Jenna Kernan

by Gold Rush Groom

  “Come, Nala.” She placed a hand on her dog’s harness and her hound rose.

  “A trade,” he offered, his voice tinged with desperation. “I have goods.”

  She turned away.

  Damn him and his ten-dollar words. Liability, my ass. Doubtful he’d keep his word anyway. Few ever did. Lily gripped Nala’s harness and started off. She had wasted enough time.

  “Wait!”

  She didn’t, making him run after her.

  He blocked her path, wet to the waist and panting with the exertion of keeping what was more than any one man had a right to hold.

  “Be reasonable,” he begged.

  She laughed, making no attempt to hold down her brogue. “To hell with dat!”

  Another wave hit, cresting her boots. It swept away one of his boxes, taking it too far for him to recover, but he tried, rushing into the surf to his knees, preparing to dive and then thought better of it. That showed some sense. Water this cold could cramp the muscles of even the strongest swimmer. She bet he could swim. Probably had private lessons in a pool in Newport. She had learned when her brother had thrown her off a pier one hot July afternoon.

  She watched his shoulders droop.

  “You need dat?” she called.

  He glanced back. His entire face had changed. He looked like a man standing beside an open grave.

  “I can’t succeed without it.”

  “If you take me to Dawson, I’ll get it fer ye.”

  He glanced at the box, already twenty yards out and drifting fast. He shook his head in bewilderment. “Yes. I will.”

  “All the way to Dawson?” she clarified.

  “Yes!”

  With speed born of practice, Lily released Nala’s harness and pointed at the box. “Fetch, girl.”

  Nala barked excitedly and charged into the surf. The dog’s webbed feet helped her swim and her thick oily coat seemed impervious to the icy water. Lily stood beside the man, watching her hound cut through the breakers like a black swan, reaching the crate and gripping the edge in her powerful jaws. Nala had it now and Lily knew she’d not let go. In only a few moments the dog had the box ashore and was dragging it over rock and mud with the determination of a St. Bernard making a rescue.

  He turned to her, his smile bright with excitement and relief, pinning her with his whiskey eyes. She felt her stomach flutter for the second time. Sand clung to the wet fabric of his new clothing making it look dirty and worn. She took in his disheveled hair and wide flaring nostrils, and realized what was happening between them. Lily tamped down her rising desire. She’d sooner drink seawater than fall for a charmer.

  So why did the hair on her neck rise up?

  Nala barked excitedly, breaking their trance. The Newfoundland cross frolicked beside the rescued crate, justifiably proud of her accomplishment.

  Lily’s eyes narrowed on the man. “We have a deal?”

  He nodded.

  “And in return, I’ll look out for you all I can, even after we hit Dawson.”

  He smiled indulgently, as if he thought a woman could be of little assistance, but offered his hand. She eyed it with suspicion. It was big and broad, the kind that could break a woman’s jaw with a moment’s carelessness. She pressed her lips together and extended her hand. Long fingers wrapped about hers, cold as seaweed, yet still her stomach fluttered as if just awakening from a long sleep. Lily stepped back from the threat she recognized too late. He felt it, too; she knew it from the new speculation now glittering in his startling eyes.

  Suddenly her decision to cast her lot with this stranger seemed more dangerous than the trip to Dawson, because the menace he posed was far more immediate. She knew a man like this could cost her everything. Well, she’d not allow it. She drew herself up, resisting the pull between them as she moved to stand beside her dog even as she eyed him. This was the one she feared would come, the one her mother had warned her about, and she’d just convinced him to spend six months with her as his partner.

  Chapter Two

  Jack Snow rested one hand on the final crate and stared out at the water that had almost claimed his only chance. They had saved the lot. Together, and with her horse of a hound, they’d reached safety with all his equipment and tools intact. He had read about the tidal bores, of course, but that couldn’t compare to riding the mountainous waves that heaved through the narrow inlet. He’d never imagined having to fight one. Now that he and all his goods were past the high-water mark, he stared a moment, finding the phenomenon fascinating. His father would love to see this!

  That thought dashed Jack’s exaltation as memories rolled in, relentless as any rising tide. There was no sense in looking back. If he was to be his own man, his future lay ahead.

  The big dog whined, anxious to get under way. Jack glanced at the beast, happy for the distraction.

  The black bitch was strong as any mule, she could swim better than a Labrador and in water as cold as an ice bath. He eyed the huge shaggy creature. How much weight could one dog pull?

  The dog’s mistress stepped beside her, grounding Jack’s thoughts firmly in the here and now. Their eyes met.

  Damn it to hell.

  The permanence of their arrangement crept over him slowly like a thin layer of ice on a mill pond. He felt sick to his stomach as he thought of all the things that might happen to her while she was in his keeping. Another female in his care, the idea pressed down upon his shoulders, making it hard to breathe. But if he hadn’t agreed, then what would become of the two he’d left behind? His carefully laid plans had already begun to crumble like old masonry. He thought he might be sick.

  To provide for the two at home, he had to save his gear, and that meant there really was no choice at all. The little hellion had entrapped him as neatly as any spider. With luck, she’d find someone better and drop him like yesterday’s news, just like his fiancée had done when she’d heard of his family’s ruin.

