At The Rainbows End

At the Rainbow’s End Jo Ann Ferguson Copyright: 1989 Jo Ann Ferguson ISBN 1-58608-062-8 Rocket Edition 1-58608-198-5 Second Printing - New Concepts Publishing May 2000 First Printing - Tudor Publishing Company September 1989 cover art by Eliza Black Dedication: With love, for Lauri, Peter, and Marianne for never complaining about all the "grab-it" meals while Mom is working on just one more page.

Chapter One Even in the late light of the Yukon spring sun, the mountains, caressed by the clouds, could not shake off their winter stiffness. Hillsides rose sharply from the edges of the riverbank, covered with trees. Nothing softened the harsh lines of the Klondike horizon. Summer seemed a distant legend. On the deck of the steamer W.K. Merwyn, Samantha Perry adjusted the collar of her cloak and regarded the primitive boomtown clustered on the shore. She could not say she had not been warned. Joel had written to her of the hardships here and the lack of the conveniences she had taken for granted in Ohio. He also wrote, though, of how he longed to be with her. Buildings clung together, little space between the walls to hold any rare warmth left from the long, relentless winter. Mud darkened the streets often reported to be made of gold. A constant stream of dreamers surged along the streets, looking for that lucky chance which would make a starving man wealthy. An overwhelming number of men had already struggled to strip gold from the ground, she knew. Piles of abandoned supplies stood as monuments to those who had been defeated. The smart ones had returned to the United States. Only those blinded by the hope of riches remained. "Do you see him?" Samantha turned to smile at the plump, cheery woman who had become her friend on the 1300 mile trip up the Yukon. Gwen Goddard, her round cheeks more cherry red than usual, gripped her satchel and leaned dangerously far over the narrow rail of the steamer. Her sparkling eyes, the color of the river beneath them, scanned the men waiting on the pier. "Mr. Houseman wrote," explained Samantha, as she had so often, "that he probably will be unable to meet the ship. I am to stay at the Dawson City Hotel, and he’ll find me there." "Not meet you?" Gwen looked at the younger woman, aghast. Gwen wondered again why a pretty woman like Samantha Perry had risked coming to the Yukon to be what was coarsely called a mail order bride. Any woman with such glistening, ebony hair and eyes nearly as dark must surely have attracted the attention of men closer to home. Many would be fascinated by her slender curves, nearly hidden beneath her sedately styled traveling suit.

Although she was unsure of Samantha’s exact age, Gwen was sure she was beyond the prime marriageable age of eighteen. Perhaps this was a factor. Gwen preferred not to think about her own reasons for leaving the comfort of home. Perhaps Samantha Perry ran from circumstances as hopelessly futile. . .or that husband she should have had by now. "Don’t act so shocked," Samantha said, laughing lightly and ignoring the open glances of the nearby men. During the interminable voyage, she had become accustomed to the expressions of men hungry for the company of women. There were so few who came to this empty land. "Mr. Houseman’s claim is more than twelve miles from Dawson. He can’t make the trip into the city lightly. When he learns the Merwyn has docked, he will come for me." "Hmph," said Gwen. Her Mr. Munroe would be one of the men on the docks waiting for the ship. She had insisted on that. A whistle from the steamship halted all conversation, Samantha looked again over Dawson. It was surely far grander than the cabin on the small claim where her future husband hoped to find a fortune. On the flat land between the river and the mountains rising into the distance, almost every available inch was covered with primitive shacks. Many of the buildings sparkled with the greenish tint of new logs cut in the forest behind the city. Part of Dawson had burned the previous year, but 1898 found it resurrected and growing again. "There he is!" cried Gwen. She grasped Samantha’s sleeve with one hand, jumping up and down and waving with the other. Samantha scanned those on the dirt levee, but nobody seemed to match Gwen’s description of Mr. Munroe. The number of men in front of the riverside warehouses astounded her. She had known thousands crowded into the city and more lived along the Klondike, Eldorado, and Bonanza waterways, but those figures had meant little until now. That she did not see any women did not surprise her. Joel had often written of his longing to hear a feminine voice amid the rumble of male words. Not more than two hundred women had come to this harsh land. She clenched her hands in front of her. The shore seemed to be a river of its own — a human one of men colored the same grays and browns as the earth around them. Where they were going or what they meant to do was an incomprehensible puzzle. When some of those lounging on the quay noted the women on the deck, shouts went up to greet the ship with an enthusiasm which had been missing before. "Oh, my!" she breathed as she saw the men waving their hats in her direction. Joel had warned to expect things to be a bit different, but she had not thought it would be like this. Gwen did not seem to share her embarrassment. She smiled in the direction of her audience and blew kisses. This brought even more reaction. When she heard Samantha’s whispered shock, she laughed. "Enjoy it, girl! Isn’t that why you came here? To be admired and fêted as the only woman within miles?" "No," she answered, the adulation chasing her usual, good humor, "I came because Mr. Houseman asked me to marry him." Her eyes scanned the crowd, hoping that Joel had been able to leave his claim and come to meet her. "Lordy!" exclaimed the round woman. "Don’t tell me again how you love this fellow!" Samantha turned from the railing to regard her friend. Her clear, nearly black eyes met Gwen’s in confusion. "You know I do. Why else would I come all this way?" "And yet you’ve never met him." Gwen frowned.

Glancing at the crowd forming a thick, constantly shifting arc on the shore, Samantha said, "I never have. But I love him and he loves me." "Hmph," Gwen blurted. "Well, I don’t have such childish illusions. My Mr. Munroe is going to make me a wealthy woman. I will make him a happy man." She put her hands on her generous hips and offered the lascivious grin which had so delighted the sailor who had kept her company during the long voyage. "It’s time to put my years of experience to work for my own profit. Someday Mr. Munroe and I’ll be the toasts of Dawson, or maybe even Chicago society." "I hope you are." Samantha was not sure what else to say. Samantha had guessed early in the voyage that Gwen had lived a life her own family would have termed immoral. Her suspicions were confirmed when Gwen’s quick alliance with the second mate took her away from their shared cabin night after night. Many things she had thought unalterable had changed during her long journey north across half a continent to this alien world. Months ago, no one could have convinced her she would speak kindly to an ex-prostitute, but she considered Gwen a dear friend. She had not thought she would become accustomed to the desolation of the top of the world, yet she had become more than accustomed. During the long journey along the Yukon from St. Michael at the western end of Alaska Territory, she had learned to admire the uncharted wastes which few men had seen until news of gold came two years ago. She gripped the railing as the Merwyn ground to a stop. Again, the screech of the whistle cut through the afternoon air. She picked up her bag which contained the few necessities she had kept with her since she left her home on the banks overlooking the Ohio River. Most of the things she had brought for herself and her new house were packed in two larger satchels stored in the hold of the ship. When she reached the gangplank, she was not surprised to see First Mate Penn waiting for her. He had made no secret of his interest. After the one time she had been foolish enough to let him catch her off-guard, she had become adept at making sure he could not corner her alone during the few dark hours. "Are you sure about this, Miss Perry?" he asked as she made ready to step onto the plank. "I have told you over and over that Mr. Houseman has offered me a respectable proposal. Much different than what you did." She did not keep the irritation from her voice as she moved aside to let Gwen and the other passengers pass. He grinned, totally unrepentant. He believed that he had the right to hold her slender form in his arms and taste the sweet pleasures of her lips. Now he remembered her slap stinging his face, but the memory brought only more yearning. Lightly, he admonished, "You can’t fault a man for desiring you. It’s a shame we couldn’t reconcile our differences, as your friend did with Skellie. The voyage would have been quite a bit more fun." Arching her eyebrows, she glared at him. "Miss Perry — Samantha — listen." He took her arm, ignoring Gwen’s shrill urgings for her to hurry. The lusty humor had vanished from his face. In a serious tone she had never heard him use, he said, "You don’t know this Houseman. He may not be what you expect. If you need to get away from him, just come to the line’s office over there in the first warehouse. Tell them I promised to pay your fare home." "Mr. Penn, I — " He shook his head. "Don’t misunderstand. You’ll be under no obligation to me, other than to have dinner with me in St. Michael." Looking past her to the mob waiting on the shore, he said, "I can’t just leave you to all the boomtown

fools. If things don’t work out, they’ll be pleased to make lovely Samantha Perry the star of Dawson. I think you might find the price of such adulation more than you wish to pay." She pulled away from his broad hands, straightening the sleeves of her jacket. Resettling her cloak on her shoulders, she said, "You worry needlessly. By the time you come back to Dawson, I shall be Mrs. Joel Houseman. My husband will see I am protected from the less desirable elements of the city." The frigid tone of her voice softened as she added, "But thank you, Mr. Penn." She did not look back as she walked down the bouncy board to the shore. Gwen’s smile had broadened into a vast, cheery grin. Surrounded by a host of admirers, she did not seem in a particular hurry to find her Mr. Munroe. A hand was held out, but Samantha disregarded it. Ignoring the crush of men, she walked resolutely alone to her friend. Willing her cheeks not to broadcast her embarrassment as she heard all her feminine attributes discussed openly, she tapped on Gwen’s shoulder. "Don’t you think we should be going?" she asked, glancing about uneasily. "No hurry." Gwen smiled an open invitation to the crowd around them. "Look all you wish, boys, but Miss Perry is spoken for, as well." "Gwen, we must be going!" Samantha could feel heat signaling that her face was scarlet. Taking her friend by the arm, she steered her toward what appeared to be the center of town. Lowering her voice, she stated, "Don’t urge them on!" Laughing with easy amusement, Gwen answered, "I know you’re sure you’ll love your Mr. Houseman. I have to wait a while before I’m sure I want to stay with my Mr. Munroe." She glanced over her shoulder and winked at the brazen men following them. "If I decide not to, I want to have others to choose from." "But you’re going to marry him!" Samantha could not hide her shock. "Don’t be so puritan, Samantha." Then, in complete contrast to her previous statement, she cried, "Look! There he is! My Mr. Munroe! Mr. Munroe!" Samantha was left alone on the quay as her friend ran forward to a man as roly-poly as an egg. His bald head glistened in the sunshine, burned nearly as red as his flannel shirt. The ends of a faded brown mustache drooped from his upper lip past his chin. His lost expression disappearing, he held out his arms to welcome his long-awaited bride. Holding her bag in front of her, Samantha did not move closer, unwilling to intrude. She wondered what kind of marriage they could have, when Gwen already spoke of leaving him. Then Gwen threw her arms enthusiastically around the man, who was shorter than her by nearly three inches. Samantha smiled. It might work out wonderfully. Despite Gwen’s coarse exterior, she secretly wished to be adored by one man. Suddenly she became aware of the crowd. To her left and to her right, men regarded her with the same expression she had viewed in her shipmates’ eyes when they spoke of the strikes they would make along one of the nearby rivers. These lonely men yearned for a woman almost as much as they wanted gold. A man stepped away from the others. Tipping his dirt crusted hat, he said, "Welcome to Dawson, Miss." Unsure what to say, she started to walk away. "Miss?" She turned. He grinned, his bony face brightening through a film of dried mud. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he walked toward her. Softly, she said, "I must be going, sir." "A question first, if I may. Is it true what the other one says, Miss? Are you

spoken for?" Wistfully he continued, "Did she mean a husband? Or could it be you’ll be working in the city? Me and the boys would be right pleased to see you at the Monte Carlo or the Hotel." Again color rose in her cheeks. She wished she could control the blush which betrayed her, but it was impossible. What this man was intimating with his polite words would have offended her greatly before the beginning of her trip. Now, being labeled a potential dance hall girl or harlot bothered her most because of the intensity of his candid admiration. Stepping backward, she said, "I came to Dawson to marry my fiancé, sir. I didn’t come to work in such an establishment. Good day, sir." He nodded and tipped his hat again politely, unable to hide his disappointment. Clearly he believed the few women who came to the Yukon should be shared. Gwen called, saving her from further embarrassment, and she hurried to where her friend stood with her arm possessively around Mr. Munroe. He certainly did not fit the description in his letters, but Gwen did not seem upset by his falsehoods. "I’m charmed, Miss Samantha Perry," the plump man hastened to say. As he lisped on her name, his smile asked her forgiveness. "As I am, Mr. Munroe." She meant her words. Already she hoped Gwen would decide to take her vows of marriage seriously. This man seemed overwhelmed by his good fortune. Gwen bubbled, "You must come to our wedding. We aren’t delaying. We are getting married as soon as we can find a preacher." "Now?" Samantha bit back her next words. It was not her place to judge. She soon would be following the same course, and Joel Houseman might be as different from his letters as this man. Trepidation raced through her, cracking her self-assurance. She had never thought Joel might have lied to her. Each of her letters came directly from the heart, and she assumed he had penned his with the same openness. She had to believe in the man she loved. Just because Gwen and Mr. Munroe had been less than honest with each other was no reason to believe Joel Houseman had been false with her. She allowed Mr. Munroe to take her bag and put it in the back of his rickety wagon. His bulbous hand held hers as he assisted her onto the seat where she was squeezed between them on the narrow seatboard. The horses had to strain mightily to pull the wagon through the deep mud of the main streets. Few other vehicles could be seen. Mr. Munroe said that all horses which had survived the horrid journey north were guarded jealously. The value of any beast of burden increased more than a hundredfold here in Dawson. Mr. Munroe delighted in the chatter of his glib wife-to-be. Gwen did not give him a chance to do more than give his assent to her many plans. If he considered disagreeing with her, he wisely said nothing. With pride, he pointed out the many saloons in the city. He watched the shock on their faces when he told them the bank often kept as much as two million dollars in gold dust in its vault in two tin-lined boxes made of wood without so much as a lock to protect them. No one wanted that gold. They were sure more waited in the rivers or in the bench claims on the hillsides. He drew in the horses in front of a small hut indistinguishable from its neighbors. Telling them to wait, he leaped from the box and ran to the door. While he knocked, Gwen turned to Samantha. Childish glee brightened her face. "Isn’t he wonderful, Samantha?"

"I think he cares very much for you." Gwen did not notice Samantha’s cautious response. The genial Mr. Munroe seemed nice, but she wished her friend would take a few days to get better acquainted with him before the exchanging of vows. She was very uncomfortable with this. Oblivious, Gwen let nothing slow her enthusiasm. She babbled about the wonderful life she would have with this man, who was sure to find a pile of gold as tall as her any day. Then they would be happy and so wealthy, able to tell the world exactly what they thought. When Mr. Munroe came back, his face was aglow. "The reverend is in, Miss Goddard. He’ll be glad to marry us without further ado." "That’s wonderful!" She offered him her hand, stepping from the wagon grandly as if she were already the rich woman she longed to be. Walking with him to the door, she called over her shoulder, "Hurry, Samantha!" As Samantha slid from the high seat, her skirt caught on a rough edge. This dark rose suit was her best. She did not think she could replace it in this wilderness. Standing awkwardly near the wagon, she worked to loosen it without tearing the fabric. Looking up from her task, she realized that several men were watching her intently. She lowered her eyes. With every second since her arrival in Dawson, she had become more aware of how intrigued the local men were by her. Finally yanking the skirt free, she ran up the steps and into the parsonage. She tried to hide her reaction when she entered the single room. Mining equipment was dumped in one corner. A spry man dressed in denims and flannels was seeking something. Until Gwen whispered that the minister had to find his book, Samantha had no idea he was the clergyman. "Eureka!" he crowed as he popped up from behind a mass of tattered clothing. "Here it is! Knew it was here somewhere." Following his orders, they quickly lined up according to tradition. He frowned, his sun-bleached eyebrows nearly invisible among the ridges on his forehead. No one spoke while he stared at his book as if he hoped to find the answer to whatever was puzzling him in its pages. Then, realizing something, he turned to the same pile of rags and kicked it roughly. "Wake up, Kimball!" he shouted. "You must be sober by now." He turned to the astonished wedding party. "We need another witness in addition to the lovely lady there. Whiskey Kimball can’t put his name down for a witness if he’s asleep." He jolted the man again with his boot. A groan emerged from somewhere in the mound which Samantha had thought was only cast-off clothing. She watched in amazement as a head matted with hair rose from the assortment of rags. A single, malevolent eye regarded them. "What in hell you be waking me for, Ephraim? Dammit, man, can’t a soul get some sleep here?" "Be quiet," ordered the minister. "This couple wants to get hitched. Watch, so you can put your name on the paper." "Hell," he breathed. "Don’t care about him getting himself a woman. I ain’t got one. Let me sleep." The clergyman leaned down and took the bigger man by the front of his shirt and shook him, like a terrier with a rat. With invective that further astounded Samantha, he ordered the man to stay awake. Grumbling, Kimball agreed. As if there had been no problem, the minister turned back to the bride and groom and read the service. He paid little attention, and barely gave them time to reply, making no secret of wanting to be finished so he could collect his fee. While the groom enthusiastically kissed his bride, the parson thrust a paper and

a pen beneath Samantha’s nose. "Thank you," she said curtly. She vowed she and Joel would find another man to wed them. She wanted a wedding with flowers, a ring, and a sincere ceremony. She affixed her signature and offered the document to the man still leaning against the wall. "Well, look at this," he said with more life than he had shown before, surveying her with open appreciation. "Who are you, sweet thing? How did you come to Dawson without Ole Whiskey knowing about it? Are you the new girl come to play the lead on stage at the Monte Carlo?" Tired of explaining she was not here to entertain the whole city of Dawson, she did not reply. If she had known it would be like this, like Gwen, she would have insisted that Joel meet her at the river. When the drunkard did not take the paper from her, she dropped it on the box next to him. Let Gwen deal with him. His hand grasped her skirt. Quietly she hissed, "Desist, sir!" "Whoa!" He chortled as he stood to tower over her. "Such ladylike language. That’s a right charming sound. How about me giving you a tour of the city, sweet thing?" Shaking her head, she said firmly, "No. My husband would not appreciate that." It was best to let him think she was already married. He snorted, "Husband? What’s a pretty lass like you marrying some fool for, afore you have a chance to be entertained by Whiskey Kimball?" He slanted toward her, his liquor-thick breath sickening. She took a step backward, bumping into the groom who still was bussing his bride. Their laughter added to her discomfort. A wave of homesickness washed over her as Mr. Munroe put his arm around her and squeezed her companionably. She wanted to be with people she knew, not these strangers. Mr. Munroe winked at her before finishing the interrupted kiss, and Samantha sighed in silent relief that their involvement took the attention from her. Although Gwen had to bend slightly to reach the lips of the portly Mr. Munroe, this did not seem to bother her. Perhaps Gwen believed any man who could stay obese when so many were starving must be a good provider. Again she wondered what Joel Houseman would be like. Although they had been corresponding for more than a year, she had only a single, small photograph to show her what he looked like. His stern face had regarded her each time she drew it from her reticule. Behind wire-rimmed glasses, his dark eyes could be seen above a growth of beard. She guessed from his expression that the high stock collar worn in the picture was uncomfortable and seldom used. Banishing her doubts, she hugged her friend and wished her much happiness. Shyly, she offered her cheek to Mr. Munroe. He laughed and twirled her to kiss her fully on the mouth. With a gasp, she drew away. She realized manners were different here in the Yukon, but had not expected this much familiarity on such short acquaintance. Paying the minister for his services, Mr. Munroe herded the women out to his wagon. "Can we take you somewhere, Miss Perry?" His charming lisp made his words sound babyish. "The Dawson City Hotel. That’s where Mr. Houseman wants me to wait until he arrives." "The Dawson City?" he repeated uneasily. "Miss Perry, are you sure he said that?" "Very sure." She smiled. "I have reread each of his letters so often I can quote from them. I’m sure he has arranged everything for me."

