Considering the shock of the intensity of his reaction to Danielle, Cody wondered if there was more at stake here than he was willing to admit. When Rachael died, grief had completely devoured him. Over the years it had slowly dissipated into a nagging ache that left him hollow and numb. But despite his intense loneliness, he had no desire to ever marry again. Love simply hurt too damned much when you reached that “till death do you part” clause. Never again would he willingly open himself to such pain.
Apologizing over the rumbling in his stomach, he tried to weasel out of the bargain his daughter had proposed. “I wouldn't want to hurt anybody's ears with my caterwauling.”
Afraid that their handsome wagon master was about to get away, the troop tuned up with a burst of pleading.
“Please...” they begged in unison.
The way Cody Walker's smile lit up each girl from the inside out sent a fist right into Danielle's gut. How could she possibly teach her daughter to protect herself from such easy charm when her own barriers were proving far from impenetrable?
She herself had only been a couple of years older than Lynn when she had succumbed to Scott's slick brand of charisma. That experience alone should have made her immune to this cowboy's crooked smile and his kisses, the mere memory of which sent a quiver of liquid fire right through her. Rubbing the back of her hand over her lips, she chastised herself for feeling so off balance. It was just a kiss for goodness' sake.
One that has you as twisted up inside as a regulation Prairie Scout knot.
...
At last giving in to the girls' pleas, Cody gave Danielle a strange, searching look before easing out of camp to return a few minutes later carrying a guitar that looked like it had seen better days. Carefully avoiding eye contact, Danielle doled out generous portions of dinner and pushed a plate into his hands. He lapped up the steaming food like a man offered his last meal. Flattered by his eager consumption, Danielle refilled his plateâtwice.
“Thanks, Red, I can't remember ever eating anything that ever tasted better on the trail.”
The lazy smile that accompanied this proclamation suggested that he was doing his best to coax a smile from her. Danielle merely shrugged at the flattery. Even if his compliment warmed her from the inside out like a ray of sunshine on a cold, blustery day, she wasn't about to let him know it.
“The least you could do to show your appreciation is to call me by my rightful name,” she snapped.
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied evenly.
Danielle bristled. Even “Red” sounded sexier than “ma'am.” Would she have to pay the man to use her given name? Without a doubt Cody Walker was the most aggravating man she had ever met. One moment he had her feeling like a sixteen-year-old in the onslaught of puberty and the next like some ageless curmudgeon.
When he had his fill, Cody began tuning up his old guitar. As he lovingly stroked the scarred and battered wood, Danielle couldn't help but wonder what twist of fate had led him to this kind of life. Clearly there was a magnetism about this man that set him apart from others. It was hard to think he was nothing more than another down-on-his-luck drifter. Maybe this particular wrangler was caught between rodeos, working this odd job to pay for entry fees. When she caught herself wondering if he were between women, as well, Danielle swatted the thought away like a pesky fly. That was no concern of hers.
Light from the campfire illuminated Cody's rugged features as his voice filled the open prairie with a sound as pure as the country itself. No doubt about it, he was goodâreally good. From the most tender ballad to the rowdiest tune, he had them all in the palm of his hands for the better part of an hour. The way the girls openly swooned in awestruck wonder reminded Danielle of old film clips of ponytailed adolescents fainting to the crooning of a young Frank Sinatra.
Struck by the sincerity in Cody's manner, she realized with a start that these lyrics weren't simply words to this man but truly a way of life to which he adhered. Tears came to her eyes. What was it about his simple music that worked itself into the secret caverns of her heart?
As Mollie's face shone with unmitigated love for her father, Danielle found herself unwillingly admiring Cody Walker for having the courage to eke out a way of life for himself and his daughter beneath the wide open skies of Wyoming. Though it couldn't provide much in the way of a lucrative lifestyle, clearly Cody loved his work. If he were indeed following the seasonal work of “cowboying,” it meant dragging Mollie along with him from place to place. Still, despite the difficulties fate had placed in their way, they seemed a team forged together by love.
Danielle felt a twinge of regret that Lynn would never feel so bonded with her own father. He was too busy chasing the almighty dollar and the shortest skirt in the office. Despite his impressive salary and prestigious title, Scott Herte would always remain a failure in Danielle's mind because he didn't know the first thing about being a successful husband and father.
