Samantha and the Cowboy (5 page)

Sam looked downright terrified as all the blood rapidly drained from his face, leaving him looking stark white against the dark bark.

“How—how did you figure it out?” Sam stammered.

“It's just so incredibly obvious.”

“But what…what did I do that gave the truth away?”

It hurt to hear the absolute panic in Sam's voice.

“It's all right, Sam,” Matt said quietly. “Jake won't make you leave.”

Disbelief marred Sam's face. “Yes, he will.”

“No, he won't. A lot of the fellas can't swim.”

The kid looked to Matt as though he'd just swallowed a June bug. “Swim?” Sam rasped.

Matt nodded. At the creek, the boy's cheeks had flamed red, burning so brightly that Matt figured he could have started a fire with them. Matt had never seen a fella react in that manner before.

He'd remembered the first time he'd shucked his clothes in the army. He'd been a little self-conscious, standing there in the altogether with men he barely knew, but he'd figured it wasn't that much different from skinny dipping with his
friends in the creek back home.

The kid had looked as though he'd never caught sight of a naked body before. He'd looked…well…afraid. That had made no sense to Matt unless Sam did fear something. Then it had hit Matt like a bolt of lightning: the boy was afraid of the river. To be afraid like that could mean only one thing—the boy didn't know how to swim.

Sam had some pride. Maybe too much. He'd certainly shown it the day before, behind the general store.

“I could teach you, if you want,” Matt offered. He didn't particularly want to, but neither did he want the kid drowning on him.

The boy still looked ready to bolt at any minute.

Sam shook his head. “Nah, nah…I've got a powerful fear of the water.”

Matt grimaced and rubbed the side of his nose. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “What are you going to do when we get to the Red River and have to swim the cattle across?”

“As long as I can stay on my horse, I'll be fine.”

But Matt had seen more than one cowboy fall off his horse crossing a river. And he had seen many a cowboy drown. “I think you ought to let me teach you to swim.”

“Nah, I'll be fine, I swear it.”

“All right, then, but when we get to the Red, you stick close to my side, where I can see you at all times.”

“I will.”

Matt heard the clanking of iron that meant Cookie had the vittles ready. “Go on and eat. We'll be watching the cattle at midnight.”

Sam struggled to his feet and Matt unfolded his tall, lean body.

“You won't tell no one, will you? 'Bout my secret?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Give me your word that you won't tell a soul.”

“I give you my word, Sam, but it's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. I just don't want the other fellas making fun of me.”

“They'd have to deal with me if they did.” Now, why had he said that? He wasn't supposed to be protecting Sam. He was supposed to be teaching the kid to take care of himself. He tugged Sam's hat down over his eyes. “Go on, get.”

Leaning against the tree, he watched as Sam hightailed it back to camp. Matt had never had a younger brother, but he sure felt like an older brother to Sam. The boy just seemed amazingly wary of things, incredibly afraid of doing wrong. He wished he knew how to give the boy confidence. His lack of faith in himself seemed at odds with his spunk.

Matt turned back toward the river. He'd just take a
quick dunk now, anything to wash away the memory of the terror he'd seen in Sam's pale green eyes.

He was glad the kid didn't want to take swimming lessons. Matt didn't want to be an older brother to the boy. He didn't even want to be a friend. It hurt too much to lose a friend.

It had been a mistake to bring Sam to the river. Not because he couldn't swim, but because just for a moment as the kid had trailed along behind him, Matt had enjoyed his company, had forgotten that the last thing he wanted was a friendship.

 

As soon as she finished eating supper, Sam grabbed her bedroll out of the back of the supply wagon and moved a good distance away from the campfire, away from where it appeared the other cowhands were bedding down for the night. As she smoothed her bedroll over the ground, she fought back the images of Matt's bared body, but it was a battle she kept losing.

Matt had frightened ten years off her earlier this evening with his proclamation. “I know your secret.”

Her heart had very nearly stopped. She'd thought he'd figured out that she was a girl.

She could only be grateful that he'd attributed her hasty retreat to an inability to swim and not to her embarrassment at standing there dumbfounded, staring at his white backside and hairy calves. And thighs that looked as
though they'd been chiseled from stone, although stone not as dark as the rock used for his chest.