Reluctant, he nodded. He might have argued, but one glance in the direction of his Gwen reminded him of what he could be doing once they were alone. It had been months since he had been able to visit one of the cribs to purchase the time of a prostitute. He had been saving for Gwen’s fare, so he would never need to patronize those places again. If this Houseman wrote he would meet his fiancée at the Dawson City Hotel, then that is where she should be. He did not want to think of anything but satisfying his yearning for Gwen. Samantha sat stiffly while they drove across the Klondike River to the better section of the city. She stared at a spot directly in front of the horse so she did not have to watch the newlyweds fondle each other openly. Samantha knew Gwen had few compunctions about what she did with a man, but she thought her friend might want her husband to think she was a bit more ladylike. The buildings along the main street were nearly as fine as those of Seattle. Standing two and three stories high, some were constructed of sawed lumber instead of logs. Windows of real panes, or of a strange configuration she could not puzzle out, presented many eyes to the muddy street. Although they were in Canadian territory, American flags flew on the fronts of the stores. Men were everywhere. She guessed a long line leading into one small building must be of those wanting to file for the few remaining claims. Others loitered on the boardwalk or wandered in and out of stores and saloons. Tinny music sounded over the jumble of voices and noisy equipment being used to erect new buildings for the ever-increasing population of Dawson. "We’re lucky it has dried since spring," said Mr. Munroe. Driving around two men engaged in fisticuffs, he continued talking as if the sight were not unusual. Samantha listened to him while her eyes remained on the strange scene. "In April it was so damnable hot, the Yukon’s ice broke early. These streets were flooded. Even when the water went down, we had weeks of mud so thick it was up to a horse’s knees or the axle of a wagon. This mud’s left from that flood." "This is queer country," murmured Samantha as she wrenched her eyes away from the end of the fight. One man reeled toward the open door of a saloon. The other lay face down in the road. "Queer it is, but who cares? All we want is to steal the gold from its heart and go back to our own homes." He laughed and drew back on the reins. "Here you are, Miss Perry." She glanced uneasily at the two-story building. A trio of steps led from the boardwalk to the front door, which was closed to keep out the many insects buzzing around their heads. Empty windows overlooked the streets, but she thought she saw a woman’s face peering from one. Soon she would live up there. She shook frightening thoughts from her head. Just because a woman watched from upstairs did not mean that the rooms were used by harlots. "Thank you," she said as she climbed down from the wagon and took her bag from Mr. Munroe. As she stepped up onto the boardwalk, her shoes grew damp from the water oozing through the street. "Best wishes, Gwen," she called. "Come and see us if you can. We are on the Bonanza." "Perhaps." Gwen grinned. "If not, come and see us in Chicago, honey. Just ask for the Mrs. Munroe. Anyone will be able to direct you to us." Samantha was sure that Gwen actually would make Chicago sit up and notice her someday. She would find some way to make her dreams come true. Standing in front of the hotel, she waved until the wagon was out of sight on the busy street. Again, like a slap in the face, she was battered by the candid stares of strange men. Bag firmly in hand, she went into the hotel, eager to escape the feeling of

being watched. She opened the door with its etched glass oval window and stepped into the front foyer. Crimson. The color struck her forcibly. Everything around her was red — the embossing on the wall covering, the velvet on the chairs. Spidery twistings of wood softened the corners of the doors and enhanced the height of the windows. Through a door to her right, kerosene lanterns cast light on the bottles behind the brass-trimmed bar. Several tables were occupied. Samantha guessed the profession of the women in the room from the daring cuts of their gowns. Uneasy, she pulled on the collar of her concealing cloak. This was what those men outside wanted her to be She shivered with a mixture of disgust and trepidation. "Yes, Ma’am?" She whirled to see a squat man behind the counter. His eyes were calculating the worth of the clothes she wore and, she feared, what was beneath. Trying to keep a tremor from her voice, she stated, "I’m Samantha Perry. I believe Mr. Houseman made arrangements for a room for me. Will you check?" "Nope." He did not move, but a slow, insulting smile tilted his lips as he watched the movement of her chest as she gasped in reaction to his words. "Excuse me?" she asked, sure she had misunderstood his terse reply. "No reservations. This ain’t San Francisco, Ma’am. If you want a room, you come in. You tell me. You pay me. You get a room." He rested his elbows on the well-nicked counter and smiled more broadly. Too many teeth seemed crowded into his full mouth. "So — do you want a room?" She glanced over his head at the rates, and her eyes widened. A single room cost five dollars a night. The rooms in Seattle had been a dollar or less. She guessed she could pay for two nights, possibly three. If rooms were this expensive, surely meals would be as overpriced. She did not know how long it would take Mr. Houseman to come from his claim. If it was longer than three days, she was unsure what she would do. As if he could read her thoughts, he said, "Arrangements can be made if you don’t have enough money." Samantha started to express her gratitude until she saw the lascivious glitter in his eyes. She wondered if the women working in the saloon had made similar "arrangements" with the owner of the hotel. Vowing to sleep in the street before lowering herself to that, she shook her head. "I can pay. One room." "How long?" "I will pay one night at a time." She kept her voice coldly distant. "I rent rooms by the week." She gasped, "By the week?" Thirty five dollars! She could not afford to pay for half of that. Putting his hand over hers on the countertop, he smiled. "As I said, Miss Perry, we can work out arrangements for you to pay for your room. You might be very pleased with them." "No!" she cried. She jerked her arm away and grasped the handles of her well worn satchel. "I will find somewhere else to stay." "Ain’t no other place. Everything’s full with the Merwyn in." "Then I’ll start walking toward Mr. Houseman’s claim." She raised her chin defiantly to prevent tears from spilling from her eyes. "Good day, sir." "You’ll be back, girl!" he shouted at her back. "Working here may be your only choice, except a crib with the whores in Lousetown." With her hand on the door latch, she said, icily, "That’s where you’re wrong,

sir. Good day." She turned before he could see she was afraid that he was correct. Joel must come for her before she was forced to do exactly as this man suggested. He must come. . .soon.

Chapter Two Samantha wanted to slam the door of the hotel, but refrained. Her introduction to Dawson had been less than welcoming. She stood on the boardwalk and sighed into the heat sitting heavily on her. She longed to take off her cloak and the wool jacket beneath it, but carrying them in addition to her reticule and her satchel would be difficult. She must avoid dropping anything into the mud. Looking both ways along Front Street, she tried to decide which way to walk. She was intensely aware of every glance in her direction. Men moving in a steady stream along the mud-covered street paused to stare. More than one tipped his hat jauntily, but she did not acknowledge them, afraid to entice any closer. Her feet moved her away from the junction of the Klondike River and the Yukon. When she had driven with Gwen and Mr. Munroe, it seemed the better houses were in the opposite direction. She smiled wryly. She doubted any of the buildings could be termed "better." All appeared to be as sturdy as a balsa raft constructed to amuse a child. Involuntarily she flinched as she slapped away a mosquito. The whine of another sounded near her ear. Waving a hand about her head sent the insect away for only a second. "Horrible pests," stated a male voice close to her other ear. She whirled to see a man who was as filthy as the others on the street. Very little of his face was visible between his broken-rimmed hat and the full, black beard obliterating his lower features. "Yes," she replied tersely. Continuing along the boardwalk, she forced herself not to look at the man who matched her pace. "Lost?" he asked in a voice blurred with alcohol. "No." "Interested in some company?" "No." "Then what do you want, honey?" he persisted. Without pausing, she snapped, "To be left alone. Good day, sir." She gasped as he took her arm and turned her to leer at her. Other men stopped what they were doing to watch what happened between Hawk Olean and the pretty lady. Olean had struck a rich pocket just last week and was steadily spending it on the lavish entertainment available in the city. He had vowed not to let a single woman in Dawson escape his attentions before he returned broke to his claim. "Let me go!" Samantha ordered. She jerked her arm out of his grip, but the glitter of drunken amusement in his eyes told her he was not going to let her flee easily. She did not know why someone did not come to her assistance. In desperation, she

searched for an ally. It was futile, for the only person she knew in the city was busy with her new husband. When the man stepped toward her purposefully, she had no place to escape but down into the muddy road. The crowd around them closed in to make little space for Samantha and the obnoxious man. If she moved any farther, she would be in another man’s embrace. She screamed as he caught her by the arms. A lusty cheer erupted through the afternoon when he pressed her close to his sour body. Her second shriek was halted by his mouth over hers. She pummeled his shoulders and back, but he did not release her. "What’s this?" demanded an authoritarian voice. The lewd comments vanished immediately. In the silence, a horse’s hoofs could be heard muted by the mud. The man released her, and Samantha fell backward. Her cry of dismay became disgust as she sat in the mire which was thick with garbage. Disregarding everyone, she lifted her hands to stare at the ooze dribbling from them. Once gray, her gloves were streaked with foul brown. "Someone help her!" came an order in the same pleasant tenor. Hands appeared before her face. Disdaining any belated offers, Samantha rose by herself. Rage distorted her features as she lifted her satchel from the mud. She feared it and all the things within had been ruined. "Are you hurt?" Finally she looked at the man who had come to her rescue. His scarlet uniform took fire from the brilliant sunlight, further dimming the drab buildings. Even without the insignia, she would have recognized the man as a representative of the Canadian government. Gold buttons and a bandolier of shotgun shells cut across the coat. His clean-shaven face was shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. He lifted his fingers to it in a silent salute while his gray eyes subdued all the men. "Constable Palmer French of the North-West Mounted Police at your service, ma’am. Are you hurt?" he repeated. "I’m fine, although I fear for the condition of my dress." Samantha glared at the man who had dared to kiss her. "I’m new in Dawson, Constable. If you could suggest a proper boardinghouse, I would be in your debt." He dismounted easily. The men melted away before him. The Mountie made no comment as the street cleared. Only when Olean started to scurry away did the constable move from Samantha. "Hawk, you know you are wanted down at the Palace Saloon," he said quietly. "I understand Gretchen is anxious to see you. Why don’t you hurry down there?" "I will. I will, Constable," he mumbled hurriedly. Without looking in Samantha’s direction, he raced along the street. Constable French grinned as he turned to the disheveled woman. He had not needed to hear her explanation to know she was a cheechaco, a tenderfoot unfamiliar with this frontier city. Every bit of her shouted her innocence of Dawson. Why she was here and what she planned to do were none of his business, but the questions teased his mind. He did not allow that curiosity to show on his professionally serene face. "Thank you, Constable," Samantha said sincerely. "I had been warned about the coarse men of the Yukon, but I didn’t expect this." "Dawson is quite a shock for most of the folks who arrive from the States. A boardinghouse, did you say?" "Yes." His reply had been so businesslike, she answered in the same manner, "I need a place to stay and someone to clean the mud from my dress."

He allowed his eyes to rove along the damp pattern on her skirt. She was a pretty thing. Not worn by rough weather and hard labor like the other women who lived here. He could not remember the last time he had seen a woman this soft. His fingers yearned to touch her dark curls loosened to accent her high cheek bones. He wanted to determine if those vagrant strands would be so silken as they looked. Fiercely he forced that thought from his head. "Mrs. Kellogg," he answered trying to cover his hesitation. "She does laundry for the miners in the area. Whether she can clean a wool suit, I don’t know. As far as a boardinghouse, I fear you may have more trouble finding such a place which will be acceptable to a lady." Although cold seeped into her, she stated, calmly, "One worry at a time. Can you direct me to Mrs. Kellogg’s place?" "Of course, but I would be glad to escort you there." He reached for her satchel. She drew it away in a motion she knew was impolite. She could trust no strangers. Too many had eyed her today. "Directions will be sufficient, Constable." "If you please, Miss Perry, I’ll escort you." "How do you know my name?" He smiled and pointed to her muddy satchel. "Most people don’t write someone else’s name on their baggage, Miss Perry. I assume that is your name." "Yes." Trying to recall her manners which were as strained as her nerves, she said, "I’m Samantha Perry." "It’s a pleasure, ma’am. Now why don’t you let me take you out to Mrs. Kellogg’s? I patrol these streets and try to keep some semblance of order. I don’t want to have to break up another such scene as I came upon here." When she paled, he held out his hand. "Your case?" Silently she placed her bag in his gloved hand. When he offered her his arm, she put her fingers on it gingerly. Her other hand held up her skirt from further dirtying by the filth in the road. He attached the handles of her bag to the saddle horn. Easily he swung onto the horse. He held out his hand to her. She gripped it with both hands. With no sign of effort, he pulled her up to sit in front of him. She smoothed her skirt over her high shoes as he started the horse along the street. Samantha stared straight ahead. She tried to ignore the strength of his arm around her and his male form too close. To be this near to a strange man, even a representative of the law, when she was engaged to another was totally improper. Telling herself she had no choice did not soothe her angry conscience. The crowds parted without comment before the horse. Respect for the NWMPs surprised her. She had expected the men to resent this symbol of authority. When they passed another fist fight in the mud, he did not pause. "If you want to — " She was not sure what she wanted to say. His laugh was as resonant as his pleasant voice. "Fisticuffs don’t bother me, Miss Perry. Men have to let off a little steam. Work is hard here, and they play that way also." "I’m learning that." Despite herself, she smiled. After what she had suffered in the past hours, his genteel manner was a welcome change. "As long as there are no guns involved, we look the other way. Captain Starnes, my superior, enforces the ordinance that there will be no weapons in Dawson." He continued to tell her tidbits about the city which Joel had never mentioned. That he had not written of these idiosyncrasies did not surprise her. Of late,

their letters spoke more of unfulfilled love than of their surroundings. Despite Constable French’s charming company, she was glad when she saw a brightly painted sign: Mrs. Kellogg’s LAUNDRY Mending Available FREE of CHARGE "Here we are," he announced needlessly. A woman bustled out of the canvas roofed building. She was wiping her hands on her apron. Scowling, she met the eyes of the policeman steadily. Gray twisted through her thinning, dark hair. The rough life she had lived was imprinted in the creases of her unsmiling face. "Yes, Constable?" Her voice sounded like the wind moaning through the mountain passes, grating on the ledges of unyielding stone. "Business for you, Mrs. Kellogg." He leaped from the saddle and helped Samantha to the ground. "Miss Perry here had a run-in with Hawk Olean. You can see the result." "Is that fool still drinking and whoring his gold away?" she demanded without looking in the younger woman’s direction. "Damn fool! A year’s labor gone in a week." He grinned. "We all aren’t as wise about money as you, Mrs. Kellogg. Hawk will realize his mistake when he sobers up broke." Clearing his throat, he looked at Samantha. "Now, about that business. . ." "Let’s see, girl. Turn around." She clicked her tongue in dismay as she saw the staining mud covering the back of the dark skirt. Rubbing the material between her fingers, she shook her head. "Can’t guarantee I can clean that. Might ruin it. Wool is nasty stuff. You should get yourself some serviceable clothes, girl." Samantha pointed to the bag hanging like an over-ripe fruit from the saddle. "Those things are in there. I wore this for my last day on the Merwyn. I was hoping my fiancé would be here to meet me, and I wanted to look nice for him." "Fiancé?" Constable French chuckled with an irritatingly superior sound. "Are you one of those mail order brides?" "Mr. Houseman and I have been corresponding for more than a year," she retorted. Her pride was stung by his condescension. She refused to be shamed by his laughing eyes. "He asked me to join him here instead of waiting for him to come to Ohio." "Houseman? Out on the Bonanza?" She nodded eagerly. "Do you know him?" "I know almost everyone." He gave her a gentle smile as he tipped his hat to her. "You were lucky, Miss Perry. He isn’t like some of the others around here." Undoing her satchel from his saddle, he handed it to her. "I bid you a good day. If I hear of anyone who has a cheap room, I will let you know." "Room?" Samantha looked at the laundry woman. Mrs. Kellogg’s eyes were directly on her gloves. Wondering why the older woman was so interested in her hands, she explained, "I need a place to stay until Mr. Houseman comes into Dawson. The Dawson City Hotel was too expensive." "I’m sure." She took one of Samantha’s hands and pulled off the glove without asking permission. Turning the hand back and forth, she nodded her head in response to some thought she did not share with them. "That fool at the hotel would have been glad to make you an offer in exchange for your room." "He did." She smiled. Mrs. Kellogg did not attempt to hide her opinions. That

they had matched Samantha’s, so far, endeared her to the young woman. "And you told him no? Smart girl. He doesn’t attract the best of the men." She waved at the red-coated officer. "Go do your duty, Constable. Miss Perry can stay with me." Her intimidating glare returned to Samantha. "She has hands which tell me she isn’t afraid of hard work. Not like some of those prissy women at the Monte Carlo or out among the whores in Lousetown. She can stay if she wants to work in exchange for her room and meals." "Yes!" Samantha accepted the offer before anyone could add more. Working in the laundry would be horrendous if this heat continued, but it was far better than the alternatives. She had seen enough of Dawson to know exactly what those options were. Constable French risked Mrs. Kellogg’s fury when he asked, "Are you sure, Miss Perry?" She nodded. "Very sure. Thank you so much for your assistance." "My pleasure." Again he tipped his wide hat. "I may stop by in a few days and see how you are doing." "Be off with you!" ordered Mrs. Kellogg. "We have work to do. We can’t stand here jawing all day. Tend to your business, Constable. We’ll tend to ours." With a grin, he tilted his head in her direction. The ease with which he mounted his horse told Samantha this man had earned the reputation which silenced the men on the street. He waved as he turned back toward the disreputable section of the city officially named Klondike City, but commonly known as Lousetown. "Good man," mumbled the washerwoman. When Samantha looked at her in astonishment, she smiled. The rough expression had vanished to reveal the another woman. Putting her arm around Samantha, she steered her into the heat of the small building. Beads of water and clouds of steam covered every surface. Several fire pits heated tubs of water. "This way," continued Mrs. Kellogg. She shook a gnarled finger. "Don’t you ever tell that man I said this, but I don’t know what we would have done without Constable French and his fellow Mounties. They have kept Dawson safe." Even as she was talking, Mrs. Kellogg was directing Samantha toward one of the doors on the far side of the hazy room. Through the narrow portal waited a tiny room with barely enough room for the iron bedstead and a washstand. She put her satchel on the floor and opened it to pull out her work dress. Telling her to come out as soon as she was dressed appropriately, Mrs. Kellogg closed the door as much as the warped wood allowed. Samantha hastened to change. She held one hand on the door or stood against it the whole time she drew off her filthy suit and pulled on a muslin blouse and black serge skirt. Not that she had much choice. As minuscule as the room was, she could not have moved without bumping into the door or the bed. This would be her home until Joel arrived. She realized with sudden dismay that she had not left a message for him at the hotel. Then she shrugged, sure the cost of that favor would have been more than she could afford. As seldom as any women came to Dawson, he should have little trouble tracing her. Tying her skirt around her slender waist, she pushed up the full sleeves of her shirt. She took a deep breath of the comparatively cool air before she entered the sauna hot room again. Through the heated fog, she could see Mrs. Kellogg bent over a metal tub. "Over there, girl." She pointed with her blunt headed paddle toward another vat. "Stir the shirts until the dirt is loosened. Then rub them on the washboard. The line’s outside." As an afterthought, she asked, "Samantha is your name?"

"Yes, ma’am." "Work hard, Samantha, and we’ll have no problems together." Samantha smiled as she picked up the long-handled paddle. Working hard did not scare her. If that had been the case, she never would have dared the Yukon to come to the man she loved. She wanted to work long hours so she could collapse as soon as she went to bed. Then the time until she was with Joel would speed like the fleeting darkness of an Arctic summer night. *** *** *** The days did go quickly. When Mrs. Kellogg spoke of unending piles of wash, she meant exactly that. From the time when the sun rose far earlier than she had been accustomed to until twilight tinted the clouds red, Samantha worked. She never guessed so many filthy shirts existed. Sometimes she wondered if the men took them, dirtied them, and brought the torn shirts for another laundering. When she was not busy stirring the tubs of hot, soapy water, she had to sit in her narrow room sewing rips in the material and trying to patch them as best as she could. Some of the sourdoughs, as she learned the veteran prospectors were called, wanted shirts cleaned and repaired that had barely enough material to hold together. She enjoyed the work. Despite her gruff exterior, Mrs. Kellogg treated her far better than she had any right to expect. Every night they ate delicious meals ordered from one of the hotels, for the washerwoman did not have cooking facilities. She explained she could make more money washing clothes than she needed to pay out for ready-made meals. On that Samantha was sure her employer was correct. She saw the amount of gold brought into the laundry. A small set of scales by the door measured each transaction. The gold dust went into a tin box kept under Mrs. Kellogg’s bed. Although most of her customers must know where it was, she never worried about it being stolen. Crime seemed almost nonexistent in the city. Slowly the mud dried in the streets, making it easier to get about Dawson and Lousetown. Mrs. Kellogg explained that the mire was highly unusual. After the ice coating of the Yukon had turned the streets turn into a wallow, the heavy traffic completed the destruction. Soon Samantha grew less wary of the men who came into the laundry. Politely they would tip their hats in her direction. She learned to ignore their eyes on her clothes plastered with heat and sweat to her body, but was pleased Mrs. Kellogg did not require her to deal directly with the customers. Five days after her arrival in Dawson, she heard her name called. Involuntarily she smiled. "Good day, Constable," she said gaily. "Did you come to see for yourself that I’m working hard for my room and board?" Taking off his hat, he stepped into the low-ceilinged room. His dark head barely cleared the rafters. He let his eyes enjoy her prettiness as she wiped her hands on the water-spotted front of her apron. "I never doubted that, Miss Perry. Mrs. Kellogg’s reputation for perfection is well known throughout the city." He sat on a bench after shoving aside a pile of unwashed shirts. "I had thought your Mr. Houseman might have come by now." She shrugged to conceal her own concerns on that sensitive subject. Mrs. Kellogg had learned not to mention the many times Samantha went to the door to peer out at the busy streets for the one man she longed to see. "He must be very busy at his claim. The spring is the time of the roughest work he told me." "He’s correct. All the miners hope the thawing waters will bring more gold from its hidden cache in the hills. They will be working all the daylight hours and

