The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (5 page)

The boy screwed up his face. “I don’t care. He reminds me of Dad. All smiles, making himself out to be the big man, while he’s conning you into doing the work.”

Emily shot her son a sidelong glance. “If you saw all that, why is it so hard for you to see your grandfather’s attempts to manipulate?”

“Toby has the bucks to do nice things for us. We’re poor.”

“Don’t call your grandfather by his given name. It’s disrespectful, no matter what he and your grandmother say. And we aren’t poor, Mark. We’re not rich, but you have food on the table, a roof over your head and clothes on your back.”

“Megan says Toby has the Midas touch. He’s a king who had rooms full of money. Like Gramps. Why not let him and Mona spend some on us?”

“Oh, honey, it’s hard to explain. Gifts sometimes come with strings attached. Like if you accept gifts, the giver considers that you owe him in return. A payback. But his idea of an acceptable payback may not match yours.”

Faint lines etched the child’s brow. “I don’t get it. Toby and Mona have everything. What could they want from us?”

“Nothing, birdbrain.” There was a stirring inside the wagon and Megan thrust her head between her mother and brother. “Mom’s jealous because they can do more for us. Mona said so.”

“Megan, that’s not true.” Emily did her best to hang on to her temper.

“It is so, or else why did you drag us on this smelly old trip? You didn’t want us swimming in their pool or having them take us to the mall for school clothes. You’d rather let us die out here on some moldy trail.”

Emily gripped the reins too tightly and the Clydesdales ground to a stop. “Megan, must you be so melodramatic? No one’s going to die on this trip.” Her lecture was interrupted by harsh snorts. Turning, Emily saw Nolan Campbell’s team pull abreast of hers.

“What’s the matter with you?” he shouted. “Can’t you signal or something? I almost ran you down. Are you totally irresponsible?”

“You might have slowed your horses,” she said through clenched teeth. Mark was more right than he knew. Nolan Campbell seemed just as dictatorial as Dave.

“Sheesh!” Mark rolled his eyes in disgust. “You’d better fan it, Mom. I told you, the old dude’s a loose cannon.”

Emily gazed at the huge wagon inching toward hers. Snapping her reins, she sped ahead of Camp. “Just stay away from me,” she ordered. “From us.”

Mark’s lips curled in an impudent grin.

Camp coughed and spit out grit thrown from the Bentons’ wheels. In a flash of brilliant insight he wondered why on earth he’d wasted time regretting that he didn’t have a wife and kids. Especially a wife!

CHAPTER THREE

“Historic reality is a far cry from men’s version of it.”

—Gina Ames’s observation
on her first data sheet.

T
HE
SETTING
SUN
CAST
long shadows behind the wagons before Maizie gave the signal to stop for the night some five miles outside the community of Arrow Rock.

Camp had bounced up and down on the hardwood seat so long his butt felt numb. Blistered even. He wanted desperately to leave his perch, yet he was half-afraid to get down in case he couldn’t walk. Too humiliating.
You have to do something, dolt.

What he did was watch the others unhitch their horses and hobble them in the carpet of grass beneath a stand of yellowwood and hickory trees. His best view was of Emily’s wagon, since he’d parked beside her. She looked positively chipper the way she hopped down and bent to loosen the singletrees. Camp was struck by an urge to ruffle the wisps of hair escaping her hat. Curls that shone like new copper pennies in the peachy afterglow of the sun.

His gaze slipped automatically from Emily’s hair to the seat she’d just left.

Would you look at that!
Emily Benton had a thick bench cushion covering that hard plank seat. How would Sherry justify
that
bit of comfort?

Camp scowled, then moaned as he shifted his position, checking to see if the other women had cheated, too. They had! Of all the nerve... Yet on another level—the one that hurt—Camp wished he’d been as smart.

“Are you all right?” Emily’s quiet question jarred him from his stupor.

He straightened quickly, ignoring the hot prickles shooting up his thigh as feeling returned to one leg. “I’m fine. Just wondered why we aren’t circling the wagons.”