Danielle was surprised how much the girls liked Cody's brand of music. His country songs were a far cry from the pounding rap she had endured all the way from Denver. Not that she was complaining; this was a nice change, one she hoped might expand to include a more complete attitude adjustment. Despite their cool masks of indifference, these children had been too pampered materially and too neglected in matters of the heart. Something in Cody Walker's old guitar seemed to work magic upon them allâhimself included. With each chord, his edginess seemed to dissipate. The wrinkles at the edges of his eyes grew softer.
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When the last strains of his first song died away, Cody expelled a sigh of relief. He had to laugh at himself. There had been no need to worry about being recognized. That no one in the group had any idea that his was a rising star was more than a little humbling. Mama had been right, after all. Maybe that national road tour
had
inflated his own sense of self-importance. He had been deeply hurt when she said that he had forgotten what was really important in lifeâfamily, health, God, and music. Real music from the heart, not all that hyped-up noise with blaring backup bands and smoke and mirrors and the splintering of expensive guitars that his manager insisted his public had come to expect.
It had been his mother's emphatic “suggestion” that he take Mollie on this wagon train for a couple of weeks to rediscover his values and remember what being a father was really all about. Sitting beneath the soft glow of starlight, he silently thanked his mother for her insistence. He knew it would please her to see him once again strumming his first guitar, the one that she had given him on his sixteenth birthday. Money had been so awfully tight those years, and the gift had been purchased from a pawnshop by the sweat of his widowed mother's brow. No present had ever meant more to him.
Had Mama ever been wrong about anything? Getting away from the glare of spotlights and returning to his roots was exactly what he needed. Mollie looked happier than he had seen her in ages, and the tension that had become a constant ache in his bones was slowly being coaxed from his body. This assumed anonymity was nice. He'd speak to Mollie and ask her to keep his identity a secret for the remainder of the trip.
Maybe he'd really luck out and somehow be able to exorcise the demon that lately stayed his hand every time he tried to compose a song. Though Cody knew that Arnie Fullerton must be swallowing whole gallons of antacid to soothe his peptic ulcer, he couldn't bring himself to regret giving his manager the slip. In fact, the thought of his mother's inevitable calm resistance to Arnie's frantic pleas to reveal his location brought a smile to his face.
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The throbbing in Danielle's bones seemed to melt away beneath the gentle massaging of Cody's voice. She noticed it wasn't a singular effect. The sour expressions that had earlier pinched the girls' faces were replaced by sweet rapture that momentarily transformed them into little angels.
“The Old West may be gone, but its spirit still survives...”
Cody's silky voice carried the lyrics into the crystal blue night. A choir of coyotes echoed that spirit of courage and determination in their surrounding harmony. Suddenly chilled by the realization that civilization as she knew it lay far, far away, Danielle pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders as the final notes of the song drifted into the solace of the open prairie.
As the girls unrolled their sleeping bags on the hard ground, Cody doused the remaining embers of the campfire with a bucket of water before tucking his daughter in. Overhearing the fond endearments he whispered in Mollie's ear before planting a kiss atop her forehead, Danielle felt something inside her wrench uncomfortably. Long ago her own daughter had sworn off such “baby stuff,” and she missed the closeness that seemed such a natural part of Cody's and Mollie's relationship.
“Good night, Mom,” came Lynn's drowsy voice across the field of bedrolls.
“Good night, honey,” Danielle whispered gratefully from her down-filled bag.
Untroubled by the sounds of busy streets, the silence of the night was overpowering to those raised in the city. Never before had Danielle experienced such a sky as the one that enveloped them that night. Without competition from smog or electric lights, the sky glistened like a velvet gown covered with diamonds. Looking into such a sky had a dizzying effect. It was like throwing oneself at the universe and having it rush up to welcome you. Against the brightly illuminated cosmos in that vast Wyoming sky, Danielle was aware of her troubles fading into insignificance.
Lynn's muted whisper broke the stillness of the night. “He sure can sing, can't he?”
