He would consent to marrying me, would he?
To be treated like some kind of common chattel and poor John not dead two months is beyond scandal. The words I had for that arrogant lout unfortunately confirmed Mrs. Grossman’s opinion of my lack of standing as a true lady....
Danielle chuckled. With each page, her admiration for Matty increased. Back in a time when a woman without a man was considered as helpless as a baby lost in a storm, Matty was setting precedent for generations of women to come.
Was it any wonder that the state of Wyoming was the first to grant women the right to vote when women such as Matty O’Shaw had left her mark upon the land? Bolstered by her ghostly mentor, Danielle felt the seed of selfassurance growing within her own breast. For far too long she had harbored a secret guilt that she was somehow at fault for her husband’s wanderings. Her own parents had implied as much when they had cautioned her against divorce. Like Matty’s wagon master, Danielle’s parents were of the opinion that a woman simply could not survive without a man to provide for her.
In the midst of this silent reflection, the wagon train stumbled upon a lonesome marker almost lost in the swell of the rolling hills. All giggling came to an abrupt halt as they studied the words carved in granite.
Willie’s Handcart Company
Captain James G. Willie’s Handcart Company of Mormon emigrants on the way to Utah, greatly exhausted by the deep snows of an early winter and suffering from a lack of food and clothing, had assembled here for re-organization by relief parties from Utah, about the end of October, 1856. Thirteen persons were frozen to death during a single night and were buried here in one grave. Two others died the next day and were buried nearby. Of the company of 404 persons, 77 perished before help arrived. The survivors reached Salt Lake City, November 9, 1856.
Every girl marching past that granite slab felt the pull of the ghosts inhabiting the lonely hollow. It was a fitting if disturbing glimpse into the realities of the sesquicentennial of the Oregon Trail. For while it was all well and good to immerse oneself in the history of the period for a scant two weeks, it was quite another to step across the grave of children not so unlike themselves.
Between the ages of six to sixty-six the faceless victims were remembered in the sprigs of bluebells that decorated the lonesome outpost. Were it not for miles of corrugated tin snow fences wending their way over the rolling hills, the hot June wind made it impossible to even imagine brutal winters in this state. Older wooden fences designed to keep the drifting snow from the roads stood silent sentry, many felled like toothpicks in the wind.
The swale ahead bore the scars of wagon wheel ruts more than a hundred and fifty years old. Despite the warmth of the sun overhead, Danielle felt goose bumps raise on her arms. The spot was as haunting as Matty O’Shaw’s words, as disturbing as the dream that had planted a seed of suspicion in her mind.
Chapter Seven
The semi-functioning ghost town of Atlantic City glistened against the dusk like a rough-hewn jewel. After seven days on the trail, the sight of electricity was cause for celebration.
Cody glanced in Danielle’s direction. Ever since they’d passed that old grave marker, she’d looked as forlorn as a kitten set out in the snow on Christmas Day. It made his heart hurt to see her looking so lost and small against the brooding peaks of the Wind River Mountains. For the entire week the woman had given of herself without complaint, and he felt the sudden urge to do something nice for her in return. He reined Champion in and fell into step beside her.
“What would you say if I offered to take you to dinner tonight?”
Surprised as much by his shy tone as by the offer itself, she answered without a pause. “I’d say yes.”
The thought of eating a meal she hadn’t prepared herself over a smoky campfire sounded like heaven. And while sleeping beneath the starry sky held a certain allure, so did the thought of a nice, soft bed.
“I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of renting a room for the night?” she asked, unable to keep the note of hope from her voice.
“Why I’d be glad to rent us a room,” Cody offered, deliberately misunderstanding her. “But do you think it’d look right to the girls?”
Danielle felt the flush climb up her collar. How could this cowboy’s affable grin make a grown woman feel like sixteen all over again?
“I didn’t mean with you!”
“That’s a shame,” he replied, all traces of a smile suddenly gone.
