“There is something you must do for me.”

“Me?” He looked at her, his dark eyes shining in the firelight. “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.

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.”

Praise for Debra Lee Brown’s previous titles

Ice Maiden

“Ice Maiden is an enticing tale that will warm your heart.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

The Virgin Spring

“Debra Lee Brown makes her mark with The Virgin Spring, which should be read by all lovers of Scottish romances.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Debra Lee Brown pens an enjoyable tale of intrigue and adventure.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

“A remarkable story. The fast pace, filled with treachery, mystery, and passion, left me breathless.”

—Rendezvous

#591 MY LADY’S TRUST

Julia Justiss

#592 CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF

Carol Finch

#593 DRAGON’S DOWER

Catherine Archer

Gold Rush Bride
Debra Lee Brown

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and
DEBRA LEE BROWN

The Virgin Spring #506

Ice Maiden #549

The Mackintosh Bride #576

Gold Rush Bride #594

To my mother, Marilyn Berger.

And my father, Lee Hargus

With love

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

Tinderbox, California, 1849

Kate Dennington arrived too late.

Months aboard ship, a fortnight tromping across the steaming jungles of Panama. Riverboats, mule trains and enough miles on her feet to wear holes in her shoes.

And all of it for nothing.

She ground her teeth behind pursed lips and met the solicitor’s sympathetic gaze. “When did my father die?”

“Tuesday.” Mr. Vickery looked past her out the window to the graveyard across the road. A fresh mound of earth stared back at them.

Tuesday. She swiped at her eyes, but her hand came away dry, as always. No tears, girl. Bear up. She could hear her mother speak it in the Irish, even now, so many years after her death. Denningtons didn’t cry. Not ever.

“W-what day is today?”

She’d arrived in San Francisco nearly a week ago, ill from the rough steamship journey up the coast, and with barely enough funds left to make her way to the frontier mining town where her father, Liam Dennington, had hoped to make his fortune.

“Sunday.” The honeyed voice belonged to a well-dressed gentleman who pushed his way through the throng of miners and tradesmen who’d gathered in Dennington’s Grocery and Dry Goods the moment Kate had arrived.

Vickery stepped aside, as if in deference to him. “Um, this is Mr. Landerfelt—from Virginia. Eldridge Landerfelt. Head of the town council and proprietor of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply.”

Kate had seen it amidst the hodgepodge of tents, shanties and cabins that served as the center of mining trade for the densely forested area. Both the gentleman and his enterprise seemed far too rich for a town the likes of Tinderbox.

“Eldridge, this is Miss Den—”

“I know who she is,” Landerfelt drawled. He looked her over, as if he were sizing her up.

Kate arched a brow and looked back. His haughty stance reminded her of an upstart prizefighter she’d once seen in a makeshift boxing ring in a warehouse in Dublin, near the tenement she and her brothers called home.

She had known there would be trouble the moment she’d decided to answer her father’s summons herself. When Liam Dennington had taken ill, he’d sent for Kate’s younger brother, Michael. But the letter was six months getting to Ireland, and by then Michael was newly wed with a babe on the way.

She’d had no choice but to come herself. The twins, Patrick and Francis, at age twelve were too young, and Sean at fifteen too reckless. So she’d left the boys in the care of Michael and his bride, boarded the clipper to America and hadn’t looked back. The money for the passage she’d borrowed from disapproving relatives in County Kildare. What a waste.

Landerfelt frowned. “The question is, does Miss Dennington know the law?”

“What law?” She hadn’t been listening.”

Yes, well I was just getting to that.” Vickery handed her a creased parchment, its edges smudged with inky fingerprints. “Your father’s will. I wrote it for him not two days before he passed. He signed it at the bottom—just there.”

Kate swept her gaze across the spidery lettering. It might as well have been Greek. There’d been little time for reading growing up. She did recognize her father’s flamboyant signature, though it seemed not as bold as she remembered it. “Aye, that’s his hand.”

“He leaves it all to Michael, your brother.” Vickery shrugged. “That’s who he was expecting, you see, who we were all expecting.”

Landerfelt stepped closer, and Kate fought a natural instinct to back away. “But Mike Dennington’s not who’s come, and that changes everything.”

“Mr. Landerfelt’s right,” Vickery said. “The land, the store, the horse and the mule—it’s all in the will. By law it passes to the next of kin, should the primary beneficiary be…well, in this case, wholly unavailable.”

“So it’s all mine, then? The storefront, the goods, everything?” Kate scanned the rough-hewn timbers of the two-room cabin her father had built on land he’d won in a poker game. It certainly wasn’t much. A fortune, indeed. What on earth had he been thinking? She offered up a silent prayer for his foolish but well-meaning soul.

“Yours until tomorrow.” Landerfelt pulled a cigar stub out of his breast pocket and lit it.

Kate wrinkled her nose at the stench. “What do you mean, tomorrow?”

“You’re the lawyer,” Landerfelt said to Vickery. “Explain it to her.”

“Um, yes, well…” Vickery pulled a sheaf of papers out of his portfolio and promptly dropped them. They scattered across the floor. “Oh, sorry. I’ll just be a moment.”

Landerfelt rolled his eyes. “It’s the law, like I said. The property passes to you, and your father’s business, too. But you can’t keep it. Not in this town.”

“What do you mean I can’t keep it? Mr. Vickery said that—”

“Single women, especially immigrants, don’t own property. Not in Tinderbox.” Landerfelt flashed a nasty look at a Chinese girl peering through the store’s front window. “And they don’t own businesses, neither. It’s better for the town.”

“Oh, is it now?” Better for a certain competing store owner, Kate suspected. Landerfelt’s and Dennington’s were the only two supply stores she’d seen since leaving Sacramento City.

“It’s a fairly new law.” Vickery offered her the disorganized sheaf of papers he’d retrieved from the floor. Kate just stared at them. “Enacted by the town council just a few days ago, in fact.” He flashed a look at Landerfelt, who stood there gloating.

“But my father’s business, the store…I’ll need to run it to—” The gravity of her situation dawned.

She would have to make not only a living in this godforsaken place, but enough to pay her passage home and still make good the small fortune she’d borrowed from her mother’s sister.

They had all assumed her father would pay them back. His letter…the wealth he described…Kate’s gaze was drawn to the sparsely stocked shelves of the store and a battered old cash box that stood empty on the counter.

She would have to make the money. There was no other way. If she didn’t, her aunt would make certain Michael wouldn’t see a penny of his hard-earned wages. And him with a wife and babe to feed, not to mention the other lads.

“Not all trade is forbidden.” Landerfelt cocked a blond brow at her. “Certain types of enterprises are allowed.”

“You mean I can’t run my father’s store, but I might be allowed some other commerce?” She’d never heard of any law so ridiculous. No matter. Whatever she had to do to raise the funds, she’d do it, and go back to Ireland as soon as she might.

Landerfelt grinned. “Hell, yes. A certain kind of commerce, as you put it, would be damned welcome in Tinderbox.” He raked his eyes over her body. They lingered for a moment on her bosom. “If you get my drift.”

She was suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, of the hungry-looking faces of the miners crowded into the store. She had the distinct impression that food was not what they craved. She got Landerfelt’s drift all right.

Her blood boiled.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Landerfelt.”

He chuckled—a slow, almost syrupy laugh in keeping with his Virginian drawl.

“Till tomorrow, is it? To dispose of the cabin and the land? I assume I may keep the horse and the mule?” She’d sell them, in fact, along with everything else that wasn’t nailed down, to raise the funds to pay the debt and buy her passage home. With her father gone, there was no reason to stay.

“Five o’clock.” Landerfelt reached into a pocket and withdrew a finely tooled money pouch. “Unless, of course, you’d like to sell it all—lock, stock and barrel—right now.”

“To you?”

“That’s right.” He reached for her hand and she stiffened. The charming smile that oozed across his face made her want to slap him. All the same, she allowed him to spill the contents of the pouch into her open palm. A half-dozen ten-dollar gold pieces winked up at her.

“Oh dear.” Vickery’s eyes widened.

She did the calculations in her head, allowing for the unbelievable inflation that had occurred overnight, since word had spread that the streets of California were paved in gold. She couldn’t read, but she was keen with figures. Years of stretching pennies to feed her wayward father and four brothers had perfected her skill for transactions.

“You’re crazy, Landerfelt.”

Her sentiments exactly. Why the horse alone had to be worth that much.

Through the crowd, Kate’s gaze lit on the rough-looking frontiersman who’d spoken. She’d not noticed him earlier, and wondered when he’d come in. He lounged against a timber near the store’s entrance, arms folded across his chest as if he owned the place.

Kate felt her face flush hot as the man’s cool gaze washed over her. He wasn’t dressed like the others in flannel shirts and wool trousers. Fur and buckskin clothed him from head to toe, but not any kind of fur Kate had ever seen. Lord, he was a sight! Wild black hair that was unfashionably long, and even blacker eyes.

She forced her gaze back to the coins in her hand. Landerfelt’s offer would barely pay for her return to San Francisco and a room for the night, let alone her debt and the clipper passage home. No, she’d need better than a thousand dollars. More perhaps. With prices what they were, she could only guess.

