The Beginning (Gold Rush Brides Book 1)

by Cassie Hayes

  All except one.

  Jack Dalton had been a boil on her backside since he swept into Sam’s boarding house nearly three weeks earlier. He bragged endlessly about hitting ‘paydirt’ and how he was set for life — he even wore a smooth, lustrous gold nugget on a chain around his neck at all times, calling it his ‘lucky nugget’.

  He was vain beyond belief, spending more time than she did in the communal washroom making sure his unruly blond hair was quaffed just so. Of course, a year spent shoveling gravel from creek beds and rocking a sluice box to separate the gold blessed his tall frame with a strong physique, and his blue eyes had a way of drilling down into your soul, so he thought he could charm anyone. But the worst, for Delilah, was that he paraded in and out at all hours of the day and night, reeking of whiskey and singing vulgar songs he could only have learned at a saloon.

  She had politely asked him to be respectful of others — after all, the walls were merely canvas and every noise echoed through the entire house, especially at night — but he’d laughed at her and given her a wink.

  “Loosen up, Miss Priss,” he’d had the gall to say the first time she’d confronted him.

  Her back stiffened at the insult. “It’s Miss Price,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Whatever you say, darlin’” Again with that impudent wink!

  After that, she’d given up all hope of communicating with the man in a polite manner. Instead, she chose to ignore him as much as she could. Of course he made that as difficult as possible by traipsing around like an arrogant cretin.

  And now he was at it again.

  Sleep had become a precious commodity for Delilah so when someone as inconsiderate and intolerable as Jack Dalton interrupted it, she had no qualms about confronting him. And that’s just what she intended to do now.

  ~*~*~

  Jack was just leaning down to give his lovely new friend from the dance hall, Fanny, a kiss when the door next to his was thrown open. Both their heads whipped around to see who would be interrupting them at a time like this and Fanny lost her balance. Little wonder, since she’d matched him drink for drink down at the saloon. His reactions were slowed from the whiskey and he almost missed catching her, but he managed to set her upright again, propping her against his door.

  He turned and his breath caught in his chest. Miss Priss was standing in her doorway wearing nothing but her nightgown, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and her green eyes spitting fire. As far as he knew, she’d never left her room without being completely covered in one of two dresses, a faded and stained light blue affair that had probably once been very fetching and a heavy dark brown one that always made him think of his grandmother. And her hair was always up in a severe bun.

  He was no stranger to the charms of dance hall girls such as Fanny, so seeing a woman in a nightgown that covered as much of her body as a dress would — perhaps more — shouldn’t have affected him in this way. But this woman was a different animal altogether. Never had he seen her this vulnerable and exposed. He was almost embarrassed at seeing her in such a state and nearly turned away, but the vicious glare she was giving him got his back up.

  “Mr. Dalton! Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  The barely controlled rage in her voice tickled him no end. For some reason, he took a great amount of delight from tormenting Miss Price. He had no idea what her story was but ever since he took a room at Sam’s, she’d been bossy, aloof and an all-around fussbudget.

  “I can help you get to sleep, beautiful,” he said with a lascivious wink he knew would scandalize her. The perfect O her pink lips formed and the intense shade of crimson that flushed her cheeks almost made him laugh, but any humor he felt was tempered by a shade of guilt at teasing her so ruthlessly. He thought of it as a game but he suspected she wasn’t having nearly as much fun as he was.

  “How dare you!”

  “Yeah, Jack, how dare you.”

  He’d nearly forgotten his new friend, leaning up against his door trying to look alluring. Her painted face and revealing dress were quite standard for those in her profession but they faded into the background in the presence of a natural beauty like Miss Price.

  “Sorry, darlin’. Just having a bit of fun with Miss Priss here.”

  Fanny leveled a frigid glance at his neighbor and harumphed.

  “You’re a disgrace!” Miss Price’s voice moved up an octave, coming perilously close to screeching. “You waltz in here like the king of Prussia simply because you got lucky in the gold fields, showing off your wealth by wearing that gaudy lump for the world to see. You throw your money away on gambling and drink and…well, other sinful pastimes rather than behaving responsibly. You act like a child left alone in the candy store, Mr. Dalton. When are you going to grow up?!”

