Dude Ranch Nights Read online

  Cam’s stiff posture indicated he was still miffed with her. He never once looked back, but pushed his mount on up a zigzagging trail. It appeared to lead to the top of a loaf-shaped mountain that now loomed over them with a beetling brow of dark cliffs. C.J. tied the reins together and draped them over the saddle horn in order to snap a few pictures. She thought Josie was trustworthy enough to follow Cam’s horse without any direction for a few minutes.

  Back home it would be hard to describe or even recall the blueness of the sky, the crystal clarity of the dry air, or the wild scents of the native foliage, most of which was totally unfamiliar to her. Although harsh, the scenery had a unique but undeniable beauty all its own.

  Already she was moved by the curious enchantment of the high desert. The handsome man on his powerful horse added to the charm.

  He might act aloof but I’ll bet I can bring him around.

  Right now he was an enigma. He spoke mostly in cultured tones, using correct grammar and very few of the cowboy idioms she’d heard in the movies. Yet in appearance he merged perfectly with the environment, in his element on horseback and in the wilds.

  She noticed the rifle in a leather scabbard slanting along his mount’s right side beneath his stirrup strap. It hung so he could grab the rifle and swing off with a single motion. Can there be a real need to be armed? He did say there were wild animals, though—predators. A frisson of mixed excitement and anxiety danced down her spine. She cast an anxious look around her, almost expecting to see a tawny puma crouched beneath one of the squatty evergreens or a bear in a thick clump of brush.

  When she realized Josie had fallen behind while she was absorbed in her photography, C.J. heeled the mule firmly in an effort to get closer to the big horse and his rider. If they disappeared from view, she knew she would be lost in moments. That was a daunting notion. Although she could catch an occasional glimpse of the green grove where the ranch sat far below, the way back was not clear. Perhaps she could follow the trail, yet it was but the dimmest trace in some spots, easy to miss.

  In short, she was completely dependent on Cameron Greenway and his knowledge of this country. She was not at all sure she liked that and yet, was it not what she’d come for? His blatant masculinity itself was a challenge to her, a taunt which made a prickly heat flash through her body, starting a tingle in her crotch where she pressed against the smooth leather of her saddle. Before I leave here, I will have…No, I expect he’ll have me, but that’ll be the wildest adventure of all.

  * * * *

  Cam didn’t rein Curly in until they reached the top of the mountain looming over the ranch, working up through a notch in the black basalt cliffs that edged the rim. From that vantage point, he turned to watch his guest. Bunching solid muscles, Josie dug sturdy hooves into the loose rubble and scrambled gamely up the last steep stretch of the trail. Cam noticed C.J. gave her mount plenty of rein and held on, letting the mule take her time and pick her exact path. That was wise. At least she’d listened to what he’d said, a good sign.

  C.J. checked Josie right beside him. So far the blonde looked as pert and perky as ever. For a socialite, which she obviously was, she was holding up surprisingly well. She made a slow turn in her saddle and scanned the panorama spread out below. The whole San Domingo valley meandered before them, edged on the far side by the Crook Range, a jagged, bluish-brown border against the turquoise sky.

  “Oh, my!” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is incredible. How far is it to those mountains on the other side of the valley?”

  Cam shrugged. “About fifty miles. Distances are deceptive here because the air is so clear. The humidity is no more than fifteen percent today, if that, and we haven’t had a lot of wind the past week to stir up dust. That’s unusual this time of year, but welcome, of course. So this is about as good a view as you’ll ever get from this particular lookout point.”

  “It’s amazing. I’m afraid photography won’t do it justice, but I have to try. I’m sure no one at home will believe me when I describe it otherwise.”

  “No, probably not. You won’t find a vista like this very far east of the Rockies. That’s what I love about Arizona, among other things. It’s still unspoiled, almost like no one has ever been here before you.”

  Her green gaze flicked from the scenery to him. “Have you always lived here in the southwest?”

  “Most of my life. I went back east to school for a while, but I couldn’t stay there. Too confining, too many people, too many rules, restrictions and restraints. It almost made me claustrophobic.”

