“Well, then, I suggest you climb right on down from there,” he said. Though cordial, his tone was nonetheless authoritative.
Why the man was being so purposely obtuse was beyond her. Danielle set her chin at a stubborn angle. After the morning she'd had, she wasn't about to meekly give up her seat without a fight. Husky indignation tinged her protest.
“There's plenty of room for two on this seat. I see absolutely no reason why I can't share it with the driver.”
Tipping up the brim of his hat with two fingers, the man tossed her a wry smile. “On my wagon train, horses don't pull any more than they absolutely have to. So unless you're in some way incapacitated, you'll be walking along with the rest of your troop. That is, unless you're ready to call it quits before we get started.”
Just what did he mean by saying it was his wagon train? Behind a fading smile, Danielle persisted. “I'm sure you're mistaken. Like I said before, I was
promised
I could ride.”
“I'm afraid you were misinformed.”
Cody was as taken aback by the fire glittering in those extraordinary aquamarine eyes as he had initially been by the color of her hair. All of a sudden that hair didn't look quite so ridiculous framing a heart-shaped face and the most heavenly pair of eyes he'd ever encountered. The woman was closer to his thirty-four years than he had expectedâand far prettier. And her trim figure did all sorts of wonderful things to that old scrap of gingham she was wearing.
Danielle felt scorched by the blue fire of the wrangler's eyes as they traversed her body from head to toe. The heat radiating from his appraisal was as disquieting as the hammering of her heart echoing off historic Split Rock Mountain looming like a broken anvil in the distant background.
He extended her a hand. “Are you going to step down on your own, or am I going to have to climb up there and haul you down myself?”
Sensing that he was on the verge of bursting out laughing, Danielle felt a fierce surge of resentment well up inside her. Oh, how she would love to knock him right off that high horse of his!
Their eyes locked in a tempestuous clash of wills. Defiantly she jutted out her chin and wrapped her fingers around the edge of her seat.
“You wouldn't dare,” she countered in a regal, howdare-you-address-me-in-that-manner tone of voice. “And stop calling me âma'am.' It makes me feel like your mother.”
“Well,” the man drawled, grabbing hold of the wagon with one hand and lifting himself out of the saddle in one, fluid motion to position himself into the seat beside her. “You sure as hell don't look like her.”
A ripple of heat washed over her. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Danielle suspected that it had less to do with the sun beating down overhead than it did with the virile man whose leg had just inadvertently brushed against hers.
Cheeks flaming, eyes flashing, she demanded to know, “Just who do you think you are, ordering me around?”
He leaned so near that she could feel his warm breath upon her face. Assailed by the very scent of himâa tantalizing mixture of sagebrush, horse sweat, and pure bottled masculinityâshe was totally unprepared for the sudden onslaught of sexual awareness that swept over her with the force of a flash flood. This man was far too sexy for his own goodâand far too close for comfort.
Sweeping the cowboy hat off his head, he formally introduced himself. “Cody Walker, ma'am, your wagon master.”
Wagon master!
“You've got to be kidding,” Danielle guffawed, so startled by the announcement that she neglected to complete introductions by providing him with her own name. Suspicion swirled in the aquamarine depths of her eyes. He certainly didn't fit the image she'd been carrying around of the sort of man who would be in charge of leading this wagon train. She had pictured someone older, more genteel, certainly less overtly virile. Someone weathered and grandfatherly. In her opinion, this man with his rugged, all-American good looks was too self-assured to be trusted with a wagonload of young girls.
Danielle gave him an intentionally condescending once-over. “Are you aware,
Mr
. Walkerâ” her icy tone indicating she found him to be a living relic of the past “âthat the term
master
hasn't been politically acceptable since well before the turn of the century?”