She watched as the frontiersman pushed his way through the throng and stood looming behind Eldridge Landerfelt. He flashed his dark eyes at her, and she felt a bit of a rush inside. He was taller than she’d first thought, and had a dangerous look about him. A wicked-looking scar cut across his left cheek. She wondered how he’d got it. A knife fight, perhaps, or a run-in with a bear? In this wild place there was no telling.

He stared at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She felt suddenly overwarm in the close quarters.

“It’s not enough and you know it,” he said.

Landerfelt faced him. “No? Then why don’t you give the little lady some of your money, Crockett. If you have any left, that is.”

A couple of miners snickered as a whispered buzz spread amongst them. Kate watched the cords on the frontiersman’s neck grow taut. His eyes grew even blacker, if that were possible, and his face was as hard as County Wicklow’s limestone cliffs.

“That’s my price,” Landerfelt said to her. He tapped his cigar ash on the counter next to them. “Take it or leave it.”

Kate glanced at the coins in her hand and at Landerfelt’s triumphant smirk. Aye, she was a woman alone in a foreign land, but no one played Kate Dennington for a fool. She knew nothing of prices or the value of land, but she was certain she could do better than the merchant’s paltry offering.

“Keep your coin,” she said, and slapped the golden eagles onto the counter.

Landerfelt’s jaw dropped, and he nearly lost his cigar.

“Ha!” The frontiersman, Crockett, smiled at her.

She noticed his teeth; they were white and straight. This close up, aside from his sun-bronzed skin and that wicked scar, he didn’t really look like the other transient men she’d seen on the last leg of her journey from Sutter’s Fort to Tinderbox. And she’d seen plenty. Hundreds of them, immigrants mostly, all flocking to the goldfields.

Crockett’s voice, his demeanor, they were…refined, almost. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that made him different, but would stake her last farthing he wasn’t born to this life.

All at once the store erupted into a cacophony of shouts and tussles. The miners crowded forward, nearly pinning Kate to the counter behind her. What on earth—?

“How ’bout sellin’ me that last jar a peaches?” A squat miner with doughy cheeks pointed at the shelf behind the counter.

“I’ll take all them tin pans ya’ve got left,” another cried out.

A dozen others called out their orders for goods. Kate’s head spun. What was she to do? Landerfelt and Vickery were all but pushed aside as the miners crowded closer. She looked to her father’s solicitor for help. Vickery merely shrugged, and fought to keep from losing his spectacles and his overstuffed portfolio in the ruckus.

One thing was clear to her. It was still her store, until five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Aye, she’d sell off the remaining goods and…She didn’t bother finishing the thought. In a flash she was behind the counter, reaching for that last jar of peaches.

“How much?” the miner said.

“How…much?” Lord, she had no idea. She’d only been in California a handful of days. The currency and coin were strange to her to begin with, and the prices of things seemed to increase by the hour.

The miner plunked a small leather bag onto the counter, and gestured to an odd-looking set of scales Kate had noticed when she’d first arrived. “I’ll take that sack of flour, too.” He opened the leather bag and sprinkled some glittering dust onto the scales. “How’s that?”

“How’s…what?” Apparently this ritual was supposed to mean something to her. Kate looked hard at the glittering pile and with a start realized what it was. “Oh. The gold, you mean?”

Of course! The man meant to pay her in gold dust. But how much should she charge? And how was she to value what he offered? Her hands grew sweaty and, without thinking, she wiped them on the skirt of her one good dress.

In a panic she looked up, directly into the black eyes of the only man in the room who’d had the nerve to question the dealings of her father’s competitor. The frontiersman, Crockett. She wondered why he’d come to her defense at all. What was she to him?

“Stand aside, miss.”

Before she could protest, he was across the counter, his hand on the scales. From a drawer hidden beneath the counter, he pulled a beat-up wooden box. Inside was a collection of a dozen or so metal cylinders, increasing in size from one tinier than her little fingertip, to one nearly as big as her palm. They looked heavy—brass, perhaps.

She watched, fascinated, as Crockett tried a couple of the smallest ones on the scale. She marveled at how quickly he got the side with the brass cylinder to balance perfectly with the side on which the miner had piled his gold.

“More,” Crockett said.

The dough-cheeked miner carefully tapped more dust out of his bag onto the scale.

“Enough.” Crockett pushed the peaches across the counter and gestured to the enormous bag of flour sitting next to him on the floor. “Three dollars for the peaches, and ten for the flour.”

“Thirteen dollars?” Kate was stunned. She calculated the exchange rate in her head. Why, that amount of money would have fed her and her brothers for a month!

“That’s right.” The edge of Crockett’s mouth twitched in a half grimace. “But don’t get excited. Dennington likely paid five in Sacramento City for the flour alone, and another five for delivery. God knows what he paid for those peaches.”

Kate realized Crockett was studying her. And he was standing far too close. Close enough for the fur trim of his jacket to brush her hand. She tried to step back but was hemmed in by more miners, clamoring to buy what remained of the store’s goods.

“But, the prices…how did you know what to—”

“Mei Li!” Crockett waved at the Chinese girl Kate had seen earlier standing in the doorway of the store.

The sprite ducked into the crowd, and Kate didn’t see her again until her head popped up on the other side of the counter. She wore a dazzling smile, and garments the likes of which Kate had never seen. “You wish me help?”

“Yes.” Crockett yanked a list out from under the counter and handed it to the girl. A price list, Kate surmised, though she couldn’t read it.

Both the girl and Crockett seemed to know more than Kate would have suspected about the operation of her father’s store. She’d remember to ask Mr. Vickery about it later.

“Miss Dennington could use some help.” Crockett looked at her again with those probing eyes.

She nodded, still wondering at the frontiersman’s motives but grateful for the assistance he’d provided her. In seconds, the Chinese girl filled the order of another miner and waved forward the next in line.

Landerfelt scowled from the corner where he and Mr. Vickery had been shoved. He cast the stub of his cigar to the floor and pushed his way out of the crowd onto the muddy wagon trail the locals called Main Street.

Crockett’s smile faded. His dark gaze followed Landerfelt out the door. Before Kate could thank him for his kindness, he pushed his way after him and was gone.

“Who on earth was that man?”

“That Will Crockett,” Mei Li said, and proceeded with the next transaction.

Kate watched him out the window. He stood rigid, hands fisted at his sides, outside Landerfelt’s storefront, as if he were waiting for something, for Landerfelt, perhaps. She’d felt the tension between them. “A frontiersman, is he?”

“Fur trader. Trapper.”

Kate could well believe it from his garments. Still, there was an air about him that smacked of drawing rooms and Sunday teas. Not that she knew anything about such things. The two-room tenement in Dublin she’d shared with her father and four brothers was a far cry from such a life.

“He lives here in Tinderbox?”

“No. Will Crockett go north. To Alaska. For beaver. Fox. Good fur there. His boat leave few days.”

“Really?” Perhaps he was a true frontiersman, after all.

“You keep store, yes?”

“W-what?” She hadn’t been listening. Her gaze was still fixed on Will Crockett. “Oh, the store. No, how can I? Mr. Vickery said it was the law. Single women can’t own a business.” Well, not any decent business, she recalled with a shudder. “No, I’ll have to sell it all. I’ll need the money to get home.”

And to make certain Michael and Sean didn’t end up in debtors’ prison. She wouldn’t put it past her mother’s sister. The only reason Kate was able to convince her to lend the money at all was the promise of weighty interest from the fortune her father was supposed to have made in California.

“No, you no sell,” Mei Li said. “No one buy for good price. They want gold, not store. You get cheated.”

The girl was right, and Landerfelt’s ridiculous offer was proof. Kate scanned the faces of the miners fighting over the few items remaining in the store. She read desperation in their grim expressions, gold lust in their eyes.

“You work store for money. Mei Li help.”

Kate shook her head. “No, it’s impossible. Mr. Vickery said—”

“I know, I know. No single women. No immigrants.” Mei Li rattled off something unintelligible under her breath—a Chinese curse, if Kate had to guess.

“Then the only answer is—”

“Easy answer.” Mei Li looked up from her work at the scales and smiled. “You marry.”

“What?” She nearly dropped the last pound of butter in Dennington’s Grocery and Dry Goods on the floor.

“Will Crockett good choice. He like you, too. I see it in eyes.”

Kate plopped onto the stool behind her and pushed her unruly auburn hair out of her face. The clamor of the miners faded as her gaze traveled out the window, snaked across the street and lit on the formidable figure clothed in buckskin and fur. The sky grew dark around him, and he seemed not to notice the light drizzle as he stared into the window of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply.

Will Crockett, indeed. Sweet Jesus, what an idea.

Chapter Two

It was a hell of an idea.

But one that Will would never consider, not even to get back at Landerfelt. The notion of marrying Dennington’s daughter sheerly for profit reminded him too much of how he had ended up out West to begin with.

He gazed at the out-of-place miniature propped against a pickax in the window of Landerfelt’s store and pushed the newly hatched thought out of his mind.

