Samantha and the Cowboy (11 page)

Three days later, Matt was still thinking about that kiss. It had come as no surprise that Sam's lips were incredibly soft. As he tossed his saddle over his horse's back, he realized that what had surprised him was that she hadn't shoved him away.

He cinched the saddle into place. She was a lady. He could see it in the way she ate…delicately, slowly taking the spoon of stew to her mouth. Not shoveling the food in, like the other trail hands did. She never talked around a biscuit. She never belched to show her appreciation of a meal.

She was so danged female that he was grateful trailing a herd left men too weary to notice much of anything except the slow passing of the minutes.

The jangling of spurs had him glancing over his shoulder. Jake was coming toward him like there was no tomorrow.

“Is there a reason Sam can't saddle his own horse?” Jake asked brusquely.

Matt shrugged. “Sam's my partner. I have to saddle my horse. Might as well get his ready.”

“It's not a good idea to spoil a fella,” Jake admonished.

“Just doing a good deed.”

“Then you can do another good deed. I want you to ride up to the next river, take a look-see, and determine if we need to guide the cattle over slow or fast. If they had heavy snows up in Colorado, they'll be melting by now and it'll affect the rivers here. If the water's high, we'll spread the cattle out, take 'em over slow. If it's low, we'll bunch 'em together and get them across fast. You ought to be able to get there before nightfall. Just camp by the river and head back at first light. That ought to give us enough time to determine how to move the cattle.”

Matt nodded, even though he had reservations about leaving Sam. He considered suggesting that Jake give the task to someone else, but he was supposed to be learning on this trip so he could serve as trail boss on the next one or the one after that.

Sam was distracting him from his mission. He ought to be spending more time talking with Jake, learning from him. “Will do.”

“Take Sam with you.”

Matt's stomach dropped clear down to his boots. Him and Sam alone…on the prairie…at night? Not if his life depended on it. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea.”

Jake arched a brow. “Why not?”

“Sam's such a greenhorn—”

“And he's going to stay a greenhorn if he doesn't start pulling his weight.”

“She—sheez…he—he pulls his weight. You said so yourself when Sam fought the fire.”

“And ever since that day, there's been something going on between you and Sam.”

Matt's breath backed up into his lungs until his chest ached. What was his attitude toward Sam revealing? “What do you mean?”

“I can't quite figure it out. He looks at you like you're a rattler about to strike and you're watching him like you're expecting horns to sprout out of his head at any minute. The way you two are dancing around each other is making the men and the cattle nervous. Your pa is expecting you to learn how to lead this bunch. You can start by resolving whatever differences you're having with Sam.”

Matt stood rooted to the spot as Jake strode away. It was the difference between him and Sam that was causing the problems.

The difference being that Sam had curves where Matt didn't.

 

Sam tried to ignore the fella riding beside her—dismiss him just as diligently as he was ignoring her. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back so the sun could touch her face. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to ride an entire day without a bandanna covering her face. Without dust rising up from the tread of two thousand cattle to coat her clothing and any exposed skin.

She felt downright giddy. She wasn't going to let Matt spoil her day away from the cantankerous beasts. And tonight there'd be no cattle to watch. As calming as she found the night shift, she was looking forward to sleeping through the night without being awakened with a quietly murmured, “It's time.”

“Stop doing that,” Matt ordered.

She snapped her eyes open and looked at him. “Doing what?”

“Looking like…
I
don't know. Looking like you just stepped into paradise.”

“Just because you were raised on sour milk doesn't mean that I have to act like I was,” she retorted, tilting her nose in the air.

“The milk I was raised on has nothing to do with my disposition. The responsibility for that lies entirely with your deception.”

“Aren't you getting tired of harping on me lying to you back in Faithful? Why can't you forgive me for telling you I was a boy?”

“Because your lie put us in danger.”

“Honestly, Matt, I don't see how my being a girl is hurting anyone. No one is sick or bleeding. No one is dying. I'm doing my job. Doing it well, according to Jake.”

“The problem, Sam, is that I'm not doing mine.”