Danielle sighed deeply. Since it so closely mirrored her own personality, it deeply bothered her to see Lynn wear her heart so openly on her sleeve.
“Uh-huh,” she replied noncommittally.
“Don't you think he's good-looking?” Lynn persisted.
“I suppose soâin an outdoorsy sort of way,” she grudgingly admitted.
To say otherwise would be an outright lie and would undoubtedly cause the girl to speculate on her antipathy to a man with whom she herself was so obviously infatuated. Danielle wondered how Lynn would react if she knew that the man she found so “dreamy” had kissed her mother earlier in the day and that her mother was having the dickens of a time trying to dismiss the passion he had rekindled inside her.
Hearing Lynn's breathing deepen, Danielle envied her daughter's innocent slumber. Despite her own bone-tired weariness, sleep played a cruel game of hide-and-seek with her.
Adjusting her pillow on the hard ground, she blamed Cody Walker's sentimental songs for stirring up something inside her that she had thought long dead. Things will be different in the light of day, Danielle assured herself as she drifted off, cursing a pair of damnable blue eyes that would continue to mock her even in her dreams.
Chapter Three
S
ome maniac was playing reveille on an old triangular dinner bell. Reluctantly Danielle opened one eye to witness the sun breaking over the horizon in a glorious burst of rose. Groaning, she checked her wristwatch. It was a quarter to six. For heaven's sake, the proverbial chickens weren't even up yet.
“Good morning, good morning, good morning! It's time to rise and shine!”
Like a rooster attacking the new day with its raucous crowing, Mollie's voice resounded across the campsite with what Danielle regarded as abnormal good cheer.
Her bones protested as the dark sky gave way to the chilly dawn of day. The cold, hard ground provided little more comfort than a bed of nails, and her goose bumps assured her that the wisest thing to do was to simply burrow back in her warm sleeping bag until the sun climbed high enough in the sky to spill its bright yellow heat upon the prairie.
Taking their cue from their groggy den mother, Danielle's troop blocked out Mollie's repeated entreaties by hibernating deeper into their sleeping bags. The general consensus was that they'd catch up with the rest of the train laterâafter they had gotten their prerequisite beauty sleep.
Vaguely aware of the sound of other troops bustling about, Danielle mumbled, “Wake me when the coffee's done,” before drifting back to sleep.
The next thing she knew a bucketful of cold water hit her full in the face. Jackknifing straight up in her sleeping bag, she gasped for breath, sputtering like a cold engine.
“What theâ” Erupting chaos drowned out her choice expletive.
Beside each of their sleeping bags stood a Prairie Scout from a neighboring troop. They held empty buckets and wore looks of smug satisfaction.
Danielle's girls were in various states of confusion: Lynn hopping from foot to foot upon the cold ground, Ray Anne howling her outrage at the top of her lungs, Kim Tyler shrieking unladylike curses, and Inez Quest snatching the pail from a perpetrator's hands with the clear intent of beating her soundly about the head with it. The rest of Troop No. 83 was too shocked to do more than look on in disbelief.
The scene was on the verge of becoming a full-fledged brawl when an imposing voice sliced through the bedlam with clarity of purpose.
“Just what in the hell's going on here?”
Despite his scowl, Cody Walker's eyes twinkled as everyone began speaking at once.
“They tried to drown us,” sputtered an indignant Sheila Pooly.
“Cowboy up, you big crybabies!”
“I tried waking them up, Daddy,” Mollie interjected. “But June took it upon herself toâ”
Pointing a finger at the girl who had doused her, Ray Anne exploded, “I'm gonna kill you!”
“One at a time,” Cody commanded in a tone that broached no discussion.
June Matson stepped forward with the air of an experienced trial lawyer. “We were just
helping
Troop Beverly Hills get up out of bed. They seem to think they're too good to have to get up the same time as the rest of us.”
Danielle bristled. She didn't much care for pinched-faced girls who went around doing other people dirty “for their own good.”
“I'd prefer you not address my troop by that name if you don't mind.” Her aquamarine eyes were icy jewels that matched the cool tone of her voice. She knew darned good and well from whom the girl had picked up the term, and she had a good mind to give him a swift kick in the hind end.