Mary Kate Dennington’s clear blue eyes stared back at him.

And all this time he’d thought the image was of Dennington’s wife. “Well, what do you know.” He’d seen the Irish merchant pull the keepsake out of his pocket and study it countless times over the past few months. “That’s my Mary Kate,” he’d say.

Will studied the image. The artist who’d painted it was good. He’d captured that…what exactly was it about Kate Dennington that drew him in? She wasn’t pretty, at least not in that coquettish sort of way he’d been raised to admire. Yet there was a strength about her, a wholesome sort of courage in the way she’d stood up to Landerfelt that was damned attractive. Not that it mattered.

The point was, Dennington had been a decent man. One of the few men in Tinderbox Will had respected. The least he could do before he left town was see to it Eldridge Landerfelt didn’t swindle his daughter out of what was rightfully hers.

Landerfelt had done enough swindling for one week. Will stuffed a hand into the empty pocket where the bankroll he’d been building for months had been stashed. That cash was to buy his passage on the steamer leaving San Francisco for Sitka in three days’ time, and to set himself up in the fur trade once he arrived. Thanks to Landerfelt’s latest power play, it was gone. Along with his horse and his best rifle. All he had left to his name were the clothes on his back.

He closed his eyes and tipped his face into the rain. When he opened them again there was Landerfelt, standing behind the counter grinning at him. Their gazes locked through the distorted glass of the storefront.

How in hell had he gotten that miniature?

Dennington had always kept it on him. He’d been sick with fever on and off for nearly a year. Will had made it a point to look in on him whenever he was in town. Surprisingly, over the last month the Irishman’s health had improved. So much so that Doc Mendenhall had predicted a complete recovery. But on Tuesday morning Liam Dennington was found dead in his bed. Just like that. And the miniature scribed with his daughter’s likeness was for sale in Landerfelt’s store.

“It’s the spittin’ image of her, ain’t it?”

Will turned at the sound of the familiar voice. It had been weeks since he’d seen Matt Robinson—his only friend, now that Dennington was gone. Although Matt was a year or two younger than Will, he’d grown up on the frontier and had taught Will everything he knew about how to survive. Trapping, trading, where and how to live.

They’d worked the Rockies together, then had made their way west to California. But the beaver were all trapped out now, and Matt had succumbed to the same lust that had every butcher, baker and candlestick maker heading for California in droves.

Gold fever. Will ground his teeth.

Matt whistled as he eyed the miniature. “I saw her two days ago at Sutter’s Fort. Had no idea she was Dennington’s kin. She don’t look much like him, does she?”

Will glanced toward Dennington’s just as a frazzledlooking Kate ducked out of the store to retrieve the traveling bag she’d left outside. It was a wonder no one had stolen it.

For the hundredth time in the past hour, his gaze was drawn to her trim figure and the wisps of auburn hair framing her lightly freckled face. She stole a glance at him, and he felt a queasy sort of unrest.

“I see ya’ve noticed.” Matt elbowed him, and Will snapped to attention.

He’d been crazy to think of helping her. The last thing he needed was to get involved with another down-on-his-luck immigrant’s problems. He’d done enough on that count lately, and look where it had got him.

It was time to change the subject.

“What brings you all the way to town, Matt? How’s the claim?”

“It’s a goin’. That’s why I’m here. I thought I’d take one more shot at convincin’ ya to go in with me. Whaddya say?”

Will looked hard at him, and read in his eyes what his friend didn’t say. “You’ve heard, then.”

“Heard what?”

“You know what. The whole town’s talking about what a damn fool I am.”

“The whole territory, more like it.” Matt cracked a lopsided smile. “But you’re no fool. I’d a done the same for the old Chinaman if I’d had the money.”

Will snorted.

“Speakin’ o’ which…”

Mei Li stepped out of Dennington’s store and turned up the street toward the Chinese camp on the outskirts of town. She shot Matt a tiny smile. He plucked his hat from his head and gawked at her like a schoolboy until she disappeared around the corner.

“You’re sweet on her,” Will said.

“Have been for months.”

“You’re asking for trouble, you know.”

“I know.”

Will grinned. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” He glanced at Landerfelt watching them through the window, and the smile slid from his face. “Seriously, Matt, if you intend to court that girl, you’d best watch your back.”

Matt shook off his momentary stupor and slapped his hat back on his head. “I was hopin’ you’d do that for me.”

“Oh no. Not me. I’ll be halfway to—”

“It’s all gone, ain’t it? The cash, your horse, everything.”

Will met his friend’s knowing gaze. “Yeah.”

“Ya’ve 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, why hadn’t he just said yes? He knew why. Because her doing the asking had rubbed him the wrong way.

The moment the offer had left her lips, she’d transformed herself in his mind from a hardworking Irishman’s daughter in need of help to one Sherrilyn Rogers Browning, conniving Philadelphia socialite. Kate had cast him an honest, hopeful smile, but all he’d seen was Sherrilyn’s mercenary little smirk.

“Crockett, you’re an idiot.” He shook out his oiled buckskin and rolled it into a bundle.

This wasn’t Philadelphia, and Dennington’s daughter wasn’t a compliant pawn in one of his father’s latest business deals. That chapter in his life was over. Finished.

He plucked his beaver-skin cap from the wet ground, then caught himself looking for where he’d tethered his horse. “Son of a…” He’d forgotten the mare had spent the night in drier quarters, one of Landerfelt’s rented stalls down at the livery.

He slammed the cap on his head, tucked the buckskin under his arm and started in that direction. If he was lucky he could hitch a ride on the mule train to Sutter’s Fort. They could always use an extra teamster or two.

It was time to get the hell out of town before he changed his mind about giving Landerfelt his due and taking Kate Dennington up on that offer.

She wasn’t, by a long shot, in the same league with Sherrilyn, but she wasn’t as innocent as she played at, either. He’d known that the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in Dennington’s store. When Vickery told her her father was dead, she hadn’t shed a tear. Not one.

What kind of woman would react like that to her father’s death? A father, not like his, but one who loved a child as fiercely as Liam Dennington had loved his daughter. That little scene at the grave last night hadn’t fooled him one bit. Again, no tears. Just rain. Her eyes had been as clear and cool as a predator’s.

So why had he been so put off by the marriage scheme she’d cooked up? He kicked up a stone as he turned into the wagon ruts on Main Street. She’d disappointed him, that’s why. He’d thought her a world apart from the one he’d come from. A world he was never going back to.

Clearly she wasn’t.

Dennington hadn’t talked much about Ireland or his family, except for waxing poetic about his daughter. Will had no idea if the Irishman had been well-to-do or just a common working man. Kate Dennington’s plain clothes and worn-out shoes led him to believe the latter.

But a man couldn’t be too sure about anyone these days. The gold rush had done one thing for California that Will did like. It made nearly everyone an equal. A rough-looking miner passed him on the street, and he knew the man was just as likely to have been a lawyer or a landowner in his old life as he was a laborer working the railroad.

No, Kate Dennington wasn’t the grieving, noble daughter he’d imagined her to be on first blush, but perhaps he’d been too hasty in refusing her offer. She was bound to marry someone if she intended to go through with her plan to keep the store.

Why not him?

He screwed up his face, remembering the one thing that didn’t make sense. She’d said that it must be him. Him and no other. Why? What did it matter to her? Any man would do for the scheme she’d hatched.

He reached the livery just as the sun was full up. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn air fresh as any he’d ever breathed. It reminded him of why he loved the frontier. On impulse he turned and let his gaze wander up the hillside to John Vickery’s three-room cottage.

An image of Kate Dennington’s trim waist and curved hips flashed in his mind. Will allowed himself a rare smile.

“Why the hell not?”

Perhaps he’d get the money for his passage, after all, and give Eldridge Landerfelt what was coming to him.

Shading her eyes against the sunlight, Kate squinted at the charred, muddy evidence of Crockett’s campfire and thanked God the trapper had refused her preposterous offer.

She must have been completely out of her mind last night. A hundred rosaries wouldn’t be enough to purge the sin of even proposing it. She’d remind herself to start on them that evening.

Pulling her still damp shawl tight about her, she picked her way carefully up the ravine separating Vickery’s cottage from the rest of town. She hadn’t meant to oversleep. For hours last night she’d tossed and turned, and when she finally fell asleep, she’d dreamed the most sinful things…. Will Crockett carrying her across the threshold of her father’s store…sharing a slice of wedding cake with him on the porch in back. Then later, his dark eyes searing her as she turned down the sheets of their marriage bed.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” She crossed herself and pushed the images from her mind.

A gust of wind blasted a pile of wet autumn leaves across her path as she turned onto Main Street. The town was bustling with activity, and a dozen pairs of miner’s eyes fixed on her as she strode briskly toward Landerfelt’s Mercantile.

She’d best get used to their stares. It had been no different in San Francisco, and that’s where she was likely to end up. For a time, at least. She’d just have to tough it out. There was no other option. Not now.

