Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | 100% Pure Cowboy

100% Pure Cowboy
Cathleen Galitz


PURE HUNKHow did Danielle Herte get mixed up in a zany trail ride with a gaggle of giggling teenage girls and a cowboy who gave new meaning to the term sexy? She agreed to the outing to bond with her rebellious daughter–not become smitten with handsome Cody Walker. But one look into his electric blue eyes and Danielle was mesmerized….PURE ATTRACTION!Full of arrogance and pride, Cody was the embodiment of the Wild West–the stuff that real man were made of. This 100% pure cowboy wasn't the kind of man a good girl should have. But nevertheless he was just the man she wanted! And this city gal had to learn how to lasso her cowboy–fast!







Danielle found herself staring into a striking pair of eyes that mirrored the color of the infinite blue Wyoming sky. (#u89b49f93-ac98-5dba-af33-9fb2c15999f9)Letter to Reader (#uf027af40-f6bc-5d93-ac4f-e6c8886ec0f8)Title Page (#ucb01ac63-cac4-59c5-845f-c4e3afe2ba58)Dedication (#u6e9931cb-7537-5428-866e-de30ed0ca777)About the Author (#u8c3edafc-a007-5d72-8f0c-6dd1b6546f7c)Chapter One (#u9a7ce622-0bbf-5b99-b6f8-d498e6cbf70c)Chapter Two (#uc62322c5-8b2a-51ae-983d-b69f071487cb)Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Teaser chapter (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Danielle found herself staring into a striking pair of eyes that mirrored the color of the infinite blue Wyoming sky.

Atop a magnificent black-and-white Appaloosa sat a long-legged, slim-hipped cowboy regarding her with unconcealed amusement. He looked well over six feet tall in the saddle. Besides an infectious grin, he wore a plaid Western-cut shirt with pearl snap buttons and a pair of faded jeans that sinfully molded to the lower half of his body. One glance alone told her that this was not a man who was merely playing the part of a cowboy for the sake of a Prairie Scout Jamboree. Indeed, it was no dime-store cowboy who was so intent on stealing her seat out from under her. He was one hundred percent pure cowboy.

And she was one hundred percent mesmerized.


Dear Reader,

Silhouette Romance is celebrating the month of valentines with six very special love stories—and three brand-new miniseries you don’t want to miss. On Baby Patrol, our BUNDLE OF JOY selection, by bestselling author Sharon De Vita, is book one of her wonderful series, LULLABIES AND LOVE, about a legendary cradle that brings love to three brothers who are officers of the law.

In Granted: Big Sky Groom, Carol Grace begins her sparkling new series, BEST-KEPT WISHES, in which three high school friends’ prom-night wishes are finally about to be granted. Author Julianna Morris tells the delightful story of a handsome doctor whose life is turned topsy-turvy when he becomes the guardian of his orphaned niece in Dr. Dad. And in Cathleen Galitz’s spirited tale, 100% Pure Cowboy, a woman returns home from a mother-daughter bonding trip with the husband of her dreams.

Next is Corporate Groom, which starts Linda Varner’s terrific new miniseries, THREE WEDDINGS AND A FAMILY, about long-lost relatives who find a family. And finally, in With This Child..., Sally Carleen tells the compelling story of a woman whose baby was switched at birth—and the single father who will do anything to keep his child.

I hope you enjoy all six of Silhouette Romance’s love stories this month. And next month, in March, be sure to look for The Princess Bride by bestselling author Diana Palmer, which launches Silhouette Romance’s new monthly promotional miniseries, VIRGIN BRIDES.

Regards,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




100% Pure Cowboy

Cathleen Galitz







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)





To Mom and Dad who raised us with love and kindness

and a generous dollop of humor. Your love for one

another is an inspiration to us all.


CATHLEEN GALITZ,

a Wyoming native, teaches English to students in grades seven to twelve in a rural school that houses kindergaftners and seniors in the same building. She lives in a small Wyoming town with her husband and two children. When she’s not busy writing, teaching or working with her Cub Scout den, she can most often be found hiking or snowmobiling in the Wind River Mountains.








Chapter One

What have I let myself in for? Danielle Herte asked herself for the millionth time that day.

Her aquamarine eyes widened at the scene that seemingly transported her back in time to the opening of the American West. Almost a hundred girls wearing long skirts were engaged in a myriad of activities: some cooking over open fires, some quilting, some braiding one another’s hair, the heartier among them tossing tomahawks at stumps set up for target practice. In the background, a string of covered wagons stretched across the horizon like so many billowing sheets hung out to dry.

Blinking hard, Danielle reminded herself that this was the present, not the past, a fact driven home by the repetitious pounding of a rap song blaring unceasingly from a boom box in the back of the van. Before embarking upon the four hour drive from Denver, Danielle hadn’t realized that en masse, girls her daughter’s age communicated at one volume only—full blast. Assuming that it was a blessing she was unable to make out most of the lyrics, Danielle swallowed her last aspirin before her car limped into the tiny, windblown wayside known as Muddy Gap, Wyoming.

Unbelievably, this insignificant dot on the road managed to prove even more unappealing than its name. Wondering why anyone had even bothered to name the place at all, Danielle switched off the ignition and announced with a false note of cheer, “Everybody out. We’re here!”

