The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (19 page)

Heart speeding, Emily murmured agreement as she stretched up to capture his lips.

A series of small pops culminating in a loud explosion shattered their treasured interlude.

“What the—” Camp released her abruptly as a horse screamed in fright and lanterns winked on in nearly every wagon.

“Firecrackers,” Emily gasped hoarsely as another series of loud pops sent two of the mighty Belgians plunging against their flimsy ropes.

“Those foolish boys,” Camp said. “I’ll wring their necks.”

“If I don’t beat you to it.” Emily ran toward the tent Jared and Mark had erected near Gina’s wagon. Seconds later she backed from the enclosure shaking her head. “They’re both still sleeping like the dead.”

“Then who?” Camp frowned.

The who really didn’t matter. Robert Boone hollered for Camp to help corral two horses that’d managed to break loose. The chore ended up taking Robert, Terrill, Camp, Emily and Sherry all night.

Near dawn, the crisis was controlled. The gritty-eyed men and women dragged back into the wagons, only to have Maizie greet them with a troubling announcement.

“I’ve called a meeting,” she said sternly. “It’s time we talked straight about responsibility to one another. And we need to take a hard look at our route.”

CHAPTER TEN

The wagon master’s word was law on the trail. He ruled with an iron fist. His way or they parted ways.

—From one of Camp’s reference books.
(All his sources assumed that, without
exception, wagon-train bosses were men.)

M
AIZIE
SAT
ATOP
her wagon seat and gathered everyone around. “Serious mischief afoot last night. We’re lucky a horse didn’t break a leg.”

“We know who done the deed,” shouted Philly. “Them brats. Make their parents pay. Teach ’em the consequences of having the little trouble-makers.”

Camp was supremely glad to hear that Philly and his wife hadn’t spawned any more of their kind.

Mark, his face pale in the cloudy light, stepped closer to his mother. “Me ’n’ Jared didn’t set off any firecrackers,” he insisted, even though his voice quavered.

Jared concurred in a stronger voice.

Emily brushed at the cowlick that set Mark’s hair awry. “He’s telling the truth. Camp and I were up having...tea,” she said, stumbling over the partial lie. “The boys slept through the whole thing.”

“Ha!” yelled Philly. “I’ll bet they were playing possum.”

“My son doesn’t lie.” Robert Boone loomed over the other man, his hamlike fists knotted. “It could have been kids from town.”

Maizie stuck a thumb and little finger between her teeth, emitting a deafening whistle. “Those who did it know.” Her gaze drifted to where Brittany and Megan huddled against Sherry’s wagon, faces pinched.

Camp saw the girls turn several shades grayer. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of them sooner. Setting off fireworks at that strategic time was obviously another attempt to drive Emily and him apart.

All heads turned to follow Maizie’s faintly accusing stare. It wasn’t hard to tell from the girls’ guilty expressions who the culprits were.

“In my day girls played piano and crocheted things for church bazaars. We didn’t run the streets causing trouble,” lectured Philly’s wife. “Those two should be punished.”

“Make them groom the horses for a week, and scrub a few pots and pans,” shouted her husband. “It’d kill ’em to get their hands dirty.”

Camp listened to the undercurrent of remarks, expecting Maizie to call a halt. When she didn’t, he did. “Setting firecrackers isn’t a capital offense, folks. I’m sure they’re sorry.” Although from their mutinous expressions, Camp wasn’t sure at all.

“Nolan’s right.” Sherry insinuated herself between Harv Shaw and the girls. “We’ve risen above making outcasts wear scarlet letters. It’s over. Let’s get on with business. Maizie, you said you wanted to discuss our route. Is there some problem?”

“Before we do that,” Emily said, holding up a hand. “If my daughter set off those cherry bombs, she
will
suffer the consequences.”

Maizie crushed the rumble of voices. “Then that’s that.” She jumped down and unfolded a large map, which she pinned to the wagon canvas. “The long-term weather forecast is for a series of storms rolling up across Texas from the gulf. They may peter out. They may not. It’s raining buckets in the Oklahoma panhandle right now—heading our way. Rain here means snow over Raton Pass. Do we take the longer northern route, or the shorter Cimarron cutoff?”

“The Cimarron route has more creek and river crossings,” Robert said. “If they’re swollen that’ll slow us down. We could spend days waiting for the rivers to drop.”

Maizie broke off a piece of tobacco and started to put it in her mouth. Then, catching Camp’s eye, she tossed it into the fire, unwrapping two sticks of gum, instead. “In bad weather neither route’s a clambake. Personally, I’d rather dry a wagon out than lose it over the edge of a thousand-foot precipice because the tires slipped on ice.”

“Speaking as someone responsible for women, kids and four wagons,” Camp said, his voice quiet but firm, “I vote for the cutoff. We know we can make it through ankle-deep mud.”