“
The
problem then is
your
problem. Just stop thinking of me as a girl,” she said.

He raked his gaze over her. “That's a little hard to do.”

“So is doing without and going hungry and being cold in winter.”

He averted his gaze. “I'm responsible for you, Sam.”

“I don't need you looking out for me. I can be responsible for myself.” Why couldn't he get that notion through his thick skull? She supposed she should admire his dogged determination to take care of her, but his obsession was keeping her from reaching her goal.

“As soon as we're close enough to a town that I can get you to safely and you can catch a stagecoach home, I'm telling Jake the truth,” Matt said.

“I'll hate you when you do that.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Then that'll make two of us who hate me. But if I learned one thing during the war, Sam, it was that I had to do what I thought was best for the boys in my command. Otherwise, they'd haunt me. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you…or if anything happened to any of the trail hands because I hadn't come forward and told Jake that I knew you were a girl.”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “How far is the nearest town?”

“Now,
that
I'm not sure about.”

She would hope it was Sedalia. If they got the cattle to Missouri, then surely they'd pay her. And that was all she really wanted. To be paid.

And if she never set eyes on Matt again afterward—it would be too soon.

 

The river didn't look swollen or treacherous, but Matt knew things weren't always as they appeared. Sam had taught him that painful lesson.

With the sun retreating so the night could begin casting its shadows over the land, Matt neared the bank. He studied the flow of the river. He knew he should test the waters by riding his horse across, but he wasn't in the mood to spend the night in drenched britches. And he couldn't shuck them with Sam sitting on her horse beside him.

“You think it's safe?” she asked.

“Looks it, but I need to check the current out more closely to be sure. Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

He glared at her. “Because I'm stripping down.”

Her cheeks burned bright crimson and she released a tiny “Oh.”

“I don't want to get my clothes wet,” he explained.

She nodded briskly. “I understand.”

“Do you, Sam? Do you realize that I wouldn't have this problem if you were a boy?”

“You don't have the problem now. I've already seen your bare backside!”

Now Matt's face grew hot. “Well, you wouldn't have if I'd known the truth. Now, close your eyes,” he ordered as he dismounted.

“I'll do you one better. I'll just mosey on out of your
way.” Sam urged her horse toward the distant brush until they were out of his sight.

As Matt grabbed his horse's reins and ducked behind the trees, he should have felt more comfortable. Instead, he felt his skin turning three shades of red as he thought about how he'd removed his clothes that first evening. He'd certainly given her an eyeful then.

He took off his clothes, feeling as vulnerable as a newborn baby. He mounted his horse and gave him a good, solid kick to prod him forward. The more quickly he went into the river, the faster he could get out and put his clothes back on.

It wasn't until he was calf-deep into the river that he realized Sam hadn't agreed to close her eyes. She'd only offered to get out of the way.

 

Sam hadn't meant to spy on Matt. She'd dismounted and was walking her horse farther away when Cinnamon had simply nudged Sam's backside with her nose. Sam had turned to admonish the mare—and caught sight of Matt sitting on his horse like a marble statue she'd seen in a book at school. All hard lines and carved muscles.

She couldn't blame him for not wanting to get his clothes wet. Apparently he hadn't brought extras, while she had given a lot of thought to being near a river with no one around except Matt.

Matt, who knew she was a girl. Once he had his time
alone in the river, she had plans to have a few private moments in it as well. She'd brought clean clothes for the occasion.

Matt still wore his cowboy hat. It sent shade over his bronzed back. The river appeared calm, but a few hundred cattle had the power to send the waters to swirling. And they had close to two thousand.

She considered turning away and giving Matt his privacy, but now that she was watching him, she decided it was for the best. What if he slipped off the saddle? She needed to be prepared to rescue him. Jake probably expected them to watch out for each other.

Halfway across the river, the water was lapping at Matt's thighs. Slowly, he turned his horse around and headed back toward shore.

With a sigh of relief, she spun on the balls of her feet and began to pay a good deal of attention to her own horse. No need for him to know that she'd been admiring him.

“Why don't you start gathering some dry driftwood and such for a fire?” Matt yelled from behind a tree. “I'll scare us up a rabbit for dinner.”

