Instantly, Jase’s arms were around her, guiding her to fresh air. Setting her down in the snow, he began rubbing her hands. She looked up, perplexed.
"What happened?"
"You fainted."
She was insulted. "I never faint."
"It’s all right, September. It happens to anyone who hasn’t seen violent death before."
"And I suppose you’ve seen so much of it, you’ve grown used to it."
His voice lowered. He looked away. "You never get used to murder."
She was instantly sorry for what she had said. No matter what Jase Conroy was, this old man had been his friend.
"I’m all right now, Jase. See to your friend."
He nodded. "I’ll bury him on the side of the hill, overlooking the Klondike. He loved the river." He took the pipe and pouch of tobacco still gripped tightly in her hands. "I’ll bury these with him. He deserved some comfort."
After the burial, Jase spent a long time in the shed going over the papers which had been tossed around. Folding them together, he made some notations, then wrapped them in a leather pouch and secured it to the sled.
He was eager to be off. After a quick check of the team’s harness, he ordered September to board the sled. Amid the usual yelping, the team moved out at a brisk pace.
* * *
They arrived at the second mine just after noon. Like the first one, it consisted of a crude shack of logs built along the bank of the river.
As they approached, there was no sign of life.
"This is Cutter’s place," Jase said.
His voice, September noted, was tight.
"Cutter. Davey Cutter," Jase shouted.
There was only silence.
"Stay here." Jase’s order to her was given in clipped words.
He halted the team and strode quickly to the dilapidated shack. A moment later she heard his curses and began running toward the cabin.
He caught her before she could run inside.
"Don’t go in. You don’t want to see. It’s even worse than the first."
Her eyes widened, then she turned and fled back to the team. With a heavy heart, she watched as Jase dug, with pickax and shovel, through the frozen ground. When the miner was buried, he returned to the shack and removed whatever papers were still available.
Without a word he climbed on the sled’s runners and cracked the whip. As the team pulled away, September turned for one last glimpse of the mine. Two men had already paid with their lives for gleaming yellow metal. How many more? A madman was killing miners, ending their lives forever, for their gold.
She thought about her father. Fear cut off her breath, then squeezed itself around her heart. Her father and his dream of glory. What price would he be required to pay? She wouldn’t think of it. Couldn’t. Hurry, Jase, she thought. Hurry. My father is out here somewhere. And I have to find him before that killer does. Oh, Mama. Watch over Pa until I get to him.
* * *
They found the third miner just before dark. When they approached the silent cabin, September stayed on the sled while Jase went in search of the man. From the somber look on his face, she knew, even before she asked. Like the others, he was dead, his cabin ransacked.
"Do you know him?"
Jase shook his head. "He’s a stranger."
"Patrick." The word was out while she was fleeing toward the cabin.
Jase ran after her, watching as she paled. Inside she stared at the dead miner and heaved an audible sigh of relief. Jase watched, understanding her terror, unable to do anything for her.
When he had finished burying the miner, Jase approached September, who was waiting with the team.
"Would you like to stay the night here?"
She shook her head. "I wouldn’t feel right about using another man’s cabin."
He nodded. "I guess I feel the same way."
He drove the team up the hill to a heavily forested area. In the shelter of the trees he erected their tent over layers of evergreen boughs and pine needles. Like a balm after the day of death, the earthy scents of the forest enveloped them.
When their chores were finished for the night, September rolled a cigarette and took a long drag before handing it to Jase. He nearly laughed at the ease with which she now rolled and smoked his cigarettes. Together they sat at the open flap of the tent and watched the setting sun spatter the sky with brilliant paints.
"How about a drink?" Jase asked. "I know I could use one."
He poured half a tumbler and offered it to her. She tipped back her head and drank, feeling the warmth seep through her veins. Handing it to Jase, she watched as he finished her drink, then poured another for himself. He drank quickly, then corked the bottle.
Sitting beside her, he was achingly aware of the soft, womanly scent of her. He had never known it could be so pleasant, having someone like this to share the solitude. Was this what his father and mother had found? Was this why he could hear their laughter, clear and light on the night air, as they lay together, talking over their days?
September chose a safe, comfortable subject.
"Did you see the way Lucky took off after that rabbit a little while ago?"
Jase nodded lazily, sharing her need to speak of mundane things. "With Tanner right on his tail. I figured we’d see a big fight when one of them managed to bring it to ground."
"Me too." September smiled. "I wonder why Tanner decided to let Lucky have the kill."
"To avoid a fight. Tanner’s a smart dog. He’s my swing. Any time Lucky got injured and couldn’t lead the team, Tanner would be ready to step in as leader. Lucky senses that. And he knows too that one day they’ll have to fight for the lead again. Tanner’s smart enough to know he can’t win—yet. So right now, they’re keeping a respectable distance."
"How did you learn so much about sled dogs?"
Jase rubbed his aching shoulder and exhaled a stream of smoke. "From my father. By the time I was eight or nine I was going out on the trails with him. Sometimes we’d be gone for months at a time."
"Wasn’t it lonely for your mother? Didn’t she mind?"
