The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (11 page)

The nickname fitted him, in spite of the fact that camping was foreign to the man. However, he was no slouch on a horse. Emily’s heart had beaten faster this morning, watching him ride off, so straight and easy in the saddle. His handling of the pinto was at odds with his ability in other areas of trail life. Emily didn’t see him as the type to own horses and muck out stalls. But she’d been wrong about a man before. Horribly wrong.

As the sun began its western descent, the lead wagon turned and set a course into the sun, toward tree-covered undulations. Blessed hills. This turning of the whole column brought Megan out of hiding.

“Where’s the town? You said we were stopping in Council Grove.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow. In time for the morning walking tour.”

“I’m not taking any old walking tour. Brittany and I plan to shop.”

“You girls had better take notes. Never know when you can use them in a school history paper.”

“Brittany said they’ll have neat antique stores. We’re going to look for old hats, funky jewelry and stuff.”

“Hats? Megan, we don’t have money for someone else’s junk.” Emily practically yanked her team to a stop. She did slow enough for Megan to hop off.

“I’m going to ride with Sherry and Brittany. All you ever do is rag on me. I don’t need your money. Mona gave me her credit card numbers.”

“Megan—you come back here! You’re not to charge
anything
to Mona, do you hear?” Her words echoed back from a curve they were rounding. Maizie had already pulled in beside a bubbling stream. Emily decided to unhitch her team first and argue later. Megan was
not
going to use Mona’s credit cards this time.

With dusk settling in, she had more to worry about than her mother-in-law’s far-reaching tentacles. There was still no sign of Mark and Camp.

Emily fretted as she and Sherry gathered wood. “I wonder what’s keeping them. They didn’t take bedrolls or much food.”

“Speaking of food,” Sherry murmured. “Megan wants to eat with us, Em. I said okay without thinking. If you’d prefer, I’ll send her back to your wagon.”

“No. Let her stay. That’ll be one less thing for us to fight about.” Emily brought Sherry up to date on her latest confrontation with Megan.

“I’ll look for an opening to talk with her,” Sherry promised. “I can see your mind’s on other things. Do you want me to ask Robert to ride out and have a look around?”

Emily shook her head. “That’s not what our pioneer sisters would do. They’d suffer in silence. I’ll be fine, Sherry. I’m sure I’m worrying needlessly. I’ve been more of a worrier since Dave died in that crash.”

“I understand. Why don’t you come eat with us, too?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Really.” Emily patted Sherry’s arm as they dropped their last load of wood and prepared to part.

Sherry gave Emily’s hand a squeeze. “I may gripe about Nolan, but he’s dependable. Did I mention he’s renovating an old farmhouse? Down to the bare wood. Nothing is too tedious. You’d be impressed. I’m telling you this so you’ll know he’s not a quitter. He’s totally reliable and he follows through on things. Trust me, Mark is safe with him.”

Emily smiled. “Thanks. I won’t tell a soul you paid him a compliment.”

Sherry screwed up her face. “On most things, Nolan and I actually see eye to eye. He’s not half as bad as his colleagues. Lyle Roberts thinks women are useless.”

“Careful, or you’ll talk yourself into siding with Nolan. Go on and fix your dinner. I’m sure he and Mark will roll in shortly.”

But they didn’t. Darkness occluded the skyline. Nothing but the wind moved out of the east—the direction they’d travel. The temperature dropped appreciably. Emily fixed a whole pot of navy bean soup in anticipation of their riding in hungry.

Megan slunk back at nine. She climbed in the wagon without saying a word. Emily was too weary to argue about Mona’s credit cards. She paced and stared into the black night, drinking cup after cup of tea. No doubt the caffeine was adding to her unrest, making her feel even more jittery. One by one the other fires were extinguished, until only hers and Maizie’s were left.

It was after ten, going on eleven. Emily sensed more than heard approaching hoofbeats. She jumped up and ran to the edge of Camp’s wagon, clutching a hand over her heart. “Yes!” A steady clip-clop shook the ground.

