100% Pure Cowboy. Cathleen Galitz

old guitar. As he lovingly stroked the scarred and battered wood, Danielle couldn’t help but wonder what twist of fate had led him to this kind of life. Clearly there was a magnetism about this man that set him apart from others. It was hard to think he was nothing more than another down-on-his-luck drifter. Maybe this particular wrangler was caught between rodeos, working this odd job to pay for entry fees. When she caught herself wondering if he were between women, as well, Danielle swatted the thought away like a pesky fly. That was no concern of hers.

      Light from the campfire illuminated Cody’s rugged features as his voice filled the open prairie with a sound as pure as the country itself. No doubt about it, he was good—really good. From the most tender ballad to the rowdiest tune, he had them all in the palm of his hands for the better part of an hour. The way the girls openly swooned in awestruck wonder reminded Danielle of old film clips of ponytailed adolescents fainting to the crooning of a young Frank Sinatra.

      Struck by the sincerity in Cody’s manner, she realized with a start that these lyrics weren’t simply words to this man but truly a way of life to which he adhered. Tears came to her eyes. What was it about his simple music that worked itself into the secret caverns of her heart?

      As Mollie’s face shone with unmitigated love for her father, Danielle found herself unwillingly admiring Cody Walker for having the courage to eke out a way of life for himself and his daughter beneath the wide open skies of Wyoming. Though it couldn’t provide much in the way of a lucrative lifestyle, clearly Cody loved his work. If he were indeed following the seasonal work of “cowboying,” it meant dragging Mollie along with him from place to place. Still, despite the difficulties fate had placed in their way, they seemed a team forged together by love.

      Danielle felt a twinge of regret that Lynn would never feel so bonded with her own father. He was too busy chasing the almighty dollar and the shortest skirt in the office. Despite his impressive salary and prestigious title, Scott Herte would always remain a failure in Danielle’s mind because he didn’t know the first thing about being a successful husband and father.

      Danielle was surprised how much the girls liked Cody’s brand of music. His country songs were a far cry from the pounding rap she had endured all the way from Denver. Not that she was complaining; this was a nice change, one she hoped might expand to include a more complete attitude adjustment. Despite their cool masks of indifference, these children had been too pampered materially and too neglected in matters of the heart. Something in Cody Walker’s old guitar seemed to work magic upon them all—himself included. With each chord, his edginess seemed to dissipate. The wrinkles at the edges of his eyes grew softer.

      

      When the last strains of his first song died away, Cody expelled a sigh of relief. He had to laugh at himself. There had been no need to worry about being recognized. That no one in the group had any idea that his was a rising star was more than a little humbling. Mama had been right, after all. Maybe that national road tour had inflated his own sense of self-importance. He had been deeply hurt when she said that he had forgotten what was really important in life—family, health, God, and music. Real music from the heart, not all that hyped-up noise with blaring backup bands and smoke and mirrors and the splintering of expensive guitars that his manager insisted his public had come to expect.

      It had been his mother’s emphatic “suggestion” that he take Mollie on this wagon train for a couple of weeks to rediscover his values and remember what being a father was really all about. Sitting beneath the soft glow of starlight, he silently thanked his mother for her insistence. He knew it would please her to see him once again strumming his first guitar, the one that she had given him on his sixteenth birthday. Money had been so awfully tight those years, and the gift had been purchased from a pawnshop by the sweat of his widowed mother’s brow. No present had ever meant more to him.

      Had Mama ever been wrong about anything? Getting away from the glare of spotlights and returning to his roots was exactly what he needed. Mollie looked happier than he had seen her in ages, and the tension that had become a constant ache in his bones was slowly being coaxed from his body. This assumed anonymity was nice. He’d speak to Mollie and ask her to keep his identity a secret for the remainder of the trip.

      Maybe he’d really luck out and somehow be able to exorcise the demon that lately stayed his hand every time he tried to compose a song. Though Cody knew that Arnie Fullerton must be swallowing whole gallons of antacid to soothe his peptic ulcer, he couldn’t bring himself to regret giving his manager the slip. In fact, the thought of his mother’s inevitable calm resistance to Arnie’s frantic pleas to reveal his location brought a smile to his face.

      

      The throbbing in Danielle’s bones seemed to melt away beneath the gentle massaging of Cody’s voice. She noticed it wasn’t a singular effect. The sour expressions that had earlier pinched the girls’ faces were replaced by sweet rapture that momentarily transformed them into little angels.

      “The Old West may be gone, but its spirit still survives...”

      Cody’s silky voice carried the lyrics into the crystal blue night. A choir of coyotes echoed that spirit of courage and determination in their surrounding harmony. Suddenly chilled by the realization that civilization as she knew it lay far, far away, Danielle pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders as the final notes of the song drifted into the solace of the open prairie.

      As the girls unrolled their sleeping bags on the hard ground, Cody doused the remaining embers of the campfire with a bucket of water before tucking his daughter in. Overhearing the fond endearments he whispered in Mollie’s ear before planting a kiss atop her forehead, Danielle felt something inside her wrench uncomfortably. Long ago her own daughter had sworn off such “baby stuff,” and she missed the closeness that seemed such a natural part of Cody’s and Mollie’s relationship.

      “Good night, Mom,” came Lynn’s drowsy voice across the field of bedrolls.

      “Good night, honey,” Danielle whispered gratefully from her down-filled bag.

      Untroubled by the sounds of busy streets, the silence of the night was overpowering to those raised in the city. Never before had Danielle experienced such a sky as the one that enveloped them that night. Without competition from smog or electric lights, the sky glistened like a velvet gown covered with diamonds. Looking into such a sky had a dizzying effect. It was like throwing oneself at the universe and having it rush up to welcome you. Against the brightly illuminated cosmos in that vast Wyoming sky, Danielle was aware of her troubles fading into insignificance.