Wyoming Wildfire (6 page)

“That’s when the cows get up.”

“They would,” grumbled Sibyl, remembering the vexatious habits of the cattle that ruled her father’s life. “I never knew a cow yet with sense enough to stay in bed when she had the chance.” A crack of laughter transformed Burch’s whole being. He’s really quite handsome when he’s not frowning, thought Sibyl.

“Cows don’t have anything to go by except the sun,” Burch told Augusta with an impish grin. “When it’s up, they are too.”

“Then we will be up as well,” she promised bravely. “Now you’d better wash up because Sibyl is about to put the biscuits in the oven.”

A mouth-watering medley of aromas assailed Burch’s nostrils, reminding him of long-forgotten times when, as a boy, he would be down early to breakfast or surreptitiously stick his finger in the gravy boat. He’d forgotten that food could be a pleasure instead of just something to keep a man alive. It was nice to look forward to sitting down at the table and nice to have a woman about the house again.

“I brought Jesse to meet you,” he said to Sibyl, bringing his mind back to business. “He’s my foreman.”

“I thought that was your job.”

“I’m the
owner.
Jesse, get in here.” he shouted out the back door. “It takes the both of us to look after a place this size.”

Sibyl stared in surprise at the man who entered the room. He was a complete stranger, but she felt sure she had seen him before.

“This is my cousin, Sibyl Cameron, and her aunt, Augusta Hauxhurst.”

Jesse nodded in the direction of both ladies, but his eyes never left Sibyl. He was nearly as tall as Burch and looked to be about fifty pounds heavier, with thick limbs and a slightly stiff, muscle-bound walk. Reddish-brown hair curled thickly about his head and paled the freckles that were barely visible under the deep tan of his short nose. Piercing eyes sized her up from under thick, puckered brows; the rest of his face was covered by a coarse beard.

“All that hair makes him look like a wolf,” her aunt would say later.

“Mightly pleased to meet you,” Jesse said, favoring her with a friendly smile. “Burch didn’t tell me I was spending the evening with two beautiful women.”

“I didn’t want to start a stampede.”

“Save your flattery, said Sibyl, pleased with the compliment nevertheless. “There’s a wash basin and towels on the stand by the door. You can hang your hats on the pegs right above them.” Her words were met with blank stares from both men. “Did I say something wrong?”

“It’s not our custom to take our hats off,” said Burch.

“Every gentleman removes his hat in the house.”

“We don’t.”

“Not even at the table?” Augusta asked incredulously. Burch shook his head.

“You’ll take them off tonight or you’ll get no dinner,” Sibyl stated, facing the two men with hands on her hips.

“And you expect us to do as you say, just like that?” countered Burch.

“If it really bothers you …”

“No, Aunt, you’re not to give in to them.”

“There’s no problem, ma’am,” Jesse said quickly. “If you want bare heads, you’ll have them.”

“May we keep our boots on?” quipped Burch, looking dangerously unamused.

“Don’t be provoking.”

But instead of taking his hat off, Burch stood staring at her with an odd, interrogatory look that made her feel uncomfortable. She could not tell what he was thinking and was unaccountably reluctant to press him, but he surprised and confused her by walking from the room without a word.

“Sanchez’s cooking never smelted anything like this,” Jesse chatted easily, unruffled by Burch’s abrupt departure.

Sibyl found her eyes were drawn to the door still swinging behind Burch.

“The boys will be mad as fire when they learn how you’re feeding us,” Jesse continued, drying his face with a towel.

“We can cook for them as well,” offered Augusta uncertainly.

“I don’t think Burch would approve of that.”

“Naturally we’ll discuss it with Mr. Randall, but it’s only to be expected there’ll be many changes now that we’re living here.”

“Burch doesn’t like changes. He says it upsets the men and just makes for more work all around.’’

“Then he’ll just have to accustom himself to a period of discomfort. From what I’ve seen, he should be thankful that Aunt Augusta and I have come to manage for him.”

