The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (2 page)

Before Sherry had finished talking, Emily was shaking her head. “There’s more to this, right? Something you’re not saying. Oh, no—I hope you’re not planning to set me up with your brother. You’re one of the few people who know what a nightmare my marriage was. I’m sure your brother’s a nice man, Sherry, but I’m not interested. I don’t care if I’m thirty-four and life is passing me by, I’m just not interested. Okay?”

“Boy, have I bungled this. I’m not setting you up, Em. I love Nolan, but I wouldn’t wish anyone that chauvinistic on a friend. I’m doing this because...well, you could call it gender rivalry.”

“Do I ever understand that. Megan just turned fourteen. She’s constantly lording it over Mark, who’s only twelve and still pretty much of a kid. To tell you the truth, Sherry, a wagon train in the middle of nowhere sounds perfect. A whole summer without grandparents, shopping malls and TV.” She fingered the brochure. “Will your brother want children in his study? What makes you feel he’d choose me? Oh, I can’t go, Sherry, I really need to teach summer school and earn some money.” Jumping up, she began to arrange cookies Sherry had brought on a plate. “I heard through the grapevine that Dave’s parents want me to default on my loan. It’ll give them leverage to petition for custody of the kids. You wouldn’t believe how many times they bailed Dave out of bad land deals. On the last scheme, he lost all the front money for building a casino.”

Sherry got up to hug Emily. “Those creeps. Hey, I forgot to mention that Nolan’s trip comes with a small stipend. You need a break, Em. Fill out this application exactly the way I’ve penciled it in. Then mail it. Just don’t tell Nolan we’re friends.” With a final bracing hug, Sherry left her to chew on the idea.

* * *

C
HRISTMAS
WAS
a dim memory in Camp’s mind and spring break loomed on the horizon before he got around to selecting candidates for his trip. Today, in spite of a drizzling rain, he was set to interview prospects. Not that he had many.

He refilled his coffee cup, sharpened several pencils and returned to his desk to frown at the three applications he’d received. Three! After weeks of advertising, only these few women appeared willing to spend their summer trekking the Santa Fe Trail.

He hadn’t expected a flood of would-be adventurers, but considering that he was providing a virtually free summer vacation and paying his participants for their time, Camp had imagined he’d have more than three.

He’d already leased four Conestogas through Mrs. Boone’s Frontier Adventures outfit. They weren’t cheap, so it was fortunate that he’d shamed Sherry into going or he’d be paying for an unused reservation as well as an extra wagon. Yesterday, she said she’d talked her roommate, Yvette Miller, into going, too.

Camp smiled. Yvette had grown up next door. He knew for a fact that she traveled with a hundred pounds of luggage—half of it cosmetics. Maybe she’d have even more now that she repped for an exclusive line of women’s apparel. At this rate, his paper would write itself.

He sipped coffee and gazed out the window at the gloomy sky. Assuming the applicants were all suitable, that still didn’t allow room for last-
minute cancellations or unexpected illnesses. The way it stood, Sherry’s wagon would have two drivers. Each of the other women would be forced to drive the entire route alone.

“So?” he said out loud. “Sherry claims they’re as strong as pioneer women.”

Unfortunately, Camp knew another of the applicants. Brittany Powers. A starry-eyed college sophomore better suited to modeling than anything athletic. She’d been in two of his history classes. Camp suspected she had a crush on him. Such things happened on occasion. He was very careful never to give these young women any encouragement, and most of them soon found boyfriends their own age. Brittany hadn’t as yet.

But perhaps he was reading too much into Brittany’s reasons for going on this trip. Maybe she really
was
interested in American history. Well, the list of questions Sherry had helped him design for the interviews should reveal how committed each of the women was. He’d conduct Brittany’s meeting with his office door open. That ought to give her the right message. Before telling the secretary to send her in, Camp donned horn-rimmed glasses that were like window glass. He figured they gave him a nerdy look.

“Hi, Mr. Campbell.” Brittany sashayed past the department secretary, tossing a tangle of blond curls over one shoulder. Camp simply pointed at the chair she was to occupy.

“I’m so excited about this trip,” she gushed. “Summers are positively boring.” Crack went her gum.

Camp shuddered as he sat behind his big oak desk. He hated gum-chewers who felt five sticks were a minimum. “You don’t have a regular summer job you’re turning down then?” he asked politely.