  Why hadn’t the available information about the Yukon included something about this mayhem arrival? Jack had planned and studied, taking into account the cold, snow and ice, anticipated river travel and mountain-climbing. He had calculated his supplies and equipment with the excruciating exactitude of the mechanical engineer he had nearly become, taking in every eventuality but one. He had not, in his wildest dreams, imagined that the Pacific Coast Steamship Company would not have constructed a proper dock in Dyea on which to moor their vessel.

  Sunk by unforeseen circumstances. Was he no wiser than his father, risking all on one wild venture?

  Perhaps not, but he was stronger than his sire, for he’d not cut and run at the first sign of adversity. He might look the part of a dandy, as his new partner had assumed, but he was that man no longer. Circumstances had changed him. Now he needed to succeed just as badly as anyone here. More, in fact. Jack needed to seize the glimmering opportunity to restore what his father had lost—their good name, the respect of his peers, the ability to care for what was left of his family and the future that he still craved. He would reach that gold-bearing gravel in Eldorado Creek so he could try his invention, even if he had to carry this female all the way to Forty Mile.

  He glanced at the woman—his partner—giving her a critical once-over. The lift of her pointed chin, the slight curve fixed upon her lips and the narrowing of her eyes made her look both beautiful and wary. No doubt she was trying to size him up as well. He knew she was surprisingly strong for one stricken with such a diminutive body, but she was still only a woman and so his physical and mental inferior. She stood motionless in her crimson coat. Her cuffs and hood were adorned with lush dark fur, possibly wolf. The tight fit showed her to be petite, curvaceous and trim, exactly the type of woman he’d like to bed, but not at all the kind he would choose as a traveling companion. The only thing about her that did not speak of feminine grace was the large Colt repeater strapped to her hip. It seemed impossibly large against her small frame as evidenced by the extra bore holes that kept the wide belt from sliding o
ff her flaring hips. She wore it cinched at the narrowest part of her waist, entirely too high for a quick draw. He wondered if the ancient weapon even fired.

  Jack raked both hands through his hair, stopping to cradle his head for a moment as he searched the beach for help. When his gaze finally returned it was to find her studying him.

  The woman arrested him with her stunning blue eyes, framed by spiky dark lashes and raven brows that arched as she stared at him in silence. His arms dropped to his sides.

  What was she doing here in the first place? Didn’t she have family or friends to shelter her? A strong wind might blow her off the mountain.

  Surely he could make her see reason. He knew females had a knack for self-preservation and a proclivity to latch on to the best provider, at least that’s what Nancy had done, returning his ring and taking up with Jonathan Martin as quickly after his father’s death as propriety permitted. He was a good choice, all in all, with his family’s mills lining the Connecticut River from Hartford to Springfield. Was this one like her? If so, he need only find her a better partner to be rid of her.

  She leaned forward and he was unable to prevent himself from doing the same. She drew him to her as surely as a magnet draws iron and he could not resist her allure. Her voice was sultry and low, as her breath brushed his cheek like a summer breeze off the Narragansett Bay.

  “Don’t even think about reneging on our agreement.”

  He straightened, affronted by her accusation, until he realized he had been thinking that exactly. He’d made an agreement, given his word and yet here he was trying to wiggle out of the deal. He knew what his father would have done in similar circumstances and that made the choice easy.

  He met the accusation in her gaze.

  “I won’t. I’m yours until Dawson.”

  She laughed. “That’s fine then.”

  What could the little minx possibly think to do inland? She couldn’t hope to be a miner—could she? The work alone would kill her before the ice even froze to the river bottoms.

  “What is there in Dawson for you?” he asked, considering that she might be more than she appeared, for here she was alone on a beach making her way without help. If the circumstances were reversed, could he have done as well? He gave her a grudging respect for her pluck.

  “Adventure and gold, of course.”

  Why was he not surprised that she was after riches?

  He narrowed his eyes on her, wondering what kind of a woman he had partnered with.

  “Adventure?”

  She nodded.

  “But what will you do there?”

  “I can sew or cook or sing. I’ve done all those and more to make my way here.”

  “A singer?”

  Could he possibly have found a woman who would be more useless on the trail?

  “Aren’t you the sharp tack? Bet you graduated first in your class.”

  He hadn’t graduated, though he’d been in line to be valedictorian. Likely be Francis Cobbler now. No, don’t think about those days, back when you had everything ahead of you, before the world crumbled beneath your feet.

  If she noticed his sour mood turning icy cold, she gave no sign, merely laughed, a musical tinkling sound that made the muscles of his abdomen tighten.

  “Gold is quite difficult to extract.”

  Her smile turned his insides to oatmeal. “Oh, there’s more to life than gold. And anyway, I’ll not starve.” She placed a hand on her hip and smiled coquettishly. “And I’ve a life to live, if I can get over those fool mountains.” She gave him a direct stare, reminding him without a word of the promise he had made. He’d never met a woman like her. And what was she talking about, life being more than gold? Obviously, but most of those here were not arriving for the fun of freezing in the passes. He could not figure her.