She'd never in her life imagined that a man could look…beautiful. She'd remember the sight of Matt outlined by the twilight shadows for as long as she drew breath.

She could swim—in truth, she loved the water—but she couldn't enjoy it without giving away her true reason for reacting as she had. Besides she didn't figure Matt or any of the other cowboys would appreciate knowing that they'd removed their clothes in front of a girl.

She sat on her pallet, squirming to get comfortable. It seemed every time she removed a rock from beneath her bedroll, another showed up to take its place. She glanced toward the fire burning brightly in the center of the camp. Several hands were sitting near it, including Matt.

The others were laughing and talking. Matt was simply staring at the writhing flames, his hands clasped around a tin cup. She wondered what he was thinking about, how he could appear to be separate from the others even though he was sitting beside them.

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding them tightly. Matt wasn't wearing his hat. His black hair brushed the collar of his shirt. The desire to touch it earlier had taken her by surprise. She couldn't recall ever wanting to touch a boy's hair.

What was happening to her? Why was she noticing things about Matt—the thickness of his hair, the strength
in his hands, the deep timbre of his voice, the rumble of his laughter, the incredible blue of his eyes—that she'd never paid attention to before when it came to boys?

She tried to tell herself that she was fascinated with Matt just because she'd known so few boys in the past four years. But if it was simply a matter of Matt being a boy, why couldn't she remember the color of the twins' eyes? Why did she have to look at Squirrel to remember his hair was brown and at Slim to know his hair was blond?

Why did it seem like every facet of Matt had been branded on her mind so she could see him clearly every time she closed her eyes?

She told herself it was because she'd been forced to spend the entire day in his company. But a secret corner of her heart echoed that she was lying to herself.

If she'd never seen Matthew Hart again after yesterday morning, she would have remembered him to her dying day.

She snapped her head around as Jake knelt beside her.

“Set yourself up kinda far from the others,” he said quietly.

Sam nodded, stalling for time while she decided how to explain herself without lying or causing suspicion. She thought she'd be as uncomfortable sleeping beside one of the cowboys as she'd been seeing them at the river this afternoon. Besides, she thought it best to keep her distance as often as she could. “I'm not used to sleeping with a bunch of men and boys.”

Inwardly she smiled. That was the truth.

“A lot of these fellas snore, but most of us are too tired to notice, once our head hits the ground.” He'd planted his elbows on his thighs and was balanced on the balls of his feet as though at any moment he thought he might have to get up. “Cattle are more likely to stampede at night. What will you do if they start running?”

He was studying her like she was supposed to know the answer. She shook her head slightly and tried to remember what Matt had told her earlier. In a timid voice, she said, “Ride the perimeter and stay out of their way?”

He twisted his body slightly and looked over his shoulder. “Matt!”

Sitting near the fire, Matt jerked as though he was a puppet and someone had yanked on his strings.

Slowly Matt rose to his feet and stalked across the camp. “Dang it, Jake, stop hollering at me.”

“You seem a bit skittish today.”

“I was lost in thought, that's all.” He crouched beside Jake and darted a glance at Sam before giving his full attention to Jake. “What did you need?”

“Sam doesn't know the particulars of what to do during a stampede.”

“I'll explain the details to him before I turn in.”

“Is that your sleeping gear on the other side of the camp?”

Matt narrowed his eyes, and Sam wondered if he was
considering lying. She had a bad feeling that neither one of them was going to like where Jake was heading with his question.

“Yeah, it is,” Matt said slowly.

“Gather it up. You're sleeping beside Sam tonight.”

With a groan, Matt dropped his head back. “Jake, the kid's been dogging my heels all day. We can use a little time apart. Nothing is gonna happen.”

“Know that for a fact, do you?” Jake asked.

Matt sighed. “I know you ordered Sam to stay as close to me as my shadow, but
you know
that I sleep away from the camp.”

“Should have thought of that before you hired him. Either stick to him like stink on manure, or send him home. If I have to tell you again, I'll send
you
home.” Jake got to his feet. “I mean it, Matt. Stop shirking your responsibilities where the kid is concerned.”