Instantly, ten boisterous, adolescent girls spilled out of the van eager to immerse themselves in this mock site of an 1850s wagon train. The first one out, a leggy brunette with a pageboy bob and pretty but uncertain eyes, held an old-fashioned bonnet in her hands.

“Put this on, Mom,” Lynn insisted. “Plee-eease...” Added as an afterthought, the obligatory courtesy typified Danielle’s daughter. At thirteen, her sweet little girl was blossoming into a hormonally driven bundle of contradictions—at one moment mature beyond her years, at others hotly embarrassed to be so much as caught in her mother’s company. Even Danielle’s impetuous decision to update her look with a store-bought rinse that promised to make her feel young and carefree again had been perceived by her daughter as a deliberate act to sabotage the precarious status she held among her peers.

What it actually had been was a symbolic act of casting off the old and donning a new life; one devoid of a domineering husband, who for well over a decade had wielded complete control over Danielle. Not only had Scott selected their home and all its furnishings, he’d also decorated his wife as he’d seen fit—conservatively so as to keep her as inconspicuous as possible.

When Danielle had picked the hair care product off the shelf, she’d naively expected the color to match the gentle hue sported by the lovely model on the box. Instead the foul-smelling concoction had turned her naturally auburn hair a screaming firecracker red that, in her own humble opinion, made Lucille Ball’s crowning glory seem demure. With a brave smile she had assured her horrified daughter that the color was guaranteed to wash out in less than a month’s time.

Taking the proffered bonnet, Danielle tucked in as much of her offending hair as possible and instructed the girls to stay together and follow her. Lifting the hem of her long skirt out of the dirt, Danielle picked her way through the throng, dodging a pigtailed girl rolling a wooden hoop with a stick, a braying mule kicking up a cloud of dust, a teetering unicyclist, and one incredibly brave soul demonstrating the proper technique for walking on stilts.

“Like herding geese through a minefield,” Danielle mumbled, searching the area for a registration booth.

“Over here, ma’am,” trilled a clear voice.

Overhead fluttered a brightly colored banner reading Romance In The Winds. Behind a table perched the owner of that voice—a ponytailed blond imp whose sparkling blue eyes were shaded by the brim of a straw cowboy hat.

Sticking out her hand, she introduced herself. “Hi, my name’s Mollie. Welcome to Romance In The Winds, the first annual Wyoming Prairie Scout Jamboree on the Oregon Trail through the scenic Wind River Mountains.”

Though Mollie had obviously parroted these same words countless times throughout the day, she somehow still managed to sound enthusiastic.

“You’re the last group. We’ve been waiting for you,” she added. “I hope nothing went wrong on the way here.”

Danielle didn’t bother explaining how her dilapidated old van had overheated some fifty-odd miles back, stretching an already long trip into an epic excursion. Smiling into that fresh-scrubbed, freckled face, Danielle simply paid their registration fee and sealed her fate for the next fourteen days.

After collecting their money and required waiver forms, Mollie passed out copies of a life history of an actual pioneer to each of the participants, informing them that starting tomorrow their “assignment” was to read ten pages a day and be prepared to give a summary each evening around the campfire. Pointing to one of the Conestoga wagons, she then directed them to “Load up.”

At that precise moment Danielle lost all control. Racing back to the van to gather up their things, the girls scattered in all directions. By the time Danielle managed to lug her own baggage over to their wagon, all that remained of Troop No. 83 was an enormous pile of luggage heaped upon the ground.

Apparently worried that their late arrival would cause them to be left out of the camp activities, the girls had abandoned her. After a moment of irritated reflection, Danielle decided it would simply be easier to load the wagon herself than to try to reassemble her troop amid this cacophonous melee. Rolling up her gingham sleeves, she set to work, all the while composing a scathing lecture to be delivered before their journey officially got under way. She had no desire to spend the next two weeks as a doormat for a group of overly indulged teenagers.

The wagon bed was too high off the ground for Danielle to simply hoist the bags inside. She had to pull herself up and into the wagon each time to deposit an armful of baggage. It didn’t take long to discern that the girls had grossly overpacked. Unnecessary cosmetics, battery-operated curling irons, CD players, toiletries, forbidden candy bars, and teen magazines spilled from their bags. By the time she finished squeezing in the last sleeping bag, Danielle was exhausted.

Feeling a trickle of sweat roll down the valley between her breasts, she tore the hot bonnet from her head and ran her fingers through a riotous mass of curls.

On the other side of the rendezvous site, Cody Walker almost fell off his horse as he wrenched around in his saddle to double-check his eyesight. He thought he’d just seen some crazy punk rocker cramming a Louis Vuitton tote bag into the back of a wagon that, at the moment, looked more like a stuffed sausage than a viable means of transportation. A second glance confirmed his worst suspicions. He was not in need of an eye exam.

“Why me, Lord?” he implored the clear blue skies of Wyoming.

If it wasn’t enough that his daughter Mollie had cajoled him into playing guide for more than seventy giggly girls, it seemed he was now to be saddled with yet another immature mother more into competing with her daughter than providing a suitable role model for her. That red hair was something else! The woman looked more like a rock ‘n’ roll groupie who had taken a wrong turn on the way to recapturing her youth than a suitable sponsor for as wellrespected an organization as the Prairie Scouts.

