Dude Ranch Nights Read online

  Dude Ranch Nights

  By Deirdre O’Dare

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2017 Deirdre O’Dare

  ISBN 9781634865210

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  In memory of Thomas Leo Greenough, guide, dude-rancher, and authentic character who was a youthful idol of mine. Rest in peace, Leo, and happy hunting wherever you now may roam. Cameron Greenway is not you nor meant to be, but you inspired his creation in my imagination.

  * * * *

  Dude Ranch Nights

  By Deirdre O’Dare

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 1

  Demont-Delft Estate,

  Newburgh, New York

  April 7, 1953

  Carole Janine VanDemont, C.J. to her friends, crossed the exquisite Aubusson carpet with quick, choppy strides. She paused before one tall window to stare out over the rolling grounds of the family estate, which extended to the distant river, a branch of the Hudson. Tinted a soft green by the fresh spring foliage, with a hint of scattered pastels, the scene reflected pastoral peace. Instead of providing inspiration or comfort, the familiar view seemed bland and dull.

  “What does one do when, at twenty-six, there are absolutely no new worlds to conquer?”

  Although her question was rhetorical, her brother Michael answered it anyway. “Why, one either seeks to discover new worlds or rests on one’s laurels, I expect, sis. Life isn’t that boring, is it?” His lifted eyebrow echoed the mocking tone of his words.

  She shrugged, an irritable twitch of her right shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just out of sorts, I suppose. It was most inconsiderate of Uncle Rene to kill himself just when we were planning the trip to India. I was counting on riding elephants, perhaps shooting a tiger this year. Daddy would never think of such a trek, and he’d have apoplexy if I went alone. What shall I do instead?”

  “You sound as if Uncle Rene crashed his plane on purpose or out of spite. I thought you were fond of the fellow.”

  “I was. His death left me devastated. Now don’t misunderstand, but had we not been related, I could’ve happily married the man. He’s the only person who’s ever challenged me.”

  “But he happened to be Mom’s black-sheep, younger half-brother, so that was out of the question. Too bad.” Michael, home from Harvard on spring break, flopped into a chair. He picked up a magazine and began to leaf through the pages. He stopped, mid-flip, perusing one page more intently. “How about an Arizona dude ranch vacation? Here’s an advertisement. Sounds fascinating to me.”

  He tossed the magazine to C.J. as she stalked by, pacing the confining limits of the elegant but comfortable den. She caught it with a supple twist of her wrist, scarlet nails flashing in the light of the lamp by which he’d been reading. “Surely you jest. Riding old nags along bridle paths in the desert instead of Central Park, and eating beans around the camp fire? I might as well go on that cruise with Grandmère.”

  Still she scanned the ad, stopping her restless motion as she read…

  Adventure of a lifetime! Hunt savage, illusive wild animals in the rugged southwest. Camp in sites made famous by Zane Grey and John Ford in books and films. Relax and enjoy the modern comforts of La Riata Ranch or rough it he-man fashion in the wilderness.

  The choice is yours. Contact Cameron Greenway, YA7-5635, or P.O. Box 1727, Verdell, Arizona.

  There were also photographs. One showed a rustic, two-story lodge-style building constructed of rounded stones bonded with cement. The big house was surrounded by smaller cabins of comparable construction and a grove of towering, wide-leafed trees. Another showed several saddled horses hitched to the rails of a massive log corral. The one that caught C.J.’s eye featured a man, uncommonly tall, unless the horse at his side was pony-sized. He wore cuffed jeans with cowboy boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and a shirt with elaborate embroidered yokes. He seemed to be looking straight at the camera—or the reader—his piercing pale eyes casting a hypnotic spell. Though unsmiling, his craggy, handsome face stole her breath.

  C.J. sucked in a quick gulp of air. Oh my, now that’s quite a man. He looks like he belongs in a movie with John Wayne or perhaps Gary Cooper—a real cowboy. Can he be Mr. Greenway or a mere employee? All at once she was determined to find out. If it took a trip to Arizona, at least that would beat sitting here at home dying of ennui. Striding to the shiny walnut desk in one corner of the room, she picked up the telephone to place a long distance call.

  Three days later, she boarded the train to head west, not sure what she would find there, but feeling a tickle of excitement for the first time in weeks. With a small sigh, she settled back in her Pullman compartment to pass the leisurely trip.

  * * * *

  Cameron Greenway paced the bricked platform between the Santa Fe Depot and the nearest track. His boot heels beat a sharp rhythm on the hard surface with his restless strides. Due in soon, the Super Chief was already a few minutes late. He glanced at his watch, frowning. At this rate it would be dark by the time they got back to the ranch.

  He’d driven to town to pick up a client, one C.J. VanDemont. Mr. VanDemont had a strange voice, low and husky, but something about it had bothered him. Well, people often sounded peculiar on the telephone. The connection had not been the best. Anyway, the man indicated he wanted the full package—a ten-day adventure with camping, hunting and some side trips for scenic photography. That Cam could do. He had no false modesty about the quality and level of adventures he provided. He’d perfected just the right mixture of luxury and rustic atmosphere to please almost any well-heeled guest. He tailored the degree of roughing it to each client’s abilities and desires once he met them in person.