“How was the current?” she asked as he broke through the brush, horse in tow.

“Not too strong. We should be able to get the cattle across without as much trouble as we had at the last passing.” He held her gaze. “Are you gonna be all right crossing the river?”

“Sure.” If her stomach would loosen up a notch or two.

“I'll see to the horses before I find us something to eat.”

“Matt, I can see to my own horse,” she told him.

He rubbed the side of his nose. “I know you can, but as long as we're out here away from the others, I don't have to pretend that you're a boy. And since that is the case, I've decided to treat you like a lady. So I'll see to both horses.”

“You need to be careful that you don't develop bad habits while we're out here. I don't want anyone figuring out that I'm not a boy,” she said.

“I've already gotten into some bad habits where you're concerned,” he admitted.

“Such as?”

“Bedding down each night and thinking about that durned kiss.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

Unfortunately for her, she'd developed the same bad habit.

Wicked. Sam felt terribly wicked as she sank into the river. Ever since Matt had told her that they were going to check out the next river—and camp beside it—she'd thought of nothing else but shedding her clothing and getting rid of the dirt.

She dipped beneath the water. For once she was grateful that her hair was short so it wasn't swirling around her in the river. Coming back to the surface, she began to lather up the small sliver of perfumed soap she'd hoarded during the war. She had brought it with her, expecting to use it at journey's end. She used it only on special occasions. Other times she used the lye soap her mother made. She had decided that this evening called for using her special soap.

Tonight she didn't have to watch the way she walked, the way she talked, the way her clothes covered her body, or the way she looked at Matt. Tonight she could be a girl.

For much of her life, she'd resented the fact that she couldn't do all the things that her brothers could. Couldn't go to war, couldn't go on a cattle drive. Wasn't supposed to climb trees or spit.

Now that she was pretending to be a boy, she missed being a girl. She missed wearing a dress, plaiting long hair, smelling sweet.

She scrubbed her scalp. All those shorn curls felt strange. Men on cattle drives didn't seem overly concerned with cleanliness, which worked to her advantage as far as hiding herself, but she couldn't say it was a way of life she'd want for long. Most of the men acted as though they were plumb shy of water and soap.

Matt seemed to be an exception. Every Saturday night he took a razor to his face to scrape away his beard—not that he had much of one to scrape away. It intrigued her, though. In truth, just about everything about him did.

She dunked her head beneath the water and rinsed away the soap before bursting through to the surface. The moon reflected off the rippling waters. The wind whispered through the trees lining the bank.

Kicking up her feet, she floated on her back. She couldn't remember ever feeling this relaxed, as though somehow, in some way, everything would turn out right.

“What in tarnation do you think you're doing?” Matt yelled.

Sam bobbed upright, her feet hitting the muddy bottom with such force that she slipped, lost her balance, and went under. She came up sputtering. Flicking the water out of her eyes, she saw a rush of movement in the water. Matt
had obviously thought she was in trouble and was coming to her rescue again. “Stop!” she screamed.

Drenched, Matt came to an abrupt halt and stood. The water lapped around his waist. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, trying to calm her pounding heart. He was standing too close. She kept her shoulders submerged. “What are you doing out here?”

“You said you were going to come wash up. I started to get worried. I didn't think it would take you so long to wash your face and hands. But now I can see that you planned to wash more than that,” he said gruffly.

A tingle of pleasure speared her with his confession. He'd been thinking of her. She wondered if his thoughts about her wandered along the same paths as her thoughts about him.

“You didn't have to worry. I just wanted to feel clean,” she said. She skimmed her hand across the surface of the water, spraying him.

“Hey!” he yelled.

She swam back a ways. “I don't know how you cowboys can go so long without bathing.”

“Wait right there,” he ordered and started trudging away from her.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Take off my clothes and join you.”

“You can't do that!” she shouted at his retreating back.

“Sure I can. But don't worry. I'll stay on my half of the river.”

He became lost in the shadows. Suddenly she felt very, very naughty. Before the war, she was certain Benjamin had gone swimming with people his own age…girls and boys. They kept a respectful distance from each other. It was just the way things were done.

