location to which he pointed hardly provided any privacy. Sheila blushed furiously, and Danielle’s eyes flashed like summer lightning, burning a hole right through Cody.
Keenly aware that he had just wrinkled the suit of armor in which these girls had dressed him, Cody felt a stab of guilt at the wounded look in Sheila’s eyes. Maybe he was being too rough with Troop Beverly Hills. The disconcerting thought took him back in time to his own callow youth. How many times had he himself been ridiculed as a country bumpkin when he had been lost in the big city trying to peddle those first humble, heartfelt songs?
Remembering his promise never to become such a selfindulgent big shot that he was beyond simple kindness and common courtesy, Cody hastened to lessen the sting of Sheila’s humiliation.
Bestowing a slow smile upon the girl that made her blush from the top of her blond head to the bottom of her boots, he said with a wink, “I’ll tell you what. There’s a rest stop just over the next hill. If you’d like, you can hop on back of ol’ Champ, here, and I’ll tote you on over there.”
That wink was Sheila’s undoing. She nodded her head gratefully. Cody reached down and in one graceful move pulled her up behind him in the saddle. Squealing with delight, the girl waved to her friends as they galloped over the hill.
When they returned a few moments later, Sheila wore a look of simpering adoration. Danielle thought it obvious that she couldn’t wait to share every heart-quickening minute with her friends who were certain to be green with envy.
That their wagon master had assuaged Sheila’s feelings only slightly mollified Danielle. As far as she was concerned, Cody Walker was brutish and insensitive. Maybe Sheila’s question had been silly, but the extent of camping that these girls shared was limited to backyard sleep-overs. In her opinion, it was as reprehensible for a grown man to make poor Sheila the butt of his joke as it was to lump everyone from the city into the category of utter simpletons. It hadn’t escaped her notice that some of the other Prairie Scouts were now openly referring to them as Troop Beverly Hills. Since Danielle had firsthand knowledge of who had coined that particular phrase, she intended to give that John Wayne wanna-be a piece of her mind the first chance she got.
Like bright but fragile posies, the girls were beginning to droop beneath a sun too hot. What had once sounded romantic and adventurous was quickly proving to be a lot of hard work. Their meager lunches had worn off long ago, and fatigue was beginning to manifest itself in the guise of petty sniping.
“Knock it off!” Danielle commanded, determined to nip such thoughtlessness in the bud. “Time won’t pass any faster if you pick at each other. We’ve got a long way to go and two weeks to prove we’re women enough to handle whatever this trail has to throw at us. I expect not to be defeated from within our own ranks before the end of the very first day.”
She hated sounding so gruff, but this wasn’t exactly a picnic for her, either. It had been a long time since she had put such rigorous demands upon her body, and it was reacting with aching indignation. By the time the wagon train rolled to their final stop of the day, they had traveled a little under eight miles, and Danielle was sure her feet had a blister to show for each one of them.
She pressed her hands to the small of her back before throwing herself into the task at hand. Telling herself that if she could whip up an appetizing dinner using only primitive tools and limited ingredients, she might just consider approaching the Small Business Administration for a loan when they got back to Denver.
“Pssssst!”
Danielle jumped at the sound. Their wagon master had been quite firm in his directive to all participants before they had begun their trek. “Keep your eyes and ears open to any possible danger. You never can tell in what form it’ll jump out at you.”
“Psssssst!”
Praying that it was not the sound of an irate rattlesnake, Danielle armed herself with an iron skillet.
“Over here,” called a small voice from behind the wagon.
Danielle sighed in relief. It was Mollie.
Oblivious to the fact that she had almost scared Danielle out of her wits, she chirped, “I’ve got something for you.”
In her hand, she held a candy bar. A king-size, doublefudge, peanut-packed fistful of satisfying calories.
Danielle salivated at the sight of it. As outlined in the packet they had received beforehand, candy was clearly considered contraband. Everything was supposed to be as authentic as possible, and since the early pioneers had to do without artificial flavorings and preservatives, the Prairie Scouts were expected to, as well.
Danielle looked over both shoulders before accepting the candy bar. “I’ll split it with you,” she whispered to her child conspirator.
“That’s all right,” Mollie said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got a secret stash. If you want, I can keep you supplied through the whole trip.”
“You know you could make a fortune selling this on the black market,” Danielle mumbled through a mouthful of heavenly goo. “But you’d better not let Captain Bligh see you scalping any of this or he’ll have you keelhauled under a Conestoga.”
Mollie’s blue eyes darkened in confusion.
“Captain Bligh?”
“You know, the Hunchback of the Wagon Train...Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Raw Hide...”
Clearly the strained literary allusions were lost upon the child.
“Our illustrious wagon master.”
Mollie was seized by a fit of giggles. “Daddy’s sure got you buffaloed, hasn’t he?”
Danielle choked on melted chocolate.
“D-daddy?” she sputtered.
It was impossible. This darling little imp could not possibly be the devil’s spawn.
“Ah, there’s nothing to worry about. He’s just like melt in your mouth candies—hard on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside.”
Both Mollie’s ancestry and her analogy seemed dubious, but looking at the girl more closely, Danielle recognized his eyes staring back at her.
It was unnerving. Undeniably Cody Walker had passed this living legacy on to his daughter. Danielle could only assume that the girl had received her delightful disposition from her mother. Which made her wonder—where, by the way, was that long-suffering saint? If the poor woman had any sense at all she would take her husband’s flirtations more seriously. Rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth, Danielle told herself that had she known earlier that Cody was married, she would never have allowed him the liberties he had taken with her lips. Apparently the creep shared more with her ex-husband than stunning good looks.
Swallowing the last bite of her candy bar, Danielle mumbled, “Your poor mother.”
“Huh?” Mollie’s brow knitted in confusion.
Danielle hastened to cover the remark. “I was wondering which one of the sponsors is your mother?”
“My mother’s dead.”
Regretting her previous lack of charity, Danielle’s eyes misted over at the thought of this sweet child growing up without a mother’s love. This revelation put Cody Walker in an entirely different light. Earlier in the day she would have placed a substantial bet that their wagon master was a confirmed bachelor whose sense of responsibility reached no further than his libido. As a single parent herself, Danielle realized how difficult it was to raise a child all alone. She promised to try to be cordial to Cody in the future, if only for Mollie’s sake.
“Want some help with supper?” the girl asked, her twinkling blue eyes registering an eagerness to please.
Danielle smiled. How often had she nagged at Lynn to show such acts of simple consideration only to be met with a stony silence that implied those were unfair expectations from a bygone age? With some