She scooted forward and batted heavily mascared lashes. “Are you kidding? That’s why this is so perfect. Otherwise, I’d just veg out at the house.”

“Really?” Nolan picked up her application, along with a sharp pencil whose lead he promptly broke. Grabbing another, he eased back in his chair. “What’s your main goal after you graduate, Brittany?”

She looked at him coyly. “To marry somebody rich.”

“Ah.” Camp relaxed. Everyone knew professors weren’t rich. Briskly, he worked through the remaining questions. Brittany’s answers weren’t as clear as Camp would have liked, but given her age and lack of focus, they were what he’d expect.

It was the way she hung on his every word and followed his slightest move with cosmetically enhanced baby blues that made him nervous. And yet they’d be well chaperoned when he collected the data sheets once a day. That fact let him continue. “It’s not a vacation, Brittany. I’ll expect you to keep an accurate daily log, which I’ll incorporate in my academic paper.”

“Kind of like a diary, you mean? Oh, cool. My best friend says my diaries could be published as bestsellers.”

Camp’s doubts concerning Brittany’s motivation tripled. But in the next breath, she made an issue of saying her parents wanted her to do this, so he handed her a release form to sign. Not that she needed parental consent—after all, she was nineteen. It just made him feel better knowing she’d discussed it with her folks.

Assuming his best teacher-to-student smile, Camp ushered her back to the door. “I’ll be handing out more detailed information later,” he said. “Tomorrow, in class, I’ll lend you a book on the history of the Santa Fe Trail. The trip could take ten weeks. It’s no picnic. I want you to be prepared.”

“Oh, I will be, you’ll see.” She gazed at him adoringly. “Out there we’ll be more like equals—right? I guess everyone will call you ‘Nolan’?”

Camp cleared his throat. He was infinitely relieved at the appearance of the department secretary, heralding Gina Ames’s arrival.

A suntanned, robust woman with blunt-cut brown hair, Gina steered the conversation to a professional level the moment she sat down. “I’m a freelance photographer. Two national publications have expressed interest in a photo-journey like this.”

Had a plum fallen into his lap? “Gina...may I call you that?” Ignoring the thinning of her lips, he said, “Let your work support my scholastic paper, instead. Are you aware that the Santa Fe Trail was the first highway of commerce? A vital link to our past. And it was the last trail saved under the National Historic Trail Preservation Act.”

“Spare me the dissertation, Campbell. I was married to a stuffy historian who considered it crass to sell my photographs to tabloids. He and I parted ways.”

Removing his glasses, Camp coughed. “Ri-ght. Outside of funding, the extent of my involvement with the trek is to assure simulated nineteenth-century living conditions for modern women traveling a pioneer trail. Our wagon master, or in this case...mistress, is Maizie Boone. Says she’s a direct descendant of Daniel. We haven’t met, but on the phone she sounds like quite a character. Claims she birthed eight kids at home and is a grandmother of twenty. Most of them work in the business. There may be a book in all this.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, envisioning Gina’s photos interspersed with pictures from archives.

“Poor woman. It’s a wonder she’s not dead. I have to say I’m glad to hear you’re not gathering a harem. I found it curious that you only wanted women. Okay, I’ll go—provided I have a wagon to myself. I don’t like strangers handling my equipment.”

Camp was quick to shove a release form across the table for Gina to sign. Odd woman, but he needed her expertise with a camera. Somewhere out there, he thought, a deserving fellow historian was no doubt kicking up his heels. “I’ll be in touch,” Camp promised, trailing her to the door.

What a diverse group this was shaping up to be. Camp rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to meet Emily Benton. The name Benton came from pioneer stock. Last week he’d read an article on a
Jessie
Benton’s travels. Daughter of a once-prominent senator, Jessie had married a man known for his explorations along the Oregon Trail. According to Jessie’s letters, she loved trail life. She dispatched regular chores easily, and at night, by firelight, she pieced intricate quilts by hand.

Camp had visited the historical society in the hope of finding her journal. As it turned out, they had little trail history from a woman’s perspective. He’d never imagined that he might have difficulty finding data to compare or that Sherry was right—history books all seemed to be written by men.

“Hey, Camp,” called the department secretary. “There’s nobody else waiting.”

