taken a quick sample of what the Wild West had to offer.
âYou have to try this shortbread.â Trevor gestured toward a plate of buttery cookies dusted with sugar. âIt melts in your mouth.â
âNo thanks.â She forced a smile and turned to Madeleine. Sheâd hoped the woman would show Trevor to the bunkhouse, but evidently that job was reserved for Cat. âIâm sure youâd like to see your room before dinner.â
âOh, Iâve seen it,â he said. âQuite nice. The rustic decorâs a bit, well, forced , you know? Rather juvenile. But itâll do.â
Cat felt like sheâd just cleared the biggest hurdle in a boot camp obstacle course. Maybe sheâd been wrong about the bunkhouse. If it was okay with Trevor Maines, surely it wouldnât be a problem for anyone else.
âThe bucking horse motif is a bit over-the-top,â he said with a languid wave of his hand. âThat bedspread, those curtains.â
Bucking horse motif? Cat blinked. Sheâd checked out the Bull Barn, and it hadnât had any kind of curtains at all. The bedspreads had been plain blue-ticked cotton.
âI thought Mr. Maines would be more comfortable in the house, so I put him in Mackâs old room,â Maddie explained.
âI take it the photographs are of your son?â Trevor asked.
âThatâs right.â She tapped him playfully on the knee. âSo you look out. Those bucking horses might get in your blood. They sure got into his.â
âI canât wait to meet him,â Trevor said, his bored tone belying the words. âHe sounds so⦠rustic.â
Cat felt something in her spark and flare. âFrom what I hear, heâs a very successful bronc rider,â she said. âIt takes a lot of skill to get that far.â
âWell, well, well.â Trevor flashed her a wicked smile and she heard the alarm bells again. âI think weâve found the teacherâs pet.â The smile bent down into a sneer. âI hope that wonât affect the quality of our instruction.â
âOf course not.â Cat laced her hands in her lap, trying to look prim and teacher-like. Was it that obvious that she had a crush on the cowboy? She forced a smile. âI promise, the teacherâs pet will be the one whoâs the best artist. Iâm sure Mr. Boyd is hardly Leonardo da Vinci.â
Trevor tossed his hair and laughed. The sound made her grit her teeth, and she wondered how many times sheâd have to endure it on this trip. A hundred spiteful retorts rose in her throat, but she only laughed along halfheartedly, hating herself for not standing up for Mack. Sheâd always believed in standing up for your friends, and while Mack wasnât exactly a friend, he was something.
Really something.
And sheâd better make sure he didnât become anything more.
Chapter 10
Cat returned to the bunkhouse to find Mack at the fire pit, constructing a dense nest of kindling. A slim figure stood beside him, holding a few sticks and twigs.
A very familiar slim figure.
It couldnât be.
âDora? What are you doing here?â Cat struggled to make her brain work. âYou canât be here yet. You land tomorrow.â
Dora flicked her a tight smile, along with a fluttering finger wave loaded with adolescent irony.
Cat set her fists on her hips. âHow did you get here?â
âInterstate 25.â
Her tone made Catâs heart sink. Her niece sounded as sour as she had the day of her motherâs funeral, when sheâd refused to look at the casket or shed a single tear. Sheâd always been a sweet child, funny and loving, but on the day her mother died sheâd turned into an angry little ghost of her former self. Cat had worried that her niece would burst into emotional flames at any momentâalthough at this point, a crying spell would be a good thing.
Cat had hoped it was only the