  She nodded. “Oh, I understand. Uncle Rene was fond of travel. A century ago he’d have been an explorer. When I reached my late teens, I started going with him in the summers, and I loved it. From then on, home was merely a place to prepare for the next expedition. I couldn’t bear to stay there too long. He died in February in a plane crash, and I saw my whole life turning into a petrified, stultified, ossified exhibition of nothingness!”

  For a long moment, they looked at each other. Something undefined but very powerful flowed between them, the spark of an unexpected kinship, a surprising rapport. Cam thought about bending forward to touch his lips to hers, curved now in a genuine smile. So sweetly tempting…

  No. Wait just a damn minute. Take her later if the chance comes, but don’t forget this woman is not going to put down roots here, no matter how good a game she talks. Don’t get yourself snared by her acting skills. That’s a quick track to hell. You’ve been there once, which should be more than enough.

  “We’d best be moving along. Our mounts have caught their breath and are ready to go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover yet today.” He’d made his tone curt, but her smile didn’t waver.

  “Lead on,” she said. Her cheerful tone gave nothing away. She wasn’t going to let his attitude dampen hers, it seemed. Well, maybe it’s time to change my tactics. I’m supposed to be showing her a good time after all. He did some quick thinking and adjusted the day’s plan a bit.

  After they crossed the rounded crest of Sourdough Mountain, the trail dropped onto a narrow ridge connecting the mountain to the main bulk of the rim. At one point, the trail became a narrow ledge under the jagged rocky spine. Cam slowed Curly’s pace to make sure Josie was close behind.

  “Just hang on and let Josie pick her way,” he called back. “She’s been across this hundreds of times. If you have a problem with heights, don’t look down.”

  “I’m fine.” C.J. might be putting on a good act, but he could hear the tension in her voice. However, she held tight to the saddle horn and obeyed his instruction to let the mule make her own way. They traversed the hundred-yard stretch without incident. From there on, the going got easier for a while, although it was a steady climb to reach the higher elevation of the Mesilla Rim. Once there, they left the juniper and buck brush behind and rode under towering ponderosa pines. Their red bark was almost the color of cinnamon and equally pungent in scent. Cam always wished someone would make the aroma into a perfume. He never tired of it.

  Before long they spooked a flock of wild turkey. C.J. snapped a few pictures before they vanished. Then they came upon a pair of mule deer does, obviously not long from birthing their fawns. The deer were wary, but not very fearful, posing nicely for C.J.’s photography before they bounded away. When they came to a fork in the trail, Cam took the right branch. It led to the rim of a deep canyon. He paused on the brink to let C.J. catch up again. She wasn’t far behind and halted at his side.

  He turned to her with a smile. “Everything okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m enjoying every minute! This is beautiful country, so different from New York or even the forests in Canada or Alaska. What’s amazing is the variety. Who would guess there are so many different environments within a matter of miles here?”

  “It’s the varied elevation, which, in turn, results in a great diversity in rainfall and temperatures. This particular shift from high desert to alpine is unique to th
e southwest and this trail offers a good look at the whole spectrum. We have about an hour to go now before we take a break. There’s a creek down in this canyon. It’s a good place to let our mounts rest a while and have lunch.”

  C.J. peered over the edge, anxiety crossing her face. “My, it looks like a long way down and very steep.”

  “There’s a trail. Just follow me.”

  As he knew, the trail zigzagged enough not to be too steep. Although a few places had washed out with the runoff from the recent snow melt, it wasn’t a difficult ride. Cam let Curly take his time, knowing Josie had to make a few more steps to keep up with the long-legged gelding. Finally, they reached the bottom. He turned to watch C.J. when she first glimpsed the picturesque and secluded dell to which they had come.

  For most of its length, Crystal Creek tumbled down over a jumble of many-colored boulders, fallen from varied geological layers far above and some moved downstream by past flash floods. At this spot, though, the banks were level for a short distance and sported carpets of new green grass, sprinkled with wild flowers. The stream had gouged a pool at the upper end where it poured off a ledge and from that, it meandered on between the grassed banks for several yards before becoming a white-water torrent again as it plunged on toward the level of the valley.