Danielle’s stomach flipped over her heart. She certainly hadn’t intended to proposition him, but the truth of the matter was that ever since that first heart-stopping kiss that had inaugurated this journey, the possibility of a sexual encounter with this rawboned cowboy had never been far from her mind. And judging from that smoky look in his eyes, Cody hadn’t had much luck keeping the thought at bay, either.
“A friend of mine owns a business in Atlantic City. I’m sure Gus would rent you a cabin for the night if you’d like, but there aren’t enough for all the girls,” he continued. “And I’d be more than willing to chaperon them for a night in your place if you want me to.”
Danielle was as tempted by his chivalry as she was touched by it. After a full week surrounded by a gaggle of giggling teenagers, a night to herself sounded like bliss. But Danielle couldn’t put Cody in that position. It simply wasn’t fair to ask him to take on any more responsibility.
“Thanks but—” she almost choked on the word “—no thanks.”
Cody absently rubbed his index finger over his mouth. Although he took meticulous care to shave every day to preserve his identity, he had yet to become accustomed to that bare upper lip. Or to the feelings this woman evoked in him. Such harmless innuendo as discussing the night’s sleeping arrangements had him reacting like some pubescent boy. This woman made him feel more alive than he had in years. Just looking at her made him want her. And just wanting her made him feel as guilty as if Rachael were still alive.
It was time to start acting his age and to think like a father, he decided angrily. Just because he chose to ignore those none-so-subde hints his daughter kept dropping about what a wonderful mother Danielle was, didn’t mean they hadn’t registered somewhere in the back of his thick skull.
With each passing day, it was becoming all too clear to him that Mollie and Lynn were working up some harebrained scheme to get their parents together. Earlier in the day when he’d come upon the two girls whispering conspiratorially, their heads together, they had cold-bloodedly sized him up like a side of beef.
It was a given that children wanted both a mother and a father. Living at his isolated ranch with a series of housekeepers wasn’t exactly the way Cody had intended to raise his daughter. He knew that she missed her mother—almost as much as he did. But no matter how much he hated to disappoint Mollie, Cody wasn’t about to remarry just to humor her.
He hoped Mollie and Lynn didn’t mislead themselves into thinking that this was an official date or something. It was simply a way to pay a hardworking woman back for cooking his meals and making him feel at home in the warmth of her camp three times a day. To share an evening and a well-done steak with a beautiful woman was nothing more than a social pleasantry, Cody assured himself. Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that his heart had leaped with satisfaction when Danielle so readily accepted his offer.
Never had a hot shower felt better to Danielle than on the evening the wagon train rolled to a stop on the outskirts of Atlantic City. For a nominal fee, Gus had given the girls access to his cabins’ bathroom facilities and, in keeping with the authentic theme of the Old West, had even arranged for a chuck wagon supper for them. It wasn’t exactly what Danielle had in mind when Cody had asked her to dinner, but, grateful for the opportunity for a night off, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Reveling in the warm water massaging her sore muscles, Danielle vowed to never again take the luxury of hot running water for granted. She turned off the spigot and stepped
from the shower, then donned the cleaner of her two outfits and surveyed herself critically in the mirror.
She cursed the freckles that the recent exposure to the sun had multiplied across the bridge of her nose and ran a brush through her mop of unruly red hair. This latest shampooing had almost completely returned it to its true color, and an errant strand of gray served as a vivid reminder that she was far too old to be battling butterflies in her stomach over the mere thought of going on a date.
No, not a date, her conscience reminded her. Whatever you do, don’t be stupid and read anything more into this than what’s there. It’s just dinner. Dinner, Danielle confirmed silently, just like we’ve shared every night for the past week.
Tucking a white waistshirt neatly into a long skirt of heavy gabardine, she decided that the wide cummerbund, high lace collar and puffy sleeves made her look like some prim schoolmarm from days past.
“You know, Mom, it couldn’t hurt to wear something a little less...starched-looking,” Lynn said holding up a pair of jeans packed just in case of emergency.
