She pushed the door open and gestured for him to enter. Matthew felt like he was stepping into the room of a Mexican villa. The dark wooden furniture was heavy, the bed fashioned with four posts that nearly touched the ceiling. The tall headboard was intricately carved with the images of blazing suns, fighting bulls and trailing moonflowers. At the windows, thick burgundy-colored drapes were pulled to show a moonlit view of the desert mountains.

      “Is that one bag all you have?” she asked.

      “No. I have another case in the truck, but I don’t need to unpack it tonight.”

      She nodded. “Well, just put your things wherever you like. There’s a private bath through the door over by the closet. Make yourself at home.”

      He moved into the room while thinking with each step that he didn’t belong in this house with this woman. They were both too rich for his blood. But being here was Blake’s order and Matthew would bend over backwards to make the man happy. Not because he was his boss, but because Blake and his three brothers were like his blood brothers and always would be.

      “Thanks. This is nice.” He placed his duffel bag on the green-and-burgundy-patterned spread, then glanced over to her. “I—uh—think I ought to tell you that it wasn’t my idea for me to stay here in the house.”

      “I never imagined it was.”

      Although he didn’t know why, he felt the need to further explain. “Blake sent an extra man this time. There wasn’t enough room for another bed in the bunkhouse.”

      She shrugged. “No problem. You won’t bother me. And I’m gone most of the time so I shouldn’t bother you.”

      Maybe not, but she sure as hell was bothering him right now. Strange how he’d not remembered her looking exactly like this. Her hair had grown and now reached the back of her waist. She was wearing some sort of loose flowing pants made of flower-printed material. The top that matched had a low V-neck, and when she turned a certain way he could see a hint of cleavage. Before she’d left Three Rivers she’d been extremely slender. Now she was voluptuous and it sure looked good on her, he thought.

      “Don’t worry. The men and I have so much work to do while we’re down here that I doubt our paths will cross much.”

      Her plush lips curved into something close to a smile. “Go wash up and come back to the kitchen. I’ll have something for you to eat.”

      He wanted to argue with her, but he knew it would be a losing battle. And why bother? After tonight, he expected she’d leave him to see after himself.

      “All right. Thanks.”

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