Then, so as not to appear unduly anxious, she walked sedately back to her campfire, poured another cup of tea with shaking hands and sat. The instant the plodding horses appeared, she sprang up. Camp led the horse Mark had been riding. Her son was draped limply across the front of Camp’s saddle. “What happened?” Emily barely choked back a turbulent cry.

Camp reined in the pinto, awkwardly placing a finger to his lips. “It’s okay, Emily,” he whispered. “Poor kid fell asleep. My arm’s about to fall off. I doubt he’ll wake up. Let me figure out how to slide off, and I’ll help you put him to bed.”

Emily steadied the horse, grateful for Camp’s offer. It was years since she’d been able to manage Mark’s dead weight.

A lack of feeling in the arm and leg that’d borne the bulk of the sleeping boy caused Camp to dismount awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t we wake him?” Emily murmured. “Won’t he be hungry?”

“At five o’clock we met a family picnicking along the river. They shared sandwiches, fruit and cookies and picked our brains about the Santa Fe Trail. Mark enjoyed the food—almost as much as he enjoyed playing Santa Fe Trail guru.”

“All the Bentons make wonderful instant experts. I’m sure it’s in the genes.”

Camp chuckled as he bundled Mark into Emily’s wagon. “I see Maizie’s still up. I’ll go report in and see to the horses. Then I wouldn’t object to a plateful of whatever it is that smells so good.”

“Soup. I hope it’s still edible. What took you so long?”

“You’ll want to discuss that with Mark. I’m afraid his life of crime started a few miles earlier than he let on.”

“Oh.” She fumbled for words. “I’m really sorry.”

Camp gazed down on earnest features hauntingly etched in moonlight. Moved, he gently held her shoulders. “Mark’s a good kid, Emily. But he’s easily led. I may not have a right to say this...but after things he let slip today, I’d say you’d be smart to remove both kids from their grandparents.”

Struggling against a lump lodged in her throat, Emily pulled from his loose grasp. “You’d better take care of the horses. I’ll go check on the soup.”

Impulsively, Camp caught her arms again. He hated the pinched look that killed the lively sparkle of her eyes. Instinct urged him to kiss away the sadness. Carefully cupping her soft face, he bent and tilted Emily’s chin until their lips met. What started out as an attempt to comfort changed on contact. She arched away, frustrating Camp. He wanted more from her than a simple kiss. But the instant she wrenched away, he released her. Confusion clouded his eyes.

Panting, she touched her tingling bottom lip. It’d been years since any man had kissed her with such compassion, let alone with passion. She was tempted to lose herself in his kiss. But with Dave, kissing always caused more problems, solving none. “I’m going to bed,” she said brusquely. “Get this straight—I am not an attention-starved widow. My appreciation for what you did for Mark doesn’t extend to payback of that sort. The Bentons taught me there’s always a price to pay for favors. Help yourself to soup and coffee. And consider my debt to you paid in full.”

Camp barely had time to suck in his breath before she vaulted into her wagon bed and jerked the canvas closed. He glared at the flimsy material that he could so easily rip aside. Bone-weary though he was, he was sorely tempted to do just that and set her straight about his intentions. The impulse died as he heard one of the kids stirring and Emily answer in a low, soothing tone.

To top it all, he was as baffled as she by his caveman tactics. One thing Camp did know, he wasn’t anything like her husband. Or her father-in-law. Tomorrow he’d have something to say to Mrs. Spitfire Benton. And when he’d finished, she wouldn’t lump him in with the Benton men again.

CHAPTER SIX

A restrictive ideology prevailed in the written history of the American West. That men were courageous, women passive and dependent.

—From Nolan Campbell’s notes.

E
MILY
FOUND
IT
impossible to relax. Blood rushed to her ears. She burrowed under the covers, then kicked them off, trying to concentrate on the even breathing of her children. As she’d told him, she wasn’t an attention-starved widow...but she was sure acting like one. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured straight, sable eyebrows and softly curled dark hair. Her fingers itched to feel the texture, the traces of silver that feathered his temples. Exactly right for a professor. Nolan Campbell’s hands were well manicured but not smooth against her skin. Were they, and the solid muscles she’d felt in his chest, a result of the carpentry work Sherry said he did on his home?