some of the dark ones as well." "There are so few of those." He laughed. With his hands clasped around the knee of his immaculate trousers, he leaned back to watch her work with easy efficiency. In spite of her china doll appearance, it would seem Miss Samantha Perry was capable of doing the labor required without complaining. "You’ll get accustomed to the short hours of darkness after a while." "I don’t intend to. When Mr. Houseman makes his big strike, we will return south to a more hospitable clime." "Is that so?" Looking up from her task of stirring the shirts in the soapy water, she gave him an odd expression. Her dark eyes appeared blacker as her spirits became more troubled. It bothered her that others spoke so knowledgeably her future husband when she had never met him. She could not help wondering if they were privy to some fact she was unable to guess. "Yes," she stated tersely. Constable French stood and walked closer. When her eyes rose to meet his, she was sure he had grown to fill the entire room. The breadth of his chest had become a scarlet wall. He spoke, and she lost her sudden fear. His voice was as charmingly pleasant as ever. "I stopped by to see if you would be interested in attending the play at the Monte Carlo tonight. They’re having a vaudeville presentation. I thought you might enjoy seeing the acts." "Thank you, but no." She lowered her eyes to the bubbly water. "You forget, Constable, that I’m a betrothed woman." "To a man you have never met!" She stepped away to put the tub between them. Holding the edges of the galvanized vat, she tried to smile. "To a man I love." Shaking his head, he regarded her with bafflement. "You and Houseman don’t strike me as the perfect match." "And what’s wrong with me?" "With you?" He exploded with laughter. The sound bounced off the ceiling to crash onto her ears. His gloved hand swept wide to encompass the entire town. "My dear Miss Perry, you have been on the streets of Dawson and, from what I understand, Lousetown doing Mrs. Kellogg’s business. Has any man you’ve met acted as if there is anything wrong with you?" Samantha ignored the compliment. "Then you mean to insult Mr. Houseman. I assure you, Constable, that Mr. Houseman has been nothing but the perfect gentleman in all the letters he has written to me." "I didn’t suspect Houseman would be otherwise." "Then why — ?" "Why am I defaming your esteemed fiancé? Did you consider the fact I may simply be jealous of him?" Her eyes widened. With her hands clasped in front of her, she stared at him. She could not speak without betraying how his words stripped her of intelligent speech. When he put his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss her cheek lightly, she could not pull away. "Will you reconsider my invitation?" he asked softly. "No," she whispered. She picked up her paddle to resume working in a blatant refusal to discuss this further. Regret deepened the lines burnt by the sun and the wind into his face. Without another word, he left the small building. Samantha wanted to apologize, but she had done nothing wrong. Although she had

not suspected the constable felt other than the obligation of duty toward her, she was not in a position to accept any man’s invitation to attend entertainment. She was betrothed to Joel Houseman, although she was beginning to wonder if the man even existed. If he did, why hadn’t he come for her by now? *** *** *** Constable French gave her ample opportunity to atone for her cool behavior. He called at the laundry at least once a day. Nearly every visit, he urged her to accompany him to some event in the city. Each time she refused far more graciously than she had the first time. In spite of that, she began to look forward to his calls. She enjoyed his sense of humor as he poked fun at all the characters who had come to make the Yukon their home. When one afternoon, which was not as hot as its predecessors, he asked her to go for a walk, she started to tell him no as she had so often. Suddenly she wanted to escape from the closed walls of the laundry. She had talked to Mrs. Kellogg about putting a tub in the yard so they could enjoy the sights and fresh air, but so far nothing had changed. "Yes," she stated as she untied her apron. "Yes?" he repeated in astonishment. He had expected her normal standoffish reply. "You don’t sound too pleased. If you prefer — " He caught her hands in his and drew the apron out of them. Tossing it over the bench, he smiled. He placed her slender fingers on his sleeve. That her hand was nearly as lobster red as his coat he was too polite to mention. "Come with me, Miss Perry. I’ve already asked Mrs. Kellogg if you could have a few hours free. She told me as soon as you agreed, she gave her permission." "So the two of you have been conspiring against me?" A sudden freedom swept through her as she teased him. For longer than she wanted to remember she had been waiting for her life to begin. She did not want to wait any longer. Going for a walk with her friend would not betray her love for Joel. Mrs. Kellogg waved as they emerged from the heat of the laundry. Urging Samantha to have a pleasant afternoon, she made it clear her aide need not hurry back to finish her chores. As they walked leisurely along the boardwalk toward the center of Dawson, Samantha asked, "What do you have planned?" "I thought we might go to the Pioneer to give you a taste of the civilization you will be leaving behind if you go out with Houseman to his claim." "When I go," she corrected. "Do you want to go to the Pioneer?" He ignored her words which told him she remained devoted to her unknown fiancé. "It’s one of the few places I would take a lady." When she nodded, he placed his hand over hers on his sleeve. He grinned as he told stories of this rough city. It continued to amaze her how different Dawson was from the settlements of earlier gold rushes. A man or a woman could wander about with a fortune in gold dust and not have to worry about being accosted. Many were willing to help them spend it at ridiculously high prices. In spite of the lusty entertainment favored by the prospectors, bars and dance halls closed on Sunday in accordance with the strict blue laws of Canada. A flux of newcomers came walking from the levee. Samantha observed them with her comparatively veteran eye. Many would be scurrying back the way they had come, for they clearly were unfit for the backbreaking labor required along the

rivers. Constable French noted her glances at the men. "Sorry lot, aren’t they? I don’t know why you folks down in the States continue to believe in El Dorado. California, Colorado, Alaska, now here. The gold isn’t waiting to be scooped up by the lucky man who happens to stumble on a city of gold." "Dreamers are an odd lot," she mused as he held open a door to the place best known simply as the Pioneer. "Like you?" She paused in the foyer. Without looking about to enjoy the lush interior, she gazed up at him. Quietly she said with pride, "Like me, Constable." Unsure how to respond to such an openly challenging statement, he gestured for her to walk through the arch at the far side of stairs leading up to the second story. She hesitated as she stepped through to see the multitude of tables scattered about the huge room. A stage stood higher than her head at one side of the chamber. A low wall separated part of the saloon. When he explained government regulations required gambling areas to be separate from the place where liquor was served, she nodded her understanding. The owners of these businesses wanted to offer every sport to their patrons. If the Canadian government established laws, they would follow them in order to keep their customers returning with a steady flow of gold dust. He drew out a chair for her at a shadowed table. "I don’t think we can expect too much service at this time of day. Let me go and order for us. Wine?" "They have wine here?" she asked, surprised such civilized amenities were available in this outpost. "Everything can be had in Dawson now. Not like it was over the winter when there wasn’t enough food. The merchants here don’t intend to let those unprofitable shortages happen again." He placed his hat on the table and walked toward the bar. Samantha gazed about the nearly silent room. It was ornately beautiful. Photographs surrounding a huge moose head covered one wall. A painting of the Yukon flowing at a queer angle into the distance was the centerpiece of another wall reflected in the wall of mirrors behind the bar with its brass accents. Although rumors circulated that Dawson would have electricity before the end of the year, they depended on kerosene now. When Constable French sat across from her, he offered her the glass of wine. She sipped it as he continued to tell her tales of early Dawson. It seemed strange that "early" Dawson was less than two years ago. Although the buildings were primitive, she found it difficult to believe, that in 1896, the city had consisted of one cabin, a sawmill, and tents scattered on the flats by the river. "Right over there on that stage last winter, two of the dance hall girls auctioned themselves off to the highest bidder." Choking on her half-swallowed wine, Samantha’s watery eyes regarded him with shock. When she could speak past her scratched throat, she scoffed, "You must be kidding!" "No," he said, laughing. "Mabel LaRose started it over at the Monte Carlo. She got five thousand dollars in gold dust for offering to share the cabin of the miner who paid the most. Only for the winter. It started a trend. Susie and Daphne made a bit more because the men heard of the first auction and didn’t want to miss out on the next."

"That’s illegal!" "It’s not slavery. More of a short-term contract for services." When she blushed, his smile broadened. "Not the type for you, I realize, but everyone involved was satisfied with the arrangement." Putting her glass on the table, she stated, "It may not be against the law, but it is definitely immoral. How could those girls go with a man they barely knew to live as his wife?" "It really isn’t that different than you agreeing to marry Houseman without ever meeting him." She started to protest, and he held up his hands to silence her. "Hush, Miss Perry. I know what you intend to say, but I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just a simple statement." She stood and tightened her shawl around her shoulders. "Constable, I think I would like to leave." With a quick gulp, he drained his mug. He was not surprised when she did not put her fingers on his proffered arm. Her rage burned so brightly a glow was nearly visible around her. During the short walk back to the laundry, she refused to answer any questions. She wanted to pretend this afternoon had never happened. He had brought up the subject to needle her. All of the conversation had been geared to lead to this point where he could ridicule her and try to defame Joel. At the door to the laundry, she paused to mumble, "Thank you, Constable." He refused to allow her to leave with her fury. Taking her arm, he drew her to him. One arm went around her reluctant form as his hand cupped her chin. When he saw the open shock in her eyes, he did not kiss her as he had planned. He felt the surge of frustration. Pretty, vivacious Samantha Perry taunted him in his fantasies. In his arms, she could be as soft as he dreamed. Could be, but was not. She clung to her foolishness of loving a man who would not leave his sluice long enough to claim her. Slowly he released her. He watched as she whirled to enter the laundry. His boot sent a rock sailing across the road to crash loudly against a pile of rubbish left by a disheartened miner. Stamping away toward Dawson, he knew he would be back again to visit this fascinating woman. Samantha peered through one of the large cracks in the unchinked wall. She did not want him to think she was spying on him as he left. Even to herself she was afraid to admit Constable French was correct. She had obligated herself to a man she did not know. In addition to that crime, she was allowing her life to become entangled with another man who could be no more than a friend. Sinking to the bench in the steam thick room, she sighed. What she was going to do, she could not guess. She longed for Joel to come and take her to their claim where they could work for their common dreams side by side. Once he arrived to take her out to the Bonanza, everything would be perfect. The thought gave her comfort, for she did not realize this would be the last day she firmly believed her naïve hopes.

Chapter Three

Samantha brushed her hair back with soapy hands. If only the wash water was not so hot. Everything was hot here, although they were so close to the Arctic. She had been warned that would change soon. Silently she wondered if the cold she had been told about could be as horrible as this muscle sapping heat. Someone had mentioned the temperature had hit 110 degrees yesterday. From the way her clothes clung to her sweaty skin, she feared it would happen again today. "Miss Perry? Are you Miss Perry?" "Yes." She answered the eager voice without turning. With the ladle, she scooped out the last shirt. If it once had been white, she did not know how to restore it to that freshness. The best she managed was a filmy gray. Footsteps sounded on the boards as the man walked around to stand in front of her. He repeated, "Miss Perry?" "I told you I was Samantha Perry," she stated testily as she dropped the laundry in a basket. "What do you want? Mrs. Kellogg takes orders inside." "I am Mr. Houseman." In shock, she looked up. This was not the way she had imagined the first meeting with her future husband. Instead of gentle smiles and soft words, she had spat at him like an irritated cat. When her eyes met his uneasy, brown ones, she saw a shy smile form in them. It flowed along his narrow face to settle on his lips nearly hidden in the unruly thickness of his blond beard. She knew she should say something. Anything. Her mind was too numb to create a thought of any kind. She continued to stare, noting his dusty denims and well patched shirt. A wide-brimmed, floppy hat sat on his head, nearly settling on his gold rimmed glasses. "You sure are pretty," he murmured. "I never thought you would be this pretty." He glanced upward guiltily and took off his hat. He rolled the brim in his hands. "I have been looking all over Dawson for you." "I did not have enough money to pay for a room in the hotel," she hurriedly explained. "I would have left you a message if I could have. Since the Merwyn docked, I’ve been here. Mrs. Kellogg offered me a room and meals in exchange for working." "About the room, Miss Perry, I — " "Find her?" interrupted a friendly voice. The hard-faced woman smiled, showing a sample of the kindness she did not waste on her customers. He put his hat on his head, so he could tip it in her direction. "Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Kellogg." Samantha lowered the paddle into the limp bubbles in the vat. Wiping her hands on the stained apron over her dark skirt, she wondered how any man could be so different from what she imagined her fiancé to be. Not that Mr. Houseman did not look exactly like his picture. Better, she admitted with a touch of girlish excitement. The photograph had not showcased his slim strength which strained the seams of his worn clothes. She simply had expected any man who wrote such luscious letters filled with open emotion would be more verbose. Then she asked herself how she could fault him. She had barely said two words in a row. If he was afflicted with the same curse of shyness she suffered, it would be a long and uncomfortable journey to his claim. With her hands still hidden in her apron, she stepped around the tub to stand near, but not too near, the man she had promised to marry. Mrs. Kellogg continued to be in charge of the situation. "Run inside, Samantha, and pack your things. Your Mr. Houseman won’t want to wait long for you, if you have such a trek ahead of you. Coffee, Mr. Houseman?"

"No — no, thank you. As soon as Miss Perry is ready, we will leave." "Are you catching the stage to Grand Forks?" He shuffled his feet as if ashamed to admit the truth. "No, ma’am. I have picked up her things at the warehouse. As soon as she’s packed here, we will be walking out to the claim. It isn’t that far. Not more than twelve miles." The older woman frowned. Taking Samantha by the arm, she called over her shoulder that they would be only a few minutes. Inside the wash house, she said nothing until they stood in the cramped bedroom. She watched as the bride-to-be stuffed her things haphazardly in her bag. "Samantha, child, are you sure you want to go?" She scowled more fiercely, but the anger was not directed at the young woman. "Are you positive you want to leave with a man too miserly to buy two tickets on the Grand Forks stage?" She recognized the name of the smaller settlement on the Bonanza river. Joel had written of it several times. That was where he went to trade for the things needed on the claim. Trips to Dawson were made only when absolutely necessary. "I promised," she said quietly. "That doesn’t matter. You promised only to come to Dawson to see if you wanted to marry this man. You didn’t sign away your life." She grasped the younger woman by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Samantha, he didn’t even reserve the room at the hotel as he promised. Mr. Houseman isn’t your only admirer. Constable French has been calling almost daily for the past week. He would be delighted to escort you about Dawson." "I know." Samantha thought of the other offer she had that Mrs. Kellogg did not know about. Mr. Penn, the first mate of the Merwyn, would be happy to pay for her passage from this city. That the cost of that favor might be far higher than he intimated when she left the steamboat she could not keep from her mind. Her hands paused as she was about to put her laundered coat in the satchel. Constable French was another matter. She could not keep from liking him. His charm washed over her in a gentle cascade each time he interrupted her workday with his irreverent humor. The problem was that she liked him, but she loved the Joel Houseman she had met through the few letters she treasured. As if she had not paused, she added, "The constable is a dear friend. Please let him know Mr. Houseman came for me, and I didn’t have time to tell him farewell." "You are going then?" "Of course." Her voice made it sound as if there had been no question of her accompanying Joel to his claim. "Then take care, child." Mrs. Kellogg flung her reddened arms around her. "If ever you need sanctuary, you are welcome here." "Thank you." She did not know how else to respond to such an offer. With her bag in her hand, she walked out of the place which had been her home for nearly two weeks. Her eyes went directly to the impatient man pacing from the tub to the pile of kindling on the opposite side of the grassless yard. Silently she watched him. He was undeniably handsome. His yellow hair had been lightened by the harsh, northern sun. It brushed his collar and blended in with the darker strands of his beard. She discovered his clothes were not colorless, just covered with dirt. A warmth spread through her. Joel needed her housewifery talents as much as he told her he wanted her love. The thought strengthened her. She was about to call to him when the sound of hoof beats paused in front of the shack. When she heard Constable French speak her name, she looked at Joel. She was not surprised to see his eyes narrow in ill-disguised rage as they settled

on the Mountie. Constable French’s greeting died half uttered. His glance went from the satchel in Samantha’s hands to the man standing in the center of the clearing. Recovering his aplomb, he said with fake good will, "Good afternoon, Houseman." "Constable," he stated tersely with a slight nod in the man’s direction. "Miss Perry, are you ready?" "Yes." She crossed the yard to stand by her fiancé. A false smile twisted her lips at an uncomfortable angle. "Good-bye, Constable." Although he clearly wanted to say something else, he said only, "Good-bye, Miss Perry. Have a pleasant journey out to the Bonanza. I don’t want to keep you. The stage should be leaving any minute." The man next to her did not contradict Constable French’s assumption. He merely nodded and took Samantha’s bag. Motioning for her to precede him, they went to where a dappled horse was tied to a tree. He added the small case to the pair of larger bags on its back. With the reins in his hand, he started down the street. Samantha hesitated for a second as she looked back at the comparative familiarity of her newfound friends. Mrs. Kellogg stood draped by the shadow of the kind Constable French. Even as her mind was telling her to rush back to them, her feet were carrying her to catch up with Joel. She had promised. In the back of her mind, she could hear her father telling her over and over that Perrys never broke a promise. The memory came from before he died of pneumonia in her twelfth winter. Although two weeks had made her comfortable with other facets of the rough life of the city, she could not disregard the lustful leers of the men. She stepped closer to Joel. When she bumped into him, he glanced at her oddly. He did not speak. She moved away, unsure what to make of his strange expression. At the Klondike, he did not take the bridge which would lead to Lousetown. Instead he turned along the less well traveled road south and east along the shore. When they had put the busy sections of the city behind them, they stopped. From a pocket of his denims, he pulled a piece of netting. He held it out to her and said, "This may keep away some of the skeeters. Mrs. Mulroney, who owns the hotel in Grand Forks, says this helps her." She lifted the piece of gauze nearly as fine as cheesecloth. With a chuckle, he took it from her and wound it around her head. It covered her face, but allowed her to see with only a little difficulty. Anything which would halt the marauding swarms of mosquitoes was welcome. For a long minute, he did not move away from her, but made no attempt to touch her. All he did was stare into her face, nearly obscured by the veiling. He started to say something, then halted himself. He walked away and called over his shoulder, "Come on. I want to put a few miles behind us before we have to stop for the night." Samantha could not determine if she had done something wrong. Joel continued to confuse her. The man of her fantasies would not be this taciturn. His delightful sallies had made her laugh aloud even as she read them again and again. As she had before, she told herself it must be only shyness. She certainly acted far more timid than she had in the past. A shiver of fear went through her as she wondered if Joel was disappointed in her. The idea of asking him daunted her. Instead of soothing her fearful heart, she walked in a silence as pervasive as the forest around them. That quiet did not last long. They came upon the first claim shortly after the

buildings of Dawson faded in the distance. Her eyes took in every detail of the hideously filthy clearing. A primitive cabin leaned at an angle which seemed impossible. Supplies cluttered the ground. Men worked at the edge of the river. They did not look up as the travelers passed. Intent in surveying the water passing through their sluices to sort through the mud and gravel for the sparkle which could signal wealth, the prospectors cared for nothing but their obsession. It was a scene repeated over and over with eerie similarity as they walked upstream. Every five hundred feet another claim had been staked with its ramshackle hut, myriad piles of supplies and of garbage, and the prerequisite trough to rechannel the river water. Even the men seemed the same, although they were dressed in varying styles from the sensible outfit Joel had chosen to three piece wool suits better for bankers than gold seekers. As the afternoon passed, Samantha’s legs grew leaden. The way was not easy. They had to pick their way around scattered equipment as they followed a nearly invisible path among the few trees remaining after the onslaught of prospectors. The river remained their guide as they walked along the Klondike until they reached the intersection of Bonanza Creek. Nothing changed when they followed the creek. The claims came with the same regularity. The man leading the horse remained silent. She thought of trying to break the uncomfortable quiet, but, as the time passed, it became too difficult. Concentrating instead on walking, she pushed her discomfort to the back of her mind and stumbled on in his wake. When the sun dipped toward the horizon, he turned inland from the river. They walked into the woods past the prospector’s cabin. Only when they were at least a quarter mile from the river did he stop. "Tired?" She almost laughed at his question, but saw he meant it seriously. Looking at him, she could see he was not showing any strain from their rough journey. She guessed his time of working on the river had strengthened him. At the moment, she doubted if she would ever gain such stamina. "Very," she replied. "Sit down. We will stop here. We have come nearly seven miles. After supper, you can rest a while. Tomorrow we will arrive at the cabin early enough so I can do some work." He competently built a fire in a stone-lined pit he dug out of the thin layer of thawed earth. When she was about to remove the netting from around her hat, he cautioned her to leave it in place. She did as she was told, knowing he was far more familiar with this country than she was. Within minutes he had water boiling in a small pot over the fire and was warming some biscuits and side meat in another pan. Samantha gratefully accepted the cup of steaming liquid and the plate of unappetizing food he offered her. She raised the mosquito netting over her hat to take a sip of coffee. She wondered if she would ever become accustomed to the long hours of sunlight. They would rest in this twilight before continuing on the silent trip southeast along Bonanza Creek. In the distance, she could hear men talking to each other as they continued to work in the creek, searching for the elusive gold. "This is good," she asked to break the silence around their fire. "Thank you." He could not hide his pleasure with her compliment. "I’m not a very competent cook, but I have learned to like my own cooking. Perhaps you will make

