The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (26 page)

“Good plan.” Gina poked her head out of the wagon and waggled an arm. “Hey, Camp, notice anything different? I got rid of the splint last night,” she said. “Wish I could lose this leg cast, too. I’m tempted to cut it off myself, but the doctor said not until we reach Santa Fe. It’s sure a drag.”

Camp’s leg wasn’t in a cast, but he could understand her feelings. He had zero tolerance for infirmities himself. He turned to a sneering Lyle and said, “She’s one tough lady. If you believe women today have gone soft, let me tell you about Gina Ames.” He described her injuries and her determination to stay with the train. He broke off as two members of the Park Service popped out of the visitor center to greet them.

If Camp’s bad leg was a little shaky when he climbed down, he blamed it on the washboard clay they’d crossed.

“Take the tour,” Camp told Lyle and Jeff. “Rusty picked up a stone.” He patted the huge horse. Really, though, Camp wanted to shake them and follow Emily at his leisure. Boy, he had it bad. In effect, she’d told him to buzz off, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stay away. He loved how her eyes lit with an inner fire each time she experienced something new. He’d never met a woman who derived so much pleasure from simple things. A sunrise. A sunset. Wildflowers.

Perhaps some of her ebullience had even begun to rub off on Megan and Brittany. Megan’s face was wreathed in smiles as she skipped along the cobblestone path past the crumbling officers’ quarters. And Brittany seemed to be listening intently to what the ranger had to say rather than flirting outrageously with the young man.

The adobe fort was mostly in ruins. The sun beat down mercilessly. Camp found his leg buckling far too often. By the time the rest of the group turned the corner near the military guardhouse, they were far enough ahead that he decided no one would miss him if he returned to the visitors’ center. According to the guide, the center boasted a bookstore and a gift shop.

Inside, his eyes adjusted slowly to the artificial light. He sat on the floor and leafed through several books. After choosing two, he hobbled into the gift shop, where he bought small magnets of local stone painted with Conestogas for all the women—including Philly’s wife. She deserved a solid-gold Cadillac for putting up with Harv. Anyway, he’d planned to give some commemorative trinket to everyone before they parted. Too bad there weren’t many items available for men. As he debated between pencils stamped with the Santa Fe Trail Association logo and fake leather coin purses, the clerk called him aside.

“We just got these in, sir.”

Camp studied the key chain she held out for his inspection. Around a Conestoga wagon bow were the words
I followed the Santa Fe Trail.
“These are perfect.” He told her how many he needed. “And could I ask a big favor? Would you hide the remaining magnets and wait until we’re gone to shelve these key chains?”

“No problem.” She bagged his purchases and accepted his credit card. They chatted about the secret gifts even as the first wave of the tour group walked in. Emily and Sherry, followed by Megan and Brittany.

Camp and the clerk stopped in midsentence. He realized how guilty they must look. And for such a benign reason, too.

Sherry waltzed up. “Don’t be fooled by his pretty face,” she told the clerk. “My brother will twist your words to suit his purpose.” Winking at Emily, Sherry explained the mission they were on to the startled clerk.

Camp wagged the two history books he’d bought. “With subjects like you, sis, why stop at a paper when I can fill a book? Wait till you see your role.”

“You’re kidding?” She pulled back. “You’re not. Nolan, history texts flat-out lied about women’s roles. I’m calling Yvette to have her meet us in Santa Fe with a reporter from the Women’s Hub so we’ll get some positive press of our own. Do you have a pay phone?” she demanded of the clerk.

Let Sherry think the worst of him, Camp mused. Suddenly, though, it seemed important that Emily know his work would be an honest account of the trip. But apparently Emily and Megan had also skipped out. He did notice Lyle standing at the end of the counter. Camp muttered angrily to himself.

“You’d better muzzle these women, Camp. By the time we roll into Santa Fe, that Yvette will have undermined you so much, you’ll probably even be blamed for the tornado.”

“Lyle—” Camp grabbed for the corner of a card rack to keep from falling as an unexpected pain knifed down his leg. “Can’t you get it through your head that I’m writing a true comparison-and-contrast, not an exposé? I’ll admit that at the time I got roped into this deal I had some reservations about the women holding up. Now, the main thing I’ve learned is that when the going gets tough, so do the women.”

Lyle snorted.

