Maybe Danielle’s hair was losing its brass, but the lady herself wasn’t. The “kick your butt” look she was leveling at him right now was almost enough to take the edge off his appetite. Almost. Lord, the woman could cook! Grinning over his full breakfast plate into her icy aqua eyes, Cody couldn’t help but wonder if she cooked as well in the bedroom as in the kitchen.
It’s a good thing I’m not a mind reader, Danielle thought silently, or I might just slap that cat-sly grin off his face. She told herself that she was simply too preoccupied with the breaking of camp to give that despicable man another thought—for at least another sixty seconds.
She was amazed at the change that a few days had wrought in her troop. Their deluge of daily whining and complaining was dwindling into a few indiscriminate, mild showers. They seemed to have taken to heart their wagon master’s challenge to “cowboy up” and prove themselves. Stripped for the first time in their young lives of the luxuries that money could buy, they were given the rare opportunity to discover what they were really made of. And to their own surprise, it was more than just frippery.
Danielle noticed Lynn and Mollie swapping Seventeen and Western Horseman magazines. Their burgeoning friendship pleased her. For far too long her daughter had been surrounded by peers who judged one another by their economic status, whose acceptance into their clique was based upon how it would affect their own popularity. That kind of friendship was as foreign to Mollie as elephants to the Great Plains of Wyoming. Indeed she was the most appealing child Danielle had been around for quite some time. From the instant she had first smiled into those mischievous eyes, such perfect replicas of her father’s, Danielle had found herself enslaved by the little imp. She wondered what it would take to bribe Cody into letting Mollie spend some time with them in Denver.
It really was a shame that the two girls would be parted so soon. They had a lot to offer one another. Mollie’s innate sweetness and love of the land was rubbing off on Lynn who, in turn, was eager to coach her country friend in the finer points of becoming hip.
“Can you believe Mollie’s never even heard of Iggy Pop?”
“Can you believe Lynn’s never ridden a horse?” they asked their parents respectively.
Both Cody and Danielle shook their heads in mock disbelief.
Danielle was glad that Cody gave the girls several short breaks during the day to rest. Just how easy it would be to fall prey to heat exhaustion among other numerous perils of the trail was clearly illuminated in the diary that Danielle had received the first day of the expedition.
What had started out as merely another chore—reading about the lives of actual pioneers who had traveled the Oregon Trail—soon became something to which Danielle looked forward. Stolen moments alone with Matty O’Shaw, the author of the diary that she carried in the pockets of her full gingham skirt were becoming a bright spot in her day. Simple and to the point, Matty’s words poignantly described both the perils and the beauty of the Old West. During rest periods, Danielle slipped into the shade of the wagon, opened the diary, and allowed herself to be drawn into the past.
June 12, 1846
Saw my first Indian today. Rather than the frightening savages about which we have been warned, the fellow looked more forlorn than bloodthirsty. Watching the progression of wagons miles long dissecting these lonely plains, it surely must have seemed to him that all mankind has turned his face westward. The resigned expression that he wore bespoke the realization that his native land will not long remain untouched by the white man’s hand.
Among us there is much grumbling about the heat and the never-ending wind which assails us with great clouds of dirt for days on end. For my part, I try to keep my eyes on the wildflowers of the prairie which are unmindful of the poor quality of soil in which they flourish.
Every day more fall victim to the cholera that claimed my own dear husband. I miss him terribly. It is much harder than I had imagined to fulfill my promise to John. Today Mr. Bennet, our wagon master, informed me that my family will be left at the next settlement. He has been approached about the propriety of a widow with three small children traveling in the company of so many unattached men. I bade him not to worry and assured him that as I will be showing soon few men will be interested in me. The poor man looked positively stricken at the news that I have every intention of delivering the baby in Oregon—just as I promised John.