us a good dinner tomorrow night. We will arrive at the claim in plenty of time for such preparations." She lowered her eyes. She could not imagine continuing on as she had. Her legs ached from her long hours by the laundry tub today, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her cot and sleep. She slapped away a mosquito and batted at another whining in her ear. "You’ll get used to them," he said as he noted her motion. "Really?" He smiled for the first time since they had met in the yard by Mrs. Kellogg’s house. "No," he said with easy humor. "I can’t get used to them myself. They seem far more determined and vicious than the ones we had back in Pennsylvania." "Pennsylvania?" she asked in sudden confusion. "I thought you were from Virginia." "Whatever. It doesn’t matter." He poured the last of his coffee on the ground. "Do you want to sleep?" Disconcerted by his strange words, she nodded. He pulled a blanket from his pack and spread it on the ground. When he motioned for her to lie down, she tried to put aside this uneasiness. She had promised to marry Joel Houseman, but they had not paused at a pastor’s house. Only now did she think of how they would be living together on their small claim. Unsure once more how to ask him to relieve the distress in her heart, she said nothing. She did not sleep immediately, although she closed her eyes. The unnatural twilight she had been able to ignore in her windowless room at Mrs. Kellogg’s and the constant whir of the mosquitoes kept her awake. Cold sifted from the ground which was permanently frozen only inches below her. Wind barely moved the treetops. When Mr. Houseman moved closer to her, she stiffened. Only when she realized that he did not intend to sleep himself, but to keep guard on their supplies, could she allow herself to relax. She knew his gaze was on her. With an extra sense honed by the many stares in Dawson, she could tell he regarded her possessively. She wondered why he had not so much as taken her hand. Mr. Munroe had greeted Gwen with unbridled enthusiasm. Joel acted like a polite stranger. As she drifted away into a fatigued sleep, she smiled. They were strangers. If she gave them time to relearn the love they had professed in their letters, the dreams she had while she slept might come to life. *** *** *** A gentle voice called near Samantha’s ear. "Miss Perry? Miss Perry, it’s time for us to start." She turned to look up into Joel’s face. As he had when he first saw her, she smiled to see him so close. He leaned over her, one hand on either side of her shoulders. She traced the fine lines of his face with her eyes. It was the one she had looked at so often in the precious photograph. When she saw his lips descending to cover hers, she shivered with eager anticipation. This love was the one she had waited for during the long and difficult voyage to this frontier. She lifted her arms to place them around his shoulders. With a strangled moan, he moved away. He stood and turned his back on her. A muted oath drifted to her as she slowly rose. Rearranging her clothes to have some semblance of freshness, she walked to where he stood. "Mr. Houseman, good morning." She knew her words were inane, but she did not

know what else to say to this puzzling man. He laughed lowly. "Good morning? You have the manners of the lady I expected you to be. Shall we go? I know we have had no breakfast, but there’s more food and an escape from these flying bloodsuckers on the claim." "Yes, of course." She folded the blanket and handed it to him. While he tied it on the back of the horse, she wondered if he truly had intended to kiss her. She had been sure he would, but now he acted as if nothing had happened. When he looked at her, she lowered her eyes and moved to stand beside him. She had no idea how to handle this baffling situation. As if the previous night had not ended, they began their journey with the same unspeaking determination to put the miles behind them. That changed quickly. The miners they were passing did not seem to be strangers to Joel. He answered their greetings as they rose with the broadening daylight to return to work. Although each man appraised her closely, no one said anything to her other than a brief good morning. Joel made no effort to introduce her to the others. She wondered if it was the yearning to return to his work that made him increase the pace. An aura of nervousness billowed out around him. It became more obvious by the bleaching of his knuckles gripping the reins and the straight line of his mouth hidden beneath his mustache. They walked down a hill into a valley which once must have been beautiful. Like the rest of the countryside around the rivers flowing into the Klondike, the land had been stripped of anything lovely. In the distance, she could see the unbroken line of claims announced by sluices and plumes of smoke from cook stoves. She was surprised at the pang at the loss of what had been here. Shaking her head to dislodge the gloomy thoughts, she asked herself why she cared about such things. They were not here to admire the scenery. They were here to make into reality their dreams of finding gold and discovering a life together. She clung to trees as the slope dropped away steeply. Joel could not assist her. All of his attention was taken by helping the overloaded horse down the hillside without letting it injure itself. She remained far behind them, but her ears could discern the gentle, consoling words he spoke to his steed. It gave her some solace. Her future husband was a kind man. At the base of the hill, he waited for her to draw even with them. He simply nodded to show he was pleased she had managed the slope without mishap. They continued on as they had from the beginning. They entered a clearing exactly like the many they had seen on their journey. When he paused, Samantha did the same. She hid her dismay when he reached for the pack on the horse. This must be home. She tried not to show her disappointment as she saw the barely chinked, log walls of the hut topped by a roof of canvas to prevent moisture from dripping on the inhabitants. A second cabin was attached to the first. It had the luxury of a window, although it was the peculiar style found around Dawson. It had been made of empty bottles held together with hardened mud that allowed light to filter into the small house. When the door swung open, she could not hide her surprise. A man walked out to cross the muddy yard. He was taller than the man by her side. His hair shown in the ever-present sun as darkly as her own, but his eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen. Very little of the rest of his face could be seen behind a beard as scraggly as Joel wore. He paused in mid-step as he saw her standing by her escort. In the same way Joel had on his first sight of her, a smile settled on his face, easing the lines

ingrained by hard work and the rough climate. "This is Miss Perry?" he asked enthusiastically. Her fiancé nodded with obvious reluctance. He put his hand on her arm, startling her. It was the first time he had touched her. "Miss Perry, this is my partner Joel Gilchrist." "How do you do, Mr. Gilchrist?" She offered her hand politely, not mentioning she considered it odd that both men would share the same given name. Never in any of the letters had there been the mention of a partner. Perhaps this was a new arrangement to ease the workload. "Do you live nearby?" "I live here." His dark eyebrows formed a line across his forehead as regarded the other man steadily. "What did you tell her?" "Nothing," he answered too quickly. The taller man frowned. "Nothing? You brought her all the way out here without telling her the truth? I thought you were going to tell her before she left Dawson." Samantha demanded, "What truth?" The men ignored her. With his hands creating a flurry to match his hasty explanation, Mr. Houseman did not try to soften his words. A heated blush climbed her cheeks as she heard him tell his partner how he had been smitten with her from the second he saw her working at the laundry tub. Embarrassment became fright as Gilchrist stepped forward threateningly. She realized his rage was directed at the man beside her. "So charmed were you? Did you marry her? You didn’t forget our agreement along with what you were supposed to tell her, did you?" "Calm down, Joel," said the man still holding her arm. "We didn’t stand before the preacher. I don’t cheat my own partner. I’m just speaking the facts. She is powerfully pretty, and I wouldn’t have a difficult time taking her to wife." "We decided how it would be, remember?" the darkly handsome man retorted with a quiet which did not disguise his rage. Peeling her fiancé’s hand off her arm, Samantha stepped away from both of the men. "I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Gilchrist. There is no reason to argue. Mr. Houseman proposed to me and paid for my passage here. I promised to marry him." "You promised to marry Joel Houseman, right?" She did not back away from his daunting blue stare. If she was going to have to suffer this man’s presence, she would not allow him to cow her on their first meeting. Without a sign of her internal turmoil, she stated, "That is correct, Mr. Gilchrist." "Not Kevin Houseman." "Who’s Kevin Houseman?" She turned to the man placing the pack from his horse on the ground. A scarlet as bright as the gaudy decorations of the hotel splashed across his face. He swallowed several times, his Adam’s apple bouncing enough so she could see it through his beard. "Miss Perry, I am Kevin Houseman." "Then who is Joel Houseman?" Instantly she knew the answer. Her gloved hands clasped over her mouth as she tried to deny the truth she could see on the men’s faces. Joel Gilchrist — Kevin Houseman. Together the names made up the one belonging to the man wanting her to come to the Yukon to work beside him and be his wife. Arms eased around her shoulders when she swayed. Trying to shrug them off, she nearly fell to the ground on knees too wobbly to support her. Her ears rang with

the effort to breathe as she was helped into the cabin. A bench was pulled away from the table taking up most of the room. Only a slight pressure was needed to urge her to sit. A glass was pressed into her hands. When she did not raise it to her lips, it was taken and placed against her mouth. With a gasp to ease the fire etching its way to her middle, she struck out at the hand holding the glass. It flew across the room to crash into the wall and fall to the floor in a rain of sharp shards. "Damn!" snarled a male voice. "Look what she did. That was our last glass one." "Not now. It doesn’t matter." Gentle fingers under her chin brought her watery eyes up to gaze at the distorted image of the face she had seen so often in a photograph. She fought her rebellious stomach. In a voice scratchy from the whiskey, she whispered, "Why?" The one named Joel Gilchrist sat next to her and took her fingers in his. Shocked by his audacity, she tried to pull them out of his grip, but he refused to release her. "You must listen to the truth, Samantha." "I did not realize we were good enough friends for you to use my given name," she said stiffly. "Friends?" He laughed as he looked past her to the other man. "You promised to marry me. I think that makes us more than friends." "No!" she cried. She wanted to stand. With the men on either side of her, she was imprisoned. If she did not get away, she was sure she would suffocate any moment. "I didn’t promise to marry you, Mr. Gilchrist." "Then who?" he asked reasonably. "Kevin?" The other man interrupted. "Enough. Let her get settled in. We have had a long trip. She must be exhausted." He helped an astonished Samantha to her feet. "We thought until this was all worked out, you would like to sleep in the loft in the addition." Stubbornly, she refused to agree to their plan. All she wanted was to escape from this madness. More than anything else, she hurt for the loss of the love she had thought would bring such joy into her life. "Kevin, why don’t you unload the horse?" suggested the dark-haired man smoothly. "You have had a chance to get to know our Samantha during your journey here. Grant me the same opportunity." "Don’t I have anything to say about this?" she demanded as they began to act again as if she were a simpleton. Joel turned to her and smiled. The effect startled her. His wind-burnished face smoothed to display his handsome features. With one hand resting on the tabletop, he asked, "What do you want to say?" "I — I — " She could think of nothing to say as he grinned at her in easy amusement. His gaze slipped from hers to move along her again. She wished she was wearing her long cloak. Pulling it around her would have blocked his admiring eyes. "That’s settled then." He smacked his hand on the table. "Go on, Kevin. I’ll show Samantha the loft while you bring in her things." Knowing there was no other alternative, she went with him to the ladder at one side of the room. She wrapped her skirts tightly around her and bunched the excess material in her hand. Cautiously she climbed the ladder which was only saplings bound together with coarse twine. It creaked ominously as she stepped on each rung. She sighed with relief when she put her foot on the uneven floorboards of the attic.

"This is it?" she gasped as he joined her. Dirt huddled in the corners, blown by the wind which surged in a heated breath through the cracks in the walls. A bed frame leaned drunkenly against the only wall tall enough. The other walls ended in the low gables of the roof, so she could stand upright only in the middle of the room. Joel shrugged. "It’s private. We bunk together downstairs. We thought you might like this." She crossed the room. There was a stained ticking on the bed. She feared it would be infested with unwanted companions. Touching the iron bedstead, her fingers came away filthy with a thick coating of dust. "I need a changing screen," she said, without looking at him. "You have plenty of privacy. There’s not even a window here." As if he had not spoken, she continued, "I can use a piece of cloth on a rope for that. If you string it between here and there," she instructed pointing out the spots she meant, "it should be fine. If you don’t have a washstand, I must have at least a pitcher and a bowl for cleansing. I need also blankets for the bed and some pegs hammered in the wall so I can hang my clothes." "How about a maidservant and a private bath?" he asked sarcastically. Samantha regarded him without expression. Her voice was equally cold as she stated, "Mr. Gilchrist, I didn’t think my demands were unreasonable. I should be allowed some creature comforts." Resignedly, he nodded. "Very well. Tomorrow. We have missed too much work retrieving you from Dawson as it is." Accepting her bag which he had carried upstairs, she replied, sharply, "I am sorry to put you out so horribly." "So you do have some spirit!" He put his arm on one of the slanting rafters as he watched her unpack her messed clothes. "I was wondering if you were the same Samantha Perry who wrote to us when you nearly swooned outside." "I did not nearly swoon!" she snapped, her pride bruised by his condescending tone. "I had to help you into the house!" She recalled the tender hands which had eased her on the bench. If she had thought about them, she would have guessed they belonged to this man’s partner. That Mr. Gilchrist could be so consoling shocked her. "I had a reason to be lightheaded," she said coolly. A thump on the floor halted his answer. He walked over to the hole and lifted the two suitcases Kevin handed up to him. Placing them with little regard to their contents in the middle of the floor, he started to climb down the ladder. "Make yourself at home, Samantha!" he called jauntily as his head disappeared from view. Her fists clenched at her sides in impotent fury. Joel Gilchrist was delighting in her disconcertion. She wanted to wipe that superior smile from his face. How she did not know in her confusion. Her fantasies of life in the Klondike had centered on loving a man she kept in her heart. Samantha sat on the bed and heard its protesting squeak. With a sigh, she looked at the slanted line of the ceiling. Alone in the half light of the loft, she could not escape the truth. Leaving all her life behind her, she had come to be with a man who did not exist, but to whom she had vowed eternal love and devotion. Now she was supposed to accept this situation. The two men would not be pleased to learn how she intended to deal with it. That

thought brought a vengeful smile to her lips. Joel Gilchrist would not be the one grinning when she showed them how much their deception would cost them.

Chapter Four The main room of the cabin was vacant when Samantha climbed down the ladder. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she noted the odor of unwashed dishes reeking with grease. A tentative finger toward the coffee pot told her it was still warm. Searching, she found a cup which appeared clean. She filled it with the thick, black brew. With a grimace, she placed the cup on the table. Perhaps the coffee had been palatable once, but it was no longer. She considered walking out of the door and just continuing until she found her way to Dawson. It would not be impossible. All she had to do was follow the river’s meandering path to the Klondike. From there to Dawson would be an easy walk. With a sigh, she picked up the filthy plates and piled them in the middle of the table. She was not going to escape immediately. While she lived here, she did not intend to share the manners of her hosts who seemed to want to live in a sty. She found the washtub in a cupboard whose door was permanently warped. Water waited in a pail by the door. She put it on the stove to warm. Gazing around the plain room with its few pieces of primitive furniture, she wondered how she could have been so stupid to involve herself in this mess. When the first letter had come from the man she had known as Joel Houseman, it had seemed the answer to a prayer. She had been living with her brother and his family for nearly eight years. They had not wanted her, but she had no place else to go. The depression settling on the country made if difficult for her brother to provide for another hungry stomach. Shortly after she arrived there following her mother’s death, she learned to repay her meals she must act as a slave at the beck and call of her brother’s in-laws. She soon grew tired of her extended family’s attempt to marry her off to any man who expressed interest and several who did not. That she had not been attracted to any of them had not lessened their efforts to have one propose marriage to her. The few who made such half-hearted offers discovered she would not let her family’s desires overrule her own. On the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday, her brother asked her when she intended to marry. Her flippant answer angered him, and he told her she had one year to find a husband or a new home elsewhere. Several months later, a member of their church had offered her the chance to write to a "brave, but lonely" man in the Yukon. She had taken the picture and the well-penned letter wrinkled by the many miles it had traveled. At the time, she was sure nothing would come of the harmless correspondence. Only as the weeks passed and she discovered how she waited so eagerly for the mailman’s infrequent visits to the farm did she learn how much she had come to care for the man she knew then as Joel Houseman. She poured the warm water in the tub and began to scrub the dishes with a rag and a chunk of harsh soap she found on the washstand by the bed the two men must share. The thought of taking one of their beds gave her perverse pleasure. Having them be uncomfortable offered some sense of revenge for the terrible trick they had perpetrated on her. As she washed the dishes, she dropped back into the sweet memories of a courtship she had thought would end far differently. She had written and read

the replies with eagerness. When the offer of matrimony and free passage to the Yukon came to the crowded farmhouse along the Ohio River, her sister-in-law saw the chance to rid herself of a burden. She convinced Samantha’s brother to urge his sister to agree. This time she was less reluctant to accept a proposal. Before Samantha quite knew what was happening, she was on a westbound train heading for Seattle and a ship to take her north. How they would laugh if they saw what awaited her here! At the sound of footsteps on the planks outside the door, she looked up to meet the tentative smile of the man she must remember was named Kevin. "Good afternoon," she said quietly. "Are you unpacked?" "Yes," she replied. Her eyes went to the man standing behind him. The one whose real name was Joel nodded to her before he came in and pushed past her to dunk his arms into the tub. She stepped back with a gasp as water sprayed everywhere. Her voice lost its evenness as she demanded, "Look at this mess! What are you doing?" "Damn mosquitoes," he muttered. He looked up at her from where he bent over the water. A boyish grin eased the lines cut into his face. "Warm water eases the itching." She turned away before she could give into the temptation to smile in response. At least, Kevin pretended to feel remorse at bringing her into this odd household. Joel continued to act as if this all was a charming prank put on for his enjoyment. "We have been talking it over and thought we should explain," said Kevin as he sat down on the bench. "That might be nice." The coldness returned to her voice and brought an indecipherable look exchanged between the two men. When Joel did not speak, Kevin sighed. He had lost this coin toss as he had won the one to decide who would go into Dawson to meet Samantha. Clearing his throat, he began uneasily, "It’s lonely up here. Oh, there are plenty of miners, but few women." "I noticed that," she stated tersely. "I’m sure you did." Joel met her glare evenly as he added, "And I bet they noticed you, too." "Will you be quiet so I can explain?" demanded his partner. The dark-haired man subsided with a soft chuckle which earned him another venomous stare from Samantha. Kevin tried to keep his voice calm as he continued, "We had heard of other men who arranged through the mail for a bride, so we decided to attempt that ourselves." The blond man looked at her earnestly. "Unfortunately for us, we didn’t have the money to pay for the fares for two brides. Being partners, we thought we would pool our money and — " Samantha’s face grew pale. "You can’t be serious!" She backed away from the table to bump into the wall of the small cabin. In her mind came the story Constable French had told of the dance hall girls who auctioned themselves to a miner for the winter. She had thought that horrid. This proposition was far worse. "That is immoral! That is bigamy! That is — " "Whoa!" ordered Joel. He put his hand on her arm and drew her back to the table. "Sit down before you faint dead away. We don’t plan to force you to sleep with both of us." His partner hissed a reprimand at him, but he waved it aside. "She had better become used to rough talk. It’s all she will hear out here. Listen, Samantha. From the beginning, we decided we would write the letters together. We

both appreciated the sentiments you returned to us." Kevin added, sincerely, "Your words were very welcome on the long winter nights when the wind howls through the walls. Both of us decided we could love you very easily. That’s when we sent the passage to you. We thought we would offer you a choice." "A choice?" she choked. She looked from Joel’s scintillating smile to Kevin’s eager features. Biting her lip, she did not speak the truth she had known since she discovered their plot. She did not want to marry either of them. A marriage which was based on lies had no reason to succeed. "Take your time," the kindly Kevin urged. "We don’t want to hurry you. The claim is sure to prove fruitful for us, so you don’t have to worry about either of us being unable to provide for you." Tears burned in her eyes as she spat, "I didn’t come here to marry a wealthy man. I came because — because. . ." "Because you love Joel Houseman?" As strong hands settled on her shoulders, she looked up at Joel. He was regarding her oddly. "Yes," she whispered with every ounce of her sincerity. "I came because I love Joel Houseman. Only he doesn’t exist." "But he does," he argued gently. "You will discover that. It’s simply that he is two men instead of one. Right, Kevin?" The blond scowled, then forced his smile back onto his face. "We only want for you to be happy, Miss Perry." "Samantha," she corrected with a deep sigh. Such false gentility would serve no purpose now. She did not have to ask them if they would give her money to return home. They had admitted already that funds were slim. Again she thought of the offer she had from First Mate Penn, only this time she began to consider it seriously. With his assistance she could get as far as St. Michael at the mouth of Yukon on the Bering Sea. How she would journey from there to Skagway and on to Seattle, she did not know, but there must be a way. When she looked at the two men watching her intently, her fury reasserted itself. They had ruined her dreams. She would not let them strip her of anything she could salvage from this disaster. Entwining her fingers on the table, she said quietly, "If you want me to be happy, it seems to me you gentlemen have chosen an odd way to bring that about." She continued before they could respond, "As it’s too late to change what has happened, I think we should discuss our future relationship." Kevin smiled. "But we said that would be your decision, Mis — Samantha." "I wasn’t speaking of that. It would seem we have some business to discuss." "Such as?" She looked at Joel. It no longer surprised her all the demands came from him. Already she had learned Kevin was by far the more gentlemanly of the two men. "Such as how much I will be paid and when my quarters will be fixed as they should be. Things like that." "What do you mean?" He looked at Kevin in confusion. His soft-hearted partner could not have made her any promises, for he had not told her the true situation at the cabin on Claim Fifteen Above. "I was under the impression, sir, that I was to be allowed to determine what I wished to do about this situation. Until I do, I should think you would pay me for my housekeeping services." "Pay for your services?" He lowered his voice as Kevin laughed. As if there had