Sherry strutted into the circle. “You think we women are afraid of a little snow, Nolan? If the pioneers scaled the pass, so will we.”

Camp refused to be provoked. “From accounts I’ve read, both routes were used equally by the pioneers. Wagon trains suffered loss from outlaw and Indian attacks on the cutoff. But more people died in treacherous snowstorms on the mountain trail.”

“Will taking the cutoff be cheating?” Emily calmly injected a note of reason. “I’m talking about your article now.” She took a deep breath. “What bearing will changing routes have on your work?”

Brittany shoved her way through the huddle. “Don’t listen to her. She’s looking for more time to make out with him.” She jerked a thumb at Camp. “Ask him what those two were really doing when those firecrackers went off.”

“Why can’t we just go home?” Megan delivered dirty looks at Camp and Emily.

Mark Benton’s eyes popped. “You mean Mom and Camp—hey, rule.” The boy gazed adoringly up at Camp. “All right!”

Sherry gaped as if Emily had suddenly turned into a two-headed snake.

Emily’s cheeks reddened. Neither she nor Camp confirmed or denied anything.

Maizie snapped her fingers to gain attention. “Pioneers faced floods and cyclones along the Cimarron. If you’re dying for adventure, there’ll be plenty. Either way, this train is going on to Santa Fe.”

“And we don’t have all day to decide.” Robert stroked his unshaven jaw. “Guess I’ll stand with Camp on this one.”

Doris and Vi quickly sided with the two men.

“We were promised a trip over Raton Pass, and I want what I paid for,” Philly insisted.

Terrill Boone, who had rounded up the lame horses to drive home, announced that he was leaving. “Why not review the weather at Caches? That’s where the trail splits,” he said for the benefit of those who didn’t know.

“I need a consensus now,” Maizie said stubbornly. “I don’t want to wait until we hit bad weather, then have to make snap decisions. Take a look at the sky off to the south. We’re in for a squall.” As if to prove her point, a black cloud obliterated the horizon and began to spit rain. “Well, what’ll it be?” she pressed.

Gina hobbled forward on her crutches. “I’d hate for anyone to have to haul my bag of bones up nearly eight thousand feet over Raton Pass.”

Philly’s wife urged him to reconsider voting for the shorter route.

“You’re all a bunch of wimps,” he snarled. “I’m calling the Better Business Bureau the minute me and the missus get home. None of our friends’ll fork out dough for this rip-off trip,” he said, climbing into his wagon.

“News to me that he has friends,” Emily muttered.

Camp cornered Maizie. “If we decide on the cutoff, will that allow us some extra time here? Some of us need sleep. And I’d planned on hitting the laundromat this morning. This is my last pair of jeans.” He pointed to the mud-caked denims he wore.

“Depends on what the rain does to the river. I’ll give you as much time as I can. Long as you agree to take your clothes wet and leave without question if I say so.” She let her gaze touch each individual. “That means no aimless wandering around town. I don’t want to chase in ten directions if the Arkansas starts to rise.”

“I missed doing laundry in Fort Larned,” Sherry said. “But I’m beat, too.”

“Throw your clothes in with mine. I’ll do them,” Camp offered.

“Not on your life, big bro. You’d love a tidbit like that for your paper.”

“Must every issue be confrontational, Sherilyn? What sense is there in both of us sitting around a laundromat?” Seconds slipped by and she didn’t answer. “In that case—” he grinned “—how much’ll you charge to do my washing?”

“You don’t have enough money. Not even if you throw in your trust fund from Gramps. I believe in total equality between the sexes. When I get married—I’ll do my laundry and my husband will do his. Put that in your old report.”

“All I can say is get it in writing, Sherry,
before
the ceremony,” Gina shouted.

Camp reached into his wagon and hauled out two duffel bags of dirty clothes. “You forget how well I know you, sis. I have never in my life dry-cleaned my jeans, while you—”

“I do that so they’ll stay new longer. So there.”

“Enough.” Maizie held up her hand. “Quit bickering, you two. Time’s wasting.”

Camp backed off. Later, at the laundromat, he filled a third of the washing machines and sat by himself, while Sherry and Gina talked quietly in a corner. Between cycles, he daydreamed about Emily. Why were so many people conspiring against them? Megan probably felt threatened. With one in three marriages splitting up, kids discussed the trauma of bad experiences with their peers. And around the college, he’d heard all manner of stories dealing with wicked stepmothers and equally wicked stepfathers.

Sherry’s attitude puzzled him. They’d had a stable home, where affection was openly shown. Their parents were still deeply in love. He’d entered graduate school the year Sherry started high school. Camp recalled a flock of boys hanging out at the house on weekends. These days, of course, they moved in different circles at work. To his knowledge there hadn’t been anyone serious in Sherry’s life during the last few years—
although he tried not to listen to scuttlebutt on who dated whom. The rumor mill in that place could be vicious, he’d had a taste of it after Greta threw him over.