She’d sell her father’s storefront and land for whatever Landerfelt would give her. Had her foolish pride not gotten in the way, she would have done so yesterday when he’d made her the offer. She could have bargained with him at least.

Her mother would have been practical and sold. But oh, no, not Kate. She was clearly her father’s daughter. She shook her head at her stupidity, then stopped dead in her tracks as a litany of rapid-fire Chinese diffused by men’s shouts caught her off guard.

She fixed her gaze on the chaotic scene unfolding in front of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply. An overloaded wagon sat in the middle of the muddy street. Mei Li stood precariously atop the pile of supplies and mining equipment, yelling and kicking at two men who tried, unsuccessfully, to unload it out from under her.

Kate pushed her way to the front of the small crowd of miners and other townsfolk gathering to watch the skirmish.

The Chinese girl saw her, and her round face lit up. “Miss Kate, hurry!”

“Mei Li, what on earth—?”

“Wagon here with goods! Landerfelt try steal.” She kicked at one of the men who’d hefted a sack of grain from off the pile. “No let him! Wagon ours.”

Ours? Kate pushed closer. “What do you mean? I didn’t order any—”

“Landerfelt offered me double what Dennington put down by way a deposit.”

Kate frowned at the man who’d spoken: a rough-looking character sporting a long buckskin coat, well-worn gloves and chaps. She recognized him from Sutter’s Fort, where she’d overnighted three days ago. He was the wagon’s driver.

“You mean my father paid money in advance for these goods?”

Mei Li let out a screech.

Kate’s conversation with the driver was forgotten as Mei Li let loose another tirade of what had to be Chinese curses. One of the unloaders, Landerfelt’s man, grabbed her ankle. Mei Li fought to keep her balance as the man pulled her toward him, a malicious grin plastered on his face. The onlookers did nothing to stop him. What kind of men were these?

“You there!” Kate caught the ruffian’s eye, and his grin widened to reveal awful-looking teeth. “Leave her alone! She’s—” The wagon driver grabbed her and jerked her back, nearly off her feet. “Let me go! What do you think you’re—”

A gunshot sounded, and Kate jumped nearly out of her skin. A second later the man who’d grabbed Mei Li’s ankle was flying through the air toward Landerfelt’s store window. “Sweet Jesus!” Kate braced herself for the shattering glass.

The tawny-haired man she’d seen standing in the street with Will Crockett yesterday morn, scrambled atop the wagon and swept Mei Li off her feet. Kate was about to cry out for someone to stop him, but the enthralled look in Mei Li’s eyes as her arms snaked around his neck stilled her tongue.

The wagon driver tightened his grip, and Kate renewed her struggle. “I said let me go, you bloody oaf!” She kicked backward at his shin, and he grunted.

“Take your hands off her or you’re a dead man.”

She knew that voice.

A second later the driver released her. And a moment after that, Will Crockett’s fist connected with his face. A nice, clean blow. Kate winced as the driver went down.

As if such things happened every day, two onlookers dragged his limp body out of the mud and propped him against the windowless storefront of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply.

“Y-you killed him.” She took in Crockett’s steely expression and coal-black eyes.

“Nah. He’s just out cold. He’ll be all right.” Crockett’s gaze fixed on her, and his eyes warmed to brown.

The scandalous dream she’d had about him mere hours ago flooded her mind, unbidden. Her face flushed with heat. “Y-you’re still here.”

“Yeah.” His gaze washed over her, and that same queer feeling she’d had yesterday returned.

“But I thought you were gone to Alaska.”

“I was. I mean I am.” He took off his fur hat and played with it, then crushed it in his hands. “There’s something I need to do first.”

She felt suddenly overwarm, as if she’d just come down with fever. “Like…what, supposin’?”

“Well, I was thinking that—”

Shouts and the sound of hoofbeats cut short their conversation. The crowd scattered like rats in a Dublin flat. What now? Kate glanced down the street to see Eldridge Landerfelt bearing down on them on horseback.

Will stepped out in front of her, taking the brunt of the mud clods kicked up as the merchant jerked his mount to a halt in front of his store and took in the chaotic scene.

“Hell’s bells, what’s goin’ on here?” A second later Landerfelt was off his horse, on his feet, and nose to nose with Crockett.

Kate had the same question, and waited to hear the frontiersman’s answer. She stepped out from behind him, but Crockett didn’t spare her a glance. His gaze was pinned on Landerfelt.

“That shipment,” Crockett said. “It’s mine.”

“Yours?” answered Kate and Landerfelt in unison.

Crockett continued to ignore her. “That’s right. Liam Dennington paid half down on it two weeks ago. I know. I was there when the money changed hands.”

Landerfelt cracked a half smile. “What if he did? Dennington’s dead and buried. He can’t pay the balance, and she sure can’t, neither.” He flashed his eyes at her. “I’m doing her a favor by taking it off her hands.”

He was doing her a favor, Kate realized. She certainly couldn’t afford to pay for the goods, and even if she could she’d just have to turn around and sell them.

“You’d pay me back my father’s deposit, of course.”

“Of course.” Landerfelt’s smile broadened. He pulled a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up, much to Kate’s displeasure.

“Fine,” she said, and waved the smoke away from her face. “I’d also speak with you about the store itself, and the land. I was thinking that—”

“She was thinking she’d like to keep it awhile.” Crockett shot her a loaded look.

“Keep it?” For the second time in as many minutes she and Landerfelt voiced the same thought.

“She can’t keep it,” Landerfelt said. “It’s the law.”

Crockett took a step toward him, and Kate thought for sure there would be another fight. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. Single women can’t own property.”

“Or operate a business within two miles of town.” Landerfelt blew a puff of cigar smoke directly into Crockett’s face.

Kate braced herself for the frontiersman’s reaction, but to her surprise he didn’t move a muscle. His cool expression hardened. She admired control in a man. Too many of them, her father and brothers included, went off half-cocked.

“Unless the business is…well…” Landerfelt flashed his blue eyes at her again.

“I know what the law says. And I’m telling you she’s keeping the store and the shipment. We’re keeping it.”

“We?” Kate had a bad feeling when she met Will Crockett’s coal-black gaze.

“That’s right. Mrs. Crockett here—” Will wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side “—and me.”

“What?” This time she only mouthed Landerfelt’s reply. The cigar slipped from the merchant’s gaping mouth and sizzled in the muddy street.

“We’re getting married. This morning.” Crockett tossed her a cold look. “Isn’t that right?”

All at once, Kate felt the world slip out from under her feet. Crockett gripped her tighter, and she was suddenly aware of his body heat, the strength of his big hand and muscled arm.

“What kinda bull is this?” Landerfelt narrowed his eyes at the both of them.

“No bull, just fact. There’s nothing in town law says a married woman can’t operate a business. Especially if it’s her husband’s business. And nothing in the law says I can’t own property. I marry her and it’s mine.”

“W-wait a minute.” Kate’s head began to throb. “I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

“There’s no preacher for miles.” Landerfelt’s face went bloodred. He reminded her of that boxer again. The rage in his eyes told Kate he wasn’t giving up.

Out of nowhere, Mei Li’s head popped in between them. “Mr. Vickery marry. He make legal.” She grinned at Kate. “I help. You come now. We make ready.”

“But—”

“I’ll get Vickery.” The tawny-haired man who’d thrown Landerfelt’s crony through the window and had spirited Mei Li from off the wagon slapped Will Crockett on the back. He tipped his hat at her and cracked a crooked grin. “I’m the best man, I reckon. Matt Robinson, ma’am.” He grabbed her hand and shook it until Kate thought it would break loose from her arm. “I mean, Mrs. Crockett. Back in a flash.” He took off at a full run.

Kate felt as if she were outside her own body, looking down on the preposterous scene unfolding around her.

“You won’t get away with this, Crockett.” Landerfelt grabbed his horse’s reins, then shot her a murderous look. “You, neither, you—”

Crockett grabbed the neatly pressed lapels of Landerfelt’s jacket. Kate waited for him to speak, to defend her with some choice words, but he said nothing. After a few tense seconds, Landerfelt swore and pulled out of the frontiersman’s grasp. The crowd parted as he jerked his mount down the street toward the livery.

“Married?” Kate stared at Crockett, openmouthed. The reality of the situation dawned on her.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Get married, keep the store, make enough for your ticket home.”

She nodded, dumbstruck. That’s exactly what she had proposed to him last night. “Aye, but—”

“Fine. It’s a deal.” He grabbed her hand and shook it. Not as hard as Matt Robinson had, but firmly and with a cold intent in his eyes that made her forget all thoughts of changing her mind.

“I want the mule, the horse, and whatever we make off this wagon load. We’ll sell it all today. Now, in fact.”

“But the driver…” She gestured to the buckskin-clad driver who’d manhandled her and had received Will Crockett’s fist in payment. His nose was bleeding. It definitely looked broken. “My father didn’t pay for it all, just a deposit.”

Crockett walked over to the driver, who was just coming around. The man touched a gloved hand to his broken nose and groaned.

“Don’t worry. Dan, here, will wait for his money, won’t you, Dan?” Crockett placed his booted foot on the driver’s knee and pressed down.

