“Look at me,” she shouted, pink blazing on her cheeks. She waved the bloody handkerchief under his nose. “I almost burned up! What more do you want?”
“Dinner for twelve,” he answered. He tossed the rest of his coffee on the ground, and watched his point men bring the herd in. He wondered if Freddy and Les had caught up yet. “Better set out the plates,” he said absently, turning to inspect the observers’ camp. Leaving Alex sputtering, he walked toward the two wagons parked closer to the main camp than he preferred.
As he’d expected, it was a greenhorn’s camp. He’d ask Grady to show Luther or Ward how to dig a decent fire pit. He was willing to offer that much assistance.
“How do you think the drive is going so far?” Ward. Hamm demanded. Dal noticed a layer of cream atop Hamm’s coffee and curled his lip. To a man, cowboys drank their coffee black.
“About as expected.” Whiskey would grow on trees before he started reporting to Ward Hamm. He addressed Luther. “From now on, I want your camp farther from the outfit.”
“Why is that?” Jack Caldwell asked, leaning against the side of the wagon riffling a deck of cards between his fingers. “You don’t want us to see what you’re doing?”
“I don’t want my men distracted.” He frowned at the playing cards, then looked back at Luther. “There’s going to be a stampede in the next few days. If we can, we’ll turn the herd right, away from the wagons, but that isn’t always possible. So you boys sleep with one eye open.”
Ward peered at the drovers drifting toward the chuck wagon for their noonday meal. “Who watches the herd while they’re eating?”
“I don’t have time to explain a cattle drive,” Dal said sharply. The more he saw of this man, the more he resented his presence.
Freddy and Les rode in as he returned to the main camp. They were as wrecked as Alex. Their eyes were reddened from dust, and dust packed every crevice of their skin and clothing. Small muddy lines ringed their nostrils and lips. Loose hair flew around faces that were already starting to scorch in the sun, and sweat soaked their shirts. The first thing they did after climbing off their horses and rubbing their lower legs with groans was pull off thin, fashionable gloves and stare at the blisters rising on their palms.
Freddy looked up and saw him watching. “If you say I told you so, I’ll… I’ll…”
He smiled and pushed his hat to the back of his head. “All I’m going to say is maybe you’ll listen the next time I make a suggestion. Ask Grady for some heavier gloves.”
Stepping up to her, he touched the bandanna tied around her throat, letting his knuckles brush her warm skin. “This isn’t a decoration.” He pulled the bandanna up over her nose and mouth, watched her green eyes flare at the familiarity. “It’s to filter the dust.”
“I know that,” she snapped, jerking the bandanna back down to her throat. Leaning forward from the hips, she narrowed her eyes. “There’s something I want to say to you.”
Like hell she’d known. “So? Say what’s on your mind.”
She stood close enough that he could smell the sweat plastering her shirt to her skin. It didn’t smell like a man’s sweat, but instead reminded him of glistening bodies and damp sheets. The image was strong enough that he clenched his jaw and stared back at her.
“That kiss didn’t mean anything to me either! Absolutely nothing.” After glaring into his eyes, she tossed her head and marched toward the plates stacked on the chuck-wagon worktable.
He stood rock-still as if she’d hauled back and smacked him between the eyes with a fence post. Whenever he’d thought about kissing her, and that had been frequently, he’d been so focused on assuring himself that kissing her had meant nothing to him, that he hadn’t considered her point of view. Now that he knew her reaction, it pissed him off.
Scowling, biting down on his teeth, he watched her knock the dust from her clothing, then wash her hands and face in the basin on the sideboard of the wagon. Reddened eyes snapping, black hair flying, covered in dust and sweat, she was more appealing right now than she had been in her stylish gowns with every hair carefully curled. His eyes flicked to the damp V between her thighs, and he felt a sudden stirring that irritated the bejesus out of him.
“Get out of my way,” she snarled when he walked up beside her. Reaching past him, brushing against his arm and chest, she picked up one of the tin plates.
“Turning into a tough cowboy, are you?” he drawled, stepping back.
“I can take anything you throw at me,” she said, looking up and holding his gaze.
She was so full of bristling pride and bravado that she actually seemed taller. When he’d kissed her, he had intended to cut her down to size and teach her a lesson, but apparently it would take more than one kiss to subdue this woman. The next time he kissed her—and there would be a next time—his kiss would damned well mean something to her. He’d make sure that it did.