Sam watched Matt's jaw move back and forth, the muscles in his face tight as he glared at Jake's retreating back.

“Get up,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

“We're going into the woods. I've got business to tend to.”

Sam's eyes widened. “Oh, no, Matt, I'm sure Jake didn't mean I had to follow you when you needed to take care of nature's call.”

The last thing she wanted to do was intrude on his privacy.

“Follow me, or pack up and go home,” he ordered.

“You sound just like Jake.”

“Don't I, though?”

He lunged to his feet and stormed into the thicket of trees. He was contrary and confusing. He'd been kind and considerate after she'd run from the river, and now he was issuing ultimatums. She didn't understand him. Nice one minute, ornery the next. If she didn't need that money…

Sam waited only a heartbeat before bolting after him.

It wasn't nature's call that Matt needed to deal with; it was his frustrations. Why was he being punished? He couldn't figure that part out as he wended his way through the trees.

Out of the kindness of his heart, he'd offered the kid a place on the drive…and Jake was bound and determined to make him regret his actions.

Made no sense. Made no sense at all.

Why did he have to stick to Sam like flies on cow dung?

He reached the river and started pacing its bank. He considered saying to hell with it and heading home, but if he did that, then Jake would surely let the kid go. So his going wouldn't accomplish anything except to leave Jake short two hands instead of one. He was contemplating the merits of sending the boy home himself when Sam joined him at the river's edge.

The kid was out of breath and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, obviously as nervous as a June bug in a chicken coop.

Matt dropped his head back and plowed his hands through his hair. He couldn't bring himself to send the kid
packing, not when he looked at Matt as though he hung the stars.

“I…I don't snore,” the boy said.

He stopped pacing, raked his fingers through his hair one more time, turned, and faced the kid. “It's not that I'm worried about you snoring. I'm just used to…sleeping kinda off by myself.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see the kid scrunching up his face. “You do a lot of things by yourself.”

“No, I don't.”

The boy took a brazen step forward. “Yes, you do. You eat over by the supply wagon—”

“Why carry my food a good distance away when I can just eat it there and hand the plate back to Cookie?” That was a sorry excuse if ever he heard one. Friendships developed during meals and he had no need of friends.

Sam shook his head. “I think there's more to it than that. At the fire, you were sitting close enough to make it look like you were part of the group, but you weren't really listening to what they said. And you jump every time Jake yells at you.”

“Who wouldn't? He's got a voice as loud as thunder.”
As loud as the retort of a rifle or the boom of a cannon.

“You don't strike me as someone who normally would jump.”

“Yeah, well, shows what you know.”

He turned away and looked out over the river,
disgusted that he sounded as young as the kid. He could hear the water lapping against the shore, a fish splashing somewhere. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped.

He didn't want to spend time with the kid. If he did, he might come to care for him…if Sam drowned crossing the river or got trampled during a stampede or got bitten by a snake or got struck by lightning. Lord have mercy…the dangers were endless.

And when someone you cared about died, it hurt. It hurt something fierce, as though a part of you was dying as well. He'd learned during the war to shut the door on his emotions. To stop caring.

Why did this kid have to make him feel like an older brother? Worse, why did he make him
want
to be an older brother, to take him under his wing and help him? To show Jake that Matt was a good judge of character?

He spun around and the kid leapt back. “All right. Here's how it's gonna be. You're gonna do just like Jake said and stick closer to me than my shadow. You're gonna do everything that I say, exactly as I say…and you're gonna stop watching me so closely.”

“How am I supposed to stop watching you if I'm right beside you all the time?”

“Figure something out. We're not going to be friends or blood brothers—”

“I didn't ask you to be anything to me. Why are you angry at me?”

“I'm not angry.” But he realized he sounded angry. He sighed. “Look, Sam, when I hired you on, I hadn't planned on having to spend every minute of every day and night with you. I'm trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

Sam nodded brusquely. “Fine. Just teach me what you need to. I can be as unfriendly as you.”

Matt saw the boy spin on his heel and start walking away.

