Bordeaux dismounted, surveying the camp, landscape and men in one rolling glance.
Davis was watching Bordeaux intently with an unreadable expression.
Bordeaux, this saucy little peach is Cassie Rinehart.
Bordeaux raised his brows again.
Bordeaux was retrieving the rabbits from the sand.
Bordeaux, this is Casey Fritz, Hank Royce, and John Davis.
Apparently Pete wasn't concerned about Bordeaux getting lost.
Bordeaux studied the dust through a pair of field glasses.
Bordeaux lowered the glasses and shrugged in a way that was both elegant and masculine.
Bordeaux slung a long leg around his saddle horn and tucked the glasses into his saddlebag.
The captain chewed on his mustache and eyed Bordeaux thoughtfully.
Bordeaux casually lifted his gaze to the captain.
The captain glanced at Pete and then addressed Bordeaux again.
Bordeaux was watching her in a way that brought color to her cheeks again.
"Hard to tell," Bordeaux mused, still watching the retreating troop.
Bordeaux turned his mount to walk beside her.
Maybe Bordeaux had already talked to him.
She shrugged and glanced at Bordeaux, who was approaching the fire.
She handed Bordeaux a plate full of flapjacks she had been keeping warm by the fire and poured some honey over the top.
I thought maybe you were sick this morning when I saw Bordeaux harnessing your mules.
Royce shot Bordeaux a hostile look.
Bordeaux lifted a quizzical brow.
Bordeaux helped her up on her wagon seat and she smiled down at him.
Bordeaux jumped back as her wagon moved to catch up with the others.
If she encouraged Bordeaux, the others would think the door was open.
Well, let's have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shall we?