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  God help him, but that woman could gallop.

  Chapter 8

  Cami managed to snatch a few hours of sleep before daylight. Crawling from bed and facing the morning sun, though, proved almost more than she could handle. Or it did until she discovered she was the last one up.

  Tossing on her clothes, she raced outside. All the wranglers and guests stood in a group around Holt, Gabby, and Frank, intent on a serious discussion. She crept closer, hoping to listen in without drawing attention her way.

  "I don't think it's wise to divide up the group," she heard Holt say.

  "I'm not talking about dividing the group," Frank insisted. "There are only four longhorns still missing. I need one volunteer to help find them. We'll be a couple hours behind you at most."

  Holt shook his head. "I'll still be two men short working the herd."

  Frank stared at the ground, his patience clearly running out. "You know these animals aren't going to give you any grief. You have more than enough wranglers to move them. Two men more or less won't amount to a hill of beans."

  To Cami's utter astonishment, her mother spoke up. "I'll help Frank."

  "Now, Charlie," Frank began.

  Charlotte smiled, her expression wryly amused. "I know. I seem like some helpless city girl, right? Well, I'm not. I lived on a ranch for a few years and worked roundup with my husband. I know my way around cattle well enough to bring in four strays."

  Holt's eyes narrowed and he glanced from Frank to Charlotte. "Okay. You two start out now. Everyone else, pay attention to your assigned positions."

  He ran through the roster until he reached Cami's name. He looked up, his black gaze colliding with hers. Memories of last night glittered there, the need, along with his rejection of that need. Longing filled her, accompanied by an intense sorrow. Had last night meant nothing to him?

  No. It meant something. She could see it, practically feel his pain and frustration. Damn that Gwen. And double damn her for being a Texan. She'd pert near ruined the man, made him as gun shy of matrimony as Git toward a rope. Cami set her chin. Not that it changed her intentions. If anything, it solidified them. Come hell or high water, by summer's end she'd prove she deserved the name "cowboy" every bit as much as she did "wife." She'd make Holt see sense. Because she couldn't live with knowing what could have been. Nor could she live without having him in her life, in her arms, and in her bed.

  Fortunately, she had one point in her favor... He wanted to take her for another gallop. She saw it in the streak of red riding his cheekbones, as well as the hectic desire burning in the blackness of his eyes.

  Holt checked his roster again. "You're on flank, Tex."

  "Thought you wanted her on point so she could be at lead with Buttercup," Gabby reminded him.

  "You thought wrong," Holt snapped. And in that instant, Cami knew he'd changed his mind within the last thirty seconds and for some reason the knowledge filled her with a wild hope. "We're a couple men short, remember? I don't have the manpower to spare two at point."

  "What about Buttercup?"

  Holt's jaw tightened. "I'll keep Buttercup in line. I don't plan on spillin' the herd just because our lead steer has gone and got himself a crush on one of my hands. Tex, you're on flank."

  She squashed her hat low on her brow. If that's the way he preferred to play it, that's the way she'd play it. But he couldn't avoid her forever. "Yessir, boss."

  He addressed the guests. "We're in for fun and plenty of it. The main rule is to keep to your assigned positions. Those behind me on swing will be responsible for holding the cattle in line. Remember though, keep what you've got. If you have a cow take off, let those in the rear bring 'em back home. That's what flank and drag are for."

  "When we're not eating dust, you mean?" one of the guests hollered.

  Holt inclined his head. "When you're not eating dust. Any more questions?" There weren't. "Okay. Let's mount up and move out. We're due in Lullabye in four hours."

  Gabby released the cattle from the holding pen in a long string, Buttercup leading the way, Holt not far behind. Four of Frank's men fell into swing. Several cows later, Cami and several guests took their positions at flank. Gabby and the remaining guests moved in behind the herd at drag.

  Holt's prediction proved accurate. They kept busy. The cattle were at their most difficult, determined to go in the exact opposite direction of where they were driven. Three hours later, Cami could barely contain her exhaustion. The sleepless night, the kisses she'd shared with Holt—their lovemaking—not to mention their rather distressing conversation, all took a toll. And she still had another hour of hard riding. At least she didn't have saddle sores, only a delicious ache.