Danielle knew exactly what she meant. It was hard feeling attractive covered chin to toe in this repressive garb. For days now she had secretly been envying Mollie the freedom of denim. And even though this wasn’t exactly a date, she suddenly wanted to look beguiling tonight. Though not as sexy as a flirty party dress, the jeans were indeed tempting.
“It’s against the rules,” Danielle protested weakly.
“All’s fair in love and war,” coaxed Lynn with a smile that her mother thought far too womanly for her age.
“Who said anything about love?” she asked in a tone that warned her daughter not to take another step down that road.
“No one, no one!” Lynn said, raising her hands over her head in mock surrender. “I just thought you deserved a night off, that’s all.”
It was a lovely thought. A night off. Danielle couldn’t remember when she had taken any real time for herself. Her obligations were as confining as the period dress she wore. What could it possibly hurt? she asked herself fumbling with a row of tiny buttons.
Fifteen minutes later, Danielle set off for their agreedupon rendezvous wearing a pale-blue chambray shirt and a faded pair of jeans that fit her as if they were custom-made.
How an old pair of jeans could be so utterly seductive was beyond Cody, but that was exactly the word that came to mind when he spotted Danielle at the end of the chuck wagon line. Those stray tendrils that fell about her face begged to be wrapped around a man’s finger. And what a wonderful change to see her in something that didn’t hide her womanly figure. His chest grew tight as he came up from behind and slipped an arm around an incredibly small waist.
“Did you forget that I’m taking you to dinner?” he asked, a thin note of displeasure tinting his words.
“I was holding a place in line for you.” Danielle battled a wave of heat that swept through her at his surprise approach. “I told Mollie and Lynn not to wait.”
“Good.”
Taking her by the elbow, Cody steered her away from the chuck wagon and up onto the boardwalk. “When I said I wanted to take you to dinner, I didn’t mean for you to stand in line. I have something a little cozier in mind.”
A little more intimate, he silently amended.
It rather hurt his feelings to think that Danielle had assumed his plans for the evening would be so miserly. She either thought he was in dire financial straits or for some inexplicable reason this pretty woman wasn’t used to being pampered. That was something he would love to remedy.
While it wasn’t exactly the Ritz, Gus’s Steakhouse offered a palatable meal in the kind of dimly lit atmosphere lovers tend to frequent. Decorated with bits of paraphernalia from the Old West, it had a charm completely unto itself. Cody commandeered Danielle to the table farthest from the door. She wasn’t certain if that was because he wanted to make sure they weren’t spotted from the window and thus would be left alone for the evening or if he was simply afraid the other den mothers would complain about the abandonment of her period dress. Whatever the reason, their entrance didn’t go unnoticed. Cody Walker was the kind of man who naturally drew attention to himself by his rugged good looks and the innate charisma of which he seemed so utterly unaware. The whiff of conversations turning on their entrance was as strong as the aroma of steaks cooking over the aspen log brazier.
Gus waited on them personally, and Danielle found herself as charmed by the grizzled-looking, gray-bearded proprietor as she was by his establishment. Before handing them menus, Gus asked about Cody’s mother, about the old homestead, and made a passing remark about the upcoming Pioneer Days rodeo.
Cody was completely at ease with his old friend, but when a matronly woman holding a half-empty glass of wine in one hand approached the table and started to ask, “Aren’t you—” Cody cut her off with a sharp, definitive, “No.” Gus shot Cody a questioning glance that was met with a hard, silent command in his friend’s eyes. Posthaste, Gus steered the mistaken lady back to her seat and refilled her glass on the house.
Danielle found it interesting that Cody also reminded the woman of someone famous. If only she could remember who!
“I wonder who she thought you were,” Danielle mused out loud. Having been baffled by the conundrum herself for the better part of the trip, she was irritated with Cody for interrupting the woman before she had the chance to pronounce the celebrated name.
