I do, I do, I do (17 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss Wilder is doing some target shooting."

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

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

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

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

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

Tom shook his head. "I don't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My brother Pete taught me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I've heard you charge fifty-one cents a pound." She'd never been flirtatious, and she wasn't now. But she tilted her head and gazed at him from beneath her hat brim with a quizzical expression that he found wildly appealing. "I can't pay that much."

He flicked his cigar toward a muddy puddle, then looked back at the jack mule. "I'm prepared to offer you and your companions a deep discount. My Chilkats will pack you into Dawson for thirty cents a pound."

The quick breath she sucked between her teeth told him that she knew the price he named was unusual and outrageously low. "I understood the fifty-one-cent fee was for packing someone up Chilkoot Pass. I didn't realize it covered the trail to Dawson."

"Ordinarily it doesn't." He'd lose money packing them an extra six hundred miles. But if Bear was willing to help them financially, he could do no less. "Old friends get a discount and special consideration."

Pride stiffened her spine so abruptly that the edges of her cape fluttered. "I can't accept your offer," she said flatly. "Even if it wasn't improper to accept an expensive gift from a man, I don't want to be beholden to anyone." Circles of high color burned on her cheeks, and she turned to leave.

"Wait a minute, Zoe." She stared up at him with eyes like blue glass, but she stopped to listen when he grabbed her elbow. "First, a discount isn't a gift. You still have to pay. And if you accept this offer, you're not beholden in any way. This is a business arrangement." Some of the hard glitter eased out of her gaze. "Second, I'm going to Dawson anyway, ramrodding a short load for another customer. It's no problem to add your goods to the roster. And finally, I'm not losing money by discounting my rate. Someone else is paying the additional twenty-one cents."

"Oh?" She frowned as he released her elbow. "Who's paying the extra money?"

"The person insisted on anonymity. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all." He hadn't handled this well.

"It's Juliette, isn't it?" Anger snapped in her eyes, and she pressed her lips in a furious line. "Well, tell her no thank you. I don't want her charity!"

At once he understood that he couldn't deny her guess. If he took that path, she'd start listing names until she reached one that he couldn't deny without lying.

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions if I were you," he said lamely. Damn it.

"Who else could it be?" she snapped. "You might discount your fee a few cents to help a family friend, and that's what I'd hoped for, but I don't think you'd cut your fee almost in half." Her gaze narrowed and swung to the sea of white tents surrounding the town. "So who's left? The heiress."

"Zoe—may I call you Zoe?"

"That's how you addressed me when you practically lived with us."

"I guess I did spend a lot of time at your house, didn't I?" he said with a laugh. Then his expression sobered. "Don't turn your back on an offer that is going to make this journey a hell of a lot easier. Don't let pride do you an injury. Someone wants to offer you and your friends a little help. Take it."

"You don't understand," she said, frowning at the ground.

"I've been told I'm a good listener…"

For a moment he thought she would talk to him, really talk to him, then her expression closed, and she gave her head a shake.

"I just don't want to be in another person's debt. Especially not Juliette's."

That was undoubtedly why Bear had chosen to remain anonymous. He didn't want them to feel obligated. "If your benefactor wanted you to be beholden, that person wouldn't have insisted on anonymity."

"Juliette has to know that Clara and I will guess it's her. And I hate it," she said fiercely. Her grip on the Winchester tightened until her knuckles turned white. "I have half a mind to throw her offer back in her face!"

Tom stared. If he hadn't known Zoe was traveling with Miss March, he would have taken her expression and her anger to mean that she and Miss March were mortal enemies.

"Before you do something foolish, think about climbing Chilkoot pass ten or twelve times while Miss March and Miss Klaus climb it once," he said, his voice sharper than he'd intended. "Think about walking ten or twelve times as far to reach Dawson than they do. That's a high price to pay for pride."

"I'm not stupid—in the end I'll accept her offer," she said angrily. Even the little feather on her hat brim quivered with indignation. "But I'd rather refuse her charity!"

"Suppose your benefactor isn't Miss March," he said, giving it another try. "You should think about that."

She gazed up at him as if he had disappointed her, then she sighed. "All right. What's the protocol? When do we leave, and do we have to do anything special with our goods?"

There hadn't been a woman in his life since he'd come to Alaska. He'd forgotten how frustrating females could be.