decided he might as well confront this particular prairie prima donna as quickly as possible and be done with it. She probably wasn’t even aware of the fact that only drivers were allowed to ride in the wagons for most of the trip.
Just as it had been in pioneer times, concern for how much the horses had to carry took priority over human comfort. A look in any history book, pages strewn with fatal citations of poor choices along the very route they were to take, would confirm the wisdom of that decision. Not to mention the problems he’d have on his hands if he let one red-haired greenhorn ride at the head of this grand parade like some silly homecoming queen. Every pampered little miss from here to the state line would be whining to ride for the duration of this expedition.
Cody had every intention of starting this wagon train off on the right foot. Heck, if he was lucky, maybe this red-hot mommy would be so angered by his insistence that the wagon be repacked properly that she would load up her girls in a huff and relieve him of the burden of overseeing them altogether. He brightened at the thought.
There was no harm in hoping anyway.
Between the kids’ deafening rap music, her van breaking down on the desolate stretch of road from Denver to the middle of nowhere, and having to single-handedly pack a covered wagon, Danielle was completely spent. She was just positioning a pillow atop the hard wooden bench that served as the wagon’s seat and settling in for a welldeserved break when a deep voice called out behind her.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Red, unless you’re planning on driving this rig yourself.”
Danielle whipped around to find herself staring into a striking pair of eyes that exactly mirrored the color of the infinite, blue Wyoming sky. Atop a magnificent black and white Appaloosa sat a long-legged, slim-hipped cowboy regarding her with unconcealed amusement. He looked well over six feet tall in the saddle. Besides an infectious grin, he wore a plaid Western-cut shirt with pearl snap buttons and a pair of faded jeans that sinfully molded to the lower half of his body. Cupped in his stirrups was a pair of boots so scuffed and well-worn they verged on being downright tacky. Though much of his hair was hidden beneath a white straw hat, Danielle could see that it was the color of dark molasses shot through with just a hint of silver at the temples. One glance alone told her that this was not a man merely playing the part of a cowboy for the sake of a Prairie Scout Jamboree. The lines etched upon that tanned face had been put there by wind and sun and experience. Indeed, it was no dime-store cowboy who was so intent on stealing her seat out from under her. He was one hundred percent pure cowboy.
“I’m a den mother,” she explained succinctly.
Well, actually a substitute den mother, she corrected herself, recalling Hildy Fustis’s broken leg and heartfelt plea that Danielle step in for her at the last minute lest the trip have to be canceled altogether. With a suspicious little hitch in her voice, Hildy had promised she would have to do little more than ride along in relative comfort and chaperon the children.
When this elucidation failed to erase the smirk from the man’s chiseled features, Danielle hastened to add, “When I signed on as a sponsor, I was told I could ride in the wagon.”
This only served to deepen the cowboy’s grin so that a matching pair of dimples was revealed at both corners of his mouth.
“Then you’re planning on driving this team?” he asked.
Danielle emphatically shook her head no. She could no more drive a team of horses than she could direct Santa’s sleigh across the sky. The very thought was almost as unnerving as the sexual vibes exuded by this mysterious cowboy.
“Well, then, I suggest you climb right on down from there,” he said. Though cordial, his tone was nonetheless authoritative.
Why the man was being so purposely obtuse was beyond her. Danielle set her chin at a stubborn angle. After the morning she’d had, she wasn’t about to meekly give up her seat without a fight. Husky indignation tinged her protest.
“There’s plenty of room for two on this seat. I see absolutely no reason why I can’t share it with the driver.”
Tipping up the brim of his hat with two fingers, the man tossed her a wry smile. “On my wagon train, horses don’t pull any more than they absolutely have to. So unless you’re in some way incapacitated, you’ll be walking along with the rest of your troop. That is, unless you’re ready to call it quits before we get started.”
Just what did he mean by saying it was his wagon train? Behind a fading smile, Danielle persisted. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. Like I said before, I was promised I could ride.”
“I’m afraid you were misinformed.”
Cody was as taken aback by the fire glittering in those extraordinary aquamarine eyes as he had initially been by the color of her hair. All of a sudden that hair didn’t look quite so ridiculous framing a heart-shaped face and the most heavenly pair of eyes he’d ever encountered. The woman was closer to his thirty-four years than he had expected—and far prettier. And her trim figure did all sorts of wonderful things to that old scrap of gingham she was wearing.
Danielle felt scorched by the blue fire of the wrangler’s eyes as they traversed her body from head to toe. The heat radiating from his appraisal was as disquieting as the hammering of her heart echoing off historic Split Rock Mountain looming like a broken anvil in the distant background.
He extended her a hand. “Are you going to step down on your own, or am I going to have to climb up there and haul you down myself?”
Sensing that he was on the verge of bursting out laughing, Danielle felt a fierce surge of resentment well up inside her. Oh, how she would love to knock him right off that high horse of his!
Their eyes locked in a tempestuous clash of wills. Defiantly she jutted out her chin and wrapped her fingers around the edge of her seat.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she countered in a regal, howdare-you-address-me-in-that-manner tone of voice. “And stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ It makes me feel like your mother.”
“Well,” the man drawled, grabbing hold of the wagon with one hand and lifting himself out of the saddle in one, fluid motion to position himself into the seat beside her. “You sure as hell don’t look like her.”
A ripple of heat washed over her. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Danielle suspected that it had less to do with the sun beating down overhead than it did with the virile man whose leg had just inadvertently brushed against hers.
Cheeks flaming, eyes flashing, she demanded to know, “Just who do you think you are, ordering me around?”
He leaned so near that she could feel his warm breath upon her face. Assailed by the very scent of him—a tantalizing mixture of sagebrush, horse sweat, and pure bottled masculinity—she was totally unprepared for the sudden onslaught of sexual awareness that swept over her with the force of a flash flood. This man was far too sexy for his own good—and far too close for comfort.
Sweeping the cowboy hat off his head, he formally introduced himself. “Cody Walker, ma’am, your wagon master.”
Wagon master!
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Danielle guffawed, so startled by the announcement that she neglected to complete introductions by providing him with her own name. Suspicion swirled in the aquamarine depths of her eyes. He certainly didn’t fit the