Cody's attention was diverted from the anger in Red's eyes by the dripping wet, oversize T-shirt she was wearing for pajamas. It clung to her body in the crisp morning air, her nipples puckering against the virtually transparent fabric like hard rosebuds.
The heat emanating from Cody's appraisal should have turned that cold, wet T-shirt positively steamy. Indignantly folding her arms over her breasts, Danielle glared into the smoldering blue heat of his eyes. “You all can rest assured,” she said with cool authority that belied the fact that her knees were the consistency of melting gelatin, “Troop 83 will not need any further assistance getting out of bed in the mornings.”
Embarrassed to be caught gawking, Cody quickly glanced away. “Good. Then let's see about getting breakfast into these youngun's and heading down the trail. We're burning daylight.”
He scanned the horizon in hopes of regaining his composure. It looked as though it was going to be a scorcher. Unfortunately, the sun couldn't possibly make him any hotter than he was at the present moment. That unexpected eyeful of Danielle's soft, womanly curves sent his temperature soaring into the danger zone. If he wasn't careful, his thoughts would ignite a prairie fire. The hot blush that crept up the back of his neck bespoke his self-consciousness. With a single discerning look, Danielle had made him feel worthy of the title she had conferred upon him the first time they had met. Pervert.
It rankled him. Hell, a man would have to be a saint not to have noticed the way she filled out that wet T-shirt. And though Cody didn't consider himself a pervert, he wasn't exactly up for canonization, either. He hadn't remained completely celibate since his wife's death, but the rare sexual encounters he had allowed himself had proven to be nothing more than empty, meaningless escapes pressed upon him by some sophisticated woman of the nineties acting under the mistaken impression that men liked to be pursued. Perhaps that was why he found Danielle's indifference so challenging. He supposed it was only natural that Danielle's studied coolness could become an obsession to someone used to women coming on to him like alley cats in heat.
Sternly, Cody reminded himself that the absolute last thing he needed in his life was a foolhardy preoccupation with a redheaded stick of dynamite and her firecracker of a daughter. He was sure if he ever did get to the point where he might settle down again, it certainly wouldn't be with anyone as flamboyant as Danielle Herte. Maybe she did have the ability to set sparks off him like flint with a mere glance of those incredible eyes, but Cody was quick to remind himself there was little point in even thinking about getting involved with another woman again when his heart would always be pledged to Mollie's mother.
With the asceticism of a monk, he grabbed a scalding cup of coffee and punished himself for his vagarious thoughts by skipping his morning meal altogether.
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Breakfast proved to be a sullen affair for Troop 83. Danielle's girls huddled around the campfire wrapped in blankets and nursing their grudges. Furtive whisperings hinted of revenge. When the rising sun failed to burn away the discontent enveloping the camp like a thick, persistent fog, Danielle tried lifting the girls' spirits with a fortifying breakfast of sourdough pancakes and salt-cured bacon. Clearly their enthusiasm for this excursion had waned. Like their den mother, they were suffering the effects of blistered feet and sore muscles. Second thoughts manifested themselves in talk of turning back while there was still time. The knowledge that nothing would please their haughty wagon master more made Danielle dig in her heels.
“Chin up, girls,” she said calmly, determined to put an end to any more talk of mutiny. “We've got a long trip ahead of us, and we might as well make the best of it. This is an opportunity to show the other girls what you're really made of.”
Catching the look that passed between Lynn and Mollie, Danielle seriously doubted whether hers would be the last word on the subject.
As she had feared, retribution for the morning's dousing was swift in coming. To her surprise, it was the angeliclooking Mollie who'd masterminded the scheme to defend the besmirched honor of Troop 83.
During their midmorning break, Sheila Pooly waded out into the river to cool off her feet, making quite a show of how good the water felt. With little encouragement, all the Prairie Scouts were soon splashing about in the shallows of Sweetwater. While the other girls were otherwise occupied, Lynn, Mollie, Ray Anne, and Inez slipped unnoticed into the back of a neighboring wagon. By the time the troops were ready to hit the trail again, June Matson's underwear was proudly serving as the flag for Troop Beverly Hills' wagon. A slight breeze puffed the padded bra and matching panties to full size amid the hoots of all the Prairie Scouts assembled.