  Although he affected the image of a rough, unschooled cowboy, Cam was a graduate of Yale and the scion of an upper crust family. Even if his parent’s current wealth came from mines and ranches in Wyoming and New Mexico, both of them had roots in the bluest blood of the eastern seaboard. The family’s black sheep, he had gone his own way to build his life in its unique mold. The role of guide, outfitter, and dude-rancher suited him to a “T.” He played the rugged outdoorsman to the hilt and actually lived that life as much as was possible in the modern era.

  The sharp blast of the diesel’s horn alerted him to the train’s imminent arrival. He stepped back from the track as the sleek silver, red and yellow locomotives swept past him, slowing to a stop with a
shriek of steel on steel. Several passengers alighted, but none Cam could identify as C.J. VanDemont. Damn, did I make this trip in vain? I’m sure the man said he’d arrive today.

  At that moment, a modishly dressed young lady approached him. Tall for a woman, she carried herself with arrogant grace. Honey-blonde hair fell in shoulder-length waves to brush the bottle green yoke of her masculine-cut suit jacket. A matching pencil slim skirt outlined pleasing curves of hip and derrière. Black high-heeled pumps accentuated her trim ankles and well-turned calves beneath the skirt’s hem. Full, scarlet-painted lips curved into a smile as she tilted her head, studying him.

  “You look just like your picture,” she said. “Would you happen to be Mr. Cameron Greenway?”

  As he nodded, he registered several facts at once. First, it was the same voice, low pitched but definitely not masculine. Second, this lady was one gorgeous female, and last, he was knee deep in trouble if she really was C. J. VanDemont. Why in the world would a woman like this want to rough it Arizona style? She had socialite written all over her.

  “Yes, I am. And you’re C. J. VanDemont? I wasn’t expecting a lady.”

  She laughed, the sound carrying so much raw sexual energy his whole body tightened. Gods help me, this woman is short-fused dynamite!

  “I know.” She lowered her lids demurely, shielding vivid green eyes for a moment, then offered a pretty smile, but quite artificial. “I was almost sure you didn’t realize I was female, but that’s okay. Yes, I really do want to rough it. I’ve been on safaris in Africa, a trip to Alaska, across the Gobi, and several similar treks. This year was supposed to be India and the Himalayas, but my uncle, Rene-Paul Dubois, got himself killed in a plane crash, which put an end to that. He was the adventurous relative with whom I’ve enjoyed many travels. In his absence, I anticipated a frightful and boring spring, but then your ad caught my eye. Here I am.”

  For a long moment Cam studied her, while his mind whirled in a frantic spin, trying to come to terms with the notion of being alone in the woods with this amazing vision. Could she be as bold and daring as she presented herself to be? What kind of adventures did she expect to enjoy?

  Well, I aim to please. Entertaining this woman well might be worth much more than the normal fees I charge for my services. I see some distinct possibilities here.

  He’d taken a few couples out for hunts and camping, but more often, if a couple booked a holiday, the lady stayed at the ranch while her husband went on the hunt or camping and photographic expedition. He’d installed a swimming pool, located a few gentle nags anyone could ride and hired help who knew how to keep “dudes” entertained. But a lady on her own who wanted the full experience—this was going to be a first.

  “Well, Miss VanDemont, we need to get your luggage and start for the ranch. It’ll be dark before we get there anyway.”

  With an elegant wave, she indicated a couple of bags sitting on the platform not far from where they stood. “That’s it. I know enough to travel light. If I were going on a cruise, it would be different, but I find them incredibly tedious. Shuffle-board and dining at the captain’s table? Please, I’m not a fifty-year-old fossil! And by the way, please call me C.J. I hate to answer to ‘miss.’”

  Cam collected the two bags and tossed them into the truck. Then he handed C.J. into the passenger seat, circled the cab to slide behind the wheel, and headed his new Ford pickup down the highway. He had the distinct feeling he could be in for the adventure of a lifetime himself. This lady was a looker, for sure. She could stand in for Veronica Lake or Lana Turner any day and nobody would miss them. She radiated sex appeal along with the scent of Arpege that wafted with her every move.

  By God, I’ll show her adventure if that’s what she wants. And if she has other kinds of sport in mind, I can handle that as well.

  * * * *

  As Cam strode into the dining room early the next morning, C.J. looked up at him with a smile. Clad in snug fawn jodhpurs and shining, knee-high boots with a crisp white shirt and a rust-colored bolero length jacket, she appeared quite as fetching as she’d been in her sophisticated suit. He’d been out to make sure the chores were underway and to select the stock for the day’s jaunt already. Now it was time for breakfast, although the sun had barely crested Mesilla Rim to the east. A bit surprised to see his guest, he returned her smile.

  “You’re up bright and early, C.J. Looking like a model ranch guest, too. I wasn’t expecting you’d be down for an hour or so.”

  “I didn’t come to Arizona to sleep,” she said. “Please, will you join me and tell me what we’re going to do today?”