Cody knew the type. He’d been hotly pursued by a good number of such attention seekers—and run away as fast as a jackrabbit facing the wrong end of a shotgun. In fact, at this very instant his highly honed bachelor instinct was shooting off warning signals advising him to stay just as far away from this particular den mother as possible. A woman with hair like that could spell nothing but trouble with a capital T.

Running a hand along the back of his bare neck, Cody hoped the transformation from his bearded, long-haired image was significant enough to keep his identity a secret for the duration of this expedition. He had promised Mollie that this was to be special time for them together, away from the publicity hounds they both despised. Equally important was the promise he had made to himself. Still bristling from his mother’s stinging accusation that somewhere along the road to fame and riches he had misplaced all that was really important in life, he was determined to prove that opinionated, old woman wrong.

But deep down he knew that it was time to reevaluate his life, to get back to his roots. The truth of the matter was that Cody was flat-out tired: tired of being on the road for months at a time, of donning fresh smiles for the press, of acquiescing to his agent’s overly dramatic sense of showmanship. He was tired of sequins and flashbulbs. Tired of being away from home.

Acting as wagon master for this crazy outing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind as a relaxing vacation away from it all, but once Mollie had her heart set on something, the devil himself couldn’t talk her out of it. She was just as stubborn as her mother had been. And every bit as pretty.

The thought of his wife Rachael brought with it the old, familiar ache that had become such an integral part of who he was. Cody tried to shake off the sense of guilt he felt whenever the passage of time blurred the lovely portrait of her that he carried in his mind. That the memories so dear to his heart were slowly fading was a cruel mockery of the ascetic way he had lived his life since her death. A good dose of “see me” redheaded terror was just what he needed to remind him of all that he had lost when his sweet, gentle angel had taken wing.

Acknowledging his responsibility to check all the wagons before the trip could begin, Cody decided he might as well confront this particular prairie prima donna as quickly as possible and be done with it. She probably wasn’t even aware of the fact that only drivers were allowed to ride in the wagons for most of the trip.

Just as it had been in pioneer times, concern for how much the horses had to carry took priority over human comfort. A look in any history book, pages strewn with fatal citations of poor choices along the very route they were to take, would confirm the wisdom of that decision. Not to mention the problems he’d have on his hands if he let one red-haired greenhorn ride at the head of this grand parade like some silly homecoming queen. Every pampered little miss from here to the state line would be whining to ride for the duration of this expedition.

Cody had every intention of starting this wagon train off on the right foot. Heck, if he was lucky, maybe this red-hot mommy would be so angered by his insistence that the wagon be repacked properly that she would load up her girls in a huff and relieve him of the burden of overseeing them altogether. He brightened at the thought.

There was no harm in hoping anyway.

Between the kids’ deafening rap music, her van breaking down on the desolate stretch of road from Denver to the middle of nowhere, and having to single-handedly pack a covered wagon, Danielle was completely spent. She was just positioning a pillow atop the hard wooden bench that served as the wagon’s seat and settling in for a welldeserved break when a deep voice called out behind her.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Red, unless you’re planning on driving this rig yourself.”

Danielle whipped around to find herself staring into a striking pair of eyes that exactly mirrored the color of the infinite, blue Wyoming sky. Atop a magnificent black and white Appaloosa sat a long-legged, slim-hipped cowboy regarding her with unconcealed amusement. He looked well over six feet tall in the saddle. Besides an infectious grin, he wore a plaid Western-cut shirt with pearl snap buttons and a pair of faded jeans that sinfully molded to the lower half of his body. Cupped in his stirrups was a pair of boots so scuffed and well-worn they verged on being downright tacky. Though much of his hair was hidden beneath a white straw hat, Danielle could see that it was the color of dark molasses shot through with just a hint of silver at the temples. One glance alone told her that this was not a man merely playing the part of a cowboy for the sake of a Prairie Scout Jamboree. The lines etched upon that tanned face had been put there by wind and sun and experience. Indeed, it was no dime-store cowboy who was so intent on stealing her seat out from under her. He was one hundred percent pure cowboy.

“I’m a den mother,” she explained succinctly.

Well, actually a substitute den mother, she corrected herself, recalling Hildy Fustis’s broken leg and heartfelt plea that Danielle step in for her at the last minute lest the trip have to be canceled altogether. With a suspicious little hitch in her voice, Hildy had promised she would have to do little more than ride along in relative comfort and chaperon the children.

When this elucidation failed to erase the smirk from the man’s chiseled features, Danielle hastened to add, “When I signed on as a sponsor, I was told I could ride in the wagon.”

This only served to deepen the cowboy’s grin so that a matching pair of dimples was revealed at both corners of his mouth.

“Then you’re planning on driving this team?” he asked.

Danielle emphatically shook her head no. She could no more drive a team of horses than she could direct Santa’s sleigh across the sky. The very thought was almost as unnerving as the sexual vibes exuded by this mysterious cowboy.