  C.J gasped as she reined in beside him. “Oh! What a gorgeous spot! It’s like a tiny pocket of paradise.” Lifting the Leica, she snapped several more photos. Then she glanced up at him. “What do you pull out of your magic hat next?”

  He laughed. “Oh, I brought some treats for our noon meal. Let’s get down and loosen the cinches so Curly and Josie can relax while we do.” So saying, he swung down with practiced ease. C.J. moved more slowly. He heard her suck in a sharp breath as her feet hit the ground. She wobbled and grabbed for the saddle to steady herself. “Oh, my.”

  He knew he was not supposed to hear that pained whisper, but he did. As soon as he loosened Curly’s saddle, hobbled the bay’s forefeet and slipped the bridle off so the gelding could graze, he went to her side.

  She seemed to realize there was no way to hide her distress. “I guess I’m more out of shape than I realized.” She looked up at him with a mocking smile, no trace of coyness now. “My legs feel like over-steamed noodles. If I let go of the saddle, I’m afraid I’ll fall on my derrière!”

  “We can’t have that. Here, lean on me.” He slipped an arm around her, and she leaned with no reluctance. He steadied her a few steps to a seat on a large log, wedged between an Arizona ash tree and a huge pink boulder. “Sit easy for a few minutes. I’ll take care of Josie.”

  That done, he went back to Curly and took a parcel out of each saddle bag. With a flourish, he spread a blanket on the grass. Then he undid the other bundle and soon had a veritable feast set out for the two of them. C.J. managed to get up and hobble the few steps to sink onto the nearest side of the blanket.

  “Oh, my goodness! This is the sort of picnic one might expect in Central Park on a summer holiday, not in the wilderness of Arizona.”

  “We may be out in the wilds, but we don’t have to forego all of life’s finer things. Help yourself, my dear.”

  She did. Between them, they made short work of the thick sandwiches, mixed fruit, crisp fried chicken, and delicate cream-filled pastries for dessert, packed neatly in an insulated container. There was even a bit of wine, a nice dry rosé, and then a thermos of coffee.

  “This isn’t what one ordinarily expects when you’re supposed to be roughing it, but I can’t find it in me to complain.” C.J. tilted her face up to the warmth of the midday sun, shutting her eyes. “I could almost fall asleep now.”

  “I think a brief nap is allowed,” Cam replied.

  C.J. jumped. His voice came from a spot much closer than she’d expected. He had shifted until his shoulder almost touched hers. She snapped her head around to face him and instantly regretted that move. It put her face mere inches from his. His eyes were brighter blue than the sky, full of amusement and something hotter, fiercer. For a moment, she felt like a rabbit pinned by the gaze of a rapacious hawk.

  “There’s a bit of the cream filling on your lip.” He reached out and trailed a fingertip across her lower lip in the lightest of wiping strokes. Acting on a sudden impulse, she parted her lips enough to touch his digit with her tongue. He drew his hand back, bringing the finger to his own lips, where he licked across the tip. “Ah, I do enjoy my sweets.”

  A shiver of expectation rippled through her body. The building heat she felt came from within, not from the warming rays of the spring sunshine. She’d been celibate on purpose for some time, wearied of casual, meaningless couplings with overgrown boys who cared little for her pleasure and less for her feelings. Had she ever enjoyed a real man? Perhaps not. But this man was as real as they came.

  She’d been brutally honest when she told her brother no man except her uncle had ever challenged her. None had even come close. However, Cameron Greenway challenged her in every possible way. From the moment she’d gazed at his photograph in the magazine, she’d been anticipating this very moment, not knowing how or when it might come, but wanting it to the depths of her being.

  Without moving a centimeter, she reached for him. Masculine and alert enough to recognize the fact, his chiseled lips curved into a lazy smile, which crinkled the corners of his eyes, deepening the beginning of sun-squint lines there. “Are you really that sweet, Miss C.J.? What a surprise! I’d have said salt or pepper were more descriptive of your character.”