been no interruption, he said, "I had assumed you were willing to work in exchange for your room and board." "You assumed wrong." She started to rise. His hand on her wrist halted her. "Release me." He paid no attention to her order. Placing his face etched by the cold winds and uncompromising sun close to hers, he asked, "Can you cook?" "Of course," she said, insulted by his question. "I’m no shrinking, hothouse flower. I came here ready to take care of a house for. . ." "For your husband, but you expect to be paid for cooking for us." He glanced over her head to his partner. "What do you say, Kev?" Nervously he bit his lip. He clearly did not want to do anything to prejudice the woman against him, but he knew the state of their finances too well. Everyone had heard how one of the lucky to strike gold paid his cook over a hundred dollars each month plus room and board. Only a few hundred dollars worth of dust remained in their money box. At the highly inflated prices of goods in the Yukon, it would not last long. If they did not find more dust than they must spend for supplies soon, they would be forced to sell their claim. Yet, if he said no. . . "We do need someone to tend to those things," he said slowly. "That I saw quickly," interjected Samantha. She looked at the front of Joel’s shirt. It appeared as if it had been splashed with some filth months ago. It had dried to the consistency of dry river mud and cracked along the material. "Do we have a deal, gentlemen?" As Kevin started to nod, Joel fired him a fierce expression. "We haven’t discussed the terms of this so-called agreement." With icy hauteur, she folded her arms across her chest and stated, "I want a third of everything found on this claim." "You have to be crazy!" Joel shouted. She lifted her shoulders, apparently unconcerned by the volume of his outburst. "Those are my terms. If you don’t like them, I should begin packing. I will return to Dawson. I can work for Mrs. Kellogg." She stood and turned to go toward the ladder. Joel stepped in front of her. The breadth of his shoulders cut off the rest of the room from her view. Determined he would not overwhelm her with his virile strength, she started to brush past him. His hands settled on her arms like iron manacles. It did not surprise her that he held her motionless with no sign of strain. His faded flannel shirt could not hide he was as hardened as the land around them. Her remonstrations died unspoken when she gazed up into his eyes that were burning with blue fire. The first flush of delight at making him lose his calm disappeared. This fury daunted her as nothing had before. She had thought she had seen the strongest emotions of this volatile man until the stroke of his fingers along her arm signaled he no longer was thinking about their argument. What was on his mind she could read in the smile building on his lips with potent speed. Fearfully, she tried to pull away. She did not like how his touch made her as weak as she had when she learned the truth in the muddy yard outside the cabin. Her heartbeat sounded too loudly in her ears. She prayed he would not be able to hear it and discover how he disconcerted her. Fighting her panic, Samantha moved more slowly out of his grip. She was thankful he released her. If she had had to fight him, she knew who would be the loser. Silently, she dropped back onto the bench. He frightened her. That fear was

diminished by the rage spiraling through her when she thought of the gifts and the lovely wedding gown waiting with her luggage. She had spent her share of the small inheritance from her parents on these foolish things. Now she had no house to display the dishes in and no husband to see her dressed in the filmy peignoir hidden in the deepest recesses of the largest bag. She flushed at the thought she did not want to be betrayed to the two men. Many of her dreams had revolved around the kisses and sweet caresses she would share with the man she had expected to find here. None of those too distant dreams would become reality. "Well?" she asked. She hated her shaking voice. With her back to Joel, she did not have to see the amusement she was sure must be displayed on his face. Trying to hold Kevin’s eyes, she pretended she remained in control of her careening emotions. He smiled tentatively and looked at his partner. "Joel?" The other man scowled. All Samantha Perry had done was write to them. Not even to them, but to a man they devised to appeal to her based on what she had said in past letters. While they had been freezing in the icy waters of the Bonanza and working until their backs ached even more than their numb legs, she had been living in comparable comfort on her brother’s farm in the States. He was not surprised she did not glance in his direction. When he held her close, he had seen a quick image of the true Samantha behind this cold façade. The same Samantha who wrote such loving letters which he had read aloud during the most vicious nights of the Klondike winter. He did not want her to leave before he had an opportunity to learn if he liked the real woman she hid so adroitly as much as the one created in his fantasies. "One third of everything we make," he said grudgingly. "You can start keeping your share as soon as you pay us back for what it cost you to come here. You realize the fare from Seattle north was more than a thousand dollars? It may be a while before you can pay that much back." Samantha longed to finish this uncomfortable conversation. Instead of arguing further, she nodded. "That seems fair. Because I’m reimbursing you for my fare, I am no longer obligated to any promise to marry one of you." Her eyes went from one stern face to the other. "Is that understood?" Instead of reacting with anger, Joel clapped his partner on the back. "That’s settled. Let’s get to work. The springtide is proving very profitable for some of our neighbors. Let’s hope we are as lucky." He paused at the door to grin at Samantha. "All of us to work. Is that understood?" Although she wanted to spit a sharp answer, she simply stared at him. She vowed to herself that she would not allow him to unbalance her so much again. Only if she kept her errant emotions corralled would she be able to emerge from this strange situation as the victor. With a sigh, she stood and looked around the cabin. Work in plenty awaited her. Even as she was dipping her hands in the now tepid water to finish the dishes, she was thinking of the other tasks necessary to bring the cabin back to some form of cleanliness. All day she slaved. The cabin was in worse condition than she suspected on the first hurried glance. When she found a broom hidden in one corner behind the ladder, she wondered if the men knew what a valuable artifact they possessed. Mrs. Kellogg had lamented the lack of such basic necessities. Parisian gowns waited to be purchased by the wealthy for their favorite mistresses, but a broom remained a scarce commodity in the Yukon.

Starting in the addition which was empty save for a second, smaller stove sitting in a fireplace, she began to sweep. It was difficult when the uneven floorboards interrupted each stroke. That room proved simple compared to the task in the main room. She paused as she leaned on the broom. First her room in the loft. She climbed the ladder slowly, hampered by her skirts and the broom. The floor was surprisingly smooth on the upper story, so she finished it swiftly. She sighed as she carried the paper of dirt to the first floor. Tossing it out the door, she prepared to clean the front room. She used the broom to clear all the lost possessions out from beneath the bed frame. The dirty clothes went into a bucket to be washed the next day. Things which appeared to be tools were stored in one of the corners of the addition. She would insist that more pegs be hammered in the walls to hold these items. A smile drifted across her face while she complied a list of the tasks the men must do to bring the cabin up to the minimums she expected for even frontier life. She would sand the top of the single table herself. The grease and dirt ground into it would come off with no less drastic actions. The other furniture consisted simply of the bed frame, a washstand, and the two benches. She would be able to rearrange the house more efficiently with little effort. Some of the things she found under the bed and could not identify she placed in a pile by the door. If they were garbage, as she suspected, they could be thrown out behind the cabin with the other trash. On the slight chance they might have some value, she would let the men decide for themselves. Once the room was swept, her eyes judged its dimensions to compare it to the few household items she had brought with her. A song filled the cabin as she went to the one bag she had not unpacked. Beneath the unusable wedding gown waited some luxuries which would brighten the ugly rooms. She refused to think of how, as she sewed each stitch, she had longed for the day she would wear that pink dress. Promising herself to get those things as soon as she cleaned the stove in the main room and began dinner, she turned to her next task. Her enthusiasm dimmed when she saw how little water waited in the pail. Kevin had warned her that the spring was far from the house. She sighed. This might be harder than she had thought. *** *** *** Joel and Kevin could not hide their surprise when they entered the cabin after their long hours working on the shores of the Bonanza. The undeniable and almost forgotten scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat reached out to urge them to sit at the table. They remained frozen in the doorway. It seemed impossible that a few wisps of cloth at the window in the addition and a room cleaned of the debris they found it easier to step over than put away could make such a difference. While Samantha climbed down the ladder to check their meal, they admired her as they had the cabin. Kevin glanced from the beautiful woman to his partner. For the first time, he wondered if they could keep their bargain. Joel clearly wanted the pretty Samantha as he did. Only one would she choose if they convinced her to stay. He did not know if the loser could take solace in knowing next year another bride could be found. "I didn’t know exactly when you would be back, so I’m afraid the venison stew may be overcooked." She smiled as she gestured toward the table. "Please sit. Everything is ready."

Kevin scurried around the table and took the cast iron pot from her. "That’s too heavy for you, Samantha. Let one of us carry it for you." "Thank you," she said with a smile. It was an honest one. She could not help being charmed by Kevin’s earnest desire to make her feel at home. Whether he truly regretted his part in this charade or not, he acted chagrined. Not like his partner. She glanced across the table to see Joel seated next to one of the plates. His elbows were firmly on the table and his eyes on her. A heat oozed through her as his gaze rose appreciatively along her body to meet her eyes. His smile broadened when he saw her disquiet. Hastily she broke the spell he cast with his too-knowing stare. She dished out enough food for the three of them before putting the lid on the pot. Sitting, she found Kevin on the same bench. She smiled swiftly at him as she picked up her fork. "This is good," mused the dark-haired man on the other side of the table. "You don’t have to sound so surprised!" she retorted. She tinted rose at the heat she had not intended to put in her words. "When we asked you to come north, we never did inquire if you could cook. I’m afraid that is one of the skills Kevin and I never discussed as necessary for a bride." He pointed his fork at the man across from him. "Make a note, partner. Next time we search for a bride, we want to be sure she can cook as well as our Samantha. We may not be so lucky next time." "Joel, enough of that for now." He flashed an apology to the scarlet-cheeked woman. "You’ll have to get used to him, Samantha. He is outspoken." "Uncouth, he means." Samantha did not look at either man. Already she knew it would be impossible for the three of them to live in this cabin. She recalled her dreams of being here with the man she had loved. A man who looked like Kevin, but did not act like either of them. Where was the man who quoted poetry in his letters and spoke to her of long walks beside the cascading waters of the Bonanza? She forced her pain and homesickness deep within her. Quietly she ate while she listened to them discuss the day’s labor and what they would do tomorrow. Many of the terms they used were alien to her. It seemed at times as if they no longer spoke English. "Fifteen Above? Why do you call the claim that?" she asked with a curiosity which would lie silent no longer. Kevin explained quickly that the initial claim belonged to George Carmack who first found gold in the water of the stream then called Rabbit Creek. Each of those staked after that were numbered as above or upstream and below or downstream from the original grant. The claim Kevin and Joel had been so lucky to get by rushing here ahead of the others was in the area rumored to be gold rich. "But you have found no gold?" "Not enough." His eyes were sad behind the dusty lens of his glasses. "Things are so expensive here that even at $16 for an ounce of gold, a man has to find a fortune to keep himself in provisions." She nodded. "When I saw what Mrs. Kellogg was charging for laundering shirts, I knew other prices must be as high. The men paid eagerly what she charged." "Well, you will find no such luxuries as a laundry out here on the Bonanza," stated Joel. "I didn’t expect that." Samantha regarded him seriously. "If you will let me

have that shirt and anything else you need cleaned, I can wash them tomorrow." "How generous of you!" Before she could snap an answer, Kevin growled, "Enough, Joel. She’s trying to be nice." "Is she?" He snorted as he served himself another serving of the roast venison and dried vegetables. "I thought she was just doing what she promised to do. That’s nothing to get excited about." "And what do you get excited about?" she asked. His sudden smile warned her she had asked the question the wrong way. When he answered, it was not with the obscene response she expected. "What makes me excited, Samantha? One word will tell you. Gold! A river of gold! The same thing every man within fifty miles wants. Wealth enough never to have to cater to the demands of another man as long as I live." She stared at him. Never had she seen such honest emotion on this strange man’s face. Tearing her eyes from him, she looked at the man sitting next to her. As he nodded in agreement, she understood more about these two men who controlled her life. Nothing mattered to them as much as the pursuit and ultimate discovery of the glitter which could buy them power and all the material possessions they wanted. Nothing else mattered. Not the cabin, not their partnership, certainly not her. Before she had been at Fifteen Above a day, she had learned where she would fit in the men’s lives. More than ever, she was determined to escape before she did something foolish. Like forgiving one of them.

Chapter Five The short chunk of wood tipped over on top of the stump just as Samantha was about to swing the small ax into it. She needed more wood for the fire. Since she had arrived on Claim Fifteen Above a week ago, she learned quickly that the labor near the river had preeminence over everything else. If she wanted kindling for cooking, she had to chop it herself. Waiting for Joel or Kevin to spare time for it once had taught her the futility of expecting them to help. All she had received for her sharp comments was that she had wanted to be a full partner. She would work at the cabin while they labored doing whatever they did at the river. As busy as she had been, she had had no opportunity to visit the men there. Setting the wood upright, she raised the ax again. She swore vehemently as the limb dropped to its side as it had before. Laughter froze her as she was about to try a third time. Slowly she glanced over her shoulder to see a smile nearly as bright as the sun glittering off the round lenses of his glasses. " Kevin!" she said, straightening. It embarrassed her that this pleasant man had seen the fierce temper she made an effort to keep banked. Not that it had been easy. Each day she bit her tongue instead of retorting in anger to the sarcasm of his partner. Kevin continued to be gentle and caring. He made no secret that he longed to have her as his bride. His obvious intention was to win her heart with small kindnesses. Every evening he paused on the twilight walk from the river to gather a handful of the blossoms growing along

the hillsides. The colorful flowers sat prominently in the center of the table while they ate a late supper in the growing dark after the men quit work for the day. She tried to be fair and treat Joel as nicely as she did Kevin. It was not easy. She reminded herself Joel had been kind to her once in a while. He had spent half a day, when he would have preferred working at the river, trying to fix her loft to be more comfortable. Now she had some privacy behind the cloth cutting most of the room from view at the hole leading down to the main room. Most of the time he was far less helpful. His sharp words brought answering ones to her mind, but she did not speak them. The more he acted boorishly, the more she was determined to prove he could not ruffle her perfectly polite front. With a smile, she lowered the ax to the stump. She turned to speak to Kevin, even as she was wondering if she would have been more tempted to do something else with the sharp blade if Joel had come to bother her. "I thought you might like to see the sluice, Samantha," he said with his endearing shyness. She wiped sweaty hands on her apron, then winced as blisters burned along her right palm. Taking her hand, he turned it to see the angry bubbles in her skin. He slowly raised her fingers to his lips. She gasped as he kissed her ravaged palm lightly. "Does that feel better?" he asked. "Yes." She did not know what else to say. Looking into Kevin’s earth brown eyes, she found all words had vanished from her mind. "My mother often healed my small wounds with such a simple treatment." Samantha nodded. "Mine, too." His smile broadened as he said, "See? We have something in common. Mothers who love us." Drawing her hand from his, she folded them together. She refused to let the sharp pain be visible on her face, for she was unsure if she wanted him to touch her again with such barely hidden desire. Her eyes did not rise to his. "My mother is dead, Kevin." "I know. That saddens you still?" "Very much." Realizing how little she truly knew of the man beside her, she asked, "And your family?" "My father is dead," he stated grimly. "My mother lives at home." "In Pennsylvania, right?" He blushed. Any mention of the bargain which had backfired brought deeper color to his sun tinted skin. Silently he nodded. He linked his arm with hers and led her toward the river. The whisper of rushing water which accompanied her daily chores became a rumble. Samantha did not speak either. Something about his parents caused Kevin pain. She could understand that all too well. After their parents died, any familial feeling seemed to disappear in her brother. He never had acted as if he despised her until after their mother’s funeral. Once that was over, he used every opportunity to prove to her how useless he considered her. She wondered sometimes if her brother had been bewitched by some dark spirit to make him alter so drastically. Sighing, she told herself not to think of past troubles. She had enough in her present to worry about. The crowded farmhouse and its overly critical residents would not be part of her life again. Recalling it was her turn to speak, she hurriedly filled the silence. "If you

are from Pennsylvania, how did you get here so quickly? It took me months to come from Ohio. You and Joel must have arrived early to get a claim so close to the original site." "I was working on a tramp steamer along the Alaskan coast. When the news of the strike came, I jumped ship in Skagway and started north before the word could reach Seattle and the rest of the states. Joel had been working along the coast also and made the decision at about the same time as I did. On the way along the Skagway Trail, we met and decided to be partners. We hurried north to take this spot." She paused to look at the river fettered by a parade of man-made blockades. Once this land had been free. As she had before, she longed to be able to see it as it had been in the days before gold madness sent men careening northward in a desperate race for wealth. To see it in the centuries when the hillsides had not been denuded of their trees and raped as men tried any method to find gold beneath the surface. When the moose and caribou ruled the land and shared it with the few who dared its icy intolerance. Shaking off her dreary thoughts, she said quietly, "Skagway is far from Pennsylvania." "I left Nanticoke years ago. After my father died, I never felt at home there. So as soon as I was able, I left." "I’m sorry." He smiled at the honest emotion on her face. With the gentleness he reserved for her, he put his hand on her shoulder. Stroking it, he said, "Don’t be. It was many years ago. The anguish of that time is behind me." "I don’t know how you can say that." In a moment of instant communion, she stepped closer to him and put her hand on his arm. "I don’t think I will ever forget the pain when my father died. I wanted to be strong for my mother. What I did not realize then was that I needed someone to help me." "What was he like?" "Wonderful. Kind, loving, hardworking, but always with enough time to spend a few minutes with me. When he died, I thought my world had come to an end." His arm slipped around her to turn her face him. She did not protest as he put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her mouth beneath his. Although she could sense he longed to press her tightly to him, she was glad he did no more than kiss her gently. When she moved, he released her. He did not pressure her, although he made it clear he wanted her love. Gazing at her lowered eyes, he wondered if she were as pleased with the kiss as he was. Samantha tried to hide her emotions. Kevin kissed very well, but the surge of desire she had expected had not happened when she pressed her lips to his. Telling herself that the pleasant sensation of being in his strong arms should be enough, she stared at the ground. From the way his fingers stroked her arms, she knew he had experienced something far more potent. "I’m sorry, Samantha." "Sorry?" She looked up at him in surprise. Her distress with his strange words faded as she saw his smile. "For what?" "That I didn’t kiss you before now." He tugged her back to him. With a soft chuckle, he leaned her against his arm. His smile melted into her lips. Experimentally she ran her hand along his arm. The bookish, myopic gaze from behind his glasses belied the tightly coiled strength beneath his coarse shirt. When her fingers reached the hair dribbling over the edge of his collar, he

turned her deeper into his embrace. His mouth left hers to explore along the line of her neck. He reached for the buttons on the back of her shirt. With a gasp, she pushed him away and straightened her disheveled blouse. His hand on her arm was shook off viciously. Realizing he had pushed her too far, he moved so he could see her face. "Samantha, I’m truly sorry." No humor lightened his voice. "Forgive me. It’s simply that you are so lovely. I have waited endless centuries to have you here with me." "If you have waited all that time, you should not be in such a hurry now!" He blinked in confusion as he stared at her rage. Fighting his desire to soothe the sharp lines from her face with soft kisses, he did not touch her. Meekly, he said, "All I can do is repeat that I hope you can forgive a man for wanting you so much." Samantha dampened the shiver running along her spine. What Kevin wanted she did not. She wondered if she was capable of loving any man. Each one who had held her had met with the same reaction. The caresses which should be so sweetly soul-sapping brought no response but distaste from her. Although Kevin’s kisses were not as horrid as others had been, she was in no hurry to sample them again. A stray thought forced its way into her mind. That no man had caused her to yearn for him with a simple touch was a lie. One man had done exactly that. He had been making no effort to charm her, and she wanted to have nothing but contempt for him. In spite of that, Joel Gilchrist seared her heart with one stroke of his hand against her. Trying to elude the truth once again, she said, "I thought we were going to the sluice. Why don’t we go there? I have work to do which won’t wait much longer." "Of course, Samantha," he said, thoroughly chastised. He did not take her arm. Such an action would be rewarded with another cold answer. If he wanted to win a lovely lady like this dark-eyed temptress, he had to remember he was not the one to set the rules of the game. He would have to play at the speed she set. He hoped he could recall that when next he had the chance to be alone with her. Joel looked up from his work as the others came down the hill. He placed his shovel in the pile of pay dirt they had collected by hard hours of digging into the frozen ground during the long winter. With the waters running high and fast, they could run the soil and stones through the sluice to discover if it contained the longed for gold. "I wondered where you went," he said tersely. "You’ve been gone nearly an hour." Fatigue disfigured his bearded face. He dismissed Samantha with a swift glance. "She’s a partner, Joel. I thought she should see what we are doing." He grumbled something and lifted another shovelful of the muck into the sluice. When Samantha stepped closer, he ignored her, although her soft scent reached out to tease him. She said nothing as she watched him lift the heavy dirt into the foot wide sluice. The sides were approximately ten inches high, but the water was not deep. Just enough to wash over the earth he put in it. Kevin put his hand on her arm as he urged her to lean over to look inside the fifty feet long, wooden waterway. He pointed out the series of riffles designed to catch the gold. Small pegs were connected by slats to sift the dirt from the heavier gravel. Others with narrower slats waited near the far end. The dirt would be stripped away by the water. What remained would be panned for the chance of gold. "It sounds like such hard work," she murmured. Joel snorted at her naïve words. Without pausing in the steady rhythm of his

shovel, he asked, "What did you expect? To find the gold lying in fist-sized nuggets just waiting for you to scoop them up? That’s what some of the fools hoped for, but they were smart and went home." Turning to face him, she snapped, "So would I, if I could!" "Honey, you don’t know how much I wished I had the fare to pay for your journey back to that hick farm of yours in Ohio!" He thrust his shovel into the dirt and added, "Now, why don’t you get the hell out of our way and let us find enough gold to rid ourselves of you?" Fisting her hands against her waist, she glared at him. Every day, at the same time his partner was becoming increasingly charming, Joel was becoming more impossible to tolerate. She did not understand why he was angry with her. Certainly she had done everything exactly as he had wanted, coming blithely to the Yukon to be trapped in this ridiculous situation. When he looked at her in amusement, she wanted to scream out her hatred of his patronizing attitude. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her lose her closely guarded temper, she walked a short distance along the shore. Rage ate through her. Instead of shouting as she wished, she picked up a rock and flung it furiously into water. Its splash did not ease her frustration. She bent to select another. Wide fingers settled on her hand. She could not shake off the painful grip so she could rise. Glancing over her shoulder, she scowled at brilliant blue eyes heated with a fury which dimmed hers. She demanded, "Will you release me?" "You stupid woman!" Joel drew her to her feet, but did not relinquish her hand. "Do you know how long Kevin and I worked in the inhuman conditions of a Klondike winter to scrape this pay dirt from the hillside? Now you are tossing away what may be what we’ve slaved to find." "How was I supposed to know?" To anyone but Joel Gilchrist she would have apologized. His continual condescension brought out the basest emotions in her. "Don’t shout at me! There’s no reason to believe that one rock out of the thousands you have already searched through would be one containing gold. All you want is someone as a scapegoat for your ill-fortune!" He tried to daunt her with his fierce glower, but she refused to cringe before him. When she peeled his hand from her right arm, she stepped away from him. She ran back toward the rustic cabin clinging to the side of the hill. With a curse, he turned to his work. He gritted his teeth as he stepped again into the bone gnawing cold of the water. He did not look up when his partner called his name lowly. "Joel, why are you treating her like this? I thought you were anxious for Samantha to get here." Kevin kept his gaze on the sluice as he worked the dirt in the hopes he could make it reveal the gold-bearing gravel. "Give her a chance to adjust." "It’s been a week." "A week?" Kevin laughed without humor. "That is not much time to realize what she had expected to be waiting for her here never existed." Joel dropped another shovelful into the sluice. The trough shivered as he struck the spade on the side of it to loosen the dirt clumped to the metal. "And whose fault was that? If you had told her the truth in Dawson — " "She would never have come out here." He kept a smile from his face as he remembered the way he had held her moments ago. Although Joel had been his partner for over a year, this one thing he wanted to keep to himself. "Look, Joel, I like her. She likes me. If you aren’t interested in her — "