Her low laughter sent hot prickles of another sort along Camp’s already tender nerve ends.

“And you call yourself a historian, Campbell. For shame. Pioneers only circled the wagons to ward off attacks by marauding Indians. Which didn’t occur nearly as often as Hollywood would like us to believe, I might add.”

He bristled. “Wagon circles are well documented in the journals I’ve read. They guarded against more than Indian and outlaw attacks. Circles discouraged scavenging by coyote, cougar and bear.”

Mark and Megan Benton tumbled out of Emily’s wagon in time to overhear the last exchange. “Mo...th...er!” Megan wailed. “We’ll all be eaten in our sleep.”

“Bears. Cool!” Mark discarded his sullen look for one of delight—the first Camp had seen from either of the kids.

“I’ll bet there’re rattlesnakes, too,” the boy announced in a loud, shivery voice, his face shoved close to his sister’s.

She shrieked and scrambled back inside the wagon. Camp felt sorry for Emily. She had her hands full with those two.

“Megan, get back out here,” Emily called. “It’s time to pick up our list of nightly chores from Maizie. It’ll be dark before you know it.”

“Chores?” Camp looked blank. His stomach felt caved in to his backbone. The apples Maizie dispensed at the noon water stop had barely whetted his appetite. But starved though he was, Camp wanted to record his impressions of the trip before they faded. Every bone-jarring memory.

“Didn’t you read the rules you mailed out?” Emily asked. “It’s number four. Maizie doles out a list of chores every night. She’ll rotate duties so one person doesn’t always get the cushiest jobs and vice versa.”

“You have the rules memorized?” Camp paused in the painful act of climbing from the high wagon seat. “I barely glanced at the packet. My secretary ran copies and sent them out. Why would I study the rules? I hadn’t intended to travel with the train,” he said, as if blaming Emily for his change in plans.

“That was evident. Still, you’d better try to borrow a copy, unless you’re expecting special privileges.”

“Not at all.” Camp reacted to her sarcasm.

“Then I suggest you unhitch your team. Everyone else is already headed for Maizie’s wagon.”

“Bully for them,” he snapped, uncaring that he sounded as fractious as Megan had earlier.

Emily pursed her lips. “Let’s go, kids.” She checked the Clydesdales’ hobbles one last time before hurrying off.

Megan Benton didn’t budge. Mark sidled up to Camp. “I’ve never seen a bear. Are they really out there in the woods?”

Camp considered possible answers, then discarded all but the truth. He’d decided on the policy to which his father subscribed—that all questions asked by kids deserved an honest answer.

“Bears were a problem for the original Santa Fe trailblazers, Mark. We’re more apt to run afoul of those rattlers you mentioned. If you gather wood, take care. Roll the piece over with your toe before picking it up. Wood provides homes for a variety of spiders, as well as snakes.”

“Oh, boy!” Mark exclaimed, then rolled his eyes as his sister let out another shriek and climbed to her knees on the wagon seat.

“Mona said the fact Mom’s dragging us on this trip shows how weirded out she is. Toby
begged
me to tell some judge friend of his about this nutty plan. I wish I had. We could’ve stayed home. And I’m not doing any stupid old chores.”

“Who are Mona and Toby?” Camp asked Mark, who—without being asked—helped stake Camp’s last horse, a Belgian named Renegade. All day Camp had called him numerous other names under his breath.

Mark waited until they’d finished before answering Camp. “Mona and Toby are my grandparents. Since our dad died, they want us all to live with them. Mom won’t. They fight about it all the time. Megan and me hear...’cept I don’t think they know.”

Camp, who rarely got involved in matters that didn’t concern him, was moved to support Emily. “Talk to your mother. I’m sure she has valid reasons.”

“She’d lie,” Megan said bitterly. “Mona says it’s Mom’s fault that Dad drank too much. She didn’t try to understand him.”