“Ow! S-sure. Whatever you say, Will.”

“And he’ll deliver the next load to you on credit.”

“What?”

Crockett put his weight into it, and the driver yelped like a dog. “Right. C-credit. No problem, Mrs. Crockett.”

Wonderful. More credit. Just what she needed. Kate stood there, feeling rather weightless, as if she were in the middle of some eerie nightmare. Mei Li took her hand and pulled her in the direction of the Chinese camp.

“We make ready, quick quick. Mei Li help.”

Will Crockett jammed his hat on his head and shot Kate a stony glance. “I’ll leave you enough cash to get by on. Be back here in an hour, and we’ll get it over with. I’ve got a ship to make.”

Mei Li yanked the buckskin drape closed across the glassless window in the tiny shanty where she’d told Kate she lived with her father and her brothers.

“No mother, four brothers,” Kate repeated. “Just like me.”

She took in the assortment of unusual objects, cooking gear and other domestic possessions jammed into the tin-and-timber shack. The air was thick with an exotic potpourri of pungent scents. She’d never known any Chinese. Had never seen any until she stepped onto the wharf in San Francisco less than a week ago. How her world had changed since then.

“You sit.” Mei Li nodded at the carpet-covered ground. “I fix wild hair.”

“Wild?” She smoothed her auburn tresses and ignored the girl’s well-intentioned command. “My hair’s fine. Besides, it’s not as if it’s a real wedding.”

“It real enough. Will Crockett real man. You real woman.”

Kate fought a smile. Aye, Will Crockett was a real man. His behavior that morning had been nothing short of chivalrous. She recalled, with a bit of shameless glee, how he’d decked the wagon driver. Crockett had watched out for her. Protected her. First against the driver’s manhandling, then against Landerfelt’s threats.

Her stomach tightened every time she thought of it. No man had ever gone out of his way to protect her. None, save her brothers back home. And they didn’t count, really. They were family; it was expected.

Aye, Will Crockett had been gallant, but in a cool, almost unfriendly manner. As if the whole affair was just an unsavory business arrangement he’d gotten caught up in. “Kate, you dolt.” She shook off her girlish stupor and plopped cross-legged onto the carpet.

Mei Li frowned down at her. “What mean dolt?”

“Fool.” For that’s what she was. Of course Crockett viewed it as a business arrangement; that’s exactly what it was. She needed his name to keep the store, and he needed—

What did he need? What was Will Crockett getting out of the bargain that was important enough to overrule his stalwart refusal of the night before? Her father’s horse and a bit of coin? Surely it wasn’t worth the trouble to a man in such a hurry to leave town.

“Mei Li, why do you suppose Crockett’s marrying me?”

The girl ignored Kate’s earlier protest and worked to tame her hair into some kind of fantastical upswept arrangement. “He like. I see it.”

“No, you’re wrong. Mr. Crockett doesn’t like me.” He’d made that clear last night. He’d chastised her, in fact, for her outrageous proposal. His censure had made her feel dirty, cheap. She recalled those dark, judgmental eyes of his and how his lips had tightened into a thin line. “No, he must have a good reason to be doing this.” But what was it? He was leaving in a matter of hours. What possible inducement—

“Crockett need money. Pay for ship.”

Kate twisted around so she could see Mei Li’s face. “What do you mean? He doesn’t have the money already?”

“Money gone. Horse, too. Pay for debt.”

“He owed someone a debt?” Well, she wasn’t the only one in hot water, it seemed.

Under her breath, Mei Li muttered another of her seemingly endless strings of Chinese expletives. “He pay Landerfelt. But no Crockett’s debt. Cheng’s debt. My papa.”

“What?” Will Crockett had used the money for his ship passage to pay off the debt of a Chinese laborer?

Mei Li nodded. “Papa in big trouble. Run card game. Break law.”

“A card game?”

“Only white man allowed to—”

“Don’t tell me…to run that kind of business, here in Tinderbox.”

The fusion of rage and frustration on Mei Li’s young face was answer enough. “Game okay, as along as Landerfelt win. But he lose big to man from Hangtown. More coin than I ever see. Crockett pay back so Papa no lose job or house.”

“You mean to tell me that Eldridge Landerfelt would have—? Why the bloody—”

“Yes. Him very bloody. Very bad.”

Kate scrambled to her feet and peered out the small, glassless window toward town. Will and Matt were unloading the supply wagon right there in the muddy street. Miners crowded around them, shouting out offers.

It amazed her that men were willing to pay the hugely inflated prices even a fair man like her father had had to charge to cover his transportation costs. She hadn’t been inside Landerfelt’s Mercantile, though she suspected his prices were even more outrageous. She’d seen no customers in the place since she’d arrived yesterday.

Until that very moment. How strange…

Will Crockett plucked something from amidst the shards of broken storefront glass and ducked inside Landerfelt’s. Kate waited, and in less than a minute he came out again, pocketing whatever it was he’d evidently purchased.

She eyed him, wondering exactly how much he would make in this last-minute sale of her father’s goods, and if he’d keep his word and leave her with enough money to tide her over until another load could be hauled from Sutter’s Fort. She also wondered whether the driver would keep his word about extending her credit.

Mei Li crowded in beside her at the window for a look. “Him good man.”

None of the men Kate had known in Dublin, save her own brothers, would have exhausted their life savings to insure the livelihood of an immigrant laborer and his family. “You’re right. Crockett is a good man.”

“Oh. Him, too.”

Him, too? She realized Mei Li’s wide eyes weren’t focused on Will Crockett at all. The girl was wholly captivated by his rough-looking, tawny-haired friend. “You mean Mr. Robinson, don’t you?”

A tiny smile bloomed on Mei Li’s lips.

Good Lord! Kate snapped the buckskin drape back into place over the window. “They’re nearly done with the load, and our hour’s almost up.” They might as well—how had Crockett put it? Get it over with.

“You not ready. Dress all wrong. I fix.”

“I’m fine, Mei Li. I told you, it’s not a real wedding, just a wee business arrangement so I might keep the store long enough to raise some money.”

Mei Li shook her head and uttered a few more choice words in Chinese. “Might as well go, then, if you no care how you look.” She parted the canvas flaps of the shanty’s entrance, and they stepped into the sun.

Even if, heaven forbid, it were to be a real wedding, there wasn’t a man of God to be found for a hundred miles in any direction. A thousand for all Kate knew. Landerfelt had been right about that. She hadn’t seen a proper priest since she’d left Ireland six months ago.

And it was that very fact which, in the end, justified her decision to undertake such a blasphemous act. Vickery’s legal proceeding was one thing. But were they married in the church, well, now that was something else altogether.

She would never have considered the idea if there had been the remotest possibly of that happening. Her place in heaven was safe, she hoped, as long as she went to confession as soon as she got home, and if she started on those rosaries tonight.

As they picked their way up the street, avoiding mud holes and horse droppings, Kate felt a bittersweet sort of emptiness inside. Her whole life had been devoted to caring for her father and brothers. She’d promised herself that when the boys were grown she’d make a life for herself. Her own life. She’d find a good man to marry. One who respected and loved her.

Kate followed the wagon ruts up the street, past a stream of miners heading out of town to their claims, bearing the goods her soon-to-be husband had sold them, and considered that this was not exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d made that promise to herself so very long ago.

By the time she and Mei Li reached the middle of town, it was apparent word had spread of what was about to take place. Given the lack of women, Kate suspected there were few weddings in Tinderbox. Perhaps hers was the first.

The blacksmith stepped out of the livery, and Landerfelt’s cronies out of his store. Every tradesman in town, along with more miners than she could count, gathered in the small meadow below the graveyard on the far side of town.

Will Crockett paced the wet, uneven ground, his fur hat crushed in his hands. “Took long enough,” he said as she and Mei Li approached.

“I’m ready if you are.” She glanced at the faces in the crowd, which closed a circle around them, but she didn’t see Mr. Vickery. She hadn’t seen him all day, in fact. He’d been up early that morning, long before her.

Matt Robinson appeared and, to Kate’s astonishment, thrust a hastily gathered bouquet into her hands. Mei Li grinned. Crockett scowled. They weren’t flowers, exactly. It was full-on autumn. November. And the chill in the air told her snow wasn’t very far off.

“All right, let’s do it.” Crockett squinted in the direction of Vickery’s cottage. “Where’s that lawyer?”

Kate arched a brow, silently reiterating his question.

Matt shot them both a sheepish glance and shrugged. “He’s gone. Landerfelt hornswoggled him into doin’ some business for him in Hangtown.”

The look on Crockett’s face echoed Kate’s sentiments exactly: anger mixed with a goodly dose of relief.

“But I found a ringer in the bunch who’ll do a far sight better than Vickery.” Matt stepped aside to let a young, portly miner into the circle.

Kate didn’t recognize him, nor did any of the local tradesmen, given their narrowed gazes. The man was obviously new to not only the town, but the goldfields. His clothes were new and far too clean, and his skin too white for him to have been here long. He shot a few furtive glances at the crowd, then nodded to her and Crockett.