"Who says I’m not?" He glared at his partner as fiercely as he had at Samantha, but with better results. Kevin swallowed nervously. "You don’t act as if you like her." He snorted. "Like? I can’t imagine feeling anything that tame for Miss Samantha Perry. To tell you the truth, I don’t like her, but she is a pretty thing and would be warm when winter nights grow cold." "Don’t talk about her as if she’s a whore." He leaped around the top end of the sluice. His hands gripped the front of his partner’s shirt. "She’s a lady." Shoving the slighter man away, Joel regarded him, wondering if he was insane. Kevin must be far more smitten with this Samantha Perry than his partner had guessed. That he panted about her like a lad in the midst of his first infatuation should have warned the dark-haired man of Kevin’s intention to win the woman. For some reason he did not understand, that bothered him. He had been honest when he said he did not like Samantha. She was a woman who would nag and boss and make a man give her a conventional life. That did not appeal to him. What appealed to him were her curves accented by the plain clothes she wore. She needed no ruffles and deep décolletages to draw a man’s eyes. "A lady?" He laughed with the cold sound of the water running over the stones. "What makes you think that? Because she hasn’t invited you to sleep with her?" Joel should have been prepared for his partner’s rage, but he failed to reckon with the strength of Kevin’s adoration of Samantha. He fell before the smaller man. His astonished shout ended in a gurgle as his head went beneath the icy waves. Exploding out of the water, he stepped away from the sluice. If they were going to fight, he did not want to risk that precious piece of equipment. Kevin followed. His eyes slitted as he measured the distance between them. His mouth had become the same straight line. Leaping forward, he raised his fist. The taller man caught it easily. Joel flipped him toward the water. He slapped it with a dull sound. Frigid drops sprayed the dark-haired man. "Are you finished?" he demanded as the blond rose slowly, shaking his head to remove the water from his eyes. "No, dammit!" This time Joel did not step aside until the last minute. The slippery stones beneath their feet betrayed Kevin. He slid into his partner’s grasp. Clawing at his throat, he fought to escape. His hands were no match for the iron bar of Joel’s muscular arm. "Enough?" growled Joel. A gurgle which he took for assent answered him. With a curse, he shoved the man away from him. Kevin leaned forward with his hands on his thighs as he struggled to regain his breath. Watching him, Joel stated, "Ask yourself why any woman would want to come here unless she was running from something in her past." "She — she t — t — told us about — " He worked to get the words through his aching throat. "I know. The brother and the nasty in-laws. Sounds a little bit like Cinderella to me. She didn’t need to come out here to bag herself a handsome prince. There must have been someone in Ohio willing to take her." He shrugged. "That leads me to believe your paragon might have been lying to us as much or more than we lied to her." Picking up his shovel, he said, "Let’s get back to work." Joel dug his wet spade deep into the hillside. He should have guessed she would cause trouble and should have sent her packing as soon as she arrived. If only.

. . He frowned. He did not want to think of the reasons which made him hesitate that day. Dark eyes glittering with a love of life and a determination to design that life to her specifications teased him too often. Far too often. In the middle of the night, he woke in agony from a dream of holding that slender body and wooing her anger from her with heated kisses. He had imagined her coming to him, whispering of the same desire. Driven to escape the bewitchment she had cast over him, he fantasized other, more exotic ways of loving her. Too often. Lost in his thoughts, he could not react fast enough when he heard footsteps splashing close to him. A hand on his arm spun him toward the florid face of his partner. A clenched fist burst into his nose, blinding him with pain and his own blood. The shovel fell from his hands. He dropped to his knees, choking. Softly Kevin said, as he towered over him, "Don’t ever suggest again that Samantha Perry is a whore! If you do, I’ll kill you." With blood spurting through his fingers, Joel raised his head to watch his partner stamp to a spot farther along the sluice. Kevin went back to work, although he would be thinking about the black- haired goddess he worshipped. Spitting red, Joel rose and leaned against the bank. He wiped blood on his sleeve and groped for the shovel. Although his knees were not steady, he began to work again. The sooner they found gold, the sooner they would be rid of Samantha. It could not be soon enough. *** *** *** Samantha busied herself to work off her fury. Every time she tried to be decent to that man he treated her as if she had no intelligence. While the stove oozed heat into the already over warm room, she kneaded bread. Her normal, gentle movements had been replaced by her fists striking the dough. She imagined she was hitting Joel Gilchrist instead of the pliant stickiness. She looked up in surprise as she heard a strange voice at the door. Trying to erase her malicious delight from her face, she wiped her hands dusted with flour onto her already soiled apron. She did not want anyone else to suspect how she delighted in thinking of repaying Joel for his arrogance. Walking to where a tall form cast a black shadow in the door, she ignored the skinny man’s eager eyes on her. "Good morning, sir." "Howdy, ma’am. Miss Perry, right?" He belatedly remembered the dirty hat on his head and pulled it off. A cloud of dust erupted from it. When she coughed, he mumbled an apology. "That’s all right." She was not astonished he knew her name. It must be no secret who had arrived at Claim Fifteen Above. Forcing a smile onto her tight lips, she looked at the man’s hound dog sad, brown eyes. They matched the color of his dirt-encrusted hair and the mud creating a pattern of stains on his clothes. His unshaven face had been lengthened by the scraggly beard. "And you are?" "Burroughs. Liberty Burroughs, ma’am. Most folks call me Burroughs because of the strange moniker my folks gave me. Seeing as how I was born on our nation’s hundredth birthday, they thought it would be right to call me Liberty." She smiled. "It could have been worse, Mr. Burroughs. They could have named you Centennial or some such." "Sure could have." He grinned, revealing the empty spots where scurvy during the

previous winter had robbed him of his teeth. "How can I help you, Mr. Burroughs? Kevin and Joel are down at the river." He nodded. A shy smile appeared amid the unkempt hairs of his dark mustache. "I expected as much. ‘Twas you I was wanting to see." His gaze swept over the immaculate cabin, and he could not hide his envy. When he noted the clean shirts hanging on the pegs over the bedstead, he tried to remember the last time he had washed the two he owned. Either last fall, or perhaps even as long ago as summer. "Yes?" she prompted. "Miss Perry, I know you are bespoken for here, but me and the others at Sixteen and Seventeen were wondering if you would consider doing for us as you are for Gilchrist and Houseman." When he saw her bafflement, he hurried to add, "We would be glad to pay you for doing some sewing for us or washing our things. To tell you the truth, Miss Perry, we have the money to pay you, but no time to do these things ourselves. Even if we did, our skills at needlework are poor. Would you consider doing this, Miss Perry?" She was set to tell him definitely not, then she hesitated. Both Kevin and Joel grudgingly admitted very little gold had been found on this claim. It could take an eternity to pay back the cost of her fare and earn enough to return to south. If she took in laundry, she could have the funds necessary for her expenses much quicker. Calculating how many shirts she would have to wash if she charged what Mrs. Kellogg did, she was pleasantly surprised at how rapidly the funds would accumulate. Perhaps as early as next spring she would be able to go to Dawson, ask for her free passage to St. Michael, and pay for her own way to Seattle. "Very well, Mr. Burroughs. You may tell your friends I have opened a laundry service here. I’ll charge you no more than is charged in Dawson for washing your shirts, but I must ask you to pay for repairs as well." She smiled. "My rates will be fair." With a grin, he nodded. She could have told them she wanted far more gold, and gladly they would have paid. The luxury of clean, mended clothes was something he could hardly recall. "I will spread the word, ma’am." "Not too far. There is only one of me, and I have my other chores to tend to here." "Yes, ma’am." He decided to keep this for only the neighboring claims. Let the other sourdoughs find their own lady to take care of them. Even as he was bidding her farewell, he was thinking of what Marie would say when she saw him decked out in clean clothes. She might give him a few extra minutes of her time off the dance floor. He risked a glance over his shoulder as she turned back to her bread making. The aroma of the food teased him. He could not remember the last time he had smelled such a luscious scent. His own efforts at making bread invariably fell flat. Gilchrist and Houseman had found themselves quite a gal in Samantha Perry. She was not afraid of hard work and as pretty as a spring morning after the long winter. Even as he was climbing the hill toward his claim, he was wondering exactly how things were arranged in the small cabin. The two men had spoken of the mail order bride, but never mentioned which one of them actually intended to marry her. Samantha spent the rest of the afternoon planning exactly how she would manage her load of chores and still give this new job the highest priority. For the first time, she would be truly independent. No one would run her life. She would have her own income and be able to escape far sooner than if she waited for her

hosts to give her the gold. After she had served their dinner, she casually mentioned the deal she had made with Burroughs. The reaction was exactly what she expected. "You what?" exploded Joel. His voice sounded oddly distorted, but he gave no one a chance to comment. When she had mentioned his face looked puffy, he ignored the comment. She had not offered more sympathy. "Are you insane? You’ll be working day and night to deal with all the work they will bring you." She toyed with the meat pie in front of her. "Don’t worry. I won’t neglect my work here." As he did so often, when hot words flew through the cabin, Kevin jumped to the defense of his partner. "He didn’t mean that, Samantha. We don’t want you to slave for all the men in the valley. You are looking exhausted as it is." "Thank you!" she retorted heatedly. "I look better than Joel. What did you do to yourself?" "Nothing," he mumbled. He concentrated on eating his supper. His face ached, but he refused anyone’s compassion. He suspected Samantha would laugh uninhibitedly if he told of the fight in the river. If he had not ached so, he might have been able to see the more humorous side of the situation. Two men fighting over a woman who did not want either of them. She gave him an questioning look, but said only, "A few extra shirts when I do the laundry will be no trouble." She did not discuss the financial arrangements she had made. That was none of their business. To tell them the truth she feared would make them only more resistant to the idea. "After all, if I can clean all the mess you two put on your clothes, I surely can do the same for a few others. Look at your shirts! They were clean just days ago. Now they are covered with all the filth from the riverbank." Joel was not surprised Samantha said nothing more about the blood on his shirt sleeve. Nor was he shocked two days later to see it cleaned and hanging on the peg over the bed frame. He knew what extraordinary effort it had taken to remove the stains from the worn cotton. Because she acted as if she cleaned such every day, he could not thank her for the extra work she had done for him. Not that he would have had a chance. After her visit to the river, she avoided both of the men as much as possible. She sat at the table with them during their meals, but spoke only if they asked her a direct question. Her terse reply did not invite further conversation. As soon as she was done with the dishes, she went to her loft room to leave them staring at each other with unvoiced recriminations. The other men living along the Bonanza received far different treatment. When they brought their filthy clothes to be laundered or picked them up fresh and repaired, she sparkled like the sun on the river. Joel suspected she was being paid very well for her laundry service, but she never spoke of it. He did not want to snoop through her loft to discover where she hide her accumulating riches. His often repeated, silent opinion that he did not care what she planned, he could not believe himself. For two weeks they lived this stalemate. Each of them had thrown up a wall no one was allowed past. Samantha grew more and more fatigued. Joel wondered if she went to bed early to avoid them or simply because she could not stay awake. As he had warned futilely, the additional work sapped her. Carrying buckets from the distant spring and heating it on the stove added to her job of trying to repair each article of clothing after months of neglect. As the third week of the standoff started, Joel wanted to end the glum climate

in the cabin. He must determine some method of keeping the woman from killing herself by overwork. All her joy had disappeared, leaving an empty void on the claim. He had not realized how quickly they had become accustomed to her vibrant laugh to brighten their days. He was thinking of ways to ease the tenseness as he worked with Kevin to repair a major hole they had discovered that morning in the sluice. "Damn!" he shouted. Drawing his right hand from the side of the splinter filled board, he cradled it in his left. His eyes blurred with the sharp pain cutting through him. He tried to focus on Kevin. "Didn’t you see my thumb there?" Instantly apologetic, the shorter man said, "I thought you would pull away before I swung the shovel. I’m sorry, Joel. Do you want — ?" "No!" he snapped. "You’ve done enough. Keep working to fix that leak before the water really busts through and wrecks it totally. I will get some binding at the cabin. I’ll be back in a few minutes." Joel wanted to growl that he would manage alone when Kevin put his arm under his elbow to help him onto the shore. The assistance sent another pain through him that further unbalanced his reeling head. Only his partner’s help enabled him to get onto solid ground. He waved aside any more offers as he shuffled to the cabin. Again and again his feet caught on the roots of the trees where their shovels had stripped away the top soil which might bear the luster they sought. He cursed, but any motion, even thinking, added to his anguish. The quarter mile from the river to the cabin seemed like a league. "Joel!" The sound of a feminine voice cut through the cobwebs of pain. He forced his eyes up to meet Samantha’s concerned ones. Her distressed expression astounded him, for he had not guessed she would feel so strongly about his misfortune. "Don’t worry," he heard himself say with faked levity. "It’s only a small bruise." "Bruise?" She grabbed his arm with soapy fingers and forced the hand up so she could see it. The thumb already had become an angry, violet hue. "My God! You call this a small bruise? Come in the cabin." With her continuing to hold his wrist, he had no choice but to follow her like a well-trained cur. Again he was surprised when she kept her pace at one he could maintain easily. She seemed to sense the agony which had ripped his brain from him. Her eyes closely gauged every step his teetering feet took. Despite his pain, he enjoyed having her so close to him. He had been lying to himself and the others when he pretended he did not want to spend time with this mercurial lady. Gazing at her shining hair hidden behind the mosquito netting she wore while doing laundry, he wished his hand did not ache with a grinding pulse. He would have liked to stroke those dark strands sparkling with spray from the laundry tub. Samantha seated him carefully on the bench. Telling him not to move, she poured water from the pot warming on the stove. She placed the shallow bowl on the table in front of him. He flinched when she picked up his thumb and lightly ran her finger along its surface. Softly she said, "I’m sorry. I must check it." "That’s all right." He gritted his teeth as she did the same on the opposite side. "Just hurry!" "Soak it in here. It shouldn’t be too hot. If the swelling goes down slightly, we might be able to tell if it is broken."

"Broken! Dammit, it can’t be broken!" She glanced over her shoulder from where she was searching for a rag to rip into bandage strips. "No?" Her smile was more compassionate than cruel. Joel found his lips tilting upward as her warm expression muted the fire of pain in his hand. Her sympathy should not have surprised him. From her letters, he had learned of a caring woman who accepted the poison dumped on her by her brother’s relatives, but fought their edicts the only way she could. "You must admit it will be highly inconvenient," he stated, trying to maintain his sense of humor. Sitting on the opposite bench, she began to rip the thin fabric. "That’s one way of putting it. How did you do this?" "We were trying to secure a brad on the sluice to stopper a leak. Kevin swung the shovel into me when I did not move my hand quick enough." "The shovel?" she gasped. "Why didn’t you use the hammer?" He grinned wryly. "It was here at the cabin, and we were — " "In a hurry," she finished. Laying the strips in a line on the table, she looked him directly in the eye. In a voice devoid of any pretense, she asked, "Don’t you two ever think before you embark on a new project?" He understand exactly what she meant. Perhaps she was right. In the flurry of excitement to find a woman who could love one of them, they had not thought beyond the time when they brought her to Fifteen Above. When she rose to walk toward the door, he called, "Wait a minute." He started to stand, but her sharp command told him to sit. Sharply he retorted, "Only if you come back here and talk without jumping to conclusions every other word." Samantha hesitated. The laundry must be finished, but she knew if she did not stay here, he would follow. He needed to soak that thumb more than he needed to speak to her. That fact she was sure he would not agree with. She returned to the table. When he sat, she smiled. It was involuntary. She enjoyed exchanging words with Joel. As she had barely spoken to him in days, she had not been able to delight in trying to outwit him. "Does it hurt very badly?" she asked. "It hurts like hell." "I suspected that." Leaning her elbows on the table, she continued, "Why do you try to be so offensive all the time, Joel? I’m willing to call a truce, if you are. We going to have to live here until my share is enough for me to get out of the Yukon." "In a hurry?" She laughed. "Aren’t you? Isn’t that why you two do everything with such impatience and end up making the task twice as long?" Her voice grew more serious as she checked the hand soaking. "At least the bruises won’t be as obvious as the last time you had a quarrel with a shovel." When he regarded her with a studiously blank expression, she arched a challenging eyebrow at him. "Or is this a lie again? Was this an accident?" He allowed his amusement to show. If he had deceived her with his tale of slipping on the stones and banging his face on the shovel, he would have been shocked. She had a quick wit she kept honed with biting comments. Now she thought he and Kevin had been fighting again. "No lie this time." He added nothing else. Unless Kevin told her, she would never learn why the two men who had had few disagreements had come bruised and bloody to the cabin after her visit to the sluice. "I’m glad you and Kevin aren’t angry at each other any longer." She put a finger

in the bowl to test the water. It still was warm. When he began to lift his hand from it, she ordered, "Keep it in there! It’s still swollen." He obeyed her curt command. Trying to keep his voice purposely nonchalant, he said, "We have been getting along well. I had thought you were, too." His eyes narrowed as he saw the betraying blush climbing her cheeks. "You two are getting really pally, aren’t you?" Samantha wondered what emotions hid behind his stone-cold face. Joel had made no secret of the fact he detested her. If he hated her that much, perhaps he did not want her to become involved with his partner. Softly she said, "We are friends." "Friends? Is that why it took you so long to come from the cabin to the river?" "Kevin was telling me about his life in Pennsylvania." "He did? He usually doesn’t say much about that." He frowned. "You seemed awfully happy for two people who had been discussing murder." All color faded from her face. Twice she tried to speak before she managed to squeak, "Murder?" He nodded. "I thought so. He told you nothing. I only learned the truth one night last winter when we were so depressed about being snowed-in that anything seemed better." "But murder?" Her eyes widened. Many men had fled to the west during the last, great gold rushes to lose their pasts and emerge with a new identity. Any effort to paint gentle Kevin as a murderer of any sort seemed impossible. He kept his emotions so tightly controlled, she could not imagine them exploding so violently. "You are jumping to conclusions again," he warned as he correctly gauged her thoughts. "Kevin wasn’t involved in murdering anyone. I don’t think he could be. It was his father. He idolized the man." "I could tell that." "His old man was a miner in northeastern Pennsylvania in ‘74. Like most of his co-workers, he joined the labor movement. You may have heard of the violence that broke out there when the Molly Maguires decided to strike." She nodded. In a whisper, she said, "Men were hanged. Is that what happened to Kevin’s father?" "No." He grimaced, but not because of his sordid tale. As accustomed as he was to talking with his hands, he automatically had moved his aching thumb. Swallowing harshly, he forced himself to say in a normal tone, "He was killed in one of the violent attacks on the mine management. Something about mishandled explosives or wrong signals." When he saw the horror on her face, he finished soothingly, "It is over many years ago. You must have been just a baby then." A smile teased her lips before fleeing into the sorrow darkening her eyes. "Poor Kevin." "Yeah, poor Kevin." Sincerity was lacking from his voice as he lifted his hand from the bowl of warm water. "The pain is lessening. I don’t think it’s broken." She leaned across the table to run her finger again cautiously along his thumb. "I think you are right. You must stop being so bull-headed. That is why they invented tools, you know. Use a hammer or whatever instead of that blasted shovel." When she released his hand, he gripped her fingers and drew them back over his. "Check it again," he commanded. "I told you it isn’t broken. There is no need. . ." Her eyes were caught by the cobalt blue of his so close as she stretched over the plank table. Fiercely she

fought the warmth oozing within her. She did not like this man. If she had to make a choice immediately, she would select kind, dependable Kevin. He smiled slowly, the amused expression warning her that her thoughts were displayed vividly on her face. "You make a very good nurse, Sam." "My name is Samantha," she retorted, but the venom was gone from her voice. "Nearly every woman gains a nickname here in the Yukon. One of the dance hall girls in Dawson is called Diamond-tooth Gertie because of the gem she has implanted on her front tooth. Another is called Free Frieda, for reasons I don’t have to explain." He laughed as she colored. "You look good like that, Sam." She stood and moved to the stove to pour the water back in the pot. It was not too dirty to use in the laundry tub. Every bit she could save kept her from carrying the heavy buckets from the spring on the far side of the hill. The water in the stream was too befouled by garbage and the residue of prospecting to be used in the house. "Why do you taunt me all the time?" she asked softly. She wiped her hands on her dirty apron to hide their trembling. "That was a compliment." "It didn’t sound like it." He shrugged as he rose. Flexing his fingers, he winced as the pain erupted across his thumb again. "Your problem, Sam, is that you live too much in your dreams." "I could say the same to you!" "And you probably would be right." He smiled. "Back to work. See you at supper." "Don’t be late!" she shouted after his receding shadow. A laugh floated back to her on the light breeze. Instead of being angered by his flippant behavior, she smiled. Despite herself, she was growing to like these men. In different ways, for they were very different. She anticipated the evening meal with malicious delight. It would not be silent as their suppers had been. While they enjoyed her freshly cooked meal, she would use words as a weapon against the too self-assured Mr. Joel Gilchrist. It would be fun to see him squirm when she tripped him up.