Jase chuckled. "If she did, she didn’t show it. My father knew this land better than anyone. And he taught me everything he could."
September heard the note of affection in his voice as he spoke of his parents.
"Why haven’t you ever married, Jase?"
He glanced over at her. "Who’d have me? As you’ve discovered, this is a harsh land, a demanding land. But it’s where I intend to live and die."
Who’d have him? She wondered if he had any idea what others thought of him. She had seen the respectful distance other men allowed him at the saloon. And she had seen the way Snake’s women had watched Jase whenever he stopped by the saloon. On this journey she had discovered a man who loved books and animals, who saw a primitive wilderness as a paradise, and a man who lived by a code of honor and decency.
"Have you ever known such a bloody day as this?" she asked quietly.
"A few."
She glanced over. In the dim twilight, his eyes were hooded, his lips compressed.
"I’ve heard rumors that you’re a hired gun, and that you’re a bounty hunter. Is that true, Jase?"
He went very quiet. She had seen him do this many times before. He had a way of going very still, like a creature of the wild observing its prey.
"I wish you hadn’t asked me. It’s not something I can talk about."
"But—"
He turned to her, staring boldly into her eyes. His voice lost all expression. "I hunt."
"Hunt what?"
"Men."
The single word left her heart frozen.
Seeing her look, he tossed aside his burned down cigarette and pulled the flap of the tent closed.
In silence each of them turned away and slipped out of their clothes.
On the bed of pelts, September knelt and lifted aside a fur robe. Jase stood over her. His voice deepened with emotion.
"I wis
h I could tell you more about myself."
"It doesn’t matter."
He caught her arm, hauling her to her feet. His voice was gruff with anger. "It never mattered to me before. I never cared what anyone thought about me. But now it matters. And I can’t explain."
She touched his cheek, and felt him stiffen at her touch. "You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jase. I don’t care what you do, as long as you just hold me right now."
His arms came around her, crushing her against him. His lips covered hers in a brutal kiss, his lips devouring hers. Heat engulfed them. His hands twined through her hair, drawing her head back, while his mouth moved over hers, drawing out all the sweetness, all the goodness she had to offer.
"Your kisses," he muttered thickly against her mouth, "make me weak."
"Good. I like my men weak." Her words were cut off as he pulled her fully into the kiss. She didn’t resist but drew him even closer. She thrilled to the wild rush of desire that left her both bold and clinging.
"I can’t get enough of you. I’ll never have enough." He swore and lifted her in his arms, depositing her on the pelts. Then he stretched out beside her.
The passion was immediate. September had wondered if the feelings she had experienced before with Jase could ever be duplicated, or if she had somehow exaggerated everything in her mind since that wonderful night. If anything, the feelings were even more intense.
Her pulse rate accelerated until she thought her heart would leap from her throat. Her blood heated and boiled, sending a surge of languorous warmth through her veins. All thought, all energy, was focused on this man and his drugging kisses.
She tasted the faint mingling of whiskey and tobacco and the mysterious, darker taste of his lips, his tongue. The taste of him merged in her mind, flowing through her, until she could no longer separate herself from him.
She wanted to take the kiss deeper, but he pulled back, then brought his lips to her throat. She moaned and arched her neck, giving him free access to her creamy skin. Waves of ash silk hair drifted across the rich dark pelts, looking like a spill of silvered moonlight.
With a desperate hunger Jase savaged her throat with kisses. Her sultry sigh whispered over his senses, driving him toward the edge of control. Dazed, he tugged on the ribbons of her chemise, desperate to find the flesh beneath. With the groan of a madman he tore away the last barrier and found her.
Her flesh was firm and so soft it nearly drove him mad. Beneath his palm he could feel her heart thundering. His hands caressed, his thumbs teased, until she begged him to end her torment. With a moan of pleasure he bent his lips to her breast and felt her shuddering response.
Her breasts were hard, anticipating his lips. Slowly he moistened the tips with his tongue and heard her sharp intake of breath. Slowly, so slowly she thought she would die, he moved from one to the other, teasing, tasting, until she writhed and moaned.
She ran her hands through his hair and dragged his head back to hers, needing more of his kisses. His hands explored her body, thrilling to every hollow and curve, every little place that gave her pleasure. With a sort of reverence he realized that he wanted to know her body as intimately as he knew his own. He felt a wild possession, and the knowledge was like a drug.
He drew her body so close, they seemed as one. Again and again he kissed her lingeringly, needing to give as well as take.
They came together in a mad frenzy, needing, wanting what only the other could give. Outside, the wind moaned and howled. Inside, words, low and incoherent, issued from his mouth. He cursed her lovingly and promised her undying devotion, or thought he did.
The need for her shattered his control. Needs, desires, were familiar feelings. But with her there was something more. He wanted to possess her, as she had possessed him all these long weeks, since first he had seen her. Love. He loved her completely. The thought stunned him, then drove him to a fever pitch, until he felt himself shatter into a million pieces and begin to drift almost dazedly down from some high peak.