Camp thought he was hearing more about the Bentons’ private lives than Emily would want discussed. He cast around for a way to extricate himself. Unfortunately, it came in the form of Brittany Powers. She ran toward him waving two slips of paper.

“Nolan. Nolan,” she yelled, apparently forgetting the breathy voice. “I have your chore assignment. We’re working together. Isn’t that awesome?”

Reluctant to be teamed with Brittany, Camp nevertheless accepted one of the slips. “Well, Mark,” he said, frowning after reading it, “don’t worry about fending off snakes tonight. We’re the wood hunters.” He indicated himself and Brittany.

“Snakes?” Brittany shivered, cleaving herself to Camp’s side. “I hate creepy crawlies. You’re just soo brave.”

Embarrassed, Camp tried peeling the young woman off his arm. “I need to grab a pair of gloves. You’d better do the same, Brittany.”

“I didn’t bring any, Nolan.” She drew out his name. “But I’ll tag along and keep you company.” She wound both arms around his biceps this time.

She had a grip like a boa constrictor. “I’m sure there’s something you can do around here. Let Mark help me.” Camp snatched at the boy’s shirtsleeve with his free hand. “Okay with you, kid?” He hoped Mark hadn’t heard how desperate he was to avoid going into the woods with Brittany. But Mark was definitely astute.

“What’s it worth to you, man? Five bucks?”

Little blackmailer.
Luckily, Emily returned then. Before she gave her kids their assignments, Camp hit her with a smile. “Would you give Brittany Mark’s job and let him go with me?” At Emily’s arched brow, he explained Brittany’s lack of gloves.

Emily saw how Camp took a step and Brittany moved with him, as if they were joined at the hip. Her husband had had younger women swarming over him, too. Dave had loved the attention. “I’m sure you’d rather Mark lent Brittany some gloves, right?”

Mark seemed surprised by his mother’s caustic tone.

Camp was plain angry. For crying out loud, she seemed downright eager to toss him to the wolves.

“What’ll I have to do if I don’t help him haul wood?” Mark bargained with Emily.

“Locate rocks and build a fire ring for each wagon.”

The boy jerked a thumb toward Camp. “I’ll go with the dude. Her witchy fingernails’ll poke holes in my gloves.” He pointed at Brittany. “Ain’t never seen nails like hers ’cept at Halloween.”

“Twit. If I were a witch I’d turn you into a toad.” Brittany gave him an evil eye. She clung to Camp’s sleeve a moment longer, then reluctantly let him go. “I don’t want to break my nails on rocks, either. Maybe I’ll go see what Sherry’s doing. We’ll meet later, won’t we, Nolan? I mean...you’re collecting our data sheets, aren’t you?”

Her affected whisper was back, Camp noticed with a wince. Avoiding her question, he said, “I suspect all the chores will be hard on hands, Brittany. I’d hate to see you tear a nail badly and, uh, risk infection.”

Brittany’s hands fluttered. “You are so thoughtful, Nolan. Nobody else cares if I rip a nail clear off. Or an arm or a leg, for that matter.”

“I’m sure your parents expect me to judge these situations in their place.”

“My folks don’t care what I do as long as I’m out of their hair. I’m a burden they’d like to be shut of for good, not just this summer.”

Taken aback, Camp didn’t know how to respond.

“You guys run along,” Emily said softly, coming to Camp’s rescue after all. “I’ll carry the rocks. Megan and Brittany can push them into circles with their feet if they don’t want to mess up their nails.”

“Hey, thanks.” Relieved beyond words, Camp wasted no time grabbing his gloves and striking off ahead of Mark into the copse of trees. He’d certainly misjudged Brittany Powers. Since the day she’d walked into his classroom, he’d figured her for a spoiled kid who had everything. Expensive clothes. Car. Enough spending money to feed a developing country. Everything but parental love, it seemed.

“Yo’ dude,” panted Mark as he caught up to Camp. “That Brittany chick has the hots for you.”