Chapter Six Samantha stretched to place the last of the clean dishes on the shelf over the food cupboard. Biting back a moan, she put her hand against the base of her back. The hours of bending over the laundry tub and the regular sessions of chopping wood left her with a body which ached to the depths of her bones. Although she had done much of the heavy labor at her brother’s house, there they had the luxury of a hand pump in the kitchen. Not that it was not worth it. She turned to survey her glistening house. It was pleasurable to see the change her efforts had made in the cabin during the brief weeks she had been in the Yukon. With the summer almost half over and winter due in less than two months, she would have to learn to live through the cold yet to come. Her tasks here would help make the time pass more quickly. The rewards were monetary as well. In a small tin can in the loft, she had her

cache of gold. Without scales, she had no idea of the exact amount of her new wealth, but she could see it growing with each passing day. She now washed clothes for the men living on about four claims, including this one. Every week more prospectors stopped at Fifteen Above asking for her services. She did not suffer from any vanity at the thought that they came mostly to see her. With few women in the Klondike, each one was regarded as a treasure. She never had to worry about any improprieties, although she could tell they thought of hiring her for other than washing their shirts. They always treated her politely and called her "Miss Perry, ma’am." Sorry for their loneliness, she listened to their tales of returning to the woman waiting for them in the United States. Silently she wondered how many of those women would remain true to the prospectors thousands of miles away. Sighing with fatigue, her gaze settled on Kevin. He was working at fixing some piece of equipment. Still unfamiliar with the tools they used in their daily work, she could not give it a name. His intensity matched his single-minded desire to wrest the gold from the land. A soft smile tilted her lips as she watched his habitual motion of pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up on his nose. Where was Joel? She heard some sound from the rear of the narrow room and walked into the section called the addition. Since she had forced the men to keep their equipment in some semblance of order, this part of the room had been used more often. Pegs and tilting shelves were covered by tools. Foodstuffs clung to the walls, bags of flour and beans worth hundreds of dollars in Dawson. Although Joel and Kevin had not starved the previous winter, they had come close. They had no intention of repeating that deprivation this year. She stumbled on an uneven board. Her hand caught the edge of the mantel. She knew now this fireplace was useless. The men had bought the stove in Grand Forks and partially built the chimney, but had halted to return to the river when the ice broke. They would not have time to complete it before winter made such work impossible. Again she heard a strange noise and peered about the room. The dim light from the single lantern on the table did not intrude into the corners. "Joel?" He stood, his silhouette blending with the shadows. When he walked toward her, his ebony twin loomed up the walls to creep along the ceiling to overwhelm her. He paused in front of her, his hands hidden behind his back. Softly he asked, "All done with the dishes?" Her eyes rose to his bewhiskered face which concealed so much of what he thought, even in the brilliant glare of the sunlight. A smile sparkled through his mustache, and fire returned to her voice. "I think I work hard enough in this partnership that I don’t have to have you checking up on me. If you insist, you can inspect my work." "Hush, woman!" he ordered as his smile disappeared. "You are jumping to conclusions again. I didn’t mean anything like that. Why do you always expect the worst from me?" She moved away from his powerful gaze and sat on the first rung of the wobbly ladder. It was easier to think clearly when she was not blanketed by his shadow. "Because I usually get exactly that." "Touché." He dropped to the floor by her. The breadth of her skirt draped over his arm, but he did not push it away. "I think that one drew blood. Having you around is going to force me to keep my wits about me." "At least you think I’m good for something." "I didn’t realize you thought I considered you worthless."

She laughed. Looking down into his face from her comparative height was a novel sensation. He was so tall she seldom had had a chance to examine his face from this angle. Only when she was serving supper. Then she had kept her eyes averted so Kevin would not see her fascination with the strange man who was his partner. Joel Gilchrist did not resemble the other men she had met at Fifteen Above. His features were more finely sculptured. That aristocratic appearance made him more imposing when rage froze his face into solid lines of unbending determination. Her finger itched to trace the lean length of his nose to the thick, black brush covering his upper lip. The mustache complemented his expressive eyebrows, often a straight line as he sought to subdue her. Using humor to cover her disconcertion with the unwanted desires swirling through her, she stated, "I’m sure you consider me very worthwhile to have around. Where else would you get a free slave?" "Where else indeed?" His hand moved along the ladder. It slid past her hip, caressing her ever so lightly, before continuing as high as he could reach. He leaned against the ladder to hold her gaze with his. Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand. Again it brushed her, creating an electric shock through her. Her gasp of shocked delight betrayed her, and she closed her eyes to escape his knowing smile. She wished his hands would not have this effect on her, for it left her at a definite disadvantage. Once he learned how he could daunt her this way, she feared he would use it to control her. She had vowed never to be anyone’s docile Samantha again. This was her life, and she would live it as she, and she alone, pleased. A frivolous thought spun through her head. If Joel enticed her so strongly with a single touch, she might be able to do the same to him. Then she would be the one in charge of the strange relationship. She glanced at his piercing eyes and away. Touching him to see if she had guessed correctly was not a risk she wanted to take lightly. To change the subject to one less dangerous, she asked, "What’s that?" She pointed to the item nearly hidden in the dusk by his leg. With a flourish, he drew out a violin. "Although, as you can see, this is a musical instrument, many have called it an instrument of torture in my hands." "Play something." When he raised an irreverent eyebrow, her mouth quirked. "Please? Please play something. Is that what you wanted to hear?" "You may civilize us again, Samantha, if you keep up with these impeccable manners." She grinned as she leaned her crossed arms on her drawn-up knees. Her boot heels caught in the first rung helped balance her. "Good habits are sometimes as difficult to break as bad ones. If you brought this out, you must have had some plan in mind. I doubt if it was simply to flaunt it." "You are right. I did have some plan in mind." "Joel, you sound as if you are concocting some great plot, when all you want is for me to beg you to play." He did not smile as he looked at her with the fervor which frightened her. "I can’t imagine you begging anyone for anything, Sam." His soft words stirred something inside her. They increased the temptation to stroke the sturdy lines of his face. She pulled back her hand which was reaching toward him. Clutching the rebellious fingers in her other hand, she asked with ill-concealed desperation, "Will you stop being silly and play?" Although he wanted to continue simply admiring her and find a way to convince her to give into the urge to touch him that she could not hide, he smiled. He

tested the strings of the violin after adjusting the knobs at the far end of its neck. The clarity of its notes dropped like crystal raindrops on the rough floor. When he began to play, Samantha regarded him in openmouthed wonder. He laughed silently for he knew she had expected a rollicking Turkey in the Straw or one of the popular gold rush tunes. Instead from his fingers came a Strauss waltz. Fascinated, she watched the lean line of his hands as they flew with easy assurance to create each note. She drew her eyes from them for a second to notice Kevin coming to stand in the lopsided arch they had cut into the wall when they built this room. Closing her eyes, she leaned back on her uncomfortable perch. The music transported her far from the rough hills of the Yukon. She could imagine a world she had never known. A world which existed only in distant cities far from the small farms huddled along the Ohio River. There women in silk dresses swirled across the floors of mirrored and gilded ballrooms. They danced in the arms of men in perfectly tailored tuxedoes. For as long as the music lasted, she was there with them, savoring the soft colors and listening to the melody which washed away the coarseness of her world. Regretfully she opened her eyes as the last note sighed into silence. "That is so beautiful," she murmured. "I remembered you wrote that you love music." He smiled as he held out the violin. "Do you play?" With a laugh, she shook her head. "My musical talent is limited to singing when there are others louder than me to drown out my mistakes." "Sing for us, Samantha," came a soft order from the doorway. "Kevin, I don’t sing that well." When Joel put the violin beneath his chin to play, he asked, "What do you know? Do you know this?" Within a few notes, she recognized the popular tune he was playing. That it had reached the Yukon as quickly as it had her brother’s outlying farm did not surprise her. In this land of contrasts anything was possible. She forgot all that as she began to sing. Her hands clasped around one knee while she sang the nonsense words of love found and too quickly lost. When she heard Joel singing harmony to complement her and the melody from the violin, she smiled. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she enjoyed a welcome in the place where she lived. Her eyes remained on his as they plied the maze of verses connected in confusing, amusing phrases. Applause sounded when the song came to an end. Stepping down from the ladder, she curtsied deeply in Kevin’s direction. Then she did the same to his partner. Joel stood and doffed an imaginary hat in her direction. Soon they were all laughing with a lightness none of them had thought would ever be found in the cabin. Urging Joel to play more, she went back to the stove to make some coffee. She hummed with the next song as she cut three slices from the pie made of the precious, dried apples. Unconsciously her feet flowed to the tempo of the waltz. She not realize what she was doing until Kevin stepped in front of her and held out his hands. Again she dipped in a curtsy before she placed hers on his palm and lifted her skirts. His hand on her waist drew her back into the addition. With easy grace, he whirled her through the pattern of the waltz. They laughed when they bumped into the few pieces of furniture crowding the small room. Joel now sat on the

bed to provide them with the limited space available. His long legs were crossed beneath him. She smiled at Kevin. Although she was learning to be accustomed to the many surprises these men had for her, she admitted to herself, she had not expected him to dance this well. He normally did not move with the innate grace his partner exhibited. Involuntarily, her head swiveled to look at the musician. Joel smiled as his gaze met hers. When Kevin swirled her with sudden vehemence, she gasped and broke the sapphire gaze holding her eyes. "You dance as lovely as you do everything else," murmured Kevin. His arm crept steadily around her waist. As he turned her to the tempo of the music, slowly he pressed her closer to him. "Kevin!" she admonished softly. She had not anticipated him being this demonstrative when Joel sat in the same room. The flickering lamplight created strange shadows across his face, alternating his smile between friendly and diabolical. His hand stroked her back in a simple, circular motion, but it brought her even tighter to him. Through the fabric of her work skirt, she could feel the hard muscles of his legs moving against her in tempo with the music. His chest caressed her, making her aware of the fine layers of silk between her skin and the coarse cotton of his thin shirt. "Relax," he whispered. "It’s simply a dance. Let me enjoy holding you." Samantha relented. If she persisted, her harsh words might cause a scene which would ruin the pleasant evening. She concentrated instead on the music. Joel played with a true empathy for his violin. With her mind on the melody, she could forget her distress with Kevin’s sudden forwardness. With a flourish, Joel finished the song. He accepted their enthusiastic applause without commenting on how they had danced. He replaced the violin in its case and took his reward of a cup of coffee. When Samantha placed the pie on the table, he grabbed her hand and drew her to sit next to him. He smiled at her surprise. From her first night on the claim, she had shared Kevin’s bench. Her astonishment grew as his arm slid around her waist. She glanced at him and quickly away. Although she knew she should tell him to desist, she liked the sensation of his work-hardened arm against her. He did not pause in speaking to Kevin while his fingers caressed her side in a slow sensuality which, unlike his partner’s touch, urged her to move closer to him. She fought the small voice in her head telling her to give into the desire to savor the length of his body against her. Listening to the two men talk between bites of the pie while she sipped the warmed over coffee, she wondered why she yearned for the caress of this man she could despise so easily. He drew his arm from her to use both hands to emphasize a point to Kevin. Suddenly she was bereft. Joel’s hand on her side allowed her to relish a sense of peace at the same time it ignited a hunger within her which no food could satisfy. She flinched as he put his hand over hers in her lap. His larger fingers rested on her skirt and the leg beneath as well. Kevin noticed her reaction and asked, "What is wrong, Samantha?" "Nothing," she said with hasty guilt. That was the truth. She was sure nothing could be wrong when Joel showed her he did not hate her. Or perhaps, in reality, everything was wrong. "I must ask you to excuse me. I have a busy day tomorrow. It’s the day Liberty brings in the wash from Sixteen Above. I will see you in the morning."

As she stood, she wondered if Joel would release her hand. His face mirrored his reluctance to see her leave, but he did not hold her captive. She looked away as she saw a strange expression on his face. Whether it was a promise she wanted him to keep, she did not know. "Good night," he said softly. "Sleep well." "I will." She included Kevin in her smile. "After this lovely evening of dancing and music, I will." With hurried steps, she crossed the small room and scurried up her ladder. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the sanctuary of her room. Here she did not have to watch her every word and action. Yet even in this place which was hers alone, she could not escape the truth. In the past day, she had learned a terrible fact. She liked one of the partners of Fifteen Above, but she desired the other. More than ever, she knew she had to find her way off the Bonanza before she gave into the temptation of choosing one of the men as they had planned. *** *** *** No answers came to Samantha during the night. Only the same truth she had known from the beginning. She must leave the claim. That thought taunted her while she dressed and brushed her hair into the bun she wore at the back of her neck. It rang through her head as she prepared a hasty breakfast for the men. As usual, they had been at the sluice for several hours before she woke. Liberty’s arrival kept her from having to sit down to eat with Joel and Kevin. His light banter soothed her dark thoughts. She gave him the pile of cleaned clothes and accepted payment and the dirt encrusted shirts she must clean next. Only internally she grimaced as she dropped the sweat-hardened, filthy clothes on the floor. Already she was sorry she had agreed to this. Although the money would be help her do what she must, she was beginning to believe she would spend the rest of her life cleaning shirts for prospectors. She listened intently while Liberty shared news from beyond Bonanza Creek. One of his partners had been into Grand Forks the past week and luxuriated in the chance to read a newspaper less than a month old. Another of the newspaper syndicates had sent a reporter north to cover the still growing excitement of the gold rush. The man from the Chicago Record worked out of Dawson, but had come into Grand Forks to gather information for an article to titillate his readers. That was not as interesting to her as what was happening in the world outside the Yukon. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering that there actually was another world than this one of freshly cut stumps and disgusting laundry. She found herself wondering if all that had happened before was a dream or if this was a nightmare. The two lives she had led did not seem connected in any way. A journey along a barely thawed river severed her from the life she once had known and hated only slightly less than this one. When Joel emerged from the cabin, he greeted Liberty. The huge man agreed excitedly to the offer to visit the repaired sluice to see a new method the partners of Fifteen Above had developed to search for gold. Any suggestion would be welcomed in the frustrating work they did each day. Joel paused before they walked away. "That was a good breakfast." "It’s the same as I fix you every day," she answered, astonishment mixing with her pleasure at his unexpected compliment. "Then, maybe, I should have told you before this how much I appreciate your cooking." Joel smiled, his blue eyes rivaling the sun-washed sky.

He could no easier have stopped his hand from stroking her arm than she could have stepped away to avoid it. Ignoring Liberty who was watching the exchange with amusement, Joel smiled as he explored the slim line of her arm. It continued to amaze him how she could appear so delicate, yet work so strenuously. "I’m glad you like it." She paid no attention to what she was saying aloud. The message passed silently spoke much more strongly than their words. How easy it would be to cling close to him and savor the touch of his body all along hers! Memories of other men who had tried to hold her always brought stomach-churning distaste. She did not think it would be the same with Joel, but she longed to know. Samantha watched as he walked away with Liberty. The change had come so suddenly between them that she could not recall how it had happened. One minute they were snapping at each other, the next she wanted to be deep in his arms, listening the power of his heartbeat. With a sigh, she returned to work. Such puzzles would not be solved just by wishing. The change in Joel might be as fleeting as the notes flying from his violin. She could not waste her time dreaming about such useless things when she had work to do. Picking up her bucket, she grasped a handful of her skirt. The hill toward the spring was steep. Over and over, she had told herself how lucky she was that the slope did not require her to carry filled pails up it. She could slide down with relative ease, worrying only about spilling the water before she arrived to pour it into the pot on the stove. The narrow trunks of pine and birch spread out across the hillsides. She always appreciated the opportunity to see the trees unbroken by haphazard axes. Few this far from the river had been chopped down for constructing the rustic cabins. All the boards for the sluices and furniture had come from the sawmill of Joe Ladue, the man who founded Dawson and knew that money could be made easier by providing services to the prospectors rather than standing in the cold water himself. She dipped the pail in the icy puddle around the spring. Few birds sounded in the trees around her. More than once, she thought of how she missed the homey sound of a robin’s song and a jay’s scold more than anything else she had left behind her. The only noise was the ever-present whine of insects. Awkwardly she returned to the clearing. She ducked beneath the ropes she had hung between the cabin and the horse barn. By the end of the morning, many shirts would be flapping in the breeze from those lines. She placed the heavy bucket on the ground and silenced her moan of fatigue. Surely someday would be Sunday, and she could take a day off. In Dawson, everything had closed on the Sabbath. Mrs. Kellogg’s laundry followed the lead of the saloons and dance halls. Samantha had not had the same luxury here on Fifteen Above. The men worked every day and seemed to expect the same from her. Rubbing her aching shoulder, she regarded the serpentine Bonanza from horizon to horizon. Even this far from the shore, she could hear the sounds of the men working in it. Curses and orders drifted in incomprehensible fragments to her. She smiled as she noted a whistle. The cheerful sound was a delight among the discouraged, driven men along this stretch of the river. Samantha turned as she realized the music came from behind her. Her eyes met Kevin’s dark ones. As jauntily as the tune he created, he strolled toward her. He flung out his arms to embrace her.