“Don’t take my word,” said Camp. “See for yourself on the long haul over Glorieta Pass. I’d advise you to sleep well tonight if you don’t want the ladies showing you up.” Sweeping Lyle aside, Camp limped out the front door.

Concealed behind a row of books, Emily heard everything that was said. Her heart tripped and stumbled in her chest. Oh, why was Sherry never around when Camp displayed the fine traits Emily had come to respect? Well, Sherry might not have been, but Megan and Brittany had returned in time to hear the men’s exchange. Emily thought they’d been suitably impressed. She wouldn’t pressure Megan just now to revise her opinion of Camp—but soon. Before they parted in Santa Fe. Emily intended to tell Camp that she would see him after they returned home.

Camp begged off joining the others for supper. Once again he missed how closely Emily monitored his every move. In Robert’s wagon, Camp rebandaged his leg. It annoyed him that there was no noticeable improvement.

“Maizie, how did Camp seem tonight?” Emily asked out of earshot of the others.

“Fine, I guess.” She unwrapped a new pack of gum. “Quiet, maybe. We didn’t talk. But then, I’m torqued at him for givin’ that loudmouth from Philadelphia an outlet for his complaints. Why do you ask? Is something wrong with the boy?”

Emily shoved leftover biscuits into a plastic bag. “I’m probably making a mountain out of an anthill. We had words a few days ago. He may be avoiding me.”

“More’n likely he ate something that didn’t agree. A steady diet of camp cookin’ll do that. Or maybe he’s plain tuckered. Heat’ll do
that.
”

“Um. Probably that’s it.” Emily struggled to contain a yawn. “Mercy. Hiking around the fort today wore me out. Believe I’ll turn in, too.”

“Do that. Next couple days are gonna be monotonous. You’ll see why some folks went crazy trekking this trail. No hills, no trees, no water until we make the bend and start the climb over the pass at San Miguel.”

Emily wrinkled her nose. “That ought to test our grit.”

“Test more’n that. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t strangle Philly.”

“Or if Sherry doesn’t throttle Lyle Roberts. I thought she was going to dump bean soup over his pointed head tonight.”

“Yeah,” Maizie chuckled. “And every woman here’d be cheering her on. Good night, girl. Can’t wait to see what develops tomorrow.”

* * *

N
OTHING
DEVELOPED
. Except the day was long and monotonous. First, Sherry’s wagon broke an axle. It took Maizie, Sherry and Emily three hours to fix it; Sherry had refused help from the men. Then Philly’s lead horse stepped in a gopher hole and pulled a tendon. Maizie raked him over the coals for his carelessness. He cried foul, claiming she’d led him across that particular piece of ground on purpose.

Camp was awfully glad when Robert insinuated himself between those two. Today, Camp’s head felt the size of a barn door, and he was sweating like a bay steer. Not surprising. The sun hung in the sky—a red ball of fire. Emily slathered sunscreen on herself and the kids so many times, they all resembled greased pigs.

Few words passed between the travelers after Maizie stopped for the night. Not even mosquito netting deterred the bugs that descended on them. The flies were horrible. Camp burned his dirty bandage to keep the flies off it. It was such a disgusting process that he decided to leave his wound unbound.

* * *

A
BOMINABLE
WAS
A
TERM
Camp jotted in his journal numerous times over the next two days. No one in the group escaped visible scars—welts dealt them by repeated strafing missions of flying insects. The only good that resulted was that everyone expended so much energy outwitting the bugs, they had no stamina for backbiting. For once Philly’s lip was zipped, as was Lyle’s.

On the third day out, the ragtag party reached San Miguel. There, at least, was something of interest to break the tedium of the prairie.

“Whoee! Is that a mirage?” shouted Gina, pointing to the silhouette of an old adobe church that broke the flat, continuous skyline.

“I’ll give you half an hour to take pictures,” Maizie shouted. “By two o’clock I plan to be well into Glorieta Pass.”

The women tumbled out of their wagons, laughing and cavorting like kids who’d escaped a school bus after riding three hours to a field trip.

The men, normally more reticent, climbed down and ran through the old plaza and down a slope to where the Pecos River was little more than a muddy ribbon. All except Camp. His leg still oozed in spite of the antibiotic cream. Thank goodness there were no red streaks that would indicate blood poisoning, but neither was it healing.