“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 expected—and 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 ‘ma’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 him—a tantalizing mixture of sagebrush, horse sweat, and pure bottled masculinity—she 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 good—and 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. Walker—” her icy tone indicating she found him to be a living relic of the past “—that 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 ‘fur’ piece from Beverly Hills, ‘Californy.’ 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 dirt—a 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 ‘master’ 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.

There was one sure way to prove he was mistaken. A simple little kiss would settle the matter once and for all. But unlike Sleeping Beauty, Cody had no hope of ever awakening from the long slumber into which he had fallen. The few stale kisses he had allowed himself over the past few years had simply served to reinforce the fact that that special feeling just wasn’t there—and never would be again.

Danielle stood her ground with hands defiantly poised on her hips.

“I’d like to see you try!” she challenged without thought of the consequences of such a dare.

“Glad to oblige, Red.”

One hand captured the back of her head and pulled her close. Before Danielle had time to protest, he pressed a searing kiss upon her.

His lips were firm and demanding. His tongue slipped inside her mouth to make a thorough exploration and an electrical promise. Her knees turned to rubber as Danielle sagged against the solid wall of his chest. Her heart was pounding so loudly she wondered if its wild staccato beat could be heard for miles around.

God must have palmed the earth with one hand and sent it spinning out of control on a sudden whim. Danielle steadied herself by wrapping her arms around the sturdy column of Cody’s neck and answering him demand for demand. How long had it been since she had been kissed like this?

Never, she realized weakly. Never with such passion, such urgency, such reckless need. Vaguely aware of the corresponding shock registering in a pair of sky-blue eyes that mirrored her own bewildered reaction, Danielle’s eyelids grew heavy as she surrendered to the white-hot flames that consumed them.

Cody hadn’t been sure what he’d find in her. The woman’s red hair screamed “fire” but the cool aqua waters of her eyes shouted “ice.” The heat radiating from her was a shock to his system, rekindling feelings in him that he’d thought long ago extinguished. Desire born of a long stretch of self-inflicted denial burst into flame. Having forgotten what it was to hunger for such things, he found himself a starving man at a banquet, longing for more than just a chaste morsel, aching for an end to his gnawing loneliness.

Winding his fingers in the silky thickness of her hair, Cody leisurely explored the inside of her mouth. Her taste was sweet and tempting. Tempting enough in fact to make him entertain thoughts about taming this wild, fascinating creature in his bed and at least temporarily easing the grief that held him prisoner.

The mere thought pumped icy guilt into blood that was running too hot and fast.

It occurred to Danielle that should her daughter stumble upon this scene, it would be impossible to explain how she had come to be wrapped in some strange man’s arms. No justification of how she had come to be ravaged could possibly placate Lynn’s shrill and certain indignation.

Placing her palms firmly against Cody’s chest, she pushed him away. Hard.

Then she reminded herself to breathe. Surely it was only the altitude that made it so difficult to coax the thin oxygen into her lungs.

“Your ego is bigger than your ten-gallon hat,” she wheezed, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt.

She wasn’t quite sure whether it was anger or mirth tugging at the corners of Cody Walker’s mouth as he stepped back and checked the position of the sun against the sky.

“That may be,” he replied, swinging gracefully up into the saddle. “But it’s just about time to go, so unless you’re willing to volunteer that red head of yours to act as a night beacon, I’d suggest you round your troop up and get them ready.”

With that he wheeled his horse around, leaving Danielle alternately cursing and admiring the receding view of his snug-fitting jeans.


Chapter Two

Despite Danielle’s repeated self-assurances that she didn’t give a hoot about what Cody Walker thought of her appearance, she nevertheless tightened the bonnet strings beneath her chin. The allusion to Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer had cinched it. Never had she ever met a more infuriating, insulting, or presumptuous man in all of her life.

Nor one as sure of his overt sexual appeal. At the mere thought of the mind-numbing kiss that he had laid on her out of the blue, something tight and hot clenched deep within her. Tingling from head to toe, Danielle had enough sense left to resent the continuing quivers that she was unable to dismiss through sheer willpower alone. Just who did Cody Walker think he was, grabbing her up like some desperate old maid grateful for any measure of a virile man’s attention?

A blush climbed the nape of her neck. Imagining how Cody must relish her complete lack of self-control, Danielle assumed his own presumptuousness was born out of years of taking such liberties whenever he felt like it. Someone needed to explain to this Western Don Juan that going around kissing unsuspecting women might just land him in a messy little sexual harassment case. Lucky for him it wouldn’t be her. Right now all she wanted from the man was distance—and plenty of it.

Determined to believe that her reaction to his kiss had more to do with the onslaught of heat exhaustion than with any mutual attraction between them, Danielle was grateful to be past those kinds of girlish feelings. The other den mothers, she’d noticed, seemed to have no such compunctions about acting their age. Clearly her less-than-fond sentiments toward the despicable Mr. Walker were not shared by her fellow sponsors who fluttered around their long-legged wagon master like hummingbirds around nectar. She seriously doubted whether any of them would be lodging any complaints in a court of law if he chose to return their attention.

It really was something to watch how gracefully Cody Walker managed to step around their every snare without giving the slightest offense. Apparently it was impossible for these ladies to be angry with a man who so cavalierly swept off his hat and wickedly smiled into their eyes, ensuring that each felt he was secretly flirting with her. The only one, it seemed, from age thirteen up, immune to their wagon master’s charms was Danielle herself.

