I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  But he would also wonder why a hardheaded Newcastle girl hadn't opened her eyes and asked more questions. He might not say it outright, but he'd know she had been foolish and stupid.

  Worse, the next time he wrote home, he'd tell his ma that he'd run into Zoe Wilder, and the poor thing was married to a bigamist and she was traveling with the bigamist's other wives and wasn't that something. The gossip would be too titillating for Mrs. Price to keep to herself, so she'd head straight to the company store to ask if anyone else had heard the news, thereby spreading it around. In the end Zoe's ma would hear a smeared version of the gossipy details and be humiliated that she had to learn the truth from a neighbor instead of from Zoe.

  Zoe drew a deep breath and tilted her head to look at the mountain peaks rimming the valley. "I was going to marry, but it didn't work out." God forgave lies that protected mothers.

  Something moved in his eyes. "So you don't have a husband."

  "No." That much was certainly true.

  "Damn it, Zoe! You're still sitting right where we left you!" Clara rolled a wheelbarrow up beside them and gave Zoe a scowl and Tom a nod. "Excuse me for swearing, mister, I don't usually, but what's happening down there on the beach would try the patience of a wooden saint." She wiped her forehead. "No one knows what they're doing, they don't understand the concept of organization, and the outfits are getting mixed together."

  "Where's Juliette?" Zoe didn't see her anywhere.

  "You'd think pushing a wheelbarrow would be a simple thing, wouldn't you? It should be. I don't know what in heaven's name she's doing, but the wheelbarrow keeps tipping over and dumping out her load. After the third time of helping her repack, I left her to pick up the mess and repack it herself." Clara flopped down on the crate beside Zoe and fanned her face. "I'm Clara Klaus," she said to Tom, "the only healthy, sensible person among the three of us."

  Laughing, Tom inclined his head. "I'm Tom Price, a friend of Miss Wilder's family."

  "Where did you get the wheelbarrows?" Originally Zoe had wondered what had drawn her husband to Clara. Despite Clara's glowing skin and impressive curves, Clara just didn't seem the type of woman to attract a man of the world. But Zoe was beginning to see Clara as a fount of resourcefulness. It occurred to her that she could have done far worse in choosing a companion for a journey into a hard land.

  "It was easy." Clara laughed. "I arm-wrestled one of the men off the ship. He wanted a rematch." Her eyes sparkled. "He got whupped again, and I got his wheelbarrows."

  Zoe stared. "What did you wager?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "You're the arm-wrestling Amazon that I've been hearing about?" Tom asked, grinning.

  Zoe groaned, picturing the indecent bodice and Clara's breasts burgeoning like peachy mountains. The story was going to follow them the entire time they were in Alaska.

  Tom smiled with admiration. "Congratulations. I've met some men who became legends up here, but you've managed to do it before you got off the ship. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

  "Help! Help me!"

  Through the crisscrossing of hurrying men, Zoe spotted Juliette. As she watched, the stacked wheelbarrow began to lean and would have tipped over except that Juliette dropped the handles and darted to the side, catching the load on her back. For a moment Zoe thought Juliette would go down under the weight of the load now balanced on her small shoulders. But she clamped her teeth and dug her heels into the churned-up ground.

  She wasn't strong enough to push the load upright. And she couldn't jump out from under fast enough to avoid the heavy load falling on her. She was stuck in place.

  Tom strode forward, catching the toppling load as the weight began to push Juliette to her knees. She went down anyway. Her skirts pushed into the wet ground, and she covered her face with her hands as Tom shoved the load and the wheelbarrow upright.

  "I can't do this! Women aren't supposed to do this!"

  "Well, you did do it, ma'am." Tom helped her up, then clasped the handles of the wheelbarrow. "You brought this load where you wanted to bring it."

  "Well, my heavens." She stared up at him. "It took me a while and a few mishaps, but I did get it here, didn't I?" A thunderstruck expression dazed her eyes.

  Grudgingly, Zoe granted her a thimble's worth of credit. But she also took an inordinate amount of pleasure in Juliette's disheveled appearance. Her Ladyship's hat hung over one ear, she'd lost a glove, muddy knee prints soiled the front of her skirt. She didn't look like the trim, crisp Juliette that Zoe had come to know and wanted to kill.