On her way back from the river, Emily realized he still sat on his wagon seat in the shade of a gutted adobe house. Screening her eyes with a sunburned arm, she assessed his condition. “Camp, are you sick? Have Jared spell you.”

Camp blinked at the soft outline of the face he loved. Heat devils glistened and quivered around Emily’s slender body, splintering his concentration. “I’m fine.”

She put her hands on her hips. “If this show of machismo is for the sake of your book, it’s plain asinine. I’m calling Jared now. So you climb into the back of that wagon. Go on.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I must sound like your mother.”

He didn’t laugh with her. Instead, he tossed her the reins with a sigh and climbed into the wagon box.

Sherry ran up, dashing water from her dripping wet hair. “I never thought I’d soak my head in filthy water. Frankly, it was better than chocolate.” Not receiving the expected response from her friend, Sherry sobered. “What’s wrong? Why are you holding Nolan’s team?”

“He’s not feeling well. Will you go ask Jared if he’ll drive?”

Sherry frowned. “I don’t remember Nolan ever being sick a day in his life. But...he spent hours in those last two rivers, ferrying everyone safely across. Who knows what awful germs lurked there. Look at me. I’ll probably die of some amoebic invasion.” She spiked her muddy hair. “Okay, I’ll hunt up Jared before I wash. Nolan will be all right?” It came out in the form of a question.

“Yes. And hurry with Jared. I hear Maizie giving her rebel yell to move out.” Emily worried her bottom lip. Camp had caved in too easily. Surely he’d say if something serious was wrong, wouldn’t he?

Maizie chafed as the drivers dawdled. But at last the column stretched out for miles across a fallow, arid field. She’d instructed them to leave plenty of room between wagons for the tough pull up Glorieta Pass—where, because of drop-offs on both sides, they had to parallel the highway. In many places on the long upgrade, the drivers found it difficult to stay on the extrawide shoulder. Passing cars honked, making the big horses jittery and hard to handle.

At three o’clock, when they were midway up the steepest slope, automobile traffic going both ways ceased to exist. The drivers began to relax.

All at once a boom shook the ground. Even those lucky enough to be driving teddy-bear Clydesdales fought to keep them from bolting. The earsplitting rumble had barely died away when two bigger booms thundered in succession. The last explosion catapulted a bleary-eyed Camp from his bed.

“What happened?” he bellowed, scrambling to sit beside Jared.

“Dunno.” Jared set the wagon brake and took a firmer grip on the reins. “Yonder comes a couple dudes in hard hats. Looks like they’re talkin’ to Maizie.”

Word eventually filtered down to the end of the line. The pass was supposed to be closed for the next twenty-four hours so that workers could blast a train tunnel through one of the canyons. The signal crew wasn’t happy that members of the wagon train had somehow missed posted signs. “Absolutely no one’s allowed beyond this point,” one disagreeable hulk of a man yelled, waving his hairy arms at Maizie.

She promptly went from wagon to wagon with the news. To Camp, she said, “I’m madder’n a mama wasp, but my sting won’t do a lick of good. This is a bad place to try to stake our horses. Just do the best you can. The hulk promised to check with his crew chief to see if they’ll grant us time at daybreak to cross the pass.”

Gina climbed down from her wagon, using crutches to traverse the rough incline. “If we’re going to stop for any length of time, I’d like Mark to set up my tripod. The least grouchy of those workmen pointed out that the last of the old wagon swales are visible in the valley off to our left. I figure with my strongest telephoto lens and a four-to-one converter, I can manage a fair picture.”

“Fine by me,” Maizie said gruffly. “Might as well get something out of this inconvenience.”

Camp leaned against his wagon, silently fuming at the further delay. In the last ten minutes he’d begun having chills. He realized his body needed more help fighting off the infection in his leg than the antibiotic cream provided. He let Lyle’s bellyaching go in one ear and out the other.

Unexpectedly, the entire hillside shook with the loudest blast yet. Horses whinnied and reared. The report that followed rattled Camp’s teeth.

Mark Benton’s team bolted. Thrown off stride, the boy wasn’t able to stop the runaways headed on a collision course with his mother’s wagon.

In a frantic effort to remove her wagon from Mark’s path, Emily snapped her team of four bullheaded horses into gear. She didn’t realize that Megan had stood to see what was happening, until the right wheel of her wagon struck a granite boulder. “Megan, sit,” she hissed.