“Happens to me all the time,” Cody assured her breezily. “I’ve been told I look an awful lot like Tom Selleck.”
“I don’t think so.” Taking in his crestfallen expression, she hastily amended, “But you do remind me of someone...”
Cody proceeded to “help” by suggesting every actor he could think of.
“Tom Cruise?”
“No.”
“Tom Hanks?”
“No, not a Tom Anybody.”
“Sam Sheppard?”
“Uh-uh.”
Danielle shook her head in frustration. She wished he would just be quiet for a minute and let her think. The answer was glimmering just beneath the surface of murky waters, almost within reach.
“Sam Elliott?”
“No, not a Sam.”
“The Marlboro Man? Woody Allen? Elmer Fudd?”
As each suggestion grew more and more preposterous, Danielle abandoned the thread of connection and simply gave herself up to the luxury of eating a scrumptious dinner with a sexy man who made her forget all about the burdens of motherhood, chaperonage, and financial constraints. Her life had been so full of reality lately that there had been little time left for fun...or for dreams.
Swirling her noodles in marinara sauce, she couldn’t help but comment on her companion’s choice of a rare steak, sour-cream-slathered baked potato, and deep-fried onion rings.
“Cholesterol doesn’t concern you?”
“Apparently not nearly as much as it does you.” Reaching across the table to take her hand in his, Cody chided gently, “I think we’ve got a few good years left before we have a dietitian prescribing stewed prunes for us.”
The image of Cody astride a rocking chair was made even sillier by the effects of the vintage year carafe of wine they were sharing. Danielle was horrified to hear herself giggle like one of her adolescent charges.
Cody didn’t mind. In fact, his smile was encouraging. “You should laugh more often, sweetheart. You worry too much—about the girls, about Lynn, about cholesterol, about that tiny bit of gray in your hair...”
Danielle sat up as straight as if he’d jabbed her with a needle. How dare he lace his insults with such a tender endearment! Here they were, having a perfectly wonderful evening, and he had to go ruin it by making her feel old and dowdy. She yanked her hand away.
Instantly Cody knew that he had made a big mistake. She looked so incredibly pretty sitting there in the candlelight, so happy and carefree...He’d just wanted to let her know how very endearing he found that tiny hint of gray. He certainly
didn’t find it unattractive. Surely when one’s child reached puberty, a strand or two of gray was well earned.
“Hell, I’ve got plenty.” He helpfully pointed to his temples.
“It’s different for a man,” Danielle replied stiffly. How could Cody know that his remark was like an arrow to a heart already shot through with the philanderings of an ex-husband who wasn’t above flaunting this year’s younger model in her face?
“‘A man looks dignified,’” she parroted Scott dryly. “‘A woman simply looks old.”’
Not according to Arnie, Cody almost said out loud. It had been at his agent’s insistence that he had grown his hair long to make him look younger, more hip. And while he truly did miss his mustache, Cody didn’t miss that long mane of hot hair hanging down the back of his neck. When he returned to the circuit, he was determined to keep his hair nice and short—whether Arnie liked it or not.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. Really.” Putting a finger beneath her chin, Cody tilted her face up so that her eyes met his. “What I meant to say was that nothing that comes out of a bottle could ever compare to the color of your natural hair. It’s the color of dark fire. I can’t believe you went to such lengths to hide it from the world.”
He meant every word. Though the gossip columnists had him pegged as a sweet talker, that was just the repetition of a long line of garbage that Arnie regularly fed the press. Just as Danielle had taken his comment earlier, words sometimes came out wrong for him. Was there any graceful way of extracting that big, old cowboy boot from his mouth?
“You’re not old, damn it!” he said with conviction.
“You’re a beautiful woman, and I like being with you. Do you know how nice it is to share a meal with someone who doesn’t think MTV is the height of cultural awareness?”
Danielle warily gauged him for any sign of insincerity, but his last comment struck a common chord.
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