Read Online The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) by Roz Denny Fox - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roz Denny Fox
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flashlight and took one for herself, sizing him up as she slipped past. Twice she glanced back, expecting him to have vanished. He trod silently at her heels. She fought an unexpected rush of emotion heating her cheeks. Oh, dear...she didn’t want to have these feelings for any man.
The minute they reached the back of his wagon, Camp cupped his hand for Emily’s foot and boosted her inside. He listened to the murmur of voices, steeling himself for fireworks that never developed. In a very few minutes Brittany emerged, followed by Emily. The girl wouldn’t look at Camp and refused his help down. Once out, she crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders, face sullen. He was relieved to see her wearing jeans and a respectable cardigan.
Forcing her to look up, he said sternly, “Brittany, we need to talk. Emily and I will walk you to your wagon.”
“We don’t need her. ”
“You may not, but I do. It isn’t my intention to make mockery of your feelings, Brittany. I’m flattered. Any man my age would be. But that’s my main point—age. Had I married at the age my peers did, you’d likely be a classmate of my daughter’s.”
“I don’t care.”
“Maybe not now, but you would in a few years when I’m gray or bald and you’re still young and beautiful,” he said with a touch of humor.
“You think I’m beautiful?” Her gaze flew to his, hope blossoming.
Camp floundered. He flashed his light on Emily as a plea for help.
She thought about letting him deal with his own problem. But over all, he deserved an E for effort. Taking pity on him, she slipped an arm around Brittany’s shoulders. “Honey,” she said as they walked toward Sherry’s wagon. “Mr. Campbell’s talking ten years from now. He’s trying to say that most women reach their full beauty at thirty, while at fifty men start going to pot. Ev ery thing starts to decline....” Without spelling out details, she boosted Brittany into the wagon. “Hit the pillow, hon. Maizie plans to make fifteen miles tomorrow.”
The minute Brittany disappeared, Emily swung toward her own wagon.
Camp fell into step. “You enjoyed saying that about men going to pot, didn’t you?”
Her lips tilted up at the corners, but she said nothing.
“For your information, I don’t expect my everything to decline until I’m ninety.”
Throwing her head back, she stopped and laughed out loud.
A husky, pleasant sound that got Camp’s attention and made his palms sweat. And made him want to kiss her lips. Fortunately for him, they’d reached her wagon, which brought a return of Camp’s sanity.
“If you’re ready to turn in, I’ll see to your fire,” he said stiffly. “It’s the least I can do to repay you.” Almost formally, he handed back the flashlight she’d lent him.
“No thanks needed,” she said, suddenly as brusque as he. “Keep the torch. I have others.” Vaulting gracefully into her wagon, she yanked the drawstring, closing Camp out. Emily didn’t move or breathe for a minute, knowing he still stood where she’d left him, probably hurt by her abrupt dismissal of his gratitude. But she could ill-afford to crack the door on friendship. Considering her bills, her unhappy kids and the problems with her in-laws, Emily had all the trouble she cared to handle. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men?
CHAPTER FOUR
Men’s version of taming the West leads us to believe it was easy—all in a day’s work—and even kind of fun. What a crock of lies.
—Gina Ames. Entry on data sheet following the first day on the trail.
A N OBNOXIOUS CLANGING penetrated Camp’s sleep. His eyes flew open, only to encounter darkness. Then he remembered rule number two. Maizie’s version of reveille was an old-fashioned triangle dinner bell.
Stifling a groan, he rolled from his back to his stomach. Every muscle in his body protested. Inch by inch he climbed to his hands and knees. At first he tried rocking back and forth to gain leverage enough to stand.
The minute they reached the back of his wagon, Camp cupped his hand for Emily’s foot and boosted her inside. He listened to the murmur of voices, steeling himself for fireworks that never developed. In a very few minutes Brittany emerged, followed by Emily. The girl wouldn’t look at Camp and refused his help down. Once out, she crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders, face sullen. He was relieved to see her wearing jeans and a respectable cardigan.
Forcing her to look up, he said sternly, “Brittany, we need to talk. Emily and I will walk you to your wagon.”
“We don’t need her. ”
“You may not, but I do. It isn’t my intention to make mockery of your feelings, Brittany. I’m flattered. Any man my age would be. But that’s my main point—age. Had I married at the age my peers did, you’d likely be a classmate of my daughter’s.”
“I don’t care.”
“Maybe not now, but you would in a few years when I’m gray or bald and you’re still young and beautiful,” he said with a touch of humor.
“You think I’m beautiful?” Her gaze flew to his, hope blossoming.
Camp floundered. He flashed his light on Emily as a plea for help.
She thought about letting him deal with his own problem. But over all, he deserved an E for effort. Taking pity on him, she slipped an arm around Brittany’s shoulders. “Honey,” she said as they walked toward Sherry’s wagon. “Mr. Campbell’s talking ten years from now. He’s trying to say that most women reach their full beauty at thirty, while at fifty men start going to pot. Ev ery thing starts to decline....” Without spelling out details, she boosted Brittany into the wagon. “Hit the pillow, hon. Maizie plans to make fifteen miles tomorrow.”
The minute Brittany disappeared, Emily swung toward her own wagon.
Camp fell into step. “You enjoyed saying that about men going to pot, didn’t you?”
Her lips tilted up at the corners, but she said nothing.
“For your information, I don’t expect my everything to decline until I’m ninety.”
Throwing her head back, she stopped and laughed out loud.
A husky, pleasant sound that got Camp’s attention and made his palms sweat. And made him want to kiss her lips. Fortunately for him, they’d reached her wagon, which brought a return of Camp’s sanity.
“If you’re ready to turn in, I’ll see to your fire,” he said stiffly. “It’s the least I can do to repay you.” Almost formally, he handed back the flashlight she’d lent him.
“No thanks needed,” she said, suddenly as brusque as he. “Keep the torch. I have others.” Vaulting gracefully into her wagon, she yanked the drawstring, closing Camp out. Emily didn’t move or breathe for a minute, knowing he still stood where she’d left him, probably hurt by her abrupt dismissal of his gratitude. But she could ill-afford to crack the door on friendship. Considering her bills, her unhappy kids and the problems with her in-laws, Emily had all the trouble she cared to handle. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men?
CHAPTER FOUR
Men’s version of taming the West leads us to believe it was easy—all in a day’s work—and even kind of fun. What a crock of lies.
—Gina Ames. Entry on data sheet following the first day on the trail.
A N OBNOXIOUS CLANGING penetrated Camp’s sleep. His eyes flew open, only to encounter darkness. Then he remembered rule number two. Maizie’s version of reveille was an old-fashioned triangle dinner bell.
Stifling a groan, he rolled from his back to his stomach. Every muscle in his body protested. Inch by inch he climbed to his hands and knees. At first he tried rocking back and forth to gain leverage enough to stand.
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