  Filling a tall mug with coffee from the urn on the sideboard, he crossed to her table and drew out the second chair.

  “There’s some fine scenery on the rim above the ranch. I thought we’d start off easy with a day trip today to let you get acclimated to the altitude. We’re right at a mile high here, which means the dry air is thinner than what you’re used to. You never know, but we could see any kind of wildlife. We’ll be going into an area not reached by any real roads. In many ways, Arizona is wilder now than it was a half century ago. Then there were prospectors, cowboys, and outlaws wandering around. Now there’s next to no one. You might want to bring your lightest camera along…one that won’t weigh you down. That way you can snap quick pictures, even while we’re riding.”

  “Oh, that sounds marvelous, but please, don’t plan to pamper me. I told you I’m an experienced outdoorswoman. I came for the whole nine yards. I’m looking for a substitute for riding elephants and hunting tigers and wild boars, you know.” She tossed her hair back as her keen gaze challenged him, bold and direct as any man’s.

  This woman is no shrinking violet, but let’s see if we can make her cry enough before we get too far out into the wilds. I don’t want to have to deal with hysteria miles from home. “Darlin’, this won’t be a jaunt in the park, I promise you. You’ll be riding where a misstep by your mount could result in falling five hundred feet into a box canyon, where we could meet a puma, a bear or even a jaguar at any turn of the trail.”

  Her green eyes went icy. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Greenway. I don’t care for silly pet names, and at this point I am not your darling or anyone else’s. I’m sure if I was Mr. VanDemont instead of Miss that you’d be speaking quite differently, so I suggest you treat me like any other client. I’ve paid for an outdoor adventure and that’s exactly what I want.”

  Cam smiled as if her tirade left him unmoved. “Let’s be going then. I’d suggest you get a hat if you have one, though. The southwestern sun is brutal and even—ummm—adventurers can get sunburned.” He almost said “adventuresses,” but recalled the negative connotations of the word in the nick of time.

  As if she’d caught his shift, she flashed a sharp glance at him, but hurried off upstairs to collect the required item. In moments she was back with an Australian outback-style hat perched on her golden head. She also had a Leica hung around her neck and held a pair of suede gloves that matched her jacket. “I believe I’m ready.”

  Cam had given some thought to the mounts they would use. He’d chosen his favorite horse, a big bay gelding called Curly because of the wavy texture of his black mane and forelock. For his guest, he’d selected one of his mules, a sure-footed and steady-tempered mollie named Josie.

  He watched C.J.’s expression as they walked up to the two animals, already saddled and hitched to the corral gate. Her glance flickered from the horse to the mule and back.

  “What’s with the long-eared beast?”

  “That’s Josie. She’s going to be your mount today. Mules are very well adapted for travel in the kind of rugged country we’ll be exploring. You might not be aware of it, but the Grand Canyon guides use them exclusively for taking tourists into the canyon. Contrary to reputation, they aren’t stubborn, vicious, or ill-behaved unless they’re mistreated. Josie’s steady but eager to go. She’ll take care of you no matter what happens, but she can also tell if you do
n’t know what you’re doing.”

  C.J. gave an indignant sniff. She stalked up to the mule’s left side. Holding out her hand, she let the mule sniff her fingers, then stroked the tan muzzle and murmured something Cam could not quite hear. Then she freed the reins and prepared to mount. Josie stood quietly as Cam knew she would, but he could see his guest had been in the saddle before. She swung up with smooth ease and settled into the saddle, shifting a little.

  That pert wiggle of her jodhpur-encased butt sent a rush of heat to his groin. To distract himself, he tried to assess her riding style. Probably rides English. A western saddle is a bit more confining. She has the reins in both hands, too. That won’t do.

  He stepped up beside her. “Josie neck reins,” he said. “Take both reins in one hand and just touch one rein to her neck when you want her to turn. She’ll move away from that pressure. It doesn’t have to be much.”

  She nodded, shifting both reins into her right hand. That wasn’t cowboy style, but he didn’t correct her. So long as she wasn’t sawing on them and pulling the bit in the mule’s mouth, it would be okay. “How’re the stirrups? You want them long enough to stretch your legs out with only a slight bend in the knee, just enough to take a bit of pressure off your seat.”

  She rose, standing in both stirrups. With half a hard-on already, he didn’t dare look too closely at her crotch, but he was sure she cleared the saddle, though not by a lot. He walked around Josie to his mount, swung up on Curly, and headed out without looking back.

  Chapter 2

  C.J. worked to catch the rhythm of her mount’s easy gait. True to his word, her host did not pamper her. He set a hard pace for the first two hours, trotting on the level or gentle slopes and slowing to a walk only when the going got steep or rough. C.J. allowed Josie to pick her path once it was clear the little mule intended to stay close on the bay’s heels.

  Unused to western riding, C.J. had to concentrate on keeping her seat and yet not getting her butt pounded at the trot. The familiar posting mode was not possible with the long stirrups. However, she already sensed this would be easier on her legs for a long ride such as they were apparently going to make. It didn’t take her long to settle into the new style. Her unusual mount had smooth, easy gaits, whether at the walk or the trot.