100% Pure Cowboy (17 page)
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The thoughts that raced through Danielle's mind would stay with her for a lifetime. Could God be so cruel as to take Cody from her just when they had overcome all other obstacles in their way? With sudden clarity she understood why he had been so frightened to trust his heart to another. Danielle had only been able to imagine the horror he must have experienced watching his wife die in front of his eyes. Now that she was experiencing it firsthand, she wasn't about to give up without a fight.
She was up on her feet, running, slipping in the mud toward Champion. Taking the reins in her hands, she pulled backward as hard as she could, beseeching him to drag in the cowboy suspended in a raging. current by a slender thread of hope. Once again she lay on her belly, calling out Cody's name in prayer.
A hand emerged from the mud to clasp hers by the wrist. With a superhuman surge of adrenaline, Danielle assisted a mud-covered bundle onto the bank of the ravine. Wiping the muck from Cody's face, she kissed him over and over again. She wasn't sure he was all right until he started kissing her back.
Two muddy urchins fell to their knees beside them. Amid the crackling of lightning and the roar of raging water, a family was formed from the clay of the land that had claimed their hearts.
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There was an odd blend of emotions carried in the smoke of the campfire on the final night of their fateful sojourn: triumph, loss, joy, sorrow, endings, new beginnings...
Looking around at “her” girls, Danielle couldn't help but feel proud. With grit and determination, they had taken on the real West and ended up conquering the most formidable opponent of all: their own fears. She hoped that when they returned to Denver they would carry with them the sense of pride and friendship that had marked so much of their way along the Oregon Trail. Like the courageous woman in Matty O'Shaw's diary, who herself had taken a second chance on love and ultimately discovered happiness in California with her stubborn, persistent wagon master, these young ladies would be a cherished part of her forever.
A new face graced the camp that evening. Cody's agent, Arnie Fullerton, had arrived like the cavalry intent on saving his star from what the tabloids had dubbed the Dalliance With The Demented Den Mother. The front page blowup of Danielle slapping Cody across the face at the Pioneer Days Rodeo was still hot copy and had done his client little harm in the free advertising department. Still, Arnie maintained with a catch in his voice, it just wasn't right of Cody to run off like that without a word to his trusted agent as to his whereabouts.
After about ten minutes of Arnie's self-aggrandizing, Danielle had had enough. Money and fame were all well and good in and of themselves, but, like Mollie, she already resented the ulcerous little man who had laid claim to the past few years of his client's life. No wonder Cody had snuck away and donned anonymity like a warm, safe cloak.
Danielle smiled to think of the horrified expression on Arnie's face when they had arrived back at camp after the flash flood looking less like human beings than zombies who had just crawled out of their graves. Rather than tending to their immediate needs, everyone's attention had been focused on keeping Arnie from fainting.
She had to give the man credit, however. When his best efforts failed to convince Cody to call an early end to the expedition, he had sacrificed his expensive Italian boots to the trail. One thing was for certain: he wasn't about to let Cody out of his sight again.
For a short man, Arnie cast a long shadow over Danielle's thoughts. She found herself wondering just how much of his life Cody was willing to devote to being a father and a husband. She didn't see much future in being a Roadie Mom, but she couldn't possibly ask Cody to give up his stardom on her account. Unfortunately it wasn't something she had given much thought to when she had accepted his hasty proposal.
As if reading her thoughts, Cody pulled out his guitar and with that winning, self-effacing grin he knew she couldn't resist, asked, “Care if I serenade you tonight, Red?”
Danielle's face grew hot as the girls all hooted their approval. Cody bent down on one knee and poured his heart and soul out the best way he knew howâin a song.
“The One for Me” was more than just another Cody Cameron original destined to soar to the top of the charts. It was his commitment to all that he held dear in his life, the tender lyrics reaffirming his love and desire to raise a family out of the limelight. It was the kind of eloquent proposal he could put to words only if accompanied by a sweet melody. And it was his way of telling Arnie that his career would be based out of his Wyoming ranch, that his years of blind commitment to the industry were over.
Danielle stared into the universe of Cody's gentle blue eyes. Love was as mystical as a haunting song, as strong as the cord that bound them together as a family. As they kissed beneath the light of the waning moon and the entire assemblage of Prairie Scouts erupted into cheers, Lynn and Mollie shared a wink that was to foreshadow years of impish mischief.
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Chapter One
T
iffany saw him in the distance, riding the big black stallion. It was spring, and that meant roundup. It was not unusual to see the owner of the Lariat ranch in the saddle at dawn lending a hand to rope a stray calf or help work the branding. Kingman Marshall kept fit with ranch work, and despite the fact that he shared an office and a business partnership with Tiffany's father in land and cattle, his staff didn't see a lot of him.
iffany saw him in the distance, riding the big black stallion. It was spring, and that meant roundup. It was not unusual to see the owner of the Lariat ranch in the saddle at dawn lending a hand to rope a stray calf or help work the branding. Kingman Marshall kept fit with ranch work, and despite the fact that he shared an office and a business partnership with Tiffany's father in land and cattle, his staff didn't see a lot of him.
This year, they were using helicopters to mass the farflung cattle, and they had a corral set up on a wide, flat stretch of land where they could dip the cattle, check them, cut out the calves for branding and separate them from their mothers. It was physically demanding work, and no job for a tenderfoot. King wouldn't let Tiffany near it, but it wasn't a front row seat at the corral that she wanted. If she could just get his attention away from the milling cattle on the wide, rolling plain that led to the Guadalupe River, if he'd just look her way...