“That may be, but remember, Re-ed...” Cody informed her, drawing the one syllable word into two. “For the next two weeks we're living in the 1800s, and, like it or not, I am your wagon
master
. Now enough of this foolishness. I've got other business to attend to so let's just cut to the chase. Are you getting down off of this rig peaceably or am I going to be forced to make an unpleasant and surely
politically incorrect
scene?”
The softness of his voice was misleading for it was also tinged with determination. There was also something about the arrogant tilt of his firm, square jaw that suggested this wasn't a man who would stand for having his orders disregarded.
Danielle worried her lower lip between her teeth. Gentle by nature, she usually tried to avoid confrontation. But since her divorce she had been working on becoming more assertive. Just thinking of the way Scott had walked all over her for years brought a blush of shame to her cheeks. To meekly acquiesce to this stranger's oh-so-virile domination was paramount to undoing all the progress she had made.
Besides, she was dog tired, and the thought of having to walk beneath the heat of the summer sun in such outlandish garb galvanized her sense of defiance.
Tightening her grip on her seat, Danielle insisted, “One rider more or less won't make any difference.”
Cody was tempted to let this airhead go right ahead and bruise that lovely bottom of hers till it was black and blue bouncing up and down on that hard buckboard seat, but ultimately he decided not to bother with a rebuttal.
“Have it your way, then,” he said, searching the depths of her eyes as if combing the ocean floor for lost treasure. Gently he brushed a wayward curl back from her forehead.
Sucker-punched by the heat that settled in her stomach, Danielle released her grip on her seat to swat at his hand. He took the opportunity to grab her around the middle and sling her over his shoulder like a sack of feed. His touch burned right through the thin material of her dress. Feeling her breasts pressed against his well-muscled back, Danielle pushed herself away and pummeled him with her fists.
Impervious to the fury raining upon his back, Cody hopped down off the wagon and set her roughly on her feet. Though her full height just grazed his chin, Danielle was nonetheless formidable with her eyes blazing and arms akimbo.
Taking a wide-legged stance, he announced breezily, “Now that the front of this rig is in order, let's have a look at the back.”
“I intend to make a formal complaint to your superiors when this trip is over!” A fulminating glare accompanied Danielle's announcement.
The thought of anyone trying to throw him off his own land almost made Cody laugh out loud. Remembering how thrilled his foreman had been to find out that Mollie and her grandmother had railroaded him into taking his place on this nutty Western safari, Cody met that threat head-on.
“You be sure to do that,” he said, turning to walk to the back of the wagon.
A moment later a string of expletives exploded from beneath the heavy sack canvas. “Where in the hell do you think you're going, lady? The Sagebrush Hilton?”
Dodging a flying hair-blower, Danielle did her best to ignore the look of utter disbelief the wagon master wore as he turned to face her.
“Whoever packed this thing must not have the sense God gave a gnat.”
Danielle stiffened at the unflattering description as she helplessly watched him pile the luggage from the back of the wagon onto the ground. Gesturing to the modern conveniences spilling out of the bags with a dismissive air, he inquired, “Do you really think there are plug-ins along the Oregon Trail? Do you think the coyotes care whether you're wearing makeup or not? If you do, I'd suggest that you load Troop Beverly Hills up right now and spare us both two long weeks of agony. This trip is dangerous enough, and I can't be bothered playing nursemaid to a wagonload of spoiled, rotten brats who have no business being on the open range!”
Danielle glared at him as if she were seeing the devil himself up close and personal. When she spoke, her words dripped honeyed sarcasm. “You obviously need a refresher course in geography. The last time I checked Denver, Colorado is a âfur' piece from Beverly Hills, âCaliforny.' And, for your information, I wouldn't take your help if you tied a pink bow around that fat cowboy hat of yours and begged me!”
What if I tied it somewhere else?
Cody was tempted to ask but felt certain that that, too, fell well outside the realm of political correctness. Leave it to some city slicker to come marching into camp self-righteously spouting political platitudes about equal treatment of the sexes while simultaneously expecting to be treated like the Queen of Sheba.
