Gold Rush Bride. Debra Brown Lee
got nothin’ to lose then. Work the claim with me and we’ll be filthy rich come the first snow.”
Filthy rich was right.
No, that was his father’s game, not his. Will had made a new life for himself here, had put his past behind him. But the gold fever and what it had done to this pristine place and the once-honest men who lived here brought it all back in spades.
“Sorry, Matt. Not interested.”
“Damned if I can understand your reasonin’.”
His reasons were good ones, but none of Matt’s damned business. He shot another glance at the miniature in Landerfelt’s store window. “Each man has to make a life for himself, Matt. On his own, in his own way.”
“You’re set on Alaska, then?”
He studied the image of Mary Kate Dennington’s proud Irish features and bright blue eyes. “I am.”
“But how ya gonna—”
“I don’t know. All I know is, come hell or high water, I’ll be on that ship.”
It was nearly dark, and cold as any day in Dublin she could remember. Kate stood in the rain at the foot of her father’s grave, her mind made up.
She was cold and wet and she bloody well deserved to be. She’d been a fool to borrow that money on the promise of yet another of her father’s harebrained schemes. She knelt in the mud and placed a hand on his muddy grave.
“What were you thinking, Da?”
He hadn’t been thinking, and that was the problem. Liam Dennington had been a dreamer, a risk taker. Always after that next pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
She smiled in the dark, remembering.
A bit shaky on her feet, Kate rose as mud seeped into her boots. Exhaustion had finally caught up with her and gnawed bone deep against another familiar sensation. Desperation. She clenched her teeth and willed them both away.
Her gaze swept across the forested hillside peppered with the dying light of miners’ campfires. The single street that made up the town of Tinderbox cut across it, dark and quiet.
One campfire, in particular, drew her attention. But the man hunched beside it with an oiled buckskin pulled over his head against the downpour was no miner. She watched as Will Crockett stirred up the embers with a stick.
Mei Li had been right. Vickery confirmed what the girl had said about Crockett being a trapper on his way north. He was the perfect choice for her plan. Now, if she could only muster the courage to ask him.
The soft strain of a miner’s fiddle carried over the din of the rain and reminded Kate of home, though Tinderbox was certainly not like any place she’d ever seen in Ireland. It was a strange new world, and she was an outsider. That was made clear to her today by Mr. Landerfelt.
The man was pompous and, on the surface, seemed to present no particular threat, but she’d read a dangerous sort of instability in his eyes when Crockett had crossed him. Who knew what the merchant might do to protect the monopoly he seemed determined to create?
There were other dangers, too. All afternoon men had come down from the foothills where they worked their claims, just to get a look at her. It hadn’t taken long for Kate to realize she was one of the few white women here. In fact, since she’d left Sutter’s Fort two days ago, she hadn’t seen one other woman like herself—just Indians and a handful of Chinese.
It was clear she didn’t belong here. Her place was at home with her brothers. They needed her, had relied on her to care for them all the years since their mother died.
Kate had made enough just from the sale of the remaining goods in her father’s store to pay for the traveling expense back to San Francisco. Selling the horse and the mule would pay for lodging and food. What then?
She supposed she could work in a laundry or at some other decent employment until she raised enough to pay the debt owed her mother’s sister, and her ship passage home. But that could take months, and she’d experienced firsthand the tawdry San Francisco rooming houses built of green timbers and canvas walls. Walls that did nothing to muffle the sounds of what Kate could only imagine was going on in the next room between transient men and enterprising women.
No, she was better off in Tinderbox for now, where the memory of her father had garnered her one or two allies. She had a plan, and she’d stick to it.
A branch snapped behind her, yanking her out of her thoughts. Kate spun toward the sound.
“What are you doing out here in the rain? Christ, you’re soaked through.”
Will Crockett stood not two paces from her. How on earth had he crept up on her like that? Why, just a moment ago he’d been…
In the failing light, he took in her muddied garments and dripping hair. “Get back inside. It’s not safe out here.”
She ignored his command, wrapped her sopping shawl tight around her and started for his dying fire. She might as well get this over with.
“You should be at Vickery’s.” He offered her his oiled buckskin, as if it were a nuisance to do so. She took it and met his gaze.
“He gave you a bed for the night, didn’t he?”
“Aye, he did.”
Mr. Vickery had been more than gracious. He hadn’t felt it was safe for her to stay alone in her father’s cabin, and though his wife was away for a fortnight, he didn’t think it improper for Kate to stay under his roof for one night. After all, he was her father’s solicitor, a man Liam Dennington had trusted. Kate would trust him, too. What choice did she have?
“Go back to Ireland, Miss Dennington. Tinderbox is no place for a woman alone. A woman like you.”
Like her? Just what did he think she was like? She agreed with his advice, but for reasons she was certain were different from his. In any case, Will Crockett was in for a surprise.
“I intend to go back, as soon as I might.”
“Good.”
“But there is something you must do for me, first.”
“Me?” He looked at her, his dark eyes shining in the firelight. They were browner than she remembered. That afternoon in the store they’d seemed black as coal.
She made herself hold his gaze.
“Your father was my friend. I’ll do what I can, but I’m leaving town tomorrow and don’t plan on ever coming back.”
As if of their own accord, his eyes washed over her body. He looked away abruptly, embarrassed, it seemed. It was the third time that day she’d caught him looking at her that way.
She pulled the buckskin tighter, conscious of her wet dress clinging to her, outlining her hips and legs. “That’s exactly why it must be you, Mr. Crockett. You and no other.”
He turned toward her, then, and narrowed his eyes. They were black again. Black as a Dublin night in Liffey Quay. “What exactly is it you want, Miss Dennington?”
She’d likely burn in hell for what she was about to propose, but she mustered her courage and did it anyway.
“I want you to marry me.”
Chapter Three
He was the only man in Tinderbox who would have refused her. But refuse her he did, and sent Kate Dennington off to Vickery’s for the night.
A few hours’ restless sleep under a dead oak in a driving rain hadn’t made Will feel any better about his decision. And now, in the light of day, it seemed damned stupid of him.
He’d had the exact same idea, hadn’t he? To marry her for profit—his and hers. So when she’d proposed the deal,