“Who the hell is this?” Crockett said.

“You’ll see.” Matt grinned. “Go on, Father. Start ’er up.”

Father?

The portly miner fixed his gaze on her, pulled a small, well-worn missal out of his breast pocket and made the sign of the cross.

“Sweet Jesus,” she breathed. For the second time that day the ground slipped out from under her. Will Crockett’s big hand shot out to steady her on her feet.

In perfect Latin, tinged with an Irish accent, the priest began, “In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. Amen.”

Kate dropped her bouquet.

The ceremony lasted a few minutes. Or an hour. She wasn’t sure which. She was vaguely aware of repeating the vows the priest read aloud from the missal.

“No ring?” Matt looked to Crockett, and the frontiersman shot him as black a look as Kate had ever seen.

“No,” Crockett said.”

That’s all right,” the priest said. “It isn’t strictly necessary.”

“Fine.” Will let go of her. It dawned on her that he’d been holding her arm this whole time. “That’s it then? We’re married?”

“Aye.” The priest risked a smile. “You may kiss the bride.”

Kate’s eyes widened at the very thought. Surely Crockett wouldn’t dream of—

“Go on, Will, kiss her!” someone shouted from the crowd.

The town blacksmith shot her a lusty grin. “I’ll kiss ’er for ya, Will, if ya ain’t man enough.”

Kate wasn’t a woman who blushed easily. After all, she’d raised four brothers and had the benefit of a worldly father’s adventurous tales. All the same, she touched a sweaty hand to her cheek and found it blazing.

“Come on, Mrs. Crockett.” Crockett grabbed her arm and pulled her through the crowd toward the livery, where her father’s horse stood saddled and waiting. Evidently he’d already sold the mule.

Matt and Mei Li dogged their steps, followed by the crowd that had turned out to witness their vows.

“You’re set on this dang fool Alaska thing, then,” Matt called after them.

Crockett shot a stony look over his shoulder. “Damn right I am. What do you think this whole charade is about.”

“I thought you was doin’ it to help Miss Dennington.” Matt tossed her a half smile. “Mrs. Crockett, I mean.”

“Mrs. Crockett got what she wanted. My name. That’s what they all want, isn’t it? And I got what I wanted, too.” He jerked her up the street, his grip tightening around her arm. “Besides, I don’t think our Mrs. Crockett needs help. She’s doing all right on her own, if you ask me.”

Kate tripped in a wagon rut and, before she could react, Will caught her up in his arms. She could tell from his nasty expression that the move was purely instinctive. Had he had time to think about it, she’d probably be lying in the mud.

“Y-you’ve made enough money, then,” she said. His face was inches from hers, and she was conscious of her heartbeat accelerating. “F-for your passage.”

Crockett’s scowl deepened. “What the hell do you know about it?”

“Nothing. I just—”

He pushed her away and dug a small leather pouch out of his pocket. “Enough for a working passage, if I’m lucky. If I sell the horse in Sacramento City, there’s maybe enough. I won’t know till I get there.” He thrust the pouch at her. “Here, it’s your cut. There’s still about a third of the wagonload left. Mostly things of no use out here. They’re in your father’s store.”

“My store,” she said, tired of his nasty attitude.

“Right. I forgot.” He turned to his waiting mount.

“Go on, Will,” the blacksmith called out again. “Kiss ’er g’bye. What’s the matter? Y’ain’t afraid of her, are ya?” A dozen voices chimed in, echoing the blacksmith’s challenge.

Matt and Mei Li stood there, grinning. Kate didn’t find it amusing at all. In fact, she wasn’t about to stand here and be made a fool of. She turned her back on Crockett and started for her father’s store. Her store, she reminded herself.

A second later, she was jerked clean off her feet. She sucked in a breath but had no time to exhale. Will Crockett’s mouth covered hers, and it wasn’t the kind of gentle kiss a man gives his new bride.

She struggled. No use. Crockett’s hand snaked up her back and cupped her nape like a vise. Her last conscious thought before she gave herself up to his will and superior strength was that Mei Li’s handiwork had all been for nothing. Her hair tumbled free in Crockett’s hand.

And then he dropped her. “Unh!” She landed hard, on her behind, smack in the center of a muddy wagon rut.

Breathless, Kate watched as he mounted her father’s horse and reined the black gelding west into the sun. Not until he was out of sight did she remember it would be the last time she would ever see him.

Her husband, Will Crockett.

Chapter Four

Mrs. Crockett, indeed. The name didn’t suit her at all.

Kate swept the last of the dried mud clods out the door of Dennington’s Grocery and Dry Goods and into the street. There’d been little business that morning. The fanfare accompanying the arrival of the last shipment from Sutter’s Fort seemed to be over.

Most of the local miners had gone back to their claims yesterday following her spur-of-the-moment wedding to Will Crockett. The town was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Crockett had been right about what remained of the shipment. She glanced at the pile of neglected goods he and Matt had stacked against the far wall of the store. She supposed she should sort them out, display the items in an attractive manner. But who in Tinderbox would want to buy a washboard or a set of hammered tin cups or ladies’ undergarments?

This was not exactly a domestic little village in County Kildare. Besides, there weren’t any women to speak of to buy such things, save her and Mei Li and a few Indians. And none of them appeared to wear the kind of undergarments that had been delivered.

The wagon driver had made a bargain with Kate’s father to purchase whatever was available, regardless of demand. Everything was scarce in the goldfields. Her father must have figured that, at some point, everything would sell.

The shipments had been delivered on a fairly regular schedule, as well. Once every couple of weeks, weather permitting, a new load arrived from Sutter’s Fort. It was better than forty miles. A hard day’s ride. But it might take the supply wagon a week, Dan the driver had told her before he’d left town.

She wondered if she’d ever see that driver again. The promises Crockett had extracted from him yesterday could hardly be enforced now that the trapper was gone. And there were a dozen other small towns just like Tinderbox sprouting up in the goldfields.

Landerfelt transported his own goods, using his own men—Jed and Leon Packett—those two ruffians who’d tried to abscond with her wagon load, and who’d harassed Mei Li. Landerfelt kept his own schedule, and would also ferry goods and mail for local miners back and forth from Sacramento City—for a hefty fee. Few could afford to take him up on those services.

Kate leaned the broom up in the corner and wiped a thin sheen of perspiration from her brow. The day was cool, but she was warm from work. Her gaze drifted over the clean shelves and newly scrubbed floor. Aye, it would have to do.

All she could do now was wait. Crockett had left her a bit of coin, and there were enough jarred goods, salted meat and flour left over for her to get by on until the next shipment arrived. If anyone knew how to stretch the ingredients for one meal into a dozen, it was Kate.

Mei Li had been a big help to her. Kate had discovered that the girl and her father, Cheng, had ministered to her own father when he’d first taken ill. At least he’d had friends here in this strange and wild place. People who’d cared for him.

She’d been lucky that Vickery and Mei Li had extended their friendship to her. Vickery had offered to house her until she was able to sail for home, but Kate had declined. His wife was expected back soon, and Kate couldn’t imagine Mrs. Vickery would take kindly to a stranger in her house.

Besides, the cabin her father had fashioned into a store had a tiny room in the back with a bed, a place to cook and a wood-fired stove. It was a far sight better than where she and her brothers lived near Halfpenny Bridge in Dublin. No evidence of rats, at least. Only field mice and a few harmless insects that wandered in from the forested hillside butting up to the back of the cabin.

Kate walked to the window and gazed across the street at Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply. The man himself hadn’t shown his face since their altercation in the street yesterday morn. Perhaps with Will Crockett gone, this rivalry was over. Surely there was enough business for two stores, Landerfelt’s and hers, in a growing town like Tinderbox. She hoped there was, for as long as it took to raise enough for her passage home and to clear her debt.

A rap at the storefront window jarred her from her thoughts. She peered out the now sparkling glass and saw Mr. Vickery’s worried eyes squinting back at her.

Lord, she must look a fright! She snatched the old rag tied about her waist in apron fashion and tossed it behind the counter, then smoothed her hair as best she could. “Mr. Vickery,” she said as he stepped into the store. “How nice to see you.”

He removed his bowler but didn’t return her smile. “Miss Dennington—um, Mrs. Crockett, I mean.” His frown told her he didn’t think much of what she’d done to protect her assets.

She bit her lip. “Won’t you please call me Kate?”

“Very well, Kate. I’ve just come by to check on you. I wish you’d stay at the cottage. It’s not safe for you here at the store. Mrs. Vickery will be back from San Francisco soon, and I’m certain she’ll share my concern for your safety.”

“I appreciate it, truly I do. But there’s no need to worry. I’m perfectly fine here.”

In truth, now that she’d been here a couple of days, she didn’t feel any more uncomfortable alone in the store or on the street than she had in certain sections of the grindingly poor neighborhood she’d been raised in.

“I’ve braved the streets of Dublin alone from an early age, Mr. Vickery. I’m quite capable of watching out for myself.”

He studied her face for a moment, searching, perhaps, for signs of feigned confidence. She drew herself up and squarely met his gaze. Well, perhaps some of it was feigned.