Camp peered down his nose at the boy. “Don’t be silly. And don’t call women ‘chicks.’ I’m Brittany’s college professor. I’m old enough to be her father.”

Mark stopped and tipped his head back to gaze at his taller companion. “Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Guess she digs old dudes, then.”

Camp snatched up a long stick and parted the shrubs. The kid sounded so much like Maizie it was scary. “Look, here are three pieces of dry pine. Take them to one of the wagons while I look for more. And don’t call me ‘dude.’ Understand?”

“It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about your love life. My mom sends me off to do stuff when I make her uncomfortable, too.”

“I don’t have a lov—we’re not—oh, brother.” If he wasn’t half-starved he’d leave the kid on his own and go log today’s experiences. He had some beauts. But undoubtedly there’d be time while the women cooked dinner. Which would be speedier if he hurried back with wood for the cook fires. As if on cue his stomach rumbled again. Camp muttered a silent prayer that the people Maizie had assigned to the chore of cooking would allow plenty for ravenous men.

By the time they finished gathering wood, the sun had dropped. A stiff night breeze carried the smell of wood smoke and the mouthwatering aromas of onions and garlic. Saliva pooled in Camp’s mouth as Mark darted off. Cheery campfires crackled in front of every wagon. Correction: every wagon but his.

In the flicker cast by Emily’s dancing flames, Camp saw that someone had shoved rocks into a circle in front of his wagon. If not for the fact that the air had grown chill and he’d prefer to stay warm while he ate, he wouldn’t even bother lighting a fire. The minute he finished eating he intended to collect the data sheets and hibernate.

Plans set, Camp strolled nonchalantly past the Benton wagon.

Emily called out, stopping him. “Maizie said to tell you that your wagon tilts left. She wants you to redistribute your load. Even out the heavier stuff.”

“I don’t have much that’s heavy. But sure, I’ll get right on it.”

“Oh, another thing. Robert Boone has a big can of oil. We all picked up our ration and oiled our harnesses. You’ll need to do yours.”

Camp tried to see her face, but she stood in the shadows mixing something in a metal bowl. “Anything else?” He spread his feet, hooking thumbs in his belt.

“No. Just start a fire and cook your meal. Robert and Jared hauled water up from the creek for washing dishes. He said to use water from the wagon barrels for cooking and making coffee.”

“Wait! You mean we’re not eating potluck?”

She raised a sticky hand and brushed a springy lock of hair back with her forearm. “You mean everyone makes a dish and we eat together? No. The rules clearly state that we’re on our own for meals.”

“But...” The only food he’d fixed over an open fire had been an occasional hot-dog or toasted marshmallows. And that was about thirty years ago. Now he ate all his weekday meals out. On weekends, he popped prepackaged frozen dinners into the microwave. Now he really wished he’d read those rules. The packet probably included recipes. If he’d only known—the store in Boonville where he’d bought his gear stocked boil-in-a-bag meals for backpackers.

Well, he had to do something fast. The kitchen goddess was looking down her nose again. One thing he knew for sure, he’d die before letting the truth of his culinary ineptitude leak out to his research subjects. “Argh...” Camp cleared his throat. “Believe I’ll just mosey up the line and see if Maizie has an extra set of rules.”

“Not that I want to keep you...” Emily smiled sweetly. “But if you light a fire now it’ll be ready for cooking when you return. See...I’ve put water on for tea. Once the flames die down, I’ll set out my Dutch oven.” She pointed to a set of stacked pans. “Your coffee will be drinkable while your meal cooks—if you drink coffee, that is,” she stammered.

“I do. Rarely this late, but tonight it sounds good.”

“All this fresh air. Sharpens the appetite,” she said with a laugh.

When Emily Benton laughed low in her throat like that it stirred his emotions.

He shifted uncomfortably. If there was anything he didn’t need, it was an attraction to a grieving widow—and definitely not one who couldn’t seem to control her kids. Grunting his thanks, he withdrew and built a fire without glancing her way again. Five matches later, it stayed lit.