“If I know Burch, he’ll be fit to bust with thankfulness,” smiled Jesse.

Fifteen minutes later Sibyl took the golden brown biscuits from the oven. “It’s time to eat,” she said with a good deal of tartness. “Where’s my cousin?”

Burch entered the room on the heels of her question. Both ladies stared at him in astonishment. He had completely changed his clothes, even his boots. He wore a navy suit with vest, white shirt, and tie. His hair was combed and he was freshly shaved. Yet no mere clothing could obscure the tall, muscular body underneath or diminish the aura of rough masculinity that he exuded. He was so handsome Sibyl’s tongue tied itself in knots.

“I thought you might be more pleased with me if I was all duded up,” he explained casually. “Can’t have Wyoming dust at a lady’s table.”

Surprise and admiration were written large in Sibyl’s eyes, but there was also a spark of anger. Jesse looked from one to the other, wondering what Burch was up to.

“You look so nice it makes me ashamed to sit down in this old dress,” objected Augusta.

“Without that apron you’d be fit for the governor’s table,” Burch said, slipping the huge apron over Augusta’s head. Startled to find herself in virtual embrace, the poor woman hemmed and hawed in utter confusion and quickly dropped into the chair he held for her.

Sibyl was sorely tempted to throw the pan of biscuits at his head, but she dumped them on a plate, removed her own apron, and took the seat Jesse held for her.

She was angry with Burch for putting her off balance once again, but she was upset with herself as well. She should have been thinking of his lateness and how rude it was to leave without a word, but instead she only thought of how handsome he looked and the remembrance of those powerful thighs rising from the porch floor.

“That was undoubtedly the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Jesse said for the tenth time. “You ladies don’t know how welcome you are at Elkhorn.”

“The coffee looks a little weak,” Burch noted as Sibyl filled his cup.

“This is how it should look,” she said, longing to pour it in his lap. He had galled her by monopolizing her aunt to such an extent that she was virtually forced to give her own attention to Jesse for the entire meal.

“I made another pot,” Augusta said, getting up quickly to avoid meeting Sibyl’s eyes.

“Traitor!” cried her outflanked niece.

“They work very hard and deserve to have their coffee the way they like it,” Augusta explained meekly, “even if I do consider it a waste of good beans.”

“If it’ll please you, Aunt Augusta, I’ll drink Sibyl’s brown water and like it.”

“It’s already made. I left it on the stove through dinner. I hope it’s strong enough.” She poured out two cups of liquid so black it made Sibyl shudder. They both watched expectantly as Burch took the first swallow.

“Can you make a pot just like this in the morning?” he asked, sighing contentedly.

“I expect so.”

“And every other morning?”

“If you like,” she answered with increasing trepidation.

“If you weren’t already my aunt, I’d marry you,” Burch announced, planting a noisy kiss on Augusta’s blushing cheek.

“My aunt is not accustomed to crude attentions or overripe compliments,” snapped Sibyl, surprised at the cutting edge in her voice.

“I like your aunt,” Burch said, looking at her from hard, critical eyes. “She doesn’t look down her nose or bark orders at me. She’s a
real
lady.”

Sibyl gasped. “You ungrateful — ”

“What should I be grateful for? Being treated as though I was a savage and given orders on how to behave in my own house? You Virginians have some strange notions about how guests are supposed to behave.”

“I’m not your guest; I own this house,” she responded, shaking with anger.

“You may own half this ranch, but you’re here only as long as I allow it. I can put you off any minute I like, so I suggest
you
learn to say please and thank you. It’ll be good training for you, and it’ll improve the atmosphere out of all recognition. The dinner was delicious, Aunt Augusta,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’d forgotten what pleasure it could be to fill my belly.”

“You’ll have to thank Sibyl,” Augusta said, too honest to take credit for someone else’s work. “I just made the coffee.”

“My compliments,” Burch said, favoring Sibyl with an unyielding look. “I see the Elkhorn has at least one reason to be glad of your presence. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do before bedtime.” There was an uncomfortable pause as they listened to his retreating footsteps.