He glanced at his watch. “Mrs. Benton’s scheduled at four.”

“Well, she’s not here. I’ll buzz your intercom when she shows.”

Camp returned to his desk. He had papers to grade. But the minute he hauled them out, she’d probably walk in. Then again—he checked the wall clock—she was already fifteen minutes late. If this was indicative of Emily Benton’s punctuality, she might not be a good candidate. Maizie Boone had made it clear that she didn’t mollycoddle anyone. Camp knew
he
wouldn’t want to cross the gruff wagon mistress.

Ten more minutes of fidgeting and he was ready to write Emily off, pioneer name or not. He pulled out a folder of tests and was busily grading when a disheveled redhead in a rumpled blue suit stumbled through his doorway. She promptly dropped a bulging briefcase of the type mature students preferred over backpacks. Papers and books spewed from the doorway clear to Camp’s desk.

Mumbling to herself, she scrambled awkwardly on hands and knees to collect the mess.

Startled as he was by the intrusion, Camp jumped up to lend a hand. From the array of textbooks, he judged her to be a student. And not a very good one if the low grades on the papers he scooped up were any indication.

He frowned. She must be from his overcrowded freshman lecture course, An Introduction to American History. Surely he’d remember her otherwise. But he’d left strict instructions at the desk that he wasn’t available to students this afternoon. Maybe she’d be more organized next visit.

“Here,” he said gruffly, stuffing papers neatly into her satchel. “I can’t meet with you today. See Bess at the outer desk. Tell her to make you an appointment tomorrow during my free period. I hope rescheduling isn’t terribly inconvenient.”

“Well, it is.” The smoky voice climbed. “I raced home from work, took my son to baseball practice and waited to make sure it wasn’t canceled due to rain. It wasn’t, so I drove my daughter across town to a friend’s house. Freeway traffic was impossible.” She shifted the bulky case. “If I’m keeping you from something more important, we can make this brief.” She scraped two stubborn locks of fiery hair from a pale forehead, revealing angry, wisteria-blue eyes.

From his superior height, Nolan Campbell scowled at her, prepared to deliver a rebuke that would let her know in no uncertain terms how unwise it was to talk back to one’s professor. The rebuke stuck in his throat, squeezing the breath from his lungs as he was sucked, spellbound, into those amazing blue eyes. Twice Camp opened and closed his mouth, feeling as if he were going down for the third time. Unable to lay claim to a logical reason for clammy hands and suddenly incoherent speech, he floundered back to his desk and flopped into his chair with all the grace of a beached whale.

Something must be terribly wrong. He had to get rid of this student quick. “Look, I’ll give you a few seconds. What is it you need?” he croaked, sneaking two fingers to his wrist to take his pulse. It bounced erratically. Oh, no! Maybe it was his heart. He was at that age. And he didn’t eat right. If he didn’t die, he’d lay off cheeseburgers.

Camp blinked at the woman who’d followed him to his desk. Sweat popped out on his brow. Did she have sense enough to dial 911 if he fell off his chair? Not according to the scores written in red on the papers he’d picked up.

“What do
I
need?” Eyes narrowed, she thumped her bag and purse to the floor and perched gingerly on the edge of the chair that faced his desk. “Did I land in the right room? Are you Nolan Campbell?”

He nodded, keeping his gaze on the tiny frown lines that crinkled above her perfect nose rather than risk a second collision with those killer eyes.

“Then
we
have an appointment, Mr. Campbell. At least, I doubt there’s more than one Nolan Campbell at this college who plans to take a wagon train over the Santa Fe Trail.” Dimpling prettily, she said, “I’m Emily Benton, by the way. And I believe that’s my application you’re turning into confetti.”

Shocked to see his fingers shredding her application, Camp dropped the paper as if it were a hot potato. Things went from bad to worse as his gaze shifted to a spiky heel dangling from a shapely foot. He snapped his eyes to her face again.

Her smile broadened, and Camp felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. This time he had a clearer grasp of his symptoms. It’d been so long since he’d experienced attraction that he’d failed to recognize the signs.

Emily Benton was nothing like he’d imagined. In addition to huge, captivating eyes, she had an air of fragility that made her totally unsuitable for his project. Why, the woman didn’t have enough meat on her bones to attract a buzzard.