  She gave him a questioning look, her sculpted brows lifting. “We will make it, won’t we?”

  He couldn’t think when he looked at her. Why was he thinking about kissing her? Perhaps it was the nearly irresistible temptation of her raspberry-colored lips.

  As the woman waited for some response, she rested her hand easily on the grip of her pistol as if it were a walking stick. Did she not expect him to uphold his end of the bargain? Well, he would.

  He couldn’t keep the growl from rumbling in his throat. “We’ll make it.”

  That made her smile.

  “Yes, we will.” She stroked the black dog’s head. The beast closed its eyes to savor her mistress’s touch and Jack found himself suddenly and unreasonably jealous.

  “I’m Jack Snow,” he said.

  “Lily Delacy Shanahan. And this,” she indicated her hound, “is Nala.” She nodded and then pressed both fists to her hips, regarding him as if he had just tracked mud onto her clean kitchen floor. “You’re shivering.”

  Her expression was so dark he found himself resisting the urge to tremble, succeeding momentarily, before the jerking spasms sent his teeth knocking together again.

  “Follow me.” She tugged at the dog’s harness and set the cart in motion.

  “What about my things?”

  She turned away from Jack and let loose an earsplitting whistle, which brought a scrappy young man to her. “Watch these.” She told him as she pressed something into his palm.

  “You betcha,” said the lad.

  Lily looked back at him and then set off again, bringing less than half of his gear along. He stood for a minute torn between following and remaining with the rest of his belongings. Could this be an elaborate scheme to rob him?

  In the end, his shivering got the better of him and he hurried to catch up. They followed a hard-packed trail up over the rocky beach. Everywhere, men stacked bags and boxes of their belongings. Some had even staked their tents right there where the rock met the scrappy willow. As they continued, the hum of eager conversation and shouted orders drowned out the crashing waves that had almost destroyed him.

  The road widened as they crossed through the willows. Her dog strained to pull his things up the incline. Lily glanced back at him.

  “Well? Push!”

  He scowled, far more used to giving orders than taking them. But he did as she bade, and together, he and the hound managed to crest the rise. The dog received all of the praise, while he did not even gain a backward glance. He frowned, more at the realization that he wanted her attention than from the lack of it. That would not do. He refused to become bewitched by a little firebrand like this. He was stuck with her, but he didn’t have to like it.

  Ahead lay Dyea, a large tent city with stripped logs for street posts and only a few timber structures. Cold, dark mud turned the streets to quagmire and crept up the canvas that passed for buildings here. Some of the tents were large enough to hold a circus, but instead of sawdust and prancing white ponies, they held rows of rough-hewn tables with hungry men eating in makeshift restaurants. They passed Brackett’s Trading Post, singular for its two stories and five glass windows, though no one had yet painted the exterior, which had already weathered to a dark gray. A steady stream of stampeders picked their way along with horses and mules. He wished he could trade places with any one of them.

  Each of the tents had a stovepipe poking from the roof like the stem of an apple. He was glad he had one himself, a very light efficient stove that burned nearly five hours on just two split logs. Lily turned down this road and up the next until he was thoroughly lost in the maze of identical canvases.

  She stopped before an unremarkable tent that looked hardly big enough for one, let alone two.

  “This is it,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “You’re not much of a poker player, I imagine,” she said.

  He glanced at her, trying to understand the cryptic comment but she only laughed and patted him amiably on the shoulder, then began unloading his gear. She was so petit. How would she endure the journey? In a few moments they had his belongings stacked beside the tent flap.

  “You have cloth
es in here?” She indicated the pile.

  He stared in mute astonishment as he realized his duffel with all his personal belongings lay back with the unknown lad. He could not fathom the oversight. Jack needed to do better if he was to succeed. The Yukon would be no more forgiving than the banks back home had been. He gritted his clattering teeth. There was no way to recapture what was lost. His only choice was to start again.

  His mother disagreed. This expedition terrified her. She had told him that having lost her husband she could not bear the thought of losing her only son, as well. It pained him to worry her and he did fear what would become of them should he not return. Were it up to his mother, he’d be safe at home looking for a wife with a fortune. The thought turned his stomach. He would be his own man, despite the risks. Her latest telegram had reached him in Seattle, begging him to reconsider. He’d written that he was pressing on. He’d earn his fortune and return to have his pick of the New York debutants. He’d have his old life back or return like a whipped dog.

  He looked up to find her staring at him.

  She shook her head in dismay. “Go on in and strip out of those things. Take a blanket off my bed and heat the coffee. It’s in the pot. You do know how to rake coals and start a fire?”

  “Of course.”

  She made a harrumphing sound as if she did not believe it. It occurred to him suddenly that he might not be her ideal partner, either, though he could not see her objection. She turned the dog cart and stopped. “Leave the flap open or your crates will likely walk away on you. You have a pistol?”

  “Not on me.”

  “I find they do more good when they are carried in plain sight.” She patted the handle of her Colt. “You’re not at Yale now, college boy. There are thieves everywhere here.”

  With that she set the cart in motion, as he wondered if she were among the thieves. Was this even her tent?

  “Princeton, actually.”

  She shrugged and continued on.