“Yes, I believe you are. And I’d have expected nothing less from Liam Dennington’s daughter.” He smiled, finally, then visibly relaxed.

Kate was pleased. She needed allies, and suspected Mr. Vickery was a good one to have.

“You’re nothing at all like the first Mrs. Crockett.”

“The first Mrs. Crockett?” Kate’s eyes widened of their own accord. “You mean, Will was married before?” She’d never considered that possibility. He didn’t seem at all the kind of man who’d have a wife. Well, not a real wife.

“What happened to her?”

“Happened?”

“I mean…she is dead, isn’t she?” The look on her face must have betrayed the split second of fear that shot through her mind.

Mr. Vickery dismissed her concern with the wave of his hand. “Of course she’s dead. You don’t think he would have…” He shook his head as if she was supposed to understand. “…if she weren’t?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Kate shook her head, too, and looked properly shocked at the very thought. Though, judging from her brief experience with Will Crockett, his good deed to the Chinese family aside, she wouldn’t have put it past him to have had a wife in one place and have no qualms about marrying another he would never see again.

She offered Vickery a seat on the wide window box and pulled up a stool beside him. She encouraged him to go on with his tale.

“Right. Well, yes, she died of cholera. Not six months after Crockett brought her West.”

“So he’s from the East then. New York?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Ah.” Kate hadn’t a clue where that was. The only place she knew of in the eastern part of America was New York.

“Sherrilyn Rogers Browning was her name. They say she was a beauty.”

“Really.” Absently Kate smoothed her well-worn dress and tucked a tendril of frazzled hair back into place.

“With a taste for luxury and fine things.”

“And yet she wed a fur trapper?” That was too farfetched to believe.

“Well, yes, I guess she did.”

“Just how do you know this, Mr. Vickery? Did Crockett tell you?”

“Oh, my, no. He’s not the kind of man who talks about his family.”

Kate hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to either agree or disagree.

“Matt Robinson told me.”

“Ah, the infamous Matt Robinson.” She smiled, recalling his swashbuckling behavior of the day before. “He’s quite the colorful character.”

“Oh, quite.” Vickery leaned in close, as if he were about to tell her something of great import. “Rumor has it Crockett’s the son of a very wealthy man. Someone important—in politics or banking maybe—back East. No one really knows.”

Six months at sea packed aboard a ship with immigrants of every imaginable background and social status, Kate had gotten quite good at picking up languages and at judging people’s circumstances from their speech.

More than once she’d detected a sort of refinement in Crockett’s voice and manner, though he seemed to bend over backward to cover it up, obliterate it. He worked hard at being something he was not. Why?

Kate rose from the stool and gazed out the window at the clear autumn sky. It didn’t really matter, did it? Will Crockett was gone for good, and so much the better. He was right, after all. She had what she wanted. Why, then, did she feel so despondent?

After Mr. Vickery said goodbye and tottered off down the street, Kate turned back to the window and stared blankly after him, her thoughts consumed by what she’d learned of Will Crockett.

Trailing a finger across her lips, she recalled their kiss. It had been her first. She was twenty-two and had never been kissed. Not until yesterday morn when Will Crockett made her his wife. He wasn’t really her husband, she reminded herself. It was purely a business arrangement. It’s not as if he’d left her. He’d planned to leave all along.

She glanced up the street and, to her surprise, saw the portly priest turned miner who’d married them the day before. Father Flanagan, newly arrived in Tinderbox to make his fortune. A fortune he’d use to build a church, a parish, here on the frontier.

Crossing herself, Kate offered up a silent plea for God to forgive her sin. Sweet Jesus, she’d actually married him! In the church. No matter that it was out in the open, under the clear blue sky. She’d said the vows before a priest, before God.

It was a real marriage, despite the fact that Will Crockett was on his way to Alaska, and that soon she, too, would take to ship and sail for home.

Will stood on the levee in Sacramento City in the shadow of the Golden Eagle and resisted the urge to draw the miniature out of his pocket. Why the hell he’d bought it, he didn’t know.

The painted image of Kate Dennington surely hadn’t changed in the ten minutes since he’d last looked at it. All the same, the keepsake was in his hand before he knew it, her blue eyes and proud Irish features staring up at him.

“You’re an idiot, Crockett.” He jammed it back into his pocket as the men huddled around him on the levee waiting to board the riverboat turned to stare. Shrugging, he swore silently under his breath.

He’d been hard on Kate yesterday, and regretted his bad behavior. He’d been angry, not at her so much as himself. He was attracted to her, and that was the problem.

The way she’d pushed through that crowd of men and come to Mei Li’s defense yesterday morning in town had surprised the hell out of him. The woman had grit. He admired that, along with those blue eyes of hers.

Absently his hand moved to the pocket housing the miniature. At the last minute he fisted it at his side and mouthed a silent curse.

Kate Dennington wasn’t his concern. So why did he have second thoughts about leaving her? She was a woman alone in a town full of ruffians and gold diggers. So what? From what he’d seen of her, she was damned capable of taking care of herself.

Besides, he had plans. And those plans didn’t include a woman in them. Women were trouble. Sherrilyn had taught him that little lesson. Kate Dennington was trouble, too. That chaste kiss of hers proved it. How long had she practiced it, and with whom? She was good, all right. Very, very good.

He would live the life he wanted, the life he’d imagined while shut up for days on end in the private schools his father had insisted he attend. California was spoiled for him now, by the gold and the greed.

But Alaska…now she was something a man could build a life around. Untamed, unspoiled. The adventure of a lifetime. His gaze focused again, and he realized with a start it was fixed on Kate Dennington’s blue eyes.

That damned miniature must have jumped out of his pocket and into his hand! He gripped it until the silvered edges cut into his palm.

It was no kind of life for a wife, or children. Not his, or anyone’s. Something dark and bitter balled in his gut as an image of Sherrilyn, her face white in death, her lips blue, crashed into his consciousness.

Will jammed the miniature back into his pocket and eyed the restless crowd. Where in hell was that livery hand? It was an hour past the appointed time the man said he’d meet him. He’d offered a fair price for Dennington’s gelding, and Will needed every cent he could get his hands on to buy that working passage and make a new start.

The steamer headed north sailed day after tomorrow from San Francisco, right on schedule, so a riverboat stevedore had told him. The Golden Eagle was boarding passengers now for the day-and-a-half trip downriver to the port.

Will was out of time. “Damn.” He turned and calmed Dennington’s horse, who grew more agitated as the crowd on the levee began to board.

He’d bribed that same stevedore to sneak him on the second before the riverboat pushed off. He could be caught, but that was a chance he was willing to take. The bribe had been less than the fare by half.

Will scanned the faces of the men crowded around him, desperate to find that livery hand. It was a damned fair price, so where the hell—

“Leon told him once the husband was gone—some trapper or other—they was gonna burn her out.”

Will froze as his gaze fixed on the rough-looking miner who’d spoken.

“No kiddin’?” The greasy-haired man beside him laughed. “Well, hell, wouldn’t be hard to do. They don’t call it Tinderbox for nothin’. One match and the whole town’d go up.”

Will dropped the gelding’s reins and put a gloved hand on the miner’s shoulder.

“Hey, mister, wait yer turn.”

Will spun him around to face him, and the miner went for his knife. “We’re all in line, here.”

Will reached for his gun. Son of a—he’d forgotten he’d lost it to Landerfelt. “Burn who out?” he said, and locked gazes with the man.

The miner frowned but stayed his hand.

“Leon Packett told you this?” Will didn’t think Packett was capable of saying anything, for at least a day or two after Matt had launched him through that store window. “Burn who out?” he said again.

“That Irish gal.” The miner turned to his greasy friend. “What’s her name, you know it? That wagon driver we seen up Horseshoe Bar last night was the one told us.”

“That’s right. Said some Leon character told him his boss don’t take kindly to no furreigners puttin’ him outta business.”

“You heard this last night from Dan Dunnett?” He’d give that wagon driver more than a broken nose the next time he saw him.

“Dunnett. That’s right.” The miner narrowed his eyes. “What’s it to you? You know the lady or somethin’?”

Will shot them both a dark look. “Yeah, I know her.”

Perhaps there were rats, after all.

Kate sat up in bed and strained her eyes to see in the dark. There was no window in the small living quarters of the cabin-turned-store. She’d left the door propped open between the two rooms, and a thin sliver of moonlight played across the rough-hewn floorboards.

Wait! There it was again. A kind of scraping sound. She narrowed her eyes and listened, but all she heard were the crickets outside. Still, if she did have rats, she’d best take care of them now. They could clean out an entire month’s worth of grain in one night if you let them go unchecked.

She swiveled quietly out of bed and touched a toe to the floor. Lord, it was cold as ice! She groped in the dark for the chair on which she’d draped her dress and shawl but couldn’t find it. And if she lit the lamp she’d scare the vermin back into hiding.

Something creaked from the next room, and Kate froze in place. All the hairs on her nape prickled. She held her breath and listened harder. If it was a rat, it was an awfully big one.