Closing her eyes against the glaring sun, Danielle contemplated the courage of women such as Matty O’Shaw. Thirty years old, she had given birth to five children, two of which were stillborn, and assisted her husband through an agonizing death. Instead of succumbing to grief and self-pity, she bravely lifted her chin and pointed it westward, praying for the strength to fulfill the promise she made on her husband’s deathbed—to keep going, to give their children a new chance in the promised land.
The woman had grit. The same kind of grit that Danielle supposed made Cody Walker such a good leader. She was amazed how he had been able to instill in a wide cross section of teenage girls trust not only in him, but also in each other and, perhaps most importantly, in their own innate abilities. Unwilling to risk his disapproval, each day they rose to meet the expectations he set for them. With his tight jeans, cowboy hat, mischievous smile, and a firm hand, Cody was proving himself a hero for the nineties. The kind of man that every little boy wanted to grow up to be and every little girl wanted to grow up to marry.
Hearing the sound of childish laughter resounding over the foothills of the Wind River Mountain Range, Danielle was suddenly very glad that she and Lynn had embarked upon this historic trek. The endless blue sky overhead was truly medicine for weary hearts. Oregon Butte loomed in the distance, a great blue chunk of granite as solid as Matty O’Shaw’s resolve.
Open spaces and a commonality of tasks were having an almost magical effect upon Danielle’s relationship with her daughter. Life without television, telephones, and music videos wasn’t all bad. Like the many wildflowers strewn along the trail, the art of conversation was experiencing a beautiful rebirth. A gentle breeze tugged at Danielle’s skirt, and she could almost hear the sound of a certain stubborn pioneer ghost whispering her approval.
Although it was nice to be sheltered from the relentless prairie winds, the foothills of the Wind River Range presented their own unique challenges. Small creeks crisscrossed the countryside, and Danielle soon came to appreciate the wisdom of Cody’s directive that only skilled drivers be allowed on the wagons. There were a total of ten wagons, and not a man among them but their wagon master.
If ever there was a study in female ingenuity and pluck, this was it. Mollie and a Native American girl by the name of Brook Warren were the youngest drivers. Seven other den mothers were in charge of driving their wagons: Kathy McCuen, Pat Curtis, Vicki Zoller, Brandi Winchester, Sandy Burke, Bev Marshall and June Matson’s mother, Barbara. Raised on ranches since birth, it never occurred to these determined individualists that handling a horse and wagon was the least bit unfeminine.
The infirmary/supply wagon that followed up the rear was driven by an older woman of indiscriminate age who could have passed herself off as Methuselah had she wanted to. Rose’s name was tattooed on her right shoulder. She spoke little to anyone and spat chewing tobacco alongside her wagon with obvious relish.
That left Danielle and Joy Lawton, the only other out-of-stater, walking alongside the wagon train. The two pedestrians took to one another immediately. Both divorced mothers had been coerced into sponsoring their troops with equal measures of guilt and false promises that certain luxuries would be afforded them.
It amazed Danielle to see such cumbersome conveyances as these covered wagons coaxed up hillsides of sheer rock. The wheels fit neatly into existing groves, worn several inches deep by travelers well over a century ago. With each passing mile, Danielle not only gained respect for pioneers such as Matty, but also for the modern man leading fiftysome girls through the corridor of the past with a firm hand and a smile th
at as Mollie so succinctly put it “could charm the rattles out of a snake.”
Splashing through ankle-deep water in the middle of the open plains was bizarre. It was interesting to read in Matty O’Shaw’s diary how the water shaded by the long grasses of the open prairie froze in winter and provided the pioneers into late spring with one to two foot chunks of a most precious commodity—ice.
Crossing the ice slough gave Danielle a false sense of well-being. When they once again came upon the Sweetwater River, her confidence deflated like a balloon with a slow leak. To reach the convergence of the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails, they would have to cross the Sweetwater here. Due to an unusually wet spring, the water was high. Churning water surged around and over boulders that would surely prove treacherous to anyone who lost their footing. Danielle stood on the bank and stared fretfully at the swirling chaos. The dog paddle she had displayed for Cody the other night was the height of her swimming ability, and she had no desire to exhibit it for the rest of the wagon train. The fast-running current terrified her.