  Gritting her teeth, she cut off an escapee and circled the cow back into the herd. "Cut the nonsense, Tulip," she scolded. "You owe me for saving you from that rope happy city slicker. Now behave yourself or I'll turn him loose on you again."

  Tulip obediently rejoined the herd and Cami nodded in satisfaction. She could do this. After all, she'd waited her entire life for an opportunity to work on a ranch. She loved cowboy work. It was her first love.

  Her first love next to Holt.

  She caught her breath at the unwelcome reminder, choking on a mouthful of dust. She stared at Holt's back, swaying in the saddle as though one with the horse, moving with a natural rhythm she could spend the rest of her life admiring. She'd never shied from the truth before and she wouldn't now. She loved the man. For all the good it did her.

  And yet deep in her heart she suspected he cared about her. Despite all that had happened, all he'd said, he felt something. More than something. Perhaps they still had time to work it out, assuming she could circumvent his prejudice toward city slickers. Not to mention, Texas women.

  "Heads up!" the command floated back. "Lullabye's just over the next ridge."

  Relief flowed through Cami. Not much further now. Drive them straight down Main Street and into the corral. What could be simpler?

  What, indeed.

  It didn't happen until they were three-quarters of the way through the center of town. A little boy, no more than five, darted into the street. Swaggering up to Tulip, he tugged his toy cap gun from his miniature holster and pulled the trigger.

  All hell broke loose.

  Tulip, already on the spooked side due to the masses of people lining the street, cheering and hollering and carrying on, took exception to the boy's actions. With a trumpetlike bellow, she charged him. The child's father, recognizing the possible ramifications of more than two thousand pounds fixing to mow them down, snatched up his son by the seat of his pants and took off at a dead run. Fortunately for Cami's peace of mind, most of the nearby crowd also recognized imminent disaster when they saw it and scattered.

  The cow, set firmly on her course and resembling nothing more than a locomotive on a fast track to tomorrow, crashed through the rail lining the boardwalk. Like lemmings heading for the sea, a half dozen others followed her lead, Cami on their collective tails, clinging to the pommel and hollering loud enough to wake the dead.

  All but Tulip found their way back to the main herd with some able assistance from Gabby. With unswerving determination and a true talent for destruction, Tulip continued along her path of ruin, smashing everything within horn's reach. Down the boardwalk she went, Cami in hot pursuit.

  Reaching Lem's Mercantile and General Gathering Spot, Tulip bounded over a sack of grain and crashed through the front door. Petunia, ever valiant and faithful in her duly appointed job as cow fetcher, followed right behind.

  "Coming through," Cami had the presence of mind to shout.

  Lem leaped onto the counter and wrapped his arms around the cash register. His son, Lorin, dove into the frozen food case and burrowed beneath the chocolaty chocolate fudge and raspberry swirl parfait ice cream. His wife, Carlene, scampered nimbly up the wall shelves lined with preserves, jellies, and pickled beets. Jars smashed to the ground.

  The cow plowed down a row
of groceries, her horns ripping through bags, sacks, and plastic. Flour filled the air. Sugar, salt, and various spices scattered across the floor, making the going underfoot treacherous. Until, that was, the longhorn knocked over the display of cooking oil and molasses. Then the going underfoot was gone.

  Petunia slid down the aisle on her rump, Cami gamely clinging to the saddle.

  Finished with the first aisle, Tulip picked up speed and tackled the canned foods. She ripped through tins of tomatoes, creamed corn, and soups like a giant can opener. Rounding the next corner, she barreled full steam down the preserve aisle. The assortment of fruits already splattered across the floor made for a slippery, if colorful runway.

  Tulip hit it flat out.

  She took off like a jet-propelled bullet. The only thing that kept her from breaking the sound barrier was Lem's south wall. A huge mural covered the wall depicting the gold rush of '49. She rammed it with such force Lem found himself with a second rear door smashed right through a miner's stomach.