Assuming that she was the only one who had been slung over his shoulder like prehistoric chattel, she couldn’t hold the other women’s weakness against them. Just the memory of his arms around her sent a curling heat unfurling in her body in pleasurable waves that threatened her grasp on reality. And the cold, hard reality was that Danielle had been married to just such a charmer, a man willing to share more than his winning smile with his female associates.

Danielle grimaced. She had been a perfect ninny, naively accepting at face value those all-too-frequent stories about having to work late. Had she not decided to drop by the office one night with some Chinese takeout, she would have never discovered her husband and an eager young trainee in a compromising position atop his desk. And Scott would more than likely still be playing her for a sucker. A lance pierced her heart at the memory of the awful night that had stripped away the last vestiges of her pride.

Never again, Danielle told herself fiercely. No, thank you.

Consciously hardening her heart against the rawboned cowboy leading their wagon train with the sinuous potency of a mountain lion, she reminded herself that there was no room in her life for any man at the moment, and most assuredly not for one who made her so achingly aware of the sexual dearth in her life.

Stumbling along in the deep ruts of the Oregon Trail in a pair of high-laced boots, Danielle had plenty of time to consider the decision that had brought her here. What at the time had made perfect sense seemed infinitely stupid when studied beneath the glare of the midday sun. Unlike other mothers who had high-powered jobs and pressing social engagements, Danielle had nothing to tie her down but a dreary list of entry-level Help Wanted ads. So when Lynn had come home from a Prairie Scout meeting one afternoon, echoing Hildy Fustis’s request to sponsor the troop on this Oregon Trail Trek, she’d succumbed to her daughter’s not-so-subtle arm twisting. It actually sounded like a pleasant alternative to spending the entire summer cooped up in a small, un-air-conditioned apartment with a budding teenager whose mood swings were as unpredictable as they were disconcerting.

Lately Lynn had donned the surly, snide attitude considered chic among her peers, even going so far as to verbalize how “crummy” their circumstances were in comparison to her friends’. Scott hadn’t been around enough for Lynn to miss him much, but she did openly miss her daddy’s money and was especially concerned how the lack of it could possibly jettison her from the “in” crowd at school. Lynn simply couldn’t understand why her mother’s pride had kept her from accepting more than the minimal child support payment from a man who obviously could afford more. Danielle didn’t have the heart to tell her that Scott had employed the best lawyer money could buy to avoid paying a penny more than he had to.

Hoping that an educational excursion into the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming would be just the ticket to reestablish the open, loving relationship she had once shared with her daughter, Danielle figured she’d teach Lynn something about the things that money couldn’t buy—things so obviously lacking in the expensive lifestyles of Lynn’s friends.

Feeling the hot sun beating down upon her, Danielle berated herself for such ingenuous optimism. Even though it probably included a bimbo on the crook of his arm, the trip to Disneyland that Scott had been dangling before Lynn’s nose for months could only look all the more appealing after a few days of this grinding ordeal. She grumbled beneath her bonnet that all her good intentions had accomplished was to land her smack-dab in the middle of hell with the devil himself as a wagon master.

With characteristic determination, she turned from such negative thoughts to the windswept landscape they were traversing. A land seemingly barren, it fostered hope of fresh beginnings. Ever-changing, it challenged the strong and mocked the weak. With consideration to the future, Danielle attempted to assess her own abilities. Her lack of college was proving to be a major stumbling block in securing a good job. Years ago when she had first broached the subject of pursuing a degree, Scott had immediately and firmly put the quietus on her hopes, blithely assuring her he would always be there to take care of her. All she had to do was hang tight to his rising star.

Choking on the memory, Danielle scanned a mental list of job possibilities. Other than dead-end minimum wage positions, the only thing she could come up with was the possibility of turning her cooking ability into something more substantial than a hobby. Insisting that they entertain frequently, Scott had demanded gourmet meals to impress his business associates. Over the years Danielle had satisfied the most discriminating palate. Beneath a bright, unclouded sky she pondered the possibility of starting her own catering service. Of course, starting one’s own business took money, and at the moment the only thing more obviously missing from her life than financial stability was sex. That was the only reason, she assured herself, that Cody Walker’s impetuous kiss had knocked her for such a loop.

“Just look at the way those jeans fit him,” Lynn sighed, interrupting her mother’s thoughts with adolescent adulation.

Ray Anne Pettijohn, who was pushing a handcart beside her, agreed. Both girls’ gazes lingered upon the fascinating fit of Cody Walker’s backside to his saddle. Their crushes were as obvious as the blinding sun overhead and every bit as scorching to Danielle.

“You’d do better to judge a man by the size of his heart rather than the cut of his jeans,” she suggested wryly.

Lynn rolled her eyes at the advice. “You judge ‘em the way you want, Mom, and I’ll judge ’em my way.”

Danielle bit her tongue. She couldn’t help but wonder just how enamored chubby Ray Anne would be when she discovered their sexy wagon master had confiscated her hidden stash of candy bars back at the rendezvous site.