It wasn’t easy for Emily to admit that she liked the feel of Camp’s arms around her. Because she remembered being drawn to Dave’s athletic build at first. The abuse of his body with too-rich food and an overabundance of alcohol began gradually. He’d developed a paunch well before they stopped sharing a bed. Her numerous attempts to alter his eating habits gave him all the more reason to complain about her to his parents. Looking back, Emily realized that was just an insignificant part of the erosion of respect between them.

Nolan Campbell didn’t seem like a man of excess or overindulgence.
Or maybe he was.
Emily ran her tongue lightly over her tender lips. He’d certainly delivered a three-alarm kiss. Unless it’d been too long for her to gauge, she’d venture to say he’d been well on his way to turning that kiss into a four-alarm blaze.

Flopping over on her stomach, Emily punched her pillow into a pulp.

“Mom?” Mark’s restless voice floated out of the darkness. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine, honey,” Emily lied. “Are you hungry? You were asleep when Camp brought you home.”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, kicking at his covers.

“Do you want your pajamas on?”

“Nah, don’t need ’em. Camp said real pioneers slept in their clothes. He knows all about that stuff.” Another, longer yawn. “He’s rule, Mom.”

Into the silence, Megan piped up. “‘Rule’ means he’s boss or cool,” she grumbled sleepily. “
Good
in mom talk.”

“I see,” Emily muttered. “Anyhow, I think I do.”

“Mom, it’s heavy-metal lingo. You know,
metal rules.
I’d have thought you’d be up on stuff like that at college,” Megan said scornfully, rising briefly on her elbow.

“In college when you mean good, you say good,” Emily retorted dryly. Which wasn’t necessarily true, of course. With all the cultures and countercultures a teacher encountered, communication was often confusing. What she did find interesting in this midnight exchange with her children was that Mark had gone from calling Camp a “loose cannon” to deciding he was “rule.” Kids—Mark in particular—didn’t switch allegiance easily.

Megan huffed a little and turned over. Her breathing soon evened out again. Mark had gone back to snoring softly. As her own blood finally cooled, Emily decided she might have acted rashly, tarring Camp with the same brush she reserved for Dave and his father.

She sat up and reached for her jeans. Pulling them on, she muffled a yawn. Oddly, the conversation with her kids had brought things into focus. If nothing else, she owed Camp an apology for acting so outraged.

* * *

C
AMP
WAS
IN
NO
MOOD
for idle chitchat. Maizie had other ideas. He tried to cut their conversation short, insisting he didn’t need or want help with the horses.

“Bah, two sets of hands are quicker than one. You look bushed. I hafta say you did a good deed today, sonny. I found out Jared knew Mark had swiped those signs. He stayed mum because of some warped code these young ’uns go by.”

“How can you fault loyalty? Truth is, I doubt Mark will pull that stunt again. I’m just glad I discovered it then, rather than farther afield.”

Maizie gave the horse Mark had ridden a last, brisk rub and a scoop of oats. “Mark’s the lucky duck. I’d probably have skinned the kid alive if I’d caught him. His mother needs to tune in before it’s too late.”

“Give Emily a break. She’s doing the best she can.”

“Uh-huh.” Maizie dug in her pocket for a chew, stopped and gave a wry shake of her head. “So are you reforming her, too?”

“Nothing of the kind,” Camp replied too quickly. “In the beginning, I felt like you. I know now that her in-laws spoil the kids rotten. I gather they’re some piece of work.” He paused. “Look, if you want to know any more about the Bentons, you’ll have to talk to Emily.”

“Fair enough. You hungry, boy? I could probably rustle up some grub.”

“Thanks, but Emily left soup warming. I may as well take her up on the offer. Also, I promised to bank her campfire. She and the kids already went to bed. Mark was exhausted—slept the last few miles.” Camp massaged the arm that’d held the boy as he eyed the long row of dark wagons. “Appears everybody made an early night of it. What’s our agenda for tomorrow? You said about three hours to Council Grove?”