“Hold on, kid. You can't go back to camp until I'm ready. Jake's orders.”

Sam stopped, and Matt watched as the boy crossed his arms over his chest.

Matt could sense the boy glaring at him through the darkness. He didn't know why he was being so ornery where Sam was concerned. The kid hadn't asked Matt to be his friend. Matt was the one who kept interfering, sticking his nose where it didn't belong, trying to save the boy. When was he going to learn that people couldn't be saved? That no matter what you did, in the end, nothing made a difference?

He stepped forward. “All right, we can go.”

“I don't like this any better than you do,” Sam grumbled.

 

Sam tried to ignore the quiver in her stomach as Matt dropped his bedroll beside hers and crouched. She knew sleeping beside him wasn't going to be anything
like sleeping beside Amy.

Amy wasn't muscular. Matt looked as though he'd never been a stranger to hard work. Amy smelled of violets. Matt smelled of horses and leather.

Amy didn't have a beard shadowing her face. Neither did she move with a rhythm that said she'd bedded down beneath the stars a hundred times before.

Sam ran her fingers through her shorn curls. She stilled once she realized she was primping. Why did she feel the need to look presentable? She was supposed to be a boy, not a girl vying for Matt's attention.

Matt toed off his boots. At least he was wearing socks now, but she couldn't quite forget how his bare feet had looked. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms.

Matt tugged his shirttail loose from his britches, stretched out on the ground, and folded his arms beneath his head. A couple of his buttons popped loose from their holes, and Sam could see his chest. So remarkably different from hers.

Although his chest looked hard, she imagined it would be comforting to press her cheek against it. To have him tell her that she wasn't crazy to be on this drive. Turning her back to him, she settled onto her side, curling her knees toward her stomach.

She didn't need to be thinking about cuddling up against Matthew Hart. She couldn't fathom why she
wanted to. She'd never before yearned to be held by a boy. Before the war, she had enjoyed racing against them, climbing trees with them, outsmarting them, and ignoring them when the mood struck.

She was having a heck of a time ignoring Matt. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him stretched out in that inviting pose. She could see herself rolling over and fitting against his side. His arm coming down to wrap her protectively in his embrace.

She squirmed. She certainly didn't need those thoughts.

She could hear the flames crackling in the campfire, the distant lowing of the cattle, the slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. It was all so calming, incredibly peaceful.

A thousand stars blanketed the night sky. A full moon poured its pale light over the landscape. And a young man she couldn't seem to stop thinking about was sleeping beside her. She wiggled.

“Sam, stop fidgeting,” Matt said. “It's bothering me.”

“I can't get comfortable.”

She heard him shift his body over the ground. She glanced over her shoulder. He'd risen up on his elbow, studying her with such intensity that she feared he could look into her thoughts.

“You've never slept on the ground before?” he asked.

She turned to face him. “Nope. Never been away from home, either.”

“You didn't fight in the war?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” He dropped back to the ground, shoved his hands beneath his head, and glared at the sky above.

She swallowed hard, not wanting to pry—but incredibly curious. “How old were you?”

He worked his jaw back and forth in that way he had that made her think he was annoyed.

“Fourteen, when I left at the beginning of the war,” he finally ground out, not looking at her.

“That's so young,” she whispered. She'd known boys who'd gone at twelve. “Were you scared?”

She could see a muscle in his cheek tighten.

“Go to sleep, Sam.”

She remembered how Benjamin never talked about the war. Matt seemed to be of the same inclination.

“There's no shame in being scared,” she said quietly.

“I'm not ashamed. I've just got nothing to say on the matter,” he said tersely.

She knew she wouldn't rest easy if he was upset with her. He could send her home as easily as Jake could. She wanted to smooth the troubled waters, and since she couldn't very well hug him without causing suspicion, all she could do was talk.

“My older brother fought in the war,” she told him.

Again he hesitated as though he really didn't want to
know anything about her or her family. “Did he come home?”

“Yes.”

He looked back at her. “I'm glad.”