Danielle’s new boots chafed almost as much as her daughter’s infatuation with the high-handed Mr. Walker. The only bit of comfort she had derived over the past couple of hours was from the fact that the driver assigned to their wagon was none other than Mollie, the bright-eyed pixie who had so enthusiastically welcomed them aboard. While her own troop inanely discussed the waning appeal of musical groups with bizarre-sounding names and enumerated at length the reasons why their parents should allow them to date at the ripe old age of thirteen, Mollie was busy citing various points of interest.

The child was as taken with a jackrabbit lippety-lopping across the trail as she was with the prairie dogs lining up outside their holes at her shrill whistle. When a herd of antelope kicked up their heels and left the wagon train eating their dust, Mollie’s laughter rang across the open range like tinkling chimes, her blue eyes sparkling with love for the vast land they were traversing.

As they slowly wound their way toward the Sweetwater River, Split Rock cast a long shadow over the sagebrushed plains. After just a few short hours of choking down trail dust, Danielle came to understand how that famous landmark had become such a beacon of hope. Eager for a taste of water that truly must have been sweet indeed for those trail-weary pioneers desperate to fill their canteens and wash away the grime of an unforgiving land, she was glad when Cody Walker signaled the wagon train to stop for lunch.

A short while later he approached their group, carrying two large cardboard boxes.

“How’s everything going?”

That low-pitched voice of his sent a string of tingles to every nerve ending in Danielle’s body. Luckily the need to reply was negated by a dozen adolescent voices trilling an enthusiastic response in unison. The fact that he was responsible for making them whittle down their belongings to “regulation size” had done nothing to lessen their infatuation with the romantic figure their wagon master struck in the saddle.

Cody’s grin revealed two devilishly deep dimples at the sides of his mouth as he queried, “How about you, Red?”

“Just fine,” she lied over the blisters on her heel. “And, by the way, my name is Danielle. I’d appreciate it if you used it.”

“Pretty name,” he commented.

Surprised by the warmth evoked by the remark, Danielle felt oddly empty inside except for the steady rhythm of her pounding pulse.

“But,” he added with an infectious grin, “Red suits you better, temperament-wise.”

“Go away!” she snarled, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.

“But I brought you a present,” he protested.

“Let me guess—boxes of dynamite to blow us back to Beverly Hills?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Cody set his load down. Nestled inside were sacks of flour, sugar, and salt, some dried meat, powdered milk, molasses, a burlap bag filled with fruit, a similar one of potatoes, an odorous lump of sourdough, and lots and lots of beans.

Dumbfounded, Danielle looked down at the contents and back up into pair of eyes so blue it hurt to gaze at them too long.

“You were expecting takeout maybe?” he asked.

That damned grin of his could have buttered a Thanksgiving turkey.

“Hardly,” Danielle snapped, the reference to fast food making her stomach grumble.

Unable at the moment to cope with fixing anything that didn’t come straight out of a microwave, she proceeded to pass out fruit and jerky to the girls, promising them a more filling dinner later.

Cody couldn’t help but compare Danielle’s carefree attitude with his late wife’s preoccupation with fixing three balanced, nutritional meals for her family every day. Here was apparently yet another modern woman willing to put her own needs before those of the children depending on her. What was most puzzling to Cody was why he was at all attracted to someone who was the exact opposite of what he admired most in a woman.

Swinging himself back into the saddle, Cody started to leave but was detained by a small hand pressed lightly upon his knee.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sheila Pooly said in a squeaky voice. Undeniably the prissiest girl in the troop, she was squinting up at Cody’s sunlit profile as if he were God Himself.

“You can just call me Cody,” he said with an encouraging smile.

Scanning the vast expanse of the plains, Sheila posed her question as delicately as possible. “Where’s the...ah... Porta Potti?”

Like resounding thunder, their wagon master’s laughter exploded across the prairie.

Overhearing the conversation, Mollie, too, burst out laughing, and soon everyone within earshot was privy to the city girl’s faux pas. The native Wyomingites hooted with glee as their wagon master pointed to a thick clump of sagebrush.

“Over there,” he guffawed.

The location to which he pointed hardly provided any privacy. Sheila blushed furiously, and Danielle’s eyes flashed like summer lightning, burning a hole right through Cody.

Keenly aware that he had just wrinkled the suit of armor in which these girls had dressed him, Cody felt a stab of guilt at the wounded look in Sheila’s eyes. Maybe he was being too rough with Troop Beverly Hills. The disconcerting thought took him back in time to his own callow youth. How many times had he himself been ridiculed as a country bumpkin when he had been lost in the big city trying to peddle those first humble, heartfelt songs?

Remembering his promise never to become such a selfindulgent big shot that he was beyond simple kindness and common courtesy, Cody hastened to lessen the sting of Sheila’s humiliation.

Bestowing a slow smile upon the girl that made her blush from the top of her blond head to the bottom of her boots, he said with a wink, “I’ll tell you what. There’s a rest stop just over the next hill. If you’d like, you can hop on back of ol’ Champ, here, and I’ll tote you on over there.”

That wink was Sheila’s undoing. She nodded her head gratefully. Cody reached down and in one graceful move pulled her up behind him in the saddle. Squealing with delight, the girl waved to her friends as they galloped over the hill.