  Adding to Zoe's guilty pleasure was the surprised look Ren Dare fixed on Juliette as he wheeled a handcart up next to them. And Zoe found it interesting that Juliette blushed bright and instantly set about fixing her hat and slapping at the mud drying on her skirts. So, Clara was correct, and Miss Propriety had spent rather a lot of time with Mr. Dare on board ship. But the confirmation wasn't too interesting.

  The conversation going on above her head was. Clara had made introductions in her perfunctory way; it had been discovered that the crate Zoe sat on belonged to Ben Dare, and now the men were taking the ladies in hand.

  While Tom and Mr. Dare discussed the logistics of how and where to move the ladies' outfits, Zoe closed her eyes and breathed the good scents of the sea and wood smoke. She listened to male shouts and curses and a faint tinkle of saloon music floating from the distant town of Dyea.

  She wanted to manage this journey without depending on others, and tomorrow she would hate it that she was beholden to Tom and Mr. Dare. But right now, she was too exhausted to care. If the men wanted to move their outfits and set up the tent, God bless them for it. All she wanted to do was fall into her collapsible cot, rest, and regain her strength.

  When she opened her eyes again, Clara had dug some dried fruit out of the pack, and Juliette was asking if she should make tea on Mr. Dare's camp stove. In the middle of the off-loading process, Zoe's companions were having a social occasion.

  Well, why not? The men had offered to assist them, after all, and there was odd comfort in discovering they weren't entirely alone in a strange new place. They knew people here.

  Her gaze traveled to Tom. The folks in Newcastle talked about leaving, talked about going to Seattle or somewhere else where life wasn't as stark and hard. But few actually left, and those who did were likely to return having discovered that cities could be harsh and uncaring.

  She knew why Tom Price had left Newscastle and the mine, that was a given. But she wondered why he had fetched up in Alaska instead of someplace closer to home. And owning a packing company, too. Whatever that was.

  When she noticed him watching her as he talked to Mr. Dare, she turned her head toward the haze of wood and coal smoke overhanging the town. Nothing had changed. She didn't want an involvement with a Newcastle man even in a small way. Besides, she was still married to The Bastard.

  But oh, my, it was good to see someone from home.

  Sliding a sidelong look toward the men, she noted dark curls lying against the collar of Tom's heavy coat. Faded denims snugged around his thighs, and he wore lace-up work boots. Mr. Dare was clad similarly, but Mr. Dare's clothing looked new, whereas Tom's garments were comfortably worn and familiar.

  After Tom and Mr. Dare strode off to do whatever they intended to do, Zoe wondered if she would see Tom Price again. There was no reason to do so. On the other hand, Ma would have her hide if she wrote home and mentioned that she'd run into him but had no news to report. She would have to make a point of meeting him again and asking a few questions. For Ma's sake.

  She chose not to examine why that decision improved her spirits so greatly.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Bear leaned against a post inside Tom Price's stable, watching Tom load the panniers draped across a big jack mule. It was a pleasure to watch a man who was good at his job. When Tom finished, there wouldn't be half an inch of wasted space, and the well-padded liquor would arrive in D
awson City without a single broken bottle, having gone from Dyea to Skagway, over Dead Horse Pass, then another six hundred miles by boat or sled.

  "Fifty-one cents a pound is highway robbery."

  Tom shrugged. "Nose Malley's Indians will pack you in cheaper." He buckled down the pannier straps. "Your liquor's leaving for Skagway in about two hours, so if you want to hire Nose Malley, say so now. I'll have to charge you a loading fee."

  Nose Malley was notorious for dumping one man's load beside the trail and continuing on with someone else's if the newcomer offered a higher price. Most of the packers played that game, except Tom Price. After Tom Price shook your hand, the deal was set in stone. Your goods arrived, intact, and for the cost originally agreed on. And Price didn't shy from big jobs. He'd taken a piano over the pass for Bear and gotten it to Dawson without busting the cabinet all to hell or dunking it in a river.