Without a bridge in sight, she questioned the wisdom of fording such a dangerous crossing. If he knew she was afraid, Danielle was certain that Cody would lampoon her unmercifully. Swallowing her apprehension like a bitter pill, she muttered the now-familiar phrase to herself, “Cowboy up!”
She was relieved to see Cody direct the wagon train down the river a ways to a bend where the water was slower and more shallow.
“We’ll cross here,” he said as nonchalantly as if he were picking out a restaurant for the evening.
When Mollie volunteered to be the first to ford the river, Cody couldn’t disguise the concern in his eyes. A flash of pain crossed his bright irises as he recalled the freak accident that had claimed Rachael’s life. The fear of losing his daughter to a similar trick of fate made him all the more protective of her. Just the other day Mollie accused him of trying to raise her in a bubble. Though he assured her that wasn’t the case, Cody was forever pledged to do everything in his power to protect his daughter from harm.
Cody’s knuckles turned white against the rein he had subconsciously wrapped too tightly around his left hand.
Damn it all, why did Mollie have to be such a confounded tomboy? She was certain to take offense if he insisted on driving the wagon across himself. Such an act on his part was sure to manifest itself into another long, drawn out “discussion” about why he wouldn’t let her start rodeoing.
“You take it real slow and easy. No showing off,” he said at length. Leaning out of the saddle, he reached over and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
The gesture was so sweet, so automatic, that Danielle’s heart bumped against her chest. Whatever else she thought about Cody, there was no doubt he was a kind and loving father.
“Haw!” Mollie called in a voice that cracked the air like a bullwhip. She gathered both reins in one hand and flicked a light whip to the horses’ flanks. With a slow, easy lurch, the wagon crept toward the river. As they stepped forward into the current, the wagon rocked unsteadily, and Danielle felt her breath catch. In a very short time she had come to care deeply for the little girl who sneaked her both candy bars and encouraging words along the trail.
If anything happens to her...
Danielle couldn’t even think about it. Losing Mollie would be like losing the sunshine. The lead horse stumbled, almost pitching their ponytailed driver headlong into the river. Danielle’s stomach leaped to her throat.
A deft maneuver on Mollie’s part brought the horse back into its traces. Just as quickly as the wagon had entered the current it seemed the girl was on the opposite bank basking in the warmth of the sun and of the spontaneous applause of the entire assemblage of Prairie Scouts. Hopping off the wagon, she took a theatrical bow.
As the other drivers lined up to take their turn, Cody directed those on foot to hitch their skirts up around their waists and wade on across, downstream from the wagons so if they happened to fall, they wouldn’t be swept into the horses.
It all made perfect, terrifying sense to Danielle, who was nervously awaiting her troop’s turn. Dutifully they did as they were told, shucking off their shoes, tying them together, and hanging them around their necks.
“Come on, Mom,” called Lynn, splashing the cold water with the brash surety of youth. “Don’t be such a fraidy cat!”
Danielle felt Cody’s eyes upon the interchange. Though she had little desire to “hitch up her skirt” while those penetrating blue eyes were watching, she had little choice. She could hardly admit being afraid to the man who said he couldn’t be bothered baby-sitting a bunch of city slickers.
Lynn extended her mother a helping hand, and she stepped upon the closest exposed rock.
It was almost as arousing watching Danielle Herte enter the water as exit it the other night. All of a sudden Cody came to understand how those old pioneers could have gotten so turned on by the mere glimpse of a turned ankle. If they had gotten a gander at thighs as shapely as this woman’s, he had a feeling that the Oregon Trail would have ended right here.
Cody was uncomfortably aware that the bulge in his jeans would be hard to explain to a group of hormonally crazed teenage girls. He was just shifting in the saddle trying to get his libido under control when he saw Danielle slip, grab for a piece of the sky, and fall into the river. Her scream was stifled by a mouthful of water.