  As much as this conceited snob of a woman irked him, her words stung. Especially about his lucky nugget, which was so much more to him than a showy piece of jewelry. But he wasn’t about to let her know that.

  “Being grown up is overrated, Miss Priss. You should try lettin’ loose sometime. I’m sure Franny wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers, would you, Franny?”

  Now he had two women glaring at him.

  “It’s Fanny! You think I’m gonna stand here while you flirt with another woman, you got another think comin’!”

  As he watched her storm down the stairs and out the front door, anger boiled inside him. He’d been having such a good time tonight, until Miss Priss had to go and ruin it all. When he turned back to her, she was leaning back on her door jamb shaking her head grimly. She probably didn’t notice that her crossed arms were pulling her nightgown tight across her front…but he did.

  “What would your mother think?” she asked quietly.

  How did she know just what buttons would set him off? It was an unparalleled talent and she’d hit the mother lode, so to speak. He advanced toward her a step and jabbed a finger at her pretty, infuriating face, making her cringe.

  “Don’t you ever talk about my ma! You don’t know nothin’ about me, Miss Priss, and I intend to keep it that way!”

  He spun around and stalked into his room but before he could slam the door shut, he caught a glimpse of her shocked expression and that familiar pang of guilt gripped his gut.

  Chapter 2

  “Aw, he’s a good ‘nuff kid, Dell. Jest needs to sow his wild oats a bit.” Sam had been trying to smooth the tension between Delilah and Jack since he checked in and started kicking up such a fuss. “Don’t let him bother ya none.”

  “Perhaps that’s true, Sam, but I cannot abide his bringing home common trollops at night! I thought you were running a respectable boarding house.”

  “He did what?! Why, I’ll skin that boy alive! I don’t give a good gol-damn — pardon my French, Dell — what he does in town but he knows he ain’t s’posed to bring that folderol back here!”

  “Calm down, Sam, no harm was done. I confronted the scoundrel, and the lady in question fled into the night. Of course, he didn’t bother to escort her safely back to wherever she calls home, which just furthers my assertion that he is of poor character.”

  Her sniff of disdain was final and Sam didn’t bother trying to defend Jack anymore, not after what he’d just heard. Instead he pointed at the jug of sourdough batter on the table, drips running down its sides and forming a pool she’d have to clean up later. She hefted the heavy jug and handed it off to Sam, who poured six perfect circles on the sizzling griddle.

  The heavenly smell of flapjacks cooking made her stomach grumble in anticipation. They were the only dish Sam could prepare well, though he thought he was the finest cook the rest of the time. Every man in the house made sure to make it to the kitchen for breakfast because he couldn’t be guaranteed dinner would be edible. But Sam was so kind that no one ever said a word against his cooking, not even Jack.

  As Delilah got started on the coffee before Sam could whip up his usual kettle of sludge, he asked, “So how’s yer project co
min’ along?”

  Within a few nights of her abrupt abandonment and subsequent residency at Sam’s house, every man there had made some form of advancement toward her. Some were more subtle than others, but it was clear they were all longing for the companionship of a good woman. Well, nearly all. One seemed quite satisfied with dance hall dalliances.

  The other thing she noticed, as she acquainted herself with the bustling town that was quickly turning into a city, was how few ladies were counted among its residents. The handful of true ladies — not the ‘ladies’ that frequented saloons and fandango halls — were nearly all married, and those who weren’t had a veritable entourage of suitors following their every step.

  Women were in short supply and she struck on an idea to fix the unbalance of the sexes. She would start a newspaper that would feature advertisements from men seeking wives to come west. Her father — who was none too anxious to fund a return voyage for Delilah — was in the newspaper business in Boston and had agreed to distribute the publication wherever he could along the eastern seaboard, where unattached women were plentiful. Most of the men in the boarding house were very excited to place their own ads and most had even paid her in advance for them.