She heard a splash and abruptly Matt broke through the surface of the water a few yards away from her. He swept his hair out of his eyes before flicking some water at her.

“I don't want to fight, Matt,” she said quietly.

“Neither do I.”

She swam away from him. “We probably shouldn't be doing this.”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “I can't see anything, Sam. Except shadows.”

“You ever gone swimming with a girl before?” she asked.

“A time or two.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head. She didn't want to think of him in the water with another girl.

He swam toward the middle of the river. “Have you ever been swimming with a fella?” he asked.

She considered lying, but she was tired of all the lies between them. She wanted to strengthen their precarious
friendship with truths.

“No.” She bobbed in the water. “I'd always get envious when you or one of the hands would jump into a watering hole.”

He stilled. “I never considered how hard it would be for you never to be able to take a swim without fear of being seen…or caught.”

She watched as his silhouette plowed his hands through his hair.

“I'm not upset about it,” she explained. “I understand that's the way it needs to be.”

“Most cowboys don't bathe till the end of the drive,” he said.

“Why don't you wait?” she asked.

“Can't stand all the dirt, reminds me of the war. Not as much as a river does, though.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“During the war, we'd camp by a river as often as possible. At night, it gets so peaceful. We'd be on one side, Yankees on the other. Some fella would start playing on his mouth organ, then someone on the other side of the river might start to sing. We'd forget for a while that we were enemies. Kinda like you and I are doing now.”

Her stomach knotted. “I've never thought of you as my enemy, Matt.”

“Even though I'm gonna tell Jake the truth…as soon
as the time is right?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. She considered begging, pleading, offering him a portion of her earnings…but instead she offered him the truth. “I'll admit that I wish you wouldn't tell him. My reasons for coming on this drive haven't changed. I think I'm a fair trail hand. I know I wouldn't be here if you hadn't intervened, and I owe you for that. I wish I hadn't had to lie to you, but sometimes we have no choice. We have to do things we don't want to do.”

He pounded the river with his fist and sent up a stream of water. “Why do you have to say and do things that make me like you? Why can't you throw a hissy fit so I'll be glad to get rid of you?”

A tingle of joy coursed through her, and she smiled slightly. “I thought you would be glad to be rid of me.”

“I like you, Sam. I mean, you learn fast, you work hard, you never complain…except when I try to stop you from doing something. You're the kinda girl that makes a fella think he might welcome Cupid's cramps.”

Her smile grew. “Cupid's cramps”—a cowboy's name for love. She didn't know why fellas had to act as though taking a liking to a girl was the most awful thing that could happen to them.

“Speaking of Cupid's cramps,” he said, speculation laced through his voice, “that night when we went to that dance…you were in such a strange mood. You didn't like
me dancing with those girls, did you?”

“Not particularly. I wanted you to dance with me,” she admitted.

She shivered as the breeze blew off the bank. She didn't really want to talk about how jealous she'd been that night. It made her feel small and petty, after all he'd done for her.

“I'm starting to wrinkle from being in here so long,” she announced.

“Go on and get out. I won't look,” he said, just before he dived into the water.

She waded through the river, toward the shore, not exactly certain what had happened between them. Or why it had happened.

But suddenly she felt as though she and Matt were friends again…closer than they'd been before.

 

Matt waited until he was certain he'd given Sam enough time to get clear of the water and don her clothes. Then he swam to the shore and slipped on his own damp britches and shirt. He'd seen her slide beneath the water and his heart had leaped into his throat at the same time that he'd dived into the river.

The girl was going to be the death of him yet. Funny thing was, he didn't mind coming to her aid. He knew he was actually going to miss her sass when she was gone.

Picking up his boots, he headed back to camp. Jake had been right. He and Sam needed to reconcile their differences, but Matt wasn't certain that Jake realized exactly what he was asking of Matt.

Matt strode into camp. Sam had set up their pallets on opposite sides of the fire. She was already lying on hers. He grinned. To watch her through the night, he'd have to stare through the flames. “You didn't have to set up a place for me.”

