Chapter 2

Although he affected the image of a rough, unschooled cowboy, Cam was a graduate of Yale and the scion of an upper crust family. Even if his parent’s current wealth came from mines and ranches in Wyoming and New Mexico, both of them had roots in the bluest blood of the eastern seaboard. The family’s black sheep, he had gone his own way to build his life in its unique mold. The role of guide, outfitter, and dude-rancher suited him to a “T.” He played the rugged outdoorsman to the hilt and actually lived that life as much as was possible in the modern era.

The sharp blast of the diesel’s horn alerted him to the train’s imminent arrival. He stepped back from the track as the sleek silver, red and yellow locomotives swept past him, slowing to a stop with a shriek of steel on steel. Several passengers alighted, but none Cam could identify as C.J. VanDemont. Damn, did I make this trip in vain? I’m sure the man said he’d arrive today.

At that moment, a modishly dressed young lady approached him. Tall for a woman, she carried herself with arrogant grace. Honey-blonde hair fell in shoulder-length waves to brush the bottle green yoke of her masculine-cut suit jacket. A matching pencil slim skirt outlined pleasing curves of hip and derrière. Black high-heeled pumps accentuated her trim ankles and well-turned calves beneath the skirt’s hem. Full, scarlet-painted lips curved into a smile as she tilted her head, studying him.

“You look just like your picture,” she said. “Would you happen to be Mr. Cameron Greenway?”

As he nodded, he registered several facts at once. First, it was the same voice, low pitched but definitely not masculine. Second, this lady was one gorgeous female, and last, he was knee deep in trouble if she really was C. J. VanDemont. Why in the world would a woman like this want to rough it Arizona style? She had socialite written all over her

“Yes, I am. And you’re C. J. VanDemont? I wasn’t expecting a lady.”

She laughed, the sound carrying so much raw sexual energy his whole body tightened. Gods help me, this woman is short-fused dynamite!

“I know.” She lowered her lids demurely, shielding vivid green eyes for a moment, then offered a pretty smile, but quite artificial. “I was almost sure you didn’t realize I was female, but that’s okay. Yes, I really do want to rough it. I’ve been on safaris in Africa, a trip to Alaska, across the Gobi, and several similar treks. This year was supposed to be India and the Himalayas, but my uncle, Rene-Paul Dubois, got himself killed in a plane crash, which put an end to that. He was the adventurous relative with whom I’ve enjoyed many travels. In his absence, I anticipated a frightful and boring spring, but then your ad caught my eye. Here I am.”

For a long moment Cam studied her, while his mind whirled in a frantic spin, trying to come to terms with the notion of being alone in the woods with this amazing vision. Could she be as bold and daring as she presented herself to be? What kind of adventures did she expect to enjoy?

Well, I aim to please. Entertaining this woman well might be worth much more than the normal fees I charge for my services. I see some distinct possibilities here.

He’d taken a few couples out for hunts and camping, but more often, if a couple booked a holiday, the lady stayed at the ranch while her husband went on the hunt or camping and photographic expedition. He’d installed a swimming pool, located a few gentle nags anyone could ride and hired help who knew how to keep “dudes” entertained. But a lady on her own who wanted the full experience—this was going to be a first.

“Well, Miss VanDemont, we need to get your luggage and start for the ranch. It’ll be dark before we get there anyway.”

With an elegant wave, she indicated a couple of bags sitting on the platform not far from where they stood. “That’s it. I know enough to travel light. If I were going on a cruise, it would be different, but I find them incredibly tedious. Shuffle-board and dining at the captain’s table? Please, I’m not a fifty-year-old fossil! And by the way, please call me C.J. I hate to answer to ‘miss.’”

Cam collected the two bags and tossed them into the truck. Then he handed C.J. into the passenger seat, circled the cab to slide behind the wheel, and headed his new Ford pickup down the highway. He had the distinct feeling he could be in for the adventure of a lifetime himself. This lady was a looker, for sure. She could stand in for Veronica Lake or Lana Turner any day and nobody would miss them. She radiated sex appeal along with the scent of Arpege that wafted with her every move.