  She couldn’t help being excited at the prospect of owning her own newspaper. Fortunes were made and lost in a day in California — at least one person every day told her that — but if she played her cards right, this business could sustain her for years. Plus it would help those who desired suitable mates to find them.

  “Plenty of ads are coming in, but another printer turned me away yesterday.”

  Sam chuffed. “Damn bigoted idjits! Don’t they know a good idea when it smacks ‘em in the face? Who cares if it comes from a woman? Hell, most o’ the women I ever knowed was smarter than all the men I ever knowed!”

  Delilah smiled at his encouragement and poured the beans in the top of the coffee grinder. “There’s one more to try, and I have a good feeling about him. He’s very active in the temperance movement and has supported women’s rights here in California. Assuming his rates are in line with the other printers in town, I have all the money necessary for the first printing.”

  She blushed as she cranked the handle Sam’s sharp eye caught it.

  “Whatchya gettin’ all red fer?”

  She peeked out from under her lashes at him. “I’ve even taken the liberty of writing a few articles that readers might find entertaining.”

  “Why wouldn’t ya? You’re a gol-damn publisher. ‘Course you’d be writin’ articles. Don’t unnerstand why you’d get all a-flustered ‘bout that.”

  She just shrugged and scooped the grounds from the grinder’s drawer into the blue enameled kettle. Despite her bravado and occasionally tenacious ways, Delilah had deep insecurities, just like everyone else. She’d always wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps in the newspaper business, but he’d driven it into her that women could never be taken seriously as reporters. Besides, she would be too busy raising babies and managing her home to worry about such things.

  But Sam was right. She’d have to push past her self-doubt to fill pages of editorial space. If she was lucky and the newspaper did well, she’d have many years’ worth of articles she would have to write. And one topic she was determined to write about over and over again was that of really getting to know your potential spouse before traveling halfway around the world to meet him or her. No one should ever have to go through the expense, heartbreak and humiliation she suffered.

  She and Sam made a good team in the kitchen, almost as if they’d been working around each other for years. He was undoubtedly less refined than any gentleman she would have associated with back home, but she was more comfortable with him than any other man she’d ever met. He was like the uncle she never had.

  After setting the kettle on the cast iron stove, Delilah stepped back to watch Sam work. Each flapjack was expertly flipped so no batter splattered, and each was a perfectly uniform golden brown. When one was done cooking, Sam whipped open the oven door and tossed it on a platter piled high with others just like it. She couldn’t help but smile at his technique.

  Then the moment was ruined by his voice.

  “Have to say I liked the outfit you was wearing last night better than this old brown thing, Miss Priss.”

  Her upturned lips snapped into a tight purse as she turned to the doorway, where Jack Dalton was leaning with his arms crossed casually across his chest and one boot kicked back against the jamb. Oh how she hated that smug look on his face.

  “I will remind you yet again, Mr. Dalton, my name is Miss Price.”

  His blue eyes twinkled at her, a smile playing at his lips. “I wonder if any man alive could afford your ‘price’.”

  “Oh!”

  Sam spun on him, pointing a spatula at him. “That’s enough, Jack! Don’t you be disrespectin’ Dell.”

  “No, Sam,” Delilah said, placing a restraining hand on his outstretched arm. “Don’t defend me from the likes of Mr. Dalton. Men like him prey on women and I refuse to participate in his games.”

  “Well, then, sit down and have some breakfast, Dell. Ya gotta eat before you go on your ‘pointment.”

  Still casting daggers at Jack with her glare, Delilah shook her head. “No, for some reason I’ve lost my appetite. In fact, I feel quite sick to my stomach. If you’ll excuse me…”

  ~*~*~

  Jack caught a whiff of lemon verbena as Dell swept past him and up the stairs to her room. His eyes closed of their own accord and his lungs took a deep pull of the heady scent. When he opened his eyes, Sam was staring at him with a knowing look.

  “What?”