“Why not? You tended to my horse,” she said with that little chin of hers thrust up at an obstinate angle.

He crouched before the fire to get some of the chill, caused by the damp clothes, off his body. He rubbed his hands together. “I've decided that I'm not gonna tell Jake,” he said quietly.

She sat bolt upright, as though he'd tossed a rattler onto her lap. “What?”

He shook his head and sighed heavily. “You
are
a good trail hand. You need the money. We've only got a few weeks left until we reach Sedalia. I reckon your secret can hold till then.”

“Oh, Matt!” She flung her arms around him and sent him flying backward, landing with a thud on the hard ground while her small body was sprawled over his larger one.

Her heaving chest pressed against his. She was so
warm. Even through his clothes, he could feel her warmth. She pushed off him. Her cheeks burned as brightly as the flames in the fire as she scrambled back and sat on her pallet.

“I'm obliged. Why did you change your mind?” she asked.

“I don't know. I just figured you've been a girl since we left Faithful and nothing bad has happened. We'll just hope your luck continues.”

Besides, he didn't want to see her leave. But he sure as heck couldn't tell her that. He had to keep some distance between them—for her sake
and
his. He unfolded his body and gathered up his bedding.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Gonna move to the other side of you.” He walked around and dropped down beside her.

“Why?”

“With a fire, it's unlikely animals will attack, but if they do, I want to be between them and you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Matt—”

“Don't argue with me, Sam, or I'll tell Jake the truth.”

She narrowed her eyes and then relented. “Fine.”

He stretched out beside her. It wasn't unusual for folks to sleep side by side. People attending a dance might stay the night and stretch out on the floor, not caring that they weren't married to the person they were lying beside. Even
stagecoach inns sometimes bedded complete strangers together.

A fragrance teased his nostrils. He raised up on an elbow and gazed at Sam. “What's that flowery smell?”

He watched her cheeks turn a pinkish hue, and he didn't think the heat of the fire was responsible.

“Some soap I use on special occasions. I was tired of smelling like a steer…I just decided to use it tonight. The scent will be gone tomorrow. No one will notice.”

“That first night when I went to wake you, I noticed that you smelled like flowers. I just figured you'd held your ma tightly when you said good-bye. But now I reckon that's just the way you smell, isn't it?”

“When I haven't gone weeks without a good hot bath.”

“That scent could spook the cattle,” he mused as he skimmed his fingers over her hair. It sure spooked him, deep down inside where he was trying to ignore her. “How long was your hair before you chopped it off?”

“Down to my waist. But it'll grow back.”

“I'll bet it was pretty.” He could envision the flames from the fire sending their light dancing over the auburn tresses.

“My ma called it my crowning glory.”

“I'd like to see it sometime after it grows back.” He trailed his finger along her temple, over her cheek. She looked so feminine. How in the world had he ever
considered she was a boy? “Do folks call you ‘Sam'?”

“Most call me Samantha Jane. Does everyone call you ‘Matt'?”

He grinned. “Unless they're mad at me. Then it's Matthew.”

“I should probably call you Matthew, then, since you make me angry a good deal of the time.”

His grin grew as he held her gaze. “I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

“Matthew,” she repeated, with a shy smile hovering on her lips.

Sparks from the fire crackled and popped into the air, waltzing back to the ground. A calmness settled over him. He hadn't felt this way since long before the war. As though everything would be all right.

She had such pretty eyes. Her gaze was wandering over his face as though she was trying to memorize the curves and lines. He wished he'd brought his razor with him, but it was with his other supplies in the wagon. He had three days' worth of beard. It wasn't thick. He couldn't even call it bristly. Still, it shadowed his face.

Impulsively, he reached out and cradled her cheek with his hand and grazed his thumb over her lips. He heard her breath hitch.

“Samantha Jane.” He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “When I kissed you before, I was mad
that I wanted to kiss you.”

She nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “I figured as much.”

“I'm not mad now.”

He saw her swallow. “You're not?”

He lowered his head and kissed one corner of her mouth and then the other. “Not mad at all.”