  The last Cami saw of Tulip she'd headed south, a chunk of wood inscribed with "California or Bust" stuck to her horns. For generations to come, stories from as far away as Mexico would drift back to Lullabye of a strange, crazed longhorn still running as though the devil himself were at her heels.

  The dust settled.

  Petunia, now back on all four hooves, stood stock still in the middle of the store, trembling in reaction. From her seat atop the horse, Cami slowly surveyed Lem's Mercantile and General Gathering Spot. Or rather, what remained of Lem's Mercantile and General Gathering Spot. Row after row of ruin and desolation lay scattered about her. Flour hung thick in the air, covering everything with a dense white blanket. Petunia sneezed. Cami followed suit.

  Lem hopped off the register. Carlene clambered down from the shelving. Lorin peeked out of the frozen food case.

  "What in the hell happened?" A voice broke the shocked silence, a deep, furious, and painfully familiar voice.

  She didn't dare look around. "That you, Holt?"

  "Good guess. You okay, Tex?"

  "Fine and dandy." She risked a quick peek over her shoulder. "I bet you wish you'd put me on point, right?"

  He didn't respond, but his eyes began to burn like wildfire. That gave her pause. "You sure you're okay?" He spoke slowly. Distinctly. With great care.

  "Positive."

  "Good. Get... off... that... horse."

  "Now, Holt, don't be mad at Petunia. She was only doing her job."

  "Get... off... that... horse... now!"

  "You see, Tulip—"

  "Get off the fool horse, woman!"

  She tumbled off Petunia. "It was that darn kid. He shot Tulip and Tulip didn't take kindly to it. She jumped the rail and... and..." Something about his expression had her backing up, slipping and sliding through a mixture of salt and sugar, oil and molasses. Holt slipped and slid after her.

  "You were supposed to head the cows off at the pass, Tex." He spoke through gritted teeth and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  She nodded frantically. "By golly, you're right. I was. That old cow got the jump on me, I admit it."

  Lem came up behind Holt and grabbed his arm. "Now, Holt, take it easy. These things happen. At least, I'm pretty sure they do."

  Holt shook off the store owner. "Not with my wranglers they don't."

  "Even the best of them can make a mistake now and then," Lem tried again. "Why, remember Willy Hawkins' cattle drive? His cows made off with a whole rack of Trudy's feminine fripperies."

  Holt swiveled, staring at Lem in disbelief. "You're defending her? After what happened to your store? Just look at this place."

  Lem shook his head. "Tex taught our boy, Lorin, the most amazing yo-yo tricks you ever did see. Spent hours with him. Showed more patience than any of those special ed teachers he's got. We're mighty fond of her." He glanced around and cleared his throat, his voice growing a bit fainter. "Mighty fond."

  Cami struggled to retain her balance amid the oil slick beneath her boots. "Why, thanks, Lem. That's darn neighborly of you. Tell you what. Let me get Petunia out of here and I'll be right back. Why, with a bit of elbow grease..." She surveyed the damage and gulped. "Or maybe a lot of elbow grease, we'll have your store set to rights in no time."

  Townspeople began to poke their heads in the front door.

  "That's the spirit, Tex," Reverend Sam said from the shattered remains of the doorway. "We'll all help. And we'll take up a collection to cover anything the insurance doesn't."

  "Now wait just one cotton pickin' minute," Holt began.

  "Don't you feel bad, Tex," Wes interrupted. "It could have happened to any one of us." He thought it over. "If we had longhorn cattle. And if we ran 'em through town. And if we put a complete novice on flank." He cleared his throat. "How 'bout I run home and grab my hammer and nails. Once we're done here, we can all head over to my soda shop for ice cream. My treat."

  "You can't give her ice cream. I'm not done slaughtering her, yet!"

  "And my boy has a few pine boards we can use to replace those shelves," Clara called. "It's the least we can do, considering how Tex helped Darryl when he sprained his ankle so bad. Bandaged him up slick as you please."

  A portly man jumped across a jumble of minestrone soup cans and offered his hand. "Tommy Torrino. I'm the mayor of this fine town. Sorry I missed you last time you were here." He addressed the crowd. "What do you say, folks? Shall we all pitch in?" A collective cheer rang out.