  Sam shrugged and turned back to the griddle. “Not a gol-damn thing, Jack.”

  Jack pulled a cup off a rough plank that served as a shelf and poured himself some coffee. Settling in at the table, he took a sip of the black liquid and moaned.

  “Sam, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had. Nothing’s better at taking the edge off the morning after than a good cuppa joe…unless it’s a good cuppa hooch.” He laughed merrily, wincing at the pain that shot through his head. Darned if that little party girl didn’t nearly drink him under the table.

  Sam harumphed in reply.

  Sitting in silence, the men fell into their own thoughts. Jack’s kept returning to the vision of Dell standing in her doorway in nothing but her nightgown. He couldn’t help imagining what was beneath the loose flowing cotton. And never in a hundred years would he have thought her hair could be so lovely.

  When he’d entered the kitchen, she’d been looking at Sam with so much affection that her normally hard features were softened to the point that he had to do a double-take before he recognized her. He wondered what it would feel like to have her look at him with such tenderness…

  He gave his traitorous head a hard shake, drawing a moan of pain at the sudden movement. Rubbing his temple, he squinted one eye open at Sam, who was shaking his head with his back turned toward him.

  “You got something to say, Sam?” he groused.

  Flipping another batch of flapjacks, Sam bobbed his head. “Since ya asked. Ya blow in here like you was king o’ the world, throwin’ yer good luck in everyone’s face, and you expect folks to thank ya for it. That ain’t how life works, son.”

  Sam gave him a look over his shoulder. “You seem like a nice ‘nuff fella, Jack. You done good up in the diggins, and ya done blowed off some steam after working yer tail off for a year. But dontchya think it’s time to start lookin’ to the future?”

  Jack couldn’t believe his ears. It was the second time in as many days that he’d heard this same lecture. First from Miss Priss and now from Sam. And he saw the way the other men in the house gave him the stink eye when he entertained company of the feminine variety, all disapproving-like. What was wrong with everybody?

  “Sam, don’t you remember what it was like being a young man? I bet you was a real heartbreaker back then, am I right?”

&nb
sp; Sam blushed and turned back to the griddle. His half-hearted shrug was all the answer Jack needed.

  “Yeah, thought so. You know I’m just having a bit of fun, right? What’s so wrong with that? I got more money than I’ll ever need, so why not live a little?”

  “Don’t ya want to have a nice nest egg for when ya settle down?”

  “Psh! Settle down? Me?! Sam, you musta got me confused with some other chump. No way some little filly’s gonna trap me into that life. Nuh uh, no sir!”

  Sam gave him another sly look.

  “So you ain’t gonna take out an ad in Dell’s paper?”

  “Ha!” Once again, Jack laughed a little too hard for his tender head’s liking. Rubbing his temples, he added more quietly, “Not a chance.”

  “All the other boys in the house is doin’ it. Never know, might find yer one true love.”

  Sam had a twinkle in his eye that Jack didn’t like one little bit. Why was everyone so eager to tie themselves down to a boring home life? Look at what he’d done in his short twenty-eight years — traveled the eastern seaboard with a small circus as their horse wrangler, sailed west on a ship around Cape Horn, worked on a ranch owned by a rich Spanish landowner — known as a Californio — breaking broncs and then found his fortune in a creek bed in the Sierra Nevada. For a poor farm boy from Missouri, that was an awful lot of living.

  And he didn’t intend to stop anytime soon.

  “Sam, I can find true love any night of the week down at the Eagle Saloon. That uppity Miss Priss ain’t got nothin’ I want.” The cocky smirk on his face belied the twisting and grumbling in his gut. Blasted hangover.

  “You listen here, ya great galoot! That little gal’s got more talent and gumption in her little pinky than the likes o’ you will ever dream o’ havin’! She come here with nothin’ and got hornswaggled when she got here t’boot. You see her bawlin’ about it? Nosirree! She’s makin’ somethin’ outta her life, boy. You could learn a thing or two from that little lass, if’n ya had a lick o’ sense in that hard head o’ yers!”