As quietly as she could, she slipped a hand between the bed’s straw mattress and ropes. Her fist closed over the cool steel of the percussion cap pepperbox that had been her father’s pistol since she was just a sprite. Vickery had given it to her along with a single-barrel flintlock rifle and what few other valuables her father had in his possession when he died.

When she’d left Ireland she hadn’t known a pistol from a dead bolt, but six months at sea with a shipload of strangers, some of them military men, had taught her much. She’d cleaned and loaded the small, six-barrel pistol last night, just in case, never imagining she’d have to use it so soon. Brandishing it in front of her, she inched on tiptoe toward the open door.

She’d be all right as long as she didn’t trip over anything. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. But the cold! She shivered almost uncontrollably. Her feet were like ice, and the thin wool of her shift provided little protection against the chill air.

Well, if it were rats she’d feel awfully stupid. Sliding up beside the open door, Kate peeked slowly into the moonlit store. All was quiet. She could swear that something, or someone, was in there. Or had been a moment ago.

She scanned the floor and countertop, and the half-empty shelves for scurrying rodents. Nothing. Perhaps she’d been mistaken, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d dreamed of vermin or insects creeping up on her. The Dublin tenement had been full of them.

Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of kerosene. How strange. She’d filled the lanterns that afternoon but could swear she’d sealed the fuel tin. She stepped into the store, squinting toward the corner where her father had housed his tinned goods.

Two distinctly human footfalls sounded to her left. Without a second thought Kate whirled, leveled the pistol at the sound and fired. The blast shattered the silence.

A second later the intruder was on her. A scream rose up in her throat as he wrestled her to the floor, fighting for possession of the gun. His knees dug into her spread thighs and pinned her to the splintery floor.

“Let me go, you bleedin’ bastard!” The pistol jammed as she tried to fire again. No other choice left to her, she hit him with it—a sideways swipe in the dark that grazed his head.

“Son of a bitch!”

That voice! She could swear it belonged to—

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed so tight tears came to her eyes. She dropped the pistol, and in one quick move he pinioned both her arms above her head.

“Sweet Jesus!”

“Wrong. Guess again.”

His face was inches from hers. She could barely make out his features in the milky light but felt his breath hot on her face, and the tease of soft fur against her bare arms.

“Crockett!”

“Good guess. Give the lady a gold star.”

“Of all the—” She struggled beneath him, but was no match for his size and strength.

Crockett jerked her arms higher, forcing her back to arch and her breasts to press upward into his chest. His body radiated heat like the pig-iron furnaces in Clancy Street back home.

“Are you done, now?” He relaxed his grip on her, and she yanked her wrists free.

“Done with what? And get off me!”

He rolled off her, and she scrambled to her feet.

“Done trying to kill me. There’s a law against that kind of thing, you know. A wife kills her husband—well, that’s a hanging offense here in Tinderbox.”

“Husband, indeed!” She dashed to the lantern sitting on the countertop and lit it as Crockett got to his feet. An open window explained the cold, and how he’d gotten in. She swung it closed and latched it tight. “What the devil are you doing here?”

The soft lantern light played across his even features and reflected back at her from those black eyes. “I could ask you the same thing. You’re supposed to be at Vickery’s.”

“Oh, aye, and let ruffians break into my store in the night and steal me blind, I suppose?” She stepped toward him with the intent of chewing him out. Just who did he think he was, letting himself in and—

His gaze raked over her shift-clad form, and for the barest moment she read something in his eyes that made her heart stop. In a flash, she retrieved her shawl from the other room and pulled it tight around her body.

She could swear he was grinning somewhere under that stony expression of his. She took in his muddied boots and garments and his wild hair, which looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb since he left Tinderbox.

“Shouldn’t you be on the riverboat?”

His eyes grew cold again. “Any man in his right mind would be. But I’m not, am I?”

“But your ship, the steamer north…I thought that you—”

“There’s another one in a month. And that one I’ll be on, come hell or high water. Bet on it.”

“A month!”

He was supposed to sail now, this week, and be gone forever. That had been their bargain. That’s what he’d said, what everyone had been telling her for days. She wouldn’t have married him at all had he meant to stay on.

“What, exactly, do you intend to do for the next month?”

He moved toward her, his gaze pinned on hers. The tiniest spark of fear balled inside her. She backed toward the door leading to the street. “Su-surely you don’t think to…”

A dozen random thoughts raced through her mind. She realized that she knew nothing about him, only what little Mei Li and Mr. Vickery had told her. He could be anyone—a criminal, a murderer or…

He reached for her and her breath seized up in her chest.

“Stand aside.”

“W-what?”

His dark eyes narrowed, and she realized he wasn’t looking at her, but past her at the door. She breathed again and scooted sideways out of his light.

“Looks like there’s plenty to do around here for a month.”

“What do you mean?” Her gaze followed his and when she saw what he’d been eyeing she gasped. “Someone’s tried to jimmy the door!”

Crockett fiddled with the loose latch. “You haven’t seen Leon Packett around here, have you? Or his brother, Jed?”

Landerfelt’s men. The ones Will and Matt had thrashed the day before. Well, almost two days now. It was well past midnight. “No, I haven’t seen them. Why?”

Crockett shook his head. “Damned stupid.” The self-deprecating edge in his voice surprised her.

Then she noticed the blood. “You’re hurt.” Without thinking, she reached out and touched her finger to his temple.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He brushed her hand away. “Lucky your aim is as bad as your judgment.”

She felt bad about the incident. Nevertheless, it would have been his own fault had she killed him. What was he doing snooping around, looking for Jed Packett? She supposed she should be grateful. Clearly someone had been in the store.

She sniffed the air, remembering the kerosene. Padding to the dark corner, she peered at the open tin. She knew she’d closed it after filling the lamps. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d forget to do.

Voices sounded from up the street, drawing their attention away from the fuel. Torchlight played off the glass of the storefront window, and a second later Matt Robinson’s concerned eyes peered through the glass. Two others huddled beside him, their guns drawn.

Crockett opened the door. “What’s wrong?”

“We was just about to ask you—er, Mrs. Crockett—the same thing.” Matt eyed Crockett’s rumpled clothes and the blood trickling from his temple. “We heard shots.”

“Just an accident.” Crockett retrieved her father’s pepperbox from the floor. “Miss Denning—Kate, I mean, was cleaning her pistol.”

“At two in the mornin’?” Matt cocked a tawny brow at the both of them. It was clear he didn’t believe it. “You two okay?”

“Fine,” they both said in a strained show of unity.

Matt Robinson wasn’t buying any of it, but the cautionary look in Crockett’s eyes kept him from probing further.

“That’s that, then.” Matt tipped his hat to her. “We’ll be gettin’ back to bed.” As he turned to leave, he shot Crockett a wicked grin. “So, ya decided not to go, after all.”

Crockett’s face hardened. He grunted some unintelligible response and kicked the door shut behind them.

Kate had had enough.

In a confrontational pose that had always garnered excellent results when questioning her brothers, she crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin at him. Crockett looked at her as if she were some mildly amusing annoyance.

“What now?” she said.

His gaze flashed on her bare feet. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep. I’ll just—”

“No. I want to know why you’re back, and exactly what your intentions are.”

He stared at her for a full ten seconds before answering, those black eyes fixed on hers. By God, if he thought he was going to intimidate her, let him think again.

“My reasons are my own business,” he said evenly. “As for my intentions…” He broke their deadlocked stare. “It’s a month till the next steamer north. You need protection, and I could use more cash. I’ll stay and work the store, until we both make enough to get the hell out of here.”

He wasn’t asking her, he was telling her. And there was something about his tone, a certain overconfidence, that she didn’t like.

“I don’t need protection.”

He twirled her father’s pistol around his little finger and cast a glance at the jimmied door latch. “All right. Suit yourself. I’ll be gone in the morning.” He slammed the pistol on the counter and turned to leave.

“Wait. I—”

There were a dozen good reasons she should boot him out and slam the door behind him. And a dozen more why she shouldn’t, not the least of which was the fact that he was right. She did need protection. And it might not hurt to have a man around, either. Much of the store’s stock was so heavy, the mining equipment in particular, she couldn’t lift it even with Mei Li’s help.

He looked at her, one dark brow arched in question, his hand on the broken door latch.

“I…I guess that would be all right,” she said. “But the cabin’s too small for us both. You’ll have to sleep outside.”

In Dublin she’d lived with her father and four brothers crowded into a basement flat smaller than this by half. The cabin was a palace by comparison.

No matter. It was just a tiny lie. One of many, she suspected, she’d be forced into over the next month. She’d save them all up and when she got home she’d have a nice long confession with her parish priest.

“That suits me fine.” Crockett yanked the door open and stepped into the night.

“Good night, then, Mr. Crockett.”

He slammed his fur hat onto his head and winced. The spot where she’d hit him had swelled to the size of an egg. “Good night Mrs. Crockett.” The words hung there between them as a bitter look twisted on his face.

She watched him as he stormed up the street, and had the gnawing feeling she was destined to burn in hell after all.

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