When they returned a few moments later, Sheila wore a look of simpering adoration. Danielle thought it obvious that she couldn’t wait to share every heart-quickening minute with her friends who were certain to be green with envy.

That their wagon master had assuaged Sheila’s feelings only slightly mollified Danielle. As far as she was concerned, Cody Walker was brutish and insensitive. Maybe Sheila’s question had been silly, but the extent of camping that these girls shared was limited to backyard sleep-overs. In her opinion, it was as reprehensible for a grown man to make poor Sheila the butt of his joke as it was to lump everyone from the city into the category of utter simpletons. It hadn’t escaped her notice that some of the other Prairie Scouts were now openly referring to them as Troop Beverly Hills. Since Danielle had firsthand knowledge of who had coined that particular phrase, she intended to give that John Wayne wanna-be a piece of her mind the first chance she got.

Like bright but fragile posies, the girls were beginning to droop beneath a sun too hot. What had once sounded romantic and adventurous was quickly proving to be a lot of hard work. Their meager lunches had worn off long ago, and fatigue was beginning to manifest itself in the guise of petty sniping.

“Knock it off!” Danielle commanded, determined to nip such thoughtlessness in the bud. “Time won’t pass any faster if you pick at each other. We’ve got a long way to go and two weeks to prove we’re women enough to handle whatever this trail has to throw at us. I expect not to be defeated from within our own ranks before the end of the very first day.”

She hated sounding so gruff, but this wasn’t exactly a picnic for her, either. It had been a long time since she had put such rigorous demands upon her body, and it was reacting with aching indignation. By the time the wagon train rolled to their final stop of the day, they had traveled a little under eight miles, and Danielle was sure her feet had a blister to show for each one of them.

She pressed her hands to the small of her back before throwing herself into the task at hand. Telling herself that if she could whip up an appetizing dinner using only primitive tools and limited ingredients, she might just consider approaching the Small Business Administration for a loan when they got back to Denver.

“Pssssst!”

Danielle jumped at the sound. Their wagon master had been quite firm in his directive to all participants before they had begun their trek. “Keep your eyes and ears open to any possible danger. You never can tell in what form it’ll jump out at you.”

“Psssssst!”

Praying that it was not the sound of an irate rattlesnake, Danielle armed herself with an iron skillet.

“Over here,” called a small voice from behind the wagon.

Danielle sighed in relief. It was Mollie.

Oblivious to the fact that she had almost scared Danielle out of her wits, she chirped, “I’ve got something for you.”

In her hand, she held a candy bar. A king-size, doublefudge, peanut-packed fistful of satisfying calories.

Danielle salivated at the sight of it. As outlined in the packet they had received beforehand, candy was clearly considered contraband. Everything was supposed to be as authentic as possible, and since the early pioneers had to do without artificial flavorings and preservatives, the Prairie Scouts were expected to, as well.

Danielle looked over both shoulders before accepting the candy bar. “I’ll split it with you,” she whispered to her child conspirator.

“That’s all right,” Mollie said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got a secret stash. If you want, I can keep you supplied through the whole trip.”

“You know you could make a fortune selling this on the black market,” Danielle mumbled through a mouthful of heavenly goo. “But you’d better not let Captain Bligh see you scalping any of this or he’ll have you keelhauled under a Conestoga.”

Mollie’s blue eyes darkened in confusion.

“Captain Bligh?”

“You know, the Hunchback of the Wagon Train...Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Raw Hide...”

Clearly the strained literary allusions were lost upon the child.

“Our illustrious wagon master.”

Mollie was seized by a fit of giggles. “Daddy’s sure got you buffaloed, hasn’t he?”

Danielle choked on melted chocolate.

“D-daddy?” she sputtered.

It was impossible. This darling little imp could not possibly be the devil’s spawn.

“Ah, there’s nothing to worry about. He’s just like melt in your mouth candies—hard on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside.”

Both Mollie’s ancestry and her analogy seemed dubious, but looking at the girl more closely, Danielle recognized his eyes staring back at her.

It was unnerving. Undeniably Cody Walker had passed this living legacy on to his daughter. Danielle could only assume that the girl had received her delightful disposition from her mother. Which made her wonder—where, by the way, was that long-suffering saint? If the poor woman had any sense at all she would take her husband’s flirtations more seriously. Rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth, Danielle told herself that had she known earlier that Cody was married, she would never have allowed him the liberties he had taken with her lips. Apparently the creep shared more with her ex-husband than stunning good looks.

Swallowing the last bite of her candy bar, Danielle mumbled, “Your poor mother.”

“Huh?” Mollie’s brow knitted in confusion.

Danielle hastened to cover the remark. “I was wondering which one of the sponsors is your mother?”

“My mother’s dead.”

Regretting her previous lack of charity, Danielle’s eyes misted over at the thought of this sweet child growing up without a mother’s love. This revelation put Cody Walker in an entirely different light. Earlier in the day she would have placed a substantial bet that their wagon master was a confirmed bachelor whose sense of responsibility reached no further than his libido. As a single parent herself, Danielle realized how difficult it was to raise a child all alone. She promised to try to be cordial to Cody in the future, if only for Mollie’s sake.