Though the impact of that sound seemed to cut off the blood to his heart, it didn’t delay his instincts for a second. He dug his heels into the Appaloosa’s flanks and headed downstream. Positioning himself a short distance in front of Danielle’s flailing form, Cody plunged into the water and a minute later dissected her course.
She was sputtering and scared, but it appeared that nothing more than her pride was hurt. Cody reached a hand out to her. Their eyes locked, and for a brief moment they were bound to one another in the midst of a swirling whirlpool.
I wouldn’t take your help if you tied a pink bow around that fat cowboy hat of yours and begged me! he remembered her once saying.
Recognizing that very same stubborn flicker of resistance in Danielle’s eyes, Cody wondered if there would always be this sense of challenge between them. Surely the woman couldn’t actually prefer drowning to accepting his help.
“Maybe you should try standing up to see if you really are in over your head,” he suggested, a glimmer of mirth tickling the edges of his mouth.
Too panicked to have even thought of testing the depth of the water, Danielle couldn’t believe she could make such an embarrassing fool of herself. She stopped flailing her arms and put her feet beneath her. As she went under with a surprised glub, Cody grabbed at her hand and in a smooth, effortless motion fished her out of the water.
It wasn’t easy straddling the rear end of a horse with her skirt clamped around her lower body like leg irons. Not wanting to risk the ignominy of falling off in mid-rescue, Danielle held on for dear life as they took off toward the shore. Thoroughly shaken by the experience, she allowed herself the comfort of laying her head against Cody’s broad back.
When was the last time she had let herself cling to anyone? For far too long, Danielle had been the mortar holding Lynn’s and her lives together, and she couldn’t allow herself to crumble the least little bit. Still she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to share her life with a man who was strong enough to provide protection and secure enough to offer independence. She didn’t want to feel the kinds of vibrations that Cody was giving off from any man, but with her arms wrapped around his middle, denying them would be an outright lie.
Yes, indeed, she realized with an involuntary little shudder, she was definitely in over her head. Way over.
Chapter Five
Until Cody felt his passenger tremble against his back he hadn’t realized just how frightened she really was. Had Danielle but asked, he would have gladly carried her across on Champion and spared her the ignominious dunk in the river. Who in her past had hurt her
so badly that she would risk her neck rather than ask for help?
Apparently she was afraid that any sign of vulnerability would compromise her self-reliant image of a single mother capable of doing it all. Behind the mask she wore Cody suspected was a hurting, wounded little girl. One who caused a fierce surge of protectiveness to well up inside of him.
He struggled against the uncomfortable feeling, hoping to find some way of restoring the tentative friendship that had so recently blossomed between them.
“Heck of a way to finally wrangle yourself a ride in a wagon, lady,” he said with a cockeyed grin as he set her gently into the back of the infirmary wagon.
“This is silly,” Danielle assured him. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet.”
Unused to anyone fussing over her, she was surprised by Cody’s insistence that she take it easy for the remainder of the day. It was ironic: now that he wanted her to ride in a wagon, she didn’t want to. Would they forever be at odds? Danielle wondered, grimacing at his instructions to Rose to “take it slow and easy” with her.
In reply the old lady merely spat a long string of tobacco juice upon the ground and wiped a dirty sleeve across her chin. Personally Danielle would have preferred spending the rest of the day with a rattlesnake. Despite her claim of being a certified R.N., Rose did not present the typical image of the nurturing nurse. Florence Nightingale she wasn’t. Nonetheless Danielle didn’t fight Cody too hard for her pedestrian rights. She really was a tad bit woozy, and the last thing she needed to top off her list of embarrassing stunts for the day was to faint dead away on the trail. As the wagon lurched forward, she couldn’t tell exactly what it was that Rose muttered under her breath. Whatever it was, Danielle got the distinct feeling the old lady was less than thrilled with her company.
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