Outside, the wind continued to sigh and howl. But the man and woman inside the tent were oblivious to everything except the storm of primitive emotions which raged between them, driving them, draining them, and finally cleansing them of the horrors they had witnessed this day.
They lay together, spent, drained, content.
Chapter Twenty-one
Under a leaden sky, Jase and September loaded the sled and harnessed the dogs. Breaking camp, Jase stared heavenward toward the threatening clouds.
"Big storm moving in. We’ll go as far as we can before we have to seek shelter."
They followed the gentle curves of the Klondike, searching for any sign of prospectors. As September’s gaze swept the pristine wilderness, she found it hard to imagine they were stalking a ruthless killer. What kind of savage could calmly travel from place to place wreaking such destruction?
"Is it true that men can walk into this river and see gold glinting beneath the water?"
"It’s true," Jase said, as they paused to allow the dogs to drink.
"Have you seen gold here?" she asked.
Jase nodded. "I’ve picked up a nugget or two. But for the most part, it isn’t that easy. Most of the prospectors have to sift through the river’s silt. It’s hard work. And few of them will go home rich men."
"I don’t understand you," she said. "You know this country better than anyone. Haven’t you ever wanted to stake a claim and hope for a fortune?"
Jase gave her a lopsided smile. "I’m not a poor man, September. I’m well paid for my work. But there are things other than gold I hold more dear." He whistled for the dogs’ attention. "Let’s move out. It’s growing colder."
The snow fell steadily, often blinding them. The wind off the river was frigid. But the worst of the storm held off until nightfall.
Before noon, they stopped at the first camp of the day. From a small enclosure, a donkey brayed pitifully. Leaving September with the team, Jase approached the decaying cabin. When he didn’t return, she cautiously left the sled and moved toward the open door. Inside, she was horrified at the destruction.
Blood spattered the floor and walls. The table had been upturned, one leg ripped off and obviously used as a weapon. It lay on the floor, stained red. Chairs were smashed, bunks ripped apart. The bodies of three men lay slumped about the room. It looked as though they had put up a tremendous fight.
"Is one of them the killer?" September asked, clinging tightly to the door. She felt the familiar nausea begin and fought for composure.
"No." Jase’s words were chilling. "Three partners, from the looks of them. They fought well, but the killer was armed with both a rifle and a handgun."
"How do you know?"
"I know." He glanced up and saw the whiteness of her skin. "Go outside and wait with the team."
"I need to know if one of them could be . . ." She swallowed, unable to continue.
"None of them has red hair, September. And I’ll check each for a birthmark. Now go outside."
Gratefully she obeyed him, hating herself for her weakness. He deserved her help, but she had no stomach for it.
Two hours later they were back on the trail.
"How long do you think they’ve been dead?"
"No more than a day," Jase said grimly. "We’re gaining on him."
Hurry. Hurry. Her mind kept time with the sound of the team’s straining against the harness. Be careful, Patrick Malloy. Look over your shoulder.
Watching her in grim silence, Jase read her thoughts and urged the team on even faster.
By nightfall they had found four more dead miners, two in the next camp and two lone prospectors working along the Klondike. The last body Jase judged to be only hours old.
Each time that September had to glance at the bodies to be certain none of them was her father, he saw the fear and pain in her eyes.
Exhausted beyond belief, they made camp quickly and lay clinging to each other, desperately trying to block the scen
es of carnage.
* * *
Yesterday’s storm left a dull, gray sky, with angry, swirling clouds threatening more snow. Though the air was frigid, the wind had died down, leaving a feeling of heavy oppression. Even the dogs seemed sluggish as Jase and September whistled them into harness.
They moved out quickly. Jase, September knew, was determined to catch up with the madman who was leaving a trail of death and destruction.
Like the others, the first two mines they came across that day appeared deserted. On further inspection, two miners turned up dead. Each time, September forced herself to stare at the dead man’s face, praying it wouldn’t be her father. Each time, Jase heard her long, drawn-out sigh of relief when she peered into the face of a stranger.
At the last mine, the body was still warm.
By mid-afternoon she felt the growing dread as the roof of a shack came into view. As they approached, they studied the surroundings for any sign of life.
Halting the team, Jase muttered, "You stay with the sled. I’ll go inside." He didn’t need to say more. She knew that if he discovered a body he would gently ease her through the painful process of identifying it.
As Jase moved toward the cabin, she thought she saw a movement on the far side of a canvas tent. Leaving the sled, she began to walk across the clearing that separated the shed from the tent. Halfway there, she stopped to stare in shock at a small wooden cross. On it had been painted the name of the mine. She read each word slowly. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Through the mist of tears, the words swam. The Wee Princess Mine.
With a shout she spun around and ran for the cabin. Inside, Jase was bending over a body. At her strangled cry, he straightened.
"Pa. It’s Pa."
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "No, September. You don’t want to see him."
"I have to. Don’t you understand? It’s my father."
She wrenched herself free and rushed to the figure which lay crumpled in the corner of the room. Kneeling, she cradled his head in her arms, alternately sobbing and crooning as she rocked him gently.
September's Dream Page 22
