Free The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) by Roz Denny Fox Page B

flayed on an empty stomach. He deliberately filled his mouth with fried potatoes and eggs, only rising politely as her smelly boots came to a grinding halt four inches from his own cleaner pair.
    “Renegade took a powder during the night.”
    Camp plunked his plate down and vaulted the fire, dashing to the edge of the meadow. Sure enough, Goliath, Little Lizzie and Spike all grazed where he’d left them. But not the tobacco-colored Belgian—the one that’d fought him yesterday.
    His breakfast turned to rubber sliding down his throat. “How...how far could he roam, do you suppose?”
    “Who knows?” Maizie pulled a new packet of chewing tobacco from her pocket and gnawed off a chunk. “Find him,” she ordered after she’d softened up the piece and spit a stream into Camp’s fire.
    “Me? Do I look like the Lone Ranger?”
    “If you end up saddle-sore, you’ll double-check your hobbles from here on out. It’s rul—”
    “Rule fifteen,” he broke in. “Yes, I know.” Camp thought he had rechecked the hobbles. Obviously not well enough.
    “Sooner you start, the better. We ain’t waitin’, mind you. Follow Renegade’s tracks from where you staked him out. Once you nab him, hitch your wagon and head out. Pick up our tire tracks and follow us, fast as you can. We’ll be burnin’ up the miles today.”
    “What if I don’t find him?” Camp had no worry about being able to follow the tracks left by the balloon tires they’d installed on the wagons before leaving Boonville. That was child’s play. Horse tracking was another matter. How did you tell one hoof print from another?
    “Reckon you’ll find him by and by. He’s big as a buffalo. Pretty hard to mistake him for a jackrabbit. The land hereabouts is flat as a flitter ’cept for these few trees.” A rumble Camp took for laughter shook Maizie’s squat frame.
    “It’s more a worry over some farmer mistaking me for a cattle rustler that concerns me,” he said. “So which of these horses do you recommend I ride for the search?”
    “I’ll saddle my pinto gelding while you put out this fire. Throw the rocks from your fire ring and any extra wood into your wagon. It’ll save repeatin’ chores tonight. The pinto’s name is Mincemeat, by the way. I bought him from a down-and-out cowboy. Guy wanted everyone to think his horse was a mean one. But I guarantee he’ll be fine tied behind the wagon. Just see that you tie him tight.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Resigned to finding his strayed horse, Camp couldn’t help but gaze longingly at his first decent meal in two days—now stone-cold. Again he dumped out his potatoes and eggs. He decided to wrap the biscuits and take them along—in case finding Renegade took him longer than Maizie thought.
    Telling himself there was no excuse for delay, he set to work doing exactly what she’d outlined, trying to sort out the various horse tracks.
    Gina’s wagon pulled out, followed closely by the couple from Philadelphia. One by one the others fell into line. Camp climbed aboard Maizie’s saddle horse, then just sat. The string of wagons made quite a sight leaving the meadow. Matched teams stepped in unison as chalky canvas ballooned against a deep-blue sky. Today the sky was the exact shade of Emily Benton’s eyes. A subtle blend of lavender and cobalt, like the wisteria trailing over his porch at home.
    Rather than moon over eyes that refused to seek him out, Camp knew he should get under way. If he found Renegade soon, he might even catch up with the train before they took their first break.
    Even so, he waited until Emily, now the last wagon in line, left the clearing. Her hair sparked in the rising sun, reminding Camp of his vision last Saturday, when he first saw the wagons. But instead of a long, flowing pioneer dress, she wore faded blue overalls over a creamy T-shirt. In place of the imagined sunbonnet, a battered Kansas City Chiefs cap failed to restrain her curls.
    Try as he might, Camp couldn’t