With mock solemnity, Lynn led the troops in a formal salute.
The sound of Cody Walker's booming laughter joining those of the assembled girls sent a tingling sensation along Danielle's spine. It stood to reason that the owner of such an infectious laugh couldn't be all bad. Years of living with a man devoid of a sense of humor made Danielle appreciate the sound of heartfelt laughter. She only wished she felt as at ease as their wagon master in laughing at the prank, but something in June's sour, red face planted a seed of suspicion that the war had just begun.
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Less than two hours later Cody slapped his dusty hat across his thigh in exasperation. He was rapidly losing patience. Ever since the ignominious start of the day, he'd heard nothing from the troops but a constant litany of whining.
“No, you may not ride in the infirmary wagon,” he repeated for what must have been the hundredth time this morning to a string of young ladies whose complaints had run the gamut from fatigue to PMS. Had it been up to him, he would have upended the whole blasted lot, most notably the Troop Beverly Hills contingent.
He had to give their lovely den mother credit. She dealt with their petty complaints with patient, firm resolve. Apparently the woman saved that hot temper of hers for the likes of him, never once addressing her churlish charges in any tone that was less than calm and indefatigable. By the way she was gingerly picking her way along the trail, it was obvious that she was in pain herself. But unlike her girls, Danielle wasn't a complainer.
Surprised by the woman's quiet determination, Cody was tempted to ask if she would like to ride behind him on Champion for a while, but something, in the grim set of her jaw stopped him. He had the sneaky suspicion that all he'd receive for his gallant offer would be another fiery diatribe to match the color of her hair.
According to Mollie, who had struck up a fast friendship with Lynn, the girl's parents were divorced and she didn't see much of her father. Since his own marriage had been blessed, it was hard for Cody to imagine the intentional breakup of a married couple. If he had any control over the hand of God, he darned sure wouldn't be raising Mollie by himself. Luckily his own mother was there to help during the long periods when he was on the road. Wondering if Danielle had any extended family support, Cody was certain that she would only resent any advice he would care to offer. Surely it would be far wiser to keep his mouth shut over the next two weeks if he hoped to continue eating her delicious cooking.
Besides, he had more than enough to worry about without picking up troubles that weren't wearing his brand. The morning's high jinks had thrown the entire wagon train into a dither. Aware of the undercurrent of hostility between the troops, Cody kept a keen eye out for any practical jokes that might go amiss. If he wasn't mistaken, more lizards and crickets were being taken into captivity this morning than usual curiosity warranted. He hoped some prankster didn't accidentally uncover something a little less innocuous, say like a rattlesnake lazing behind a rock.
Although he personally found the girls' shenanigans amusing, he was well aware that an ongoing feud could lead to more serious consequences. Putting his hat back atop his head, he determined to gather the troops together at lunch to formally address the matter.
When the sun reached its highest point in the sky indicating it was time for lunch, he raised his hand and directed the wagon train to halt. As the girls scoured the countryside for campfire kindling and firewood, Cody alerted the den mothers of his intentions.
It took him a little while to find Danielle. He spotted her, at last, buried headfirst in the back of the wagon, digging through their limited cooking supplies. Unbeknownst to her, she provided him with a perfect view of her wriggling, rounded bottom. The sight made his body stir, and he was torn between his desire to smack that lovely target with the open palm of his hand or to simply enjoy the view for as long as the opportunity presented itself.
At length, he cleared his throat behind her.
Startled, Danielle straightened up without thinking and hit her head on a pot hanging from the wooden ribbing overhead. With a curse on her tongue, she wheeled around, displeasure snapping in her eyes like sapphire flames.
Trying to keep from laughing, Cody asked in mock solemnity, “Isn't there something in the Prairie Scout rule book prohibiting den mothers from using such unladylike vernacular?”
In no mood to parry clever remarks, Danielle asked tersely, “What do you want now?”
“I'd appreciate it if you'd gather your girls up and meet me at the head wagon in ten minutes.” And with no more explanation than that, he reined his horse around, leaving Danielle with a silent oath on her lips and an unaccountable quivering in the center of her being.
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