“Yep. On the road by six sharp. We need to arrive in time for the town’s summer celebration. There’ll be a parade, tours, all that folderol. Guess folks are anxious to hit town for a spell. All except that Ms. Ames of yours.” Maizie scowled.

“Gina? I’m sure she’ll want to photograph the folderol, as you put it.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got her tail in a tizzy. Had her mind set on filming a patch of sunflowers. We got here too late. She’s in a snit. Asked if we could start later. I tried to explain if I adjusted the schedule for one, everybody would expect favors.”

“Gina strikes me as being a professional. The snit will be over by morning.”

“’Spect so. Well, sonny, I’m scrammin’ these old bones off to bed. You better eat quick and grab some shut-eye yourself.”

“I will. After I jot a few notes. I noticed someone collected my data sheets. Remind me to say thank-you tomorrow.”

“Your sister. I like that gal. She’s surprisingly cheerful for having to put up with that ditzy miss you stuck her with.”

“Ah, yes, Brittany.” Camp massaged the back of his neck. “I should feel guilty, but I’m banking on Sherry’s levelheadedness rubbing off.”

“Humph, if she doesn’t tear her hair out first. Only time will tell. Well, good night, boy. Don’t want your food gettin’ cold for my jawing.”

Camp gave the two saddle horses a last pat, then made a beeline for the only beacon left burning—
Emily’s still-glowing fire.

Entering the empty campsite, he crouched on his heels to stir the soup. The only sounds were the wind rustling through clumps of tallgrass and the occasional whicker of horses. Loneliness struck Camp without warning. He wavered between partaking of this solitary meal or chucking it in and going to bed.

In the midst of his indecision, the hairs at his nape stiffened. Sensing something or someone behind him, Camp straightened and whipped around, slopping hot soup on his jeans. “Who’s there?” His heart beat unsteadily. What would he do if it was Brittany?
Send her back to her wagon, that’s what!

Emily, not Brittany, separated herself from the coal-dark outline of the wagon.

She hadn’t meant to sneak up on him. However, once she’d glimpsed his broad back crouched over the grate, her heart began to pound again, and her feet took on a life of their own. Thoughts muddled, Emily had entertained the idea of going back to bed, of saving what she had to say till daylight. Now she’d shown herself, leaving her no choice but to follow through.

“It’s just me.” Her voice cracked.

“Emily?” Camp rose. The spoon continued to drip on his boots. “Did Mark wake up hungry?” Realizing he still held the spoon, he quickly stuck it back in the soup. “He’s in luck. I stopped to feed the horses and haven’t had time to finish this up.”

She gave a shrug, eyes on the bubbling pot as though it contained witches’ brew instead of harmless bean soup. “Mark’s sleeping like a log. So is Megan. I, uh, I came to apologize.”

He followed her gaze. “Apologize for the soup?” He sent her a puzzled smile. “If it’s scorched you can hardly blame yourself. We were late. Anyway, I’m not fussy.”

Sighing, she clasped her hands solidly in front of her. All the while her restless gaze traveled skyward, then swooped to lock on the ground near Camp’s feet. “I’m apologizing for my earlier outburst.” The last word sank into a whisper. She tried again. “I don’t know you well, but I’ve seen firsthand that you possess more integrity than Toby. More than Dave ever did. Forgive me, I shouldn’t speak badly of the dead.”

Her tone pricked his conscience. It was too polite. “Don’t give it another thought. I was out of line.” He glanced at the dark canopy overhead. “I can’t even blame my bad behavior on a full moon,” he joked.

But Emily found she couldn’t laugh. She’d said her piece; now it was time to leave. “I should—”

Camp judged she was about one second from bolting. “You’re cold,” he broke in. “Come, sit by the fire. You’re an answer to my wish, you know,” he said too quickly. “I hate eating alone.” He hooked his foot around one of the canvas stools she’d left grouped around the fire ring and offered it with a smile.

Emily relaxed a little. She didn’t rush to take the seat.

“Scout’s honor. It’s not good for a person to eat alone.”