“Me, too.” She licked her lips, wondering how much to reveal. Matt didn't want a friendship, but she imagined that months out here without talking to someone would be lonely. “He lost his arm at Shiloh. If it weren't for that, he'd be working on this drive, not me. He just didn't think he could handle the job.”

He furrowed his brow. “Might take some effort, a little trial and error, but I think he could do it.”

She smiled, grateful to hear her own thoughts repeated. “That's what I tried to tell him, but he was too stubborn to give it any thought.”

“It wouldn't work at all if he didn't have the desire to do it,” Matt said.

“I feel the same way.” She felt a blossoming in her heart toward him, knowing that the friendship he wanted to avoid was slowly developing. She already missed Mary Margaret—but then again, Matt wasn't anything like Mary Margaret.

“Did you ever get wounded?” she asked.

She could sense his hesitation to reveal a weakness before he nodded briskly.

“At Gettysburg. Took a bullet in my hip. I limp a little when I get tired.”

“You must have been scared,” she repeated softly.

“Right down to my boot heels.” Suddenly he scowled as though just realizing what he'd admitted. “Go to sleep, kid.”

He rolled over, presenting her with his broad back. She curled her fingers to stop herself from reaching out to touch him.

Something inside her was unfurling, an emotion she'd never known before. She enjoyed talking to Matt. Simply looking at him brought her pleasure. She liked having him near.

What was happening to her?

She'd told her mother that none of the hands would figure out she was girl. What she hadn't realized was how desperately she'd want Matt to know she wasn't a boy.

 

“Time.”

Matt awoke, even though the voice had been low and calming. Jake insisted that no one in camp touch or shake someone who was asleep. Most of them had been through the war and automatically reached for their guns when they heard loud noises. Some were even in the habit of shooting before they were fully awake.

With the haze of sleep starting to clear, Matt could see Squirrel grinning at him, revealing the two large protruding front teeth that had earned him his nickname.

“Your watch is coming up,” Squirrel told him.

Nodding and yawning, Matt leaned toward Sam until
he was close enough not to startle the boy. He considered leaving him to sleep. They'd done too much jawing before they'd gone to sleep. He'd revealed more than he'd intended. How did the kid manage to work his way through Matt's defenses?

He was young, no doubt about that. Yet there was a maturity to him that seemed at odds with his youth. Matt couldn't quite figure it out. The kid noticed things that most cowboys ignored. He seemed to look at the world—and people—more deeply. Trying to see inside them.

No one else had seemed to notice that Matt preferred to be on the fringe of the group.

If he were smart, he would leave the kid behind. But he didn't want another confrontation with Jake. And that meant taking the boy with him. “Sam?” he whispered.

Sam opened his eyes, looking clearly disoriented.

“It's time for us to take our turn guarding the herd,” Matt explained.

Grimacing, Sam sat up, drawing the bulky coat around him. It grew cooler at night, and Matt had his own jacket to wear. But he wouldn't wear it as tightly as the kid did. He liked room to maneuver.

“Shake out your boots before you put them on,” Matt ordered as he lifted his own boot, turned it upside down, and pounded the bottom and sides.

“Why?” Sam asked, as he opened his mouth in a big, wide yawn.

“Scorpions, snakes, centipedes…they like to crawl into a warm boot for the night.”

The kid's eyes grew as round as his mouth. “What?”

Matt couldn't hold back a slight grin. “Don't tell me you're afraid of critters.”

“Not afraid. I just don't like them.” The boy picked up his boot with only his thumb and forefinger as though he feared it might bite him.

The kid was a contradiction: determined one minute, practically a sissy the next. He had to be younger than he claimed…

Matt snatched the boot from Sam's grip and gave it a good thumping. He handed it to the kid before picking up the other one and giving it the same treatment. “Grab us both a cup of coffee from the wagon while I get our horses.”

He didn't wait to see if Sam followed, but headed to the remuda, where he selected two good night horses. He began to saddle them up, thinking about his conversation with Sam earlier. There was just something about the kid that made Matt talk, that made him yearn for the friendships he'd had before the war. Friendships the war had stolen from him.

Just as Matt finished getting the horses ready, Sam approached and extended the tin cup toward him. He gulped the coffee down. “Thanks.”