“Of all the rude, offensive men, he’s the worst,” Sibyl proclaimed, but her condemnation lacked its usual vigor. Augusta started to open her mouth, but Sibyl forestalled her. “If you say one word to defend him, I won’t speak to you” she announced with a suspicious catch in her voice. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” Augusta was too astonished to speak. For the second time in as many days, Sibyl’s eyes sparkled with tears.

“I’m afraid Burch doesn’t think too much of women,” Jesse explained, getting up from the table. “We never had any about the place except Mrs. Ada. She was awful nice, but meek as a sheep. No backbone at all.”

“I’ve got lots of backbone.”

“Burch doesn’t like women with backbone; he wants them like Mrs. Ada. He always expected to have this place to himself, so he’s mighty put out at your being here. Seeing as how you’re from the East, he didn’t figure on your being interested in ranches.”

“Being from the East doesn’t mean I have to be completely useless,” Sibyl said, smarting at the implication. “I may not know everything there is to know about running a ranch, but there’s a lot your precious Mr. Randall doesn’t know either.”

“I wouldn’t let him get you too riled, Miss Cameron. He gets like that when he’s crossed. I’m sure he’ll calm down by tomorrow.”

“I don’t care how angry he gets.”

“You stick to your guns and see if old Burch doesn’t come around,” he advised in a brotherly way. “Now I’d better move along. I hear Burch heading out already.” The front door slammed, and Sibyl flushed with mortification, knowing Burch had intentionally bypassed the most direct route to his horse to avoid having to speak to her again.

“It sure was mighty good,” Jesse said again, taking his hat down from the peg.

“Will you be back for dinner tomorrow?” Augusta asked.

“I’ll be here every night till roundup.”

“When is that?”

“Burch hasn’t decided. Maybe you can ask him tomorrow,” he said with a smile as he closed the door behind him.

Augusta rose and began to clear the table, but Sibyl sat looking reflectively toward the front door, her mind burdened with too many thoughts and feelings to sort out all at once.

“Why can’t he be like Jesse, instead of an argumentative, cantankerous brute?” she asked almost wistfully.

“I don’t think he’s a brute.”

“He an opinionated blockhead, and he was from the moment he swooped down to play the gallant knight rescuing the poor damsel. Now he’d sulking because the
poor damsel
hasn’t swooned in mindless adulation.” She got up with something like a snort, but her mind continued to be preoccupied by inner reflections and a look of mingled disappointment and despair settled over her lovely face. A troubled Augusta held her tongue.

Chapter 5

When Burch came down the next morning there were unmistakable sounds of activity coming from the kitchen. A little surprised, he slipped in unnoticed. Sibyl hummed a sprightly tune as she moved back and forth between stove and table, setting out sausage, Balaam’s eggs, ham, biscuits, and a pot of jam. He gazed on her long slender neck and creamy white skin with an intentness that would have surprised and frightened her had she seen it. Being alone with her in the early morning solitude was akin to sharing an intimate secret, and the familiar aching returned with renewed vigor.

He had flung out of the house the night before to show her how unimportant she was to him, but two hours of aimless riding gave him plenty of time to discover the extent of his error. Her image alone had the power to cause a warmth between his thighs that was fed by a hunger so deep and vital it caused his teeth to chatter. I’m acting like a fifteen-year-old with his first saloon girl, he thought disgustedly, but he knew Sibyl had nothing to do with fifteen-year-old boys or saloons. She was a beautiful, vibrant woman and the thought of her in his arms made his bones weak.

Damn Uncle Wesley! Why should he be saddled with a beautiful shrew who would devil him by day and haunt his dreams at night? He should have married that girl from Chicago; at least she wasn’t as tough as buffalo hide. Now he was caged up with a tantalizing beauty who owned half his ranch, had the warmth of a she-wolf, and whose bed was strictly off limits. Damn! Damn! Damn!