“Want some help with supper?” the girl asked, her twinkling blue eyes registering an eagerness to please.

Danielle smiled. How often had she nagged at Lynn to show such acts of simple consideration only to be met with a stony silence that implied those were unfair expectations from a bygone age? With some luck, maybe a little of Mollie’s country manners would rub off on her own citified daughter.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d get Lynn and the other girls to help you gather up some firewood.”

As Mollie scampered off to do as she was asked, Danielle set about preparing dinner, throwing herself into the task at hand with as much vigor as she could muster. She figured cooking over a campfire wouldn’t be all that different from her gas stove at home—except for controlling the heat, of course.

The girls were so hungry after their meager lunch and exhausting walk that they were willing to eat cooked shoe leather. Danielle’s quickly thrown together pot of pork and beans met with hearty appetites.

She was just cutting into a fragrant pan of apple cobbler when who should come sniffing into camp like a lost, forlorn pup but Cody Walker himself. His dark hair had been combed into damp submission, and he was humbly holding his hat in hand. Catching a drift of, his masculine scent, Danielle felt her heart climb to her throat and lodge there permanently.

“Something sure smells good,” Cody exclaimed, wielding the compelling allure of his boyish smile upon the entire troop with practiced expertise.

Eagerly succumbing to his charms, the girls fell all over themselves to make room around the fire for their handsome wagon master.

Danielle was less receptive to the idea.

“Won’t it hurt your reputation to be seen sharing a meal with such a misbegotten collection of city slickers as ‘Troop Beverly Hills’?” she asked pointedly.

“Actually, I plan on eating all my meals with my daughter. Do you have a problem with that?”

Tinged with masculine roughness and grit, Cody’s voice was as disquieting as his eyes. The way those eyes glittered reminded Danielle of a sleek panther stalking his prey. As their gazes melded, electricity arched between them, crackling in the cool evening air, and Danielle flinched beneath the shower of invisible sparks that engulfed her. She had assumed their arrogant wagon master would simply float from one den mother to another, receiving a complimentary serving of adoration with each meal. That he wanted to share all his meals with his daughter softened her heart a little. She couldn’t so much as picture Scott beside their daughter at anything as unpretentious as a camp-out-

“Mother, you’re embarrassing me!” Lynn whispered through clenched teeth.

Mollie interjected with a mischievous smirk, “Why don’t we make him sing for his supper?”

Grateful for an easy way out of this strange modern day showdown, Danielle conferred a hesitant smile upon their uninvited dinner guest. “That sounds like fair payment to me.”

Glad that she wasn’t on the receiving end of the look of censure Cody shot his daughter, she noticed with more than just a smidgeon of satisfaction that Mollie pointedly ignored his fierce scowl. So she wasn’t the only parent around whose teenager occasionally exhibited selective perception.

Cody was fuming. Mollie knew damned good and well that the last thing he wanted was to chance being recognized. She was, after all, the one who had suggested he use his given name instead of his stage name of Cameron while on this trip. While he was relieved that no one had caught on to his ruse so far, what Mollie had so blithely suggested was too risky to chance. Apparently she no longer thought it mattered now that they were already on the trail. So what if her father was discovered to be a popular country singer now that they were far, far away from the journalists who made it so impossible for them to lead normal lives? Cody knew he shouldn’t mind that Mollie was proud of him and wanted to show him off a little, but he did.

Part of the reason he had agreed to lead this expedition at all was that he was feeling so used up by the cutthroat mentality of the business. His agent was certain that the only thing that mattered in a performer’s life was the bottom line. For all intents and purposes, Cody’s personal life had become a thing of the past. He needed time away from it all. The music industry was a hard business. The necessary self-promotion, the phoniness, the desperate groupies, the endless demands on his time and energy, all presented a constant drain that was threatening to erode those core beliefs that he had once thought to be unshakable.

While this wasn’t exactly the holiday he’d had in mind, it was nice just being treated like everybody else for a change. He had become so used to women in particular fawning all over him in insincere attempts to curry favor that Danielle’s feisty resistance to his charm was in itself refreshing. It had been a long, long time since any woman had warmed his blood like this contrary redhead did. Just the sight of her framed against a golden sunset stirring that fragrant concoction in her caldron sent his pulse racing with pleasure.

Cody had seen the momentary flash of longing in her eyes when he had kissed her, felt it in the way her body had melted against his, making it hard to tell where his skin ended and hers began. He had been almost as shocked by his equally explosive reaction as by her subsequent attempt to push him away. After years of having women throw themselves at him, it both bewitched and bewildered him that she would put a stop to his kisses. Would she have done so had she known he were famous rather than the trail bum she assumed him to be?

Fame had its advantages, but it tended to twist others’ perceptions of him in ways that were far from honest and forthright. When Danielle saw him for who he really was, she would be the one singing another tune. And that would simply reinforce his belief that Rachael’s innate goodness had ruined him for other women who were, by and large, all gold diggers.

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 plate—twice.

“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 good—really 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 all—himself included. With each chord, his edginess seemed to dissipate. The wrinkles at the edges of his eyes grew softer.

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 life—family, 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.

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.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cathleen-galitz/100-pure-cowboy/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.