  When Bear didn't instruct him to start unpacking the mules, Tom stepped back to run a critical eye over the jack's load. "Are you going to Skagway with the pack train?"

  The load looked balanced to Bear's eye. "This time I think I'll go over Chilkoot. Are you leading the Skagway train or is Davidson in charge?"

  "Davidson's a good man. He'll get your liquor to Dawson."

  Bear nodded. "Have the ladies hired you to pack their outfits over Chilkoot?"

  It wasn't necessary to explain which ladies he meant. First, there weren't many women in Dyea, and fewer still were ladies. Second, Ben Dare had mentioned that Price was a friend of Miss Wilder's family.

  "Miss Wilder said we'd talk this morning."

  "When you talk to her, tell her you'll pack her and her companions all the way to Dawson for thirty cents a pound." When Tom's eyebrow soared. Bear bit down on his back teeth. "I'll pay the extra plus a bonus if you get all their goods to Dawson."

  "Your saloon must be doing very well indeed," Tom commented. "This will cost a pretty penny."

  Bear kicked at the dirt and frowned. "Don't tell them it's me doing the paying."

  The words falling out of his mouth astonished him. He was as surprised and mystified by his anonymous generosity as Tom appeared to be. He didn't owe those women anything. He didn't even know them except for Miss Klaus, and he didn't know her except to nod and say howdy do.

  But everyone in Dyea had linked their names. Clara Klaus, the redheaded Amazon, had whipped Bear Barrett in about thirty seconds flat with twenty men looking on. The unthinkable had happened. Bernard T. Barrett had been publicly bested by a mere woman, and everybody knew it. He couldn't walk a dozen steps without someone giving him a knowing grin or laughing right out loud. Already he'd fought five men in defense of his manhood, and he'd only been in Dyea for two days. Miss Clara Klaus had brought him a potload of aggravation and trouble.

  Yet, here he was turning strange and chivalrous not only toward her, but toward her companions, too, paying out a king's ransom just to make their journey a little easier. He had no idea why he was doing this. And not even taking credit for it.

  "Civilization's coming our way," Price commented, stepping up beside Bear at the open end of the stable. He offered Bear a cigar and lit one himself.

  "When genteel ladies start showing up on pleasure excursions, civilization has definitely arrived."

  Twice today, Bear had done something without knowing why he'd done it. Ordinarily he'd accompany his goods to Dawson. It wasn't necessary, but that's what he usually did, packing out of Skagway instead of Dyea. But he'd made an impulsive decision to climb Chilkoot instead of Dead Horse. And then he'd spent a chunk of money to assist three women he hardly knew. Maybe his manhood really was in danger. He was going soft. "Who's shooting out behind your place?" he asked abruptly, jerking a thumb toward the sound of shots.

  "Miss Wilder is doing some target shooting."

  "She's shooting? These are very interesting ladies, damned if they aren't." These three didn't behave like most ladies, but like most men, Bear knew at a glance who was a respectable woman and who wasn't, and Miss Klaus, Miss Wilder, and Miss March were as respectable as they came.

  "So you think they're going to Dawson City on a pleasure excursion?" Tom asked, studying the glow at the end of his cigar.

  "Why else?" Since Tom was a friend of Miss Wilder's, Bear had hoped Tom would know why the women were traveling to Dawson. "I can't picture them prospecting."

  "Well, there isn't a brain among them if they think getting to Dawson is going to be a mild lady's adventure."

  "So why do you think they're going?"

  Tom shook his head. "I don't know."

  The stable sat at the end of the muddy ruts scarring Dyea's main street. From where they stood, they had a long view of the horses, carts, and foot traffic flowing in a constant stream past hastily erected storefronts and tents large enough to accommodate boisterous saloons, gambling halls, and primitive lodging. In front of Hanrahan's Supplies, Bear spotted a bright redhead wearing a little hat without enough brim to keep the northern sun off the wearer's marvelous skin.

