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.
Of course, Bordeaux wasn't part of the group.
If Bordeaux was around, he kept out of sight.
Wherever Bordeaux was, he was probably more comfortable than the rest of them.
Bordeaux sat on his horse, looking genuinely surprised at her reaction.
"Bordeaux," She said through clenched teeth.
By the time Bordeaux returned with the cut up snakes, she had lard sizzling in a large skillet.
Well, let's have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shall we?
Bordeaux was the closest thing she'd had to a friend in a long time... other than Pete, of course.
But Bordeaux had a sense of humor that sought and found her own.
"Bordeaux," Fritz broke the silence, placing his empty plate on the ground.
Bordeaux was stretched on the sand outside the firelight, leaning on one elbow while he ate.
"Fritz," Bordeaux finally spoke in a soft voice.
"Well," Bordeaux conceded, sliding his plate away.
Bordeaux stood and moved around the fire, careful to keep outside the circle of light.
Bordeaux, are you going to throw in with the Army again?
She shot a glance at Bordeaux, who had stopped scraping on a plate.
Pete frowned at Bordeaux, who was carefully stacking the plates.