  Cami looked around, a sheen of tears misting her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "This sure is one special town."

  Holt took a deep breath and surrendered to the inevitable. "Somebody have a spare broom? Time's a-wastin'. We have a dance to get to, and a whole lot of store to clean."

  * * *

  Cami stood, hands on her hips, in the guest room her mother occupied at the ranch. "Of course you have to go to the dance, Momma. I told everyone you'd come. You wouldn't want to make a liar out of me, would you?"

  Her mother shook her head, her face white and strained. "I'd rather not, Camellia."

  "But you love dances. And I've put a dress on and everything." Cami smoothed the bright rose skirt, then dropped to the bed beside her mother. "What's wrong?"

  Charlotte clasped her trembling fingers together, avoiding Cami's eyes. "I think I might go on home."

  "Go home?" Cami frowned. "But yesterday you were so happy, so reconciled to the past and ranches and the cowboy way of life. What in the world changed since then?"

  "I guess I'm shaken by what happened today."

  "At Lem's?" she asked doubtfully, something in her mother's voice not ringing quite true.

  Charlotte nodded. "I know you weren't in any real danger and I know you weren't hurt. I just think it's best if I went home."

  "Before the dance." Cami tilted her head to one side. "That doesn't make a bit of sense and you know it. Are you positive there isn't anything else?"

  Her mother forced out a bright smile. "What else could there be?"

  "I can't imagine. Especially since I know my mother has always been open and honest and forthright. So you couldn't possibly be hiding anything." She shot her mother a searching glance. "Right?"

  Charlotte stirred. "Camellia..."

  "And since tomorrow is the earliest you can leave, that gives us all the time in the world for the dance tonight." She stood and pulled her mother to her feet. "Not another word. You're going and that's all there is to it."

  "You don't understand," her mother moaned in despair.

  "Nope, I surely don't. Care to explain what's really bothering you?"

  "It's nothing." She gazed at her daughter, an almost frantic quality to her expression. "You look so much like your father. The same black hair, the same wide smile. I loved him. You know that, don't you?"

  Cami's voice softened. "Of course, I do. I figured out long ago that you two shared a once-in-a-lifetime love affair."

  For a minute her mother seemed on the
verge of saying something. Then she shook her head. "Never mind," she murmured, her shoulders drooping. "I'll go to the dance."

  Cami hesitated, but knew she wouldn't get any more information tonight. She linked arms with her mother. "That's the spirit. Come on or we'll be late."

  Two SUVs waited outside to transport the guests into town for the Western Roundup dance. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the hall to find the party in full swing. From the minute she walked in the door, Cami found herself besieged by dance offers. Accepting Wes's hand, she checked over his shoulder to be sure her mother didn't lack a partner. To her relief Frank stood by Charlotte's side, coaxing her onto the floor.

  The time flew by and Cami moved from one partner to the next, but never danced with the one man she truly wanted to have hold her in his arms. He didn't approach until toward the end of the evening. He waylaid her by the punch bowl. Without a word, he took the glass of Trudy's Hawaiian Surprise from her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

  "You sure, Holt?" she asked in a quiet voice.

  "It's not like I'm asking you to gallop."

  "True." She gave him a slow, teasing smile. "But maybe it'll come close to trotting."

  She melted into his arms and they danced. He planted his hand low on her back, caressing her spine in rhythm to the music. His intent black gaze held hers the entire time he swung her around the oak floor. She didn't hear anything, feel anything, except the brush of his hard thighs against her legs and his broad chest rising and falling in perfect tempo with her own. No, definitely not galloping. But darn close to a trot.

  When the music drew to a close, he ushered her through the open doors and into the darkness outside. They weren't the only couple to seek the moonlight. Holt clasped her hand and led her away from the hall, until the music and laughter were a mere whisper on the night breeze.

  He fingered the thin strap of her rose-colored dress, as though unable to help touching her. "You look beautiful tonight."

  "You look rather handsome yourself," she admitted, admiring the way his shoulders filled his dress shirt.