“We’re leaving,” Sherry trilled near his ear, causing Camp’s eyelids to fly open. “I fed your dryers with my leftover dimes. It’ll cost you a king’s ransom to dry eight pairs of jeans. Don’t fall asleep and let them lock you in here. On the door it says they close at noon on Sundays.”

He stifled a yawn. “If I don’t put in an appearance in the next hour—or as long as it takes to use another roll of dimes—will you send the search party?”

“I’ll send Maizie. Brr,” Sherry said as she maneuvered Gina’s wheelchair out the door. “That rain’s flat-out comin’ down.”

Forty minutes later, Camp’s clothes were dried, folded and stuffed back into the two duffel bags. He was soaked again by the time he’d gone two blocks—as were his canvas bags and most of their contents. Compared with the previous day, the streets of Dodge were near deserted.

Not so the wagon circle. It was a beehive. “What’s up?” Camp cornered Jared, who led two of the spirited new Percherons toward the wagons.

“Maizie’s got it in her head to ford the river ASAP. Some old geezer she talked to said the level’s risen six inches in two hours.”

“Well, there goes my nap,” Camp grumbled.

“You’re right about that. Don’t even talk to my dad. Gram woke him up and he’s growling like a bear who got rousted out of hibernation.” A horse snorted and danced around Jared, tangling the lead line.

“The Perches are going to be hard to control,” Camp noted. “Why don’t you split them up? Maybe the Clydesdales will calm them down.”

Jared untangled the ropes. “I was going to give ’em as they are to ol’ Philadelphia.” A twinkle shone in the youth’s normally placid eyes.

Camp looked away, over Jared’s head. “Can’t fault your reasoning. But who has to make sure everyone crosses the river safely?”

“Hadn’t thought of that. S’pose I’d better give one to you and the other to Dad then.”

As he nodded absently, Camp’s gaze lit on Emily. Coatless, hatless, she flew across the field toward him. His lungs cinched so tight it hurt to breathe. He wished Jared would take those horses and go. The kind of welcome he had in mind could use a little privacy.

Emily skidded to a stop in front of him. It wasn’t joy Camp saw in her eyes, but dark waves of worry.

“Camp, I’m so glad you’re back! Maizie says we have to leave, but I can’t find Megan anywhere.”

Camp dropped his duffels and swept a glance over the wagons, as if expecting Megan to materialize out of thin air. He took a mental count of the saddle horses and felt better noting they were all there.

“You’ve checked everywhere?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands nervously. “I thought maybe you saw her walking into town. According to Brittany, Megan said she wasn’t going one step farther.”

“That’s hotheadedness talking. Who does she know in Dodge? Nobody, right?”

Emily shrugged, looking miserable.

“You’re soaked to the skin,” Camp said softly. “Find a jacket. I’ll toss my bags in the wagon and meet you back at Maizie’s. We’ll have her call a meeting. People may know more than they’ve let on.”

“You mean Brittany?”

“Or someone who might not have realized that she was doing anything out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, I hope so. It’s such a helpless, awful feeling.”

Minutes later, a sour-faced Maizie clanged the bell, calling everyone together.

“That river’s rising higher by the second. If anyone’s seen that girl today, spit out when and where. If we don’t cross the Arkansas within the hour, we don’t cross. So if you’re covering for her out of loyalty—don’t.” The wagon mistress pinned Brittany, then Mark and Jared, with a steely look.

“I told you what I know,” exclaimed Brittany. “She said she wasn’t pushing wagons through the mud ever again.”

Mark, eyes big in his face, simply shook his head.

Philly hitched his belt over a protruding belly. “The brat probably stowed away on Terrill’s wagon. Everybody knew he was heading home.”

Emily ran up just then. “Megan didn’t take any clothes that I could tell. But she rooted through my purse and has my phone card. And she has Mona’s credit card number.”

“Credit card info, but no clothes. Hmm. Maybe she figures on taking a bus or train,” Camp said, sliding a thumb over the itchy stubble on his jaw. “Maizie, you and Robert start the wagons rolling. Emily and I’ll swing by the depots. If we don’t turn something up, I’ll let Jared handle my wagon and I’ll ride after Terrill.”

“Camp, you’re dead on your feet,” Emily protested. “She’s my daughter. If anyone rides after her it should be me.”

Camp shook his head. “We’ll talk about that if the need arises.”

Maizie added more gum to the wad already in her mouth. “I don’t like splitting a tour group. ’Specially not with a flooding river between. I hope you find the sassy little miss. And when you do, I’m gonna give her what for.”

Emily’s sigh could be heard over the clattering rain. She and Camp gratefully donned slickers that Sherry produced.