Tiffany stood up on a rickety lower rung of the gray wood fence, avoiding the sticky barbed wire, and waved her Stetson at him. She was a picture of young elegance in her tan jodhpurs and sexy pink silk blouse and high black boots. She was a debutante. Her father, Harrison Blair, was King's business partner and friend, and if she chased King, her father encouraged her. It would be a marriage made in heaven. That is, if she could find some way to convince King of it. He was elusive and quite abrasively masculine. It might take more than a young lady of almost twenty-one with a sheltered, monied background to land him. But, then, Tiffany had confidence in herself; she was beautiful and intelligent.
Her long black hair hung to her waist in back, and she refused to have it cut. It suited her tall, slender figure and made an elegant frame for her soft, oval face and wide green eyes and creamy complexion. She had a sunny smile, and it never faded. Tiffany was always full of fire, burning with a love of life that her father often said had been reflected in her long-dead mother.
“King!” she called, her voice clear, and it carried in the early-morning air.
He looked toward her. Even at that distance, she could see that cold expression in his pale blue eyes, on his lean, hard face with its finely chiseled features. He was a rich man. He worked hard, and he played hard. He had women, Tiffany knew so, but he was nothing if not discreet. He was a man's man, and he lived like one. There was no playful boy in that tall, fit body. He'd grown up years ago, the boyishness driven out of him by a rich, alcoholic father who demanded blind obedience from the only child of his shallow, runaway wife.
She watched him ride toward her, easy elegance in the saddle. He reined in at the fence, smiling down at her with faint arrogance.
“You're out early, tidbit,” he remarked in a deep, velvety voice with just a hint of Texas drawl.
“I'm going to be twenty-one tomorrow,” she said pertly. “I'm having a big bash to celebrate, and you have to come. Black tie, and don't you dare bring anyone. You're mine, for the whole evening. It's my birthday and on my birthday I want presentsâand you're it. My big present.”
His dark eyebrows lifted with amused indulgence. “You might have told me sooner that I was going to be a birthday present,” he said. “I have to be in Omaha early Saturday.”
“You have your own plane,” she reminded him. “You can fly.”
“I have to sleep sometimes,” he murmured.
“I wouldn't touch that line with a ten-foot pole,” she drawled, peeking at him behind her long lashes. “Will you come?”
He lit a cigarette, took a long draw and blew it out with slight impatience. “Little girls and their little whims,” he mused. “All right, I'll whirl you around the floor and toast your coming-of-age, but I won't stay. I can't spare the time.”
“You'll work yourself to death,” she complained, and then became solemn. “You're only thirty-four and you look forty.”
“Times are hard, honey,” he mused, smiling at the intensity in that glowering young face. “We've had low prices and drought. It's all I can do to keep my financial head above water.”
“You could take the occasional break,” she advised. “And I don't mean a night on the town. You could get away from it all and just rest.”
“They're full up at the Home,” he murmured, grinning at her exasperated look. “Honey, I can't afford vacations, not with times so hard. What are you wearing for this coming-of-age party?” he asked to divert her.
“A dream of a dress. White silk, very low in front, with diamanté straps and a white gardenia in my hair.” She laughed.
He pursed his lips. He might as well humor her. “That sounds dangerous,” he said softly.
“It will be,” she promised, teasing him with her eyes. “You might even notice that I've grown up.”
He frowned a little. That flirting wasn't new, but it was disturbing lately. He found himself avoiding little Miss Blair, without really understanding why. His body stirred even as he looked at her, and he moved restlessly in the saddle. She was years too young for him, and a virgin to boot, according to her doting, sheltering father. All those years of obsessive parental protection had led to a very immature and unavailable girl. It wouldn't do to let her too close. Not that anyone ever got close to Kingman Marshall, not even his infrequent lovers. He had good reason to keep women at a distance. His upbringing had taught him too well that women were untrustworthy and treacherous.
“What time?” he asked on a resigned note.
“About seven?”
He paused thoughtfully for a minute. “Okay.” He tilted his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes. “But only for an hour or so.”
“Great!”
He didn't say goodbye. Of course, he never did. He wheeled the stallion and rode off, man and horse so damn arrogant that she felt like flinging something at his tall head. He was delicious, she thought, and her body felt hot all over just looking at him. On the ground he towered over her, lean and hard-muscled and sexy as all hell. She loved watching him.
With a long, unsteady sigh, she finally turned away and remounted her mare. She wondered sometimes why she bothered hero-worshiping such a man. One of these days he'd get married and she'd just die. God forbid that he'd marry anybody but her!
That was when the first shock of reality hit her squarely between the eyes. Why, she had to ask herself, would a man like that, a mature man with all the worldly advantages, want a young and inexperienced woman like herself at his side? The question worried her so badly that she almost lost control of her mount.
The truth of her situation was unpalatable and a little frightening. She'd never even considered a life without King. What if she had to?
She rode home slowly, a little depressed because she'd had to work so hard just to get King to agree to come to her party. And still haunting her was that unpleasant speculation about a future without King...
But she perked up when she thought of the evening ahead. King didn't come to the house often, only when her father wanted to talk business away from work, or occasionally for drinks with some of her father's acquaintances. To have him come to a party was new and stimulating. Especially if it ended the way she planned. She had her sights well and truly set on the big rancher. Now all she had to do was take aim!
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