  Lord almighty. If Bear lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget the moment Ben Dare lifted away her cape and Clara Klaus's magnificent breasts filled his vision. In his time, he'd seen some breasts, he was happy to say, but none like hers. First they were respectable breasts attached to a respectable woman, meaning they were not meant to be seen. This fact alone was enough to drive a man half mad with guilty joy. Next they were beautifully stupendous, large enough to fling a man's imagination toward peaks and valleys and images of losing himself in soft yielding mountains of womanly warmth. And finally, her satiny pink skin glowed with such health and beauty and exuberance that only a dead man could be exposed to the sight and powdery scent without breaking into a hot sweat.

  He'd been seeing those breasts in his dreams and daydreams, and he wouldn't mind seeing them again in reality. But that wish was a pipe dream. It wouldn't happen. Clara Klaus was a clever woman who had figured out how to win the tournament. In the days before and since, no one could claim to have glimpsed a scrap of the woman's flesh other than her face.

  Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he watched her lean to examine the items displayed in the supply store window. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, but she ranked as one of the most appealing. He liked her direct, clear-eyed gaze, and his impression that she could accomplish whatever she set her mind to. He liked that she had some meat on her bones and was full-figured. He even liked the way she didn't back down, didn't let her sex set limitations.

  "Tell your boys I'll be leaving in the morning. I'll meet up with them at Sheep Camp." He'd pack light as far as Sheep Camp, where he'd catch up with Price's Chilkat Indians who would bring the bulk of his supplies.

  When he saw Miss Wilder coming around the corner of the stables carrying a Winchester at her side, he tipped his hat to her, exchanged a few words, then set off down Main Street. If he happened to run into Miss Klaus, he might offer to buy her a cup of coffee or tea. He suspected she would prefer a mug of hearty German ale, but there wasn't a saloon in Dyea fit for a lady.

  Ordinarily he wasn't an introspective man. He did whatever felt smart or right or good at the time and he didn't question it later. But Clara Klaus had him examining his thoughts and behavior and searching for reasons to explain both.

  She had humiliated him before a roomful of companions and shipmates. In the stories making the rounds, she was either an Amazon or a wisp of a little thing, but in both versions, Bear was depicted as being half the man he used to be.

  By the time he reached her, he was mad as hell that she'd put a dent in his reputation.

  "I didn't know you enjoyed shooting," Tom commented, taking the Winchester and hefting it for weight, then sighting down the barrel before he handed it back to her.

  "My brother Pete taught me."

  "It's a good idea to have a shooter in your party. You never know what you might run into."

  When he'd spotted Zoe on the beach, he'd been shocked by her
haggard appearance. Since then he'd learned how seasick she had been, and since then she had improved miraculously. Today her cheeks were a healthy pink, and her hands were steady. She still looked too thin, but her eyes had the flash and blue sparkle that he remembered. And he remembered her well.

  Jack Wilder's little sister had been the prettiest girl in Newcastle. When Tom was twenty-two, he'd beaten up Harv O'Day for daring to suggest that Tilly White was prettier than Zoe Wilder. No girl could hold a candle to Zoe; she outshined them all.

  She still did, he thought, gazing down at her. No other woman had lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheekbones. He'd never seen a prettier mouth or lips that so invited kissing. And he'd always liked her hair, which was glossy black with red in the depths that could be seen when she stood in the sun. He used to look at her across the Wilder supper table and imagine drawing the pins out of the knot on her neck and then watching her long black hair spill through his fingers.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked, frowning up at him. "You're staring, and you seem a hundred miles away."

  "Sorry." He still wanted to loosen the heavy twist on her neck and wind the strands through his fingers. After coughing into his hand, he drew back his shoulders. "I believe you wanted to talk about my men packing you into Dawson."

  "I've done some checking. You have the best reputation among the packers, but you're also known as the most expensive."

  He smiled at her raised eyebrow and the way she paused. She was a Newcastle girl, all right, ready to negotiate the price of anything and everything. It was a trait he shared and admired.

  "Some speculators are feverishly building a railroad in Skagway, to go over Dead Horse Pass. And someone will figure out how to make Chilkoot easier. Or the gold fields could play out." He shrugged. "My motto is, make as much money as I can as fast as I can, because this boom isn't going to last forever."

  A flicker of esteem brightened her gaze and made his chest swell with pride. There were few things as satisfying as standing tall in the eyes of someone from your hometown.