“I don’t believe you were ever a Scout,” she snorted. “And I’ve never heard that company aids digestion.”

“Sure it does. Mine, anyway,” he said, grabbing another stool and dragging it close to the heat. He sat down and he calmly filled a bowl with soup. As he spooned up a mouthful, he presented Emily with a long face.

This time her sigh spelled resignation. “Stop that. You know I’m a sucker for cow eyes. Would you like crackers with your soup?” Stepping into the light, she bent easily and plucked a packet of unopened crackers from a metal canister. Gingerly she perched on the stool he’d prepared.

Camp hid a grin. He’d take victory any way he could achieve it. “I’ll never turn down food. Emily, this soup hits the spot. It’s thick, the way I like it.” He accepted a handful of crackers, but stopped speaking as their fingers brushed. He felt a sensation that reminded him—oddly enough—of the shock he’d once suffered when his electric sander shorted out. It traveled to his elbow and weakened his grip.

He and Emily both lunged for the fumbled crackers. Emily exuded the scent of coconut and almond that put his senses on alert. He jerked away, knowing he smelled of leather, horse and sweat.

Her stomach churning, Emily made a big production of closing the cracker packet and returning it to the covered tin.

Something was definitely happening here.
Camp fought an urge to stare at the pulse that had begun to throb in Emily’s neck. He bit into a cracker, instead. Once he’d devoured it, he went back to methodically eating his soup. In the sudden descent of silence, Camp was terribly afraid he’d begun to sound like a dry camel taking on water. But if he stopped...

Emily’s scent filled him. He found it almost impossible to concentrate on satisfying his hunger for food. Making a concerted effort to act at ease, Camp stretched his long legs toward the fire. “Tomorrow we roll into Council Grove,” he said inanely. He’d never been inane. Normally he was quite articulate.

“Tomorrow. Yes.” Emily bent and set the canister down before straightening and crossing her feet primly at the ankles. She didn’t know what to do with her hands and finally left them loose in her lap.
What was wrong with her?
Friends generally considered her a witty conversationalist. However, she wasn’t quite sure what had happened with that simple touch they’d shared. No. The real problem—she
was
sure.

Frowning, Camp ladled himself a second bowl of soup, although he barely remembered having tasted the first one. He wished she’d quit rubbing one ankle on the other that way. Shifting uncomfortably, he muttered in a gravelly voice, “Are the kids looking forward to the tours or to visiting the Last Chance Store?”

“No.”

After waiting several heartbeats with nothing more forthcoming, Camp set his bowl aside. In an all-out attempt to sweep the visions from his mind, he viciously rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Hey, help me out here, Emily. If our students gave one-syllable answers, we’d be all over them in a minute.”

The absurdity of two adults—professors—floundering for dialogue, worse than shy preteens, propelled a bubble of laughter past the lump in Emily’s throat. Leaning toward him, she clasped her hands between her knees. “I deserve to flunk. My only excuse is that I’ve been out of the singles scene a long time. I’m afraid I saw an accidental touch and a simple kiss as a prelude to something more. It’s my problem, not yours. That’s how Dave operated. It’s probably not how you act.”

Camp’s stomach fish-flopped. The glow from the fire picked up a dusting of freckles on Emily’s cheeks—a result of these last few days in the sun. What could he say? He felt guilty knowing she’d hit squarely on what was in his mind. What it did was make him face facts. In Emily’s case, he did operate differently. Everything she’d blurted out was true; this wasn’t his normal style. But his reaction to her wasn’t the way he normally reacted to a woman, either. He sure didn’t want to scare her off until they figured out what it was that spiced the air between them every time they got within shouting distance. At the moment she looked about half a step from taking flight. Again. Camp definitely didn’t want to mess things up.

He cleared his throat. “At our age, Emily, everyone carries a lot of baggage. Maybe we should just let the past be. Not worry about it?” He already knew she’d had a rotten husband—an experience that’d left her wary of men. So what? According to Greta, a man who hung out in museums was a zero in the relationship department, too. So why not keep things superficial? “Do you see any reason we can’t be friends?” He carefully steepled his fingers.