It mattered little to Danielle that not ten minutes earlier she had entertained the exact same thoughts about the girls' extra baggage. Right now all she wanted was to wipe that damned grin right off her wagon master's smug face.
With a start, Danielle realized that she was being baited. Clearly, Cody Walker was hoping to goad her into packing up her girls in a fit of righteous indignation and heading back to the city. Well, this ornery cowboy had another think coming if he believed lightening the load for the horses meant dumping Troop No. 83!
Mostly from upper-income families, these girls had everything that money could buy, and precious little of the commodities that fuel real self-esteem: their parents' time and attention. Bored with shopping malls and too much unrestricted time on their hands, the girls had been looking forward to this excursion for a long time. It was a rare opportunity for them to shuck off the brittle masks they put on as part of their daily makeup routine and to simply be kids for a while. The image of their disappointed faces strengthened Danielle's resolve. Dynamite wouldn't loosen her determination to finish that which she had started.
“And get your hands off of that. It's mine!” she sputtered at the sight of
her
suitcase in Cody's hands.
Grabbing it from him, she gave a hard tug. The latch on the old piece of luggage snapped apart, raining clothes in all directions.
“Damn it!” Danielle cried in frustration as Cody hopped out of the wagon bed and bent to help her reassemble her things.
“Just leave me alone!” she snapped, wondering what more could possibly go wrong.
The answer to that question lay on top of the pile of clothing now heaped upon the dirtâa pair of simple cotton briefs.
Cody straightened as if a snake were coiled on top of her things. His eyebrows shot up as if to question whether someone with hair the color of hers really wore anything so prim beneath her clothes.
Only the fact that this rough-and-tough cowboy was blushing like a schoolboy could make her believe that he wasn't enjoying her discomfort. His embarrassment fed her own as she remembered how Scott had needled her about her sensible, boring undergarments. Little had she realized at the time that he had based his comparative analysis upon live models. Maybe that was why she was so defensive about this man's reaction to her modest cotton briefs. Hotly reminding herself that she was far too practical a woman to spend a couple of weeks trekking along the Oregon Trail in a sexy, little thong, she mumbled under her breath, as much to Scott as to the tongue-tied cowboy in front of her, “You disgusting pervert!”
She snatched her underwear from the ground and wadded it into a ball in her hand. “By the time I'm done reporting you to your superiors, you'll be lucky to be the âmaster' of any little red wagons in a children's parade!”
Considering that all he'd meant to do was help, Cody thought the insult totally uncalled-for. Mollie, who had spent the last two years trying to force him back into the dating game, would have laughed to have heard the term “pervert” applied to her father. Since her mother's death, he hadn't been in the least tempted by any of the women on the road who threw themselves like rose petals at his feet. As far as that went, he'd had his share of ladies' underwear flung upon the stage when he was performing, and they were a whole lot skimpier than the surprisingly plain pair that had his cheeks blazing like some twelve-year-old caught peeking in the lingerie section of a clothing catalog.
Angry that he felt the need to defend himself, Cody placed both hands on either side of her face. Eyes that turned gunmetal with anger flashed a feral challenge as he lowered his mouth to within inches of hers.
“I'm no pervert,” he countered, raising himself to his full, intimidating height. “And I damned sure don't disgust you. I think you're just scared that if I kissed you, you might like it more than you're willing to admit.”
He said it just to provoke her, hoping the dare would ignite sparks of fear in those phenomenal eyes and send this infernal woman and her wacky troop running back to the relative safety of the big city. But to his surprise, Cody actually found himself seized by an irrational urge to cup that defiant upturned chin between his palms and savor those full, pouty lips at length. Considering that his first impression of this woman had been that she was definitely not his type, the intensity of attraction that he was feeling for this virtual stranger was startling. The truth of the matter was, he hadn't been drawn this way to another woman since Rachael had passed away, and it frightened him to think that he was suddenly no longer dead to desire.