  “I’m a bit of a chameleon, I think, becoming at least the semblance of that which is desired, that which fits.”

  He raised one sandy eyebrow.. “Truly? So who or what is the real C.J.? And what do those letters stand for? I know families such as yours do not give their children initials for names in southern hillbilly fashion.”

  She could not seem to catch her breath. It was as if he stole all the air to fuel the blue flame of his eyes, not pale and cold now but bright, hot fires of incandescent aquamarine. “The ‘C’ is for ‘Carole,’ with an ‘e,’ and the ‘J’ is for ‘Janine.’ My mother’s family is a good part French, and Daddy was far to busy to be concerned with naming a daughter. The next child, the son he wanted, got the names from the Dutch side.”

  “Nice enough. I prefer either name to the mannish initials. Are you that determined to establish an independent and gender-neutral identity?”

  Before the flare of his gaze, she had to lower her own. “I—I started that in college. It was a bit of a fad among my friends to adopt a masculine moniker. Some went by Jimmie or Mike or Stevie, but I just went by initials. It became a habit after a while. Then it was fun to take people by surprise, as I think I did you when I arrived.”

  For a moment, he did not respond, although he smiled, an almost wolfish baring of even teeth, very white in his sun-weathered face. “There’s nothing ambiguous about your gender at all. Let me show you.”

  With that he moved the last few inches to bring their lips together. She had been leaning up propped on her elbows, but the strength suddenly left her arms. She sank back onto the blanket. He followed her down, his lips never leaving hers. The touch of his kiss might be gentle, but there was nothing tentative about it, no hesitation or uncertainty. Supple and subtle, skillful and stirring, his mouth moved over hers, tasting and teasing, taking total possession. Had her life depended on it, she could not have resisted the potent power of that masterful kiss.

  An arrow of searing heat stabbed downward through her body to burst out between her legs in a rush of moist urgency. That quickly she went from a teasing dance in which she’d felt she had an equal, if not the upper hand, to a state of helpless, frantic need. She hung on a razor edge between scared to death and completely exhilarated. All at once, she had no control over the situation at all. And the most dangerous predator of all is the one who walks upright on two legs…She could not recall who had said that, maybe Rene, but the moment seemed to prove it true.

 
; Cam slid one hand under her head to steady her, perhaps to protect her from the irregular ground beneath the blanket. His strong fingers pressed into her scalp in a sensual massage.

  All the while, he continued to kiss her, never quite breaking the contact as he shifted his lips, changing the angle, the pressure, the feel and texture of the kiss. He swept along the inner surfaces of her lips with the tip of his tongue and insinuated it into her mouth, starting a dancing duel with hers.

  With his other hand, he parted the sides of her jacket, pushing them back to free the curves of her breasts, the silky fabric of her shirt drawn taut across their budding peaks. He tweaked one nipple, drawing from her a sighing moan. Then his hand swept down, resting for a moment on her lower abdomen, next moving to rock the heel on her mound and finally still farther to trace a fingertip along the inseam of her trousers where it lay close to her moist throbbing center.

  Even through the layers of silk panties and twill jodhpurs she felt that invasive, branding touch as intimately as if it were directly on her flesh. Sensitized by the pressure of the saddle, her clit swelled and hardened as moist heat flowed from her twat in preparation to receive him. She felt the first quivers start, deep inside. She could almost climax just from his musky, masculine scent, his hungry, questing lips and the touch of his hand. Surrounded by his blatant masculinity, she had never been more aware of her own femaleness, and nature’s urge to open to and receive a man’s invasive possession.

  A shrill, anxious whinny broke through their haze of passion. Cam moved back, sitting and then standing almost in a single motion. C.J.’s eyes flew open as he pulled away. She struggled to sit up, swiveling to follow the direction of his gaze. Cued by the horse’s pointed ears and rolling eyes, they both looked up to a ledge on the far side of the stream, some fifty yards or so above them. For a moment the tawny shape there seemed huge, a menacing monster ready to pounce on them.