"How are you this morning, pretty Samantha?" She put up her hands to avoid him, but he simply laughed. Taking them between his much larger ones, he pressed them to his lips. His smile faded as he turned the slender hands over to see the angry roughness from the hours of dipping them in the hot water. "You are working too much for those others." "I told them I would do their laundry. I can’t tell them no now." He scowled. "I can. We didn’t invite you to come all the way up here simply so you could work for those others." "No, you invited me here, so I could work for you and Joel." "Samantha," he called as she turned away. When she did not answer, he grasped her arm and spun her to look at him. His other arm swept around her to hold her as intimately as he had when they danced. "Samantha, my dear Samantha, you know that isn’t true." She could not halt him as he pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue teased her lips, urging them to soften to gain him admittance to the secret pleasures within. When her hands moved along his arms to his shoulders, he redoubled his efforts to woo her. Pushing on him, Samantha tried to turn her head away from his persistent lips. His hand captured her head and twisted the loosened hair between his fingers. She moaned as she attempted to pull away and the strands pulled painfully. Her moan became a gasp as he took advantage of the parting of her lips to invade her mouth. In shock, she gagged as his tongue stroked the slippery shadows of her mouth. No man had ever kissed her like this, and she did not want Kevin to. She had no time to protest as he bent relearn the taste of the length of her neck. Her hands clenched on his shoulders as she realized she could not escape through force. A sliver of cold fear cut through her at the thought. The muted sound of two rocks scraping against each other brought her eyes past Kevin’s shoulder to see the immobile face of his partner. She froze as Kevin continued to murmur endearments against her skin. Seeing Joel watching them gave her the strength to do what she could not before. She broke the hold on her. With her arms wrapped around herself, she continued to stare past him. Kevin looked behind him. He fought to keep a victorious smile from his lips. It could not have been kept a secret much longer that Samantha allowed him to kiss her when she had refused his partner almost every opportunity to be near her. He knew that, for he had kept close surveillance on the woman he intended to win. "I need your help at the sluice," said Joel without emotion. "Of course." Kevin caressed Samantha’s stiff shoulders once more before moving to lead the way down to the river. She took a step forward when Joel turned to follow. Desperately, she said, "Joel, wait." "Yes?" His cold eyes did not offer her any chance to explain. He did not hide that he already had made up his mind to believe she had been an eager participant in what he had seen. Samantha hesitated. More than once, she started to speak, but realized she did not know what to say. If she spoke the truth and told him she was not totally willing to be the recipient of Kevin’s attentions, he might laugh. She could not tolerate that. It would let the sobs close to her lips rush out to betray her completely. Even if he did not laugh, her words might create trouble again between the partners. Most of all, she did not want him to know she wanted no more of Kevin’s kisses because she longed to share her lips with Joel Gilchrist.

"Samantha, if you have something to say, kindly do so. I have work to do. I cannot spend my time on flirtations today." His heartless words loosened her tongue. All of her frustration became rage directed at him. "I have nothing to say to you. Get out of here. Take your superior attitude and leave. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want anything to do with you!" She whirled to bend over the laundry tub again. The sound of his footfalls fading in the distance told her she was in no danger of having her tears seen by the one man who could not guess why she cried. As the hot tears fell into the water, she wept for something she wanted. What it was and why it hurt so badly to be denied, she could not guess.

Chapter Seven Samantha brushed away the perspiration beading on her forehead. She could never have guessed this summer would be so miserably hot. Everyone had warned her of the severity of the Klondike winters. No one prepared her for the heat and insects, dirt and stripped hills arid in the sun. Leaving the washtub for a moment, she went into the cabin. She lifted the mosquito netting from her face and took a deep breath of fresh air. Although the mesh helped immensely to keep the insects from leaving angry white welts on her face, each intake of breath seemed staler than the previous one. Moisture formed on the inside of the veil to cling to her skin and add to her discomfort. She checked the bread. It was rising satisfactorily. At least one thing was going well today. She was beginning to wonder if Joel would ever be civil to her again. The night when they shared the music, she had convinced herself he might be honest about wanting a truce. That had changed when he discovered her in Kevin’s arms. He had given her no chance to explain. Even if he had, she doubted if she could have said anything to ease the situation. She was tired of having to defend herself. Nothing she had done was wrong. If he refused to believe that, no explanations would change his mind. All the upheaval made her more miserable than she ever thought she could be. Her steps were heavy as she returned to her task in the yard. Plunging her arms into the laundry tub, she grasped a shirt and started to rub it against the washboard. She cursed when she scraped a knuckle on the rough edge of the ridges. She popped the bloody finger in her mouth and glowered at the soapy water. She hated it. She hated all of this. The endless piles of dirty clothes, the primitive house, the men who thought she would be a willing pawn in their games, their rage when they learned she had a mind of her own. If only she had some place else to go, she would have fled in a second. It ached to know nowhere did anyone want her. Involuntarily she screamed as a broad hand grabbed her and twirled her into strong arms. Laughter halted her cries. Sheepishly she glanced up at the puppy friendly face of Liberty Burroughs. "You surprised me," she explained in a small voice. "Sorry, Miss Perry." His grin grew wider as his thin cheeks puffed out with pleasure. Amused, he looked her over, wondering how such powerful sound could have come out of her small form. "You sure have good lung power."

She glanced away from his humor to gaze regretfully at the pile of clothes by the tub. "Liberty, I don’t — " "Didn’t come for clean shirts. Came to tell you the news." "News?" She dropped the soaking garment she was holding back into the heated water. "Did you make your strike?" Her voice trembled. Although she could not help being delighted for their neighbors’ good fortune, she feared what this would do to Kevin and Joel. They could not hide their disappointment at what Fifteen Above had yielded so far. For a moment, his effervescent smile dimmed. Even exciting tidings such as he had became less valuable when he considered the thrill of announcing they had hit a big strike on Sixteen Above. All of them wanted to enter the small fraternity of El Dorado kings. He rebounded quickly as he grabbed her slender shoulders. "Miss Perry, the Americans done beat the Spanish in Cuba. They took the harbor on July 3! Stewart just came back from Dawson. Big hullabaloo there celebrating the victory. The damn Spanish will learn they can’t come to try to take what belongs to us!" Samantha stared at him in confusion, until she remembered the United States was at war with Spain. So far from civilization with dreams and worries completely separated from what she had yearned for in Ohio, she had forgotten entirely about that crisis. "Is the war over?" "It will be soon. They won’t be able to have much of a sea battle when we have captured their entire navy." He crowed with delight and swung her into his arms. Before Samantha could stop him, he squashed her against him. His mouth over hers startled her. Liberty had been the most gentlemanly of her patrons. She had not expected this from him. She found she could not struggle out of his steel grip. Then she relaxed. This was the most innocent embrace she had suffered since she came to the Yukon. When he raised his mouth from hers, she clasped her fingers around the back of his neck. His nose stayed close to hers as he told her the rest of what he had heard. She laughed with delight when he told of the rout in Cuba. That sound disappeared as a vicious voice demanded, "What in hell are you doing to her?" Samantha’s face became nearly as red as her scraped knuckle when she pulled away from Liberty to meet the rage in Kevin’s eyes. Next to him, Joel stood, his face purposely blank. She could not guess what he thought, but feared it duplicated what was in his mind the day he discovered her in Kevin’s arms. The difference this time was that Kevin shared his fury. Kevin stepped forward threateningly, but she intercepted him as if it were the most natural thing for him to come to clearing by the cabin and see her kissing another man. Putting her hands on his arms, she lowered them. His hands could not stay as fists when she took them in hers. "Kevin, Joel, you must hear the wondrous news Liberty brought over from Sixteen Above. He was so kind to — " "I can see what he was so kind to do," Kevin growled. Shoving her aside, he did not watch as Joel caught her in his arms to keep her from falling. Kevin was suffused with anger, all centered on the man who stood more than a head taller than him. She looked to Joel for help. He flashed her a quick smile, then pushed past his enraged partner. Slipping his arm around Liberty’s massive, bony shoulders, he

asked with a grin, "So what’s so wonderful that you have come over here to celebrate?" Uneasily the giant man looked from one to the other. He had never seen Houseman this irate before. Usually Gilchrist was the one who reacted heatedly to anything said or done on Fifteen Above, but he could not imagine either man being so furious about such a simple thing as giving Miss Perry a victory kiss. Then he understood. Houseman loved the woman. Not that it would be difficult to love pretty Samantha Perry. The men at Sixteen Above often talked about her and how kindly she treated them. They would muse about why she came all the way to the Yukon to find a husband when she could have had any man she wanted in the States. "Stewart heard news about the war," he started in a low voice. He swallowed harshly. These men were his friends. He did not want to fight them. He did not want to fight anyone. The memories of the fist fight in Missouri when his opponent had not risen from the floor always haunted him at times like this. Since that scuffle, he had avoided lifting his deadly fists to strike any man. "The war?" Joel turned to Kevin as if the battles far south of the Yukon were of the greatest interest to them. "Did you hear that? Burroughs has news of the war." "I heard," he muttered. He rested his elbow against a tree and regarded the taller man with distrust. Perhaps Burroughs had a reason to be kissing his Samantha, but it had better be a damn good one. Liberty wasted no time telling them what he had heard from his partner. He did not look at Samantha as he repeated the sparse details of the battle. When he saw Gilchrist’s reaction of delight, he began to regain his good humor. Joel clapped him on the back. "Why, that’s wonderful, Burroughs." "Yes," interjected Samantha. "And I think we should celebrate. Everyone should have a chance to enjoy the partying Liberty tells me has been going on in Dawson." She plunged ahead while they looked at her as if she was insane. "We can have a potluck dinner. Here. We are central, and all the men have to come here by the end of the week to pick up their laundry. Thursday night." "A potluck?" repeated Kevin sharply. "This is no place for a church social." Her enthusiasm dimmed at his words. She wondered if they would ever understand that she was trying so hard to fit in here. The only time anyone accepted her was when they offered her more work or more trouble. Never at any other time. Joel jumped into the conversation, "Of course, we’ll have a party. That’s a grand idea! We all need a break, now that the water isn’t running quite so heavy. If they can celebrate in Dawson, why not us?" "Why not indeed?" seconded Liberty. The plan seemed very sound to him. He would enjoy a chance to sample one of the delicious meals he had smelled cooking in the cabin on Fifteen Above. "What do you want us to bring?" Samantha hesitated. She had no idea. What the men might cook would be the swill she had seen dripped on their clothes. Quickly she calculated. The three of them here, the two on Sixteen Above, three more on Seventeen, and the lone prospector on Fourteen. She could prepare a meal for nine. "If you will supply the materials, I’ll cook it," she offered. Joel shook his head. "That’s too much for you to do." "Nonsense," she retorted. Even though she agreed with him, she would not let him see that. They needed some sort of relaxation to temper the heated words exchanged in the past weeks. "I know what I can handle. You tune up your fiddle, Joel, so we can dance."

"Bemis can bring his guitar," added Burroughs, growing more excited by the second. "And I think Cornelius on Fourteen has a trumpet." "Wonderful." She counted on her fingers the items she would need. Liberty was assigned the task of dividing those things between the claims and being sure they arrived on Fifteen Above two days before the party. "You need the things day after tomorrow," he said slowly. She nodded. "Yes, and it will be a wonderful party." "How do you know?" demanded Kevin, his voice still petulant. "I know." She smiled so confidently none of them could disbelieve her. *** *** *** Samantha had no trouble finding Joel after she finished her work outside. When she came into the cabin, he sat at the table rubbing a soft cloth on his violin. She was not surprised to see the pensive expression on his face. Sympathy roiled through her, but she did not know how to express it. If she touched him, she could not guess if he would growl or delight her. Sitting on the bench next to him, she said softly, "I have just been talking to Kevin. If you want to cancel this celebration, I would understand, but I wish you had mentioned this before we made all our plans. Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?" He shrugged. He did not look at her. His intense eyes remained on the highly polished wood of the musical instrument. "Why? What good would it have done? Harold was the hero in our family. My younger brother I never could live up to. How can you compete with a man who gave his life for the scandalous, yellow press demanding war? Harold learned firsthand the cruelties of General Valeriano ‘Butcher’ Weyler." "Butcher Weyler?" she gasped. Even those who had not followed the newspaper items closely recognized the name of the governor-general of Cuba, whose atrocities against Americans and his own countrymen helped escalate the war fever. "Oh, Joel, I’m sorry." "No, don’t say it!" he snapped. "I’m tired of hearing it. Unthinking words of friends and strangers were the reason I left Virginia. It was easier to put a continent between me and them. I came to hate all the people who told me I must be proud of the way Harold died." He was not proud of how or why Harold had died. They had argued for two weeks before his brother left to report firsthand for his New York City newspaper on the expansionist desires of the United States. Joel could not hide that he was adamantly against interfering with the Spanish government in Cuba. It hurt when their family sided with Harold. They had seen only the dreams of glory and not the reality. So Harold went to Cuba to write scathing reports of the recent dead and the murderers. Harold died for daring to write the truth. What good did it do for Joel to say he was right when all that returned were his brother’s corpse in a crude box and a quickly written commendation for bravery from his overworked editor? His brother’s body rested beneath a marble marker in a Lynchburg churchyard and the shredded letter was scattered somewhere in a field outside the city. He had ridden from his family’s house to throw the pieces away the day of Harold’s funeral when the rest of the household were prostrate with grief. He did not want to think ever again of his brother wasting his life for a useless cause. Samantha’s voice brought him out of the painful past. He noticed only now that she had risen to do some work for their evening meal. Gently she said, "You

sound so bitter! Did you hate him that much?" "Hate?" Joel regarded her with astonishment. "I didn’t hate him. I adored him. He was my baby brother. He needed me." Pushing the dough into the pan, she stated, "You sound as if you were jealous of him." "Of course I was. He was everything I wasn’t. When I was busy with music, he became involved in pursuits more acceptable to our father. We were so different, I wonder sometimes how we could have the same parents." He glanced out the doorway to see the last of the lingering twilight fading from the sky. "But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t like him at the same time. After all, is it any different from now?" "I don’t understand." She wiped her face on the edges of her filthy apron. Although it was cooler at night than it had been a few weeks ago, by the stove, it continued hot. It seemed as if she never stopped sweating. "Is what different?" "Jealousy." He gave her the slow grin which started with his eyes and flowed to his lips before returning to sparkle in his blue eyes once more. "What on earth can you be jealous about? One of the El Dorado kings spending his gold in Dawson?" He reached across the table to capture her hand. His long fingers surrounded her petite ones that were sticky with biscuit dough. When he tugged on it, she leaned toward him. His other hand rose to the back of her neck. Holding her head steady inches from his face, he gazed intensely into her eyes. "You don’t know, do you, Sam?" "I have no idea what you are talking about," she whispered. That was the truth. She could not imagine how she could lie to him when their lips were so close. All she would have to do was move slightly, and she could taste them against her. He smiled sadly. "I guess love blinds you to everyone else." "Love?" She jerked her head out of his grip. "What love? Now you have me completely confused." "You two have been very discreet, but I don’t need to be hit in the head to see you have decided Kevin is more to your liking than me. After seeing you two together and all." "And all? What did he say? Did he tell you — ?" She lowered her eyes, knowing such an action announced a guilt she did not deserve. Joel fought the agony in his gut. He had not wanted to lose this one fight. All his life, he had avoided battles. He had sought other ways of solving his problems, hoping he would be able to get what he wanted easily. Softly he said, "Kevin has told me nothing, Sam. I just know him well enough to see the change in him. He takes many more breaks from the work in the river. He goes off to see you and comes back with an expression of delight on his face." "We aren’t lovers," she whispered. "I never said you were." "What you saw. . ." She turned away. If she lied, he would guess it. The truth might cause more problems. Even so, she could not have keep from speaking it, if she had known what was in her heart when she was caught by Joel’s gaze. He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face so he could see her troubled features. "You shouldn’t have to apologize for your attraction to Kevin. Sam, I said only that I am envious of what you two have. After all, a deal is a deal."

"A deal? Is that all I am to you two?" she demanded sharply. Surprising herself with her audacity, she continued, "Did you two set a time limit to seduce me? What does the winner get? Beside the opportunity to break my heart?" "It isn’t like that." "No? Then why do you continue with your delusions that I must love one of you?" She turned to see Kevin coming in the room. Glaring at him, she included him in rage. "Can’t you two see I don’t want anything to do with either of you? I’m tired of being lied to and cheated. We have a deal, too. I don’t have to marry one of you. I don’t have to love one of you. I don’t even have to like one of you! All I want is to pay you back what I owe you and leave Fifteen Above far behind me!" In shock, Kevin asked, "Samantha, what the — ?" He fixed his partner with a furious stare. "What did you say to her?" "Nothing." He stood. "I don’t need to say anything to make her act like this. This was a bad idea from the beginning. We should have been sure we weren’t getting a spoiled brat when we invited Miss Perry to join us here." "Spoiled brat!" she cried. Untying her apron, she flung it on the bench. "I have slaved here for the past month. What do I have to show for it? Nothing but reddened skin and aching muscles. I thought I was coming north to meet a man. Instead I find two little boys interested only in satisfying their need for a mother and a stuffed toy to keep them company in the night! This is it! I’m leaving!" She ran to the ladder and raced up it with the ease she had learned in the past weeks. Kevin started to follow, but Joel put out his arm to halt him. The slighter man shoved the arm aside. "Don’t," Joel warned in a tight voice. "She’s only bluffing." "I don’t think so. I think she’ll leave." Kevin’s pained gaze burned through his glasses. "She can’t leave. I love her." "Do you?" He spun to face the dark-haired man. "Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? You have been angry for the past week because you caught me kissing her. Why? Because you are angry she chose me?" Stuffing his fists into the pockets of his denims, he demanded, "Why can’t you accept the fact she wants me and stop irritating her? Look, Joel, you have a lot in your favor. When you go back to the States, you have that family estate waiting for you in Virginia. You can find a nice Southern belle to serve as hostess for your big house and a mistress or two on the side if that is what you want." "Sounds delightful," he said sarcastically as he sat on the bench. Rising part way, he pulled out the crumpled apron from beneath him. He balled it in his hands as he glanced involuntarily toward the addition. "What do I have back there?" continued Kevin. "Nothing. Don’t begrudge me this one thing." Joel rose, unable to sit and listen to what he could not tolerate to hear. "Let’s finish the chores. She won’t leave today. She invited all her customers over for the potluck Thursday night. Until that’s over, she will feel obligated to stay here." His partner nodded and went out of the cabin reluctantly. Kevin still did not know what had precipitated this argument, but he realized it would do no good to stay and continue it. Over their heads in the loft, Samantha dropped on her bed as she heard them leave. She could not keep from overhearing their heated words. Kevin spoke of

loving her, although she had tried more than once to explain she could not feel the same. Disquiet settled on her as she faced the future looming ahead of her. If she stayed, she wondered if Kevin could be discouraged from continuing his courting of her. She did not know how many more times she would be able to count on interruptions to save her from his kisses. She tried to imagine herself married to Kevin. It was impossible. Even more incredible was the thought of being married to him and living here with Joel. She could not believe that the powerful sensations drowning her each time he touched her would cease abruptly if she married his partner. Reaching beneath the bed, she pulled out her bag. She closed her eyes in pain as it gaped open to show the pale pink silk of her wedding dress. Lifting the wrinkled garment from the suitcase, she regarded it through the wavy glass of her tears. Somewhere in the world must be the man who inhabited her dreams. A man who wanted her because he could not imagine a life without her. Perhaps not handsome, certainly he did not need to be wealthy. Simply she wanted a kind, caring man who would love her unconditionally. She began to doubt such a person could exist. Hours later, when the darkness kept the men from working on the continuous repairs on the sluice, they returned to find Samantha setting the table as usual. Joel refrained from glancing at his partner. He did not want Kevin to think he was gloating about being correct. That might force Joel to admit the truth. If he had thought Samantha was sincere about leaving, he would have done everything he could to keep her at Fifteen Above. Samantha remained silent during the meal. Even Kevin’s gentle questions were left unanswered. She did not glance at either man. When the blond suggested his partner take out his violin and play for them, she acted as if she had not heard him. She did the dishes and sat on the bench in the light of one of their precious candles. Bending over her work for one of her customers, she could pretend the men were gone. Only when she rose to go to bed did she speak. "Good night, gentlemen," she said quietly. Kevin rose to block her way to the ladder, but she simply stepped around him and began to climb the rungs to her room. Suddenly she paused part way up to turn to regard them steadily. "I do not want you to think I have changed my mind on this," she said coolly. "I have decided. As soon as it is possible, I am leaving Fifteen Above in the same marital state in which I arrived. Good night." She savored the satisfaction that, for once, she had gotten the last word during an argument in the cabin. It was small comfort when her world seemed to be falling to pieces around her, and she was not exactly sure why. *** *** *** Eight men crowded on the benches and looked at Samantha expectantly. She paused as she was about to dish out the first bowl of stew and pass it along the table. Like children they were, taking their joy out of the simple things. Having a meal cooked by female hands instead of the hodgepodge they usually swallowed was, to them, more of a cause for celebration than the news from the war. "It smells right good," came a young voice near her elbow. She glanced at the still unformed face softened by the sparse patch of whiskers. Bemis. That was the name of the young man who worked on Sixteen Above with Liberty. Hank Bemis. A smile moved slowly across her face in response to his

compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Bemis," she said gently as she handed him the first dish. Chuckles could be heard along the table, and she colored. When she realized they were poking fun at the young man who could not hide his innocent infatuation with her, embarrassment became rage. That evolved into mindless fury as she heard Joel make another joke at the lad’s expense. "Excuse me, Mr. Bemis," she said as she placed the stew pot on the table. Taking the bowl of stew from him, she calmly walked to where Joel sat. Without any warning, she tipped it on its over his head. He sputtered and jumped to his feet as the hot gravy flowed over him. His hands slapped his shirt and pants while the others roared with laughter. He growled and ceased his impromptu dance. Whirling, he faced the woman who had not moved. He ripped the bowl from her hand. "Why in hell did you do that?" "I expected to serve men, not beasts!" she snapped. "If you can’t recognize Mr. Bemis’s common decency, perhaps you should take your supper with the horses." She moved to the pot to dish out the rest of the servings. When he grasped her arm to spin her back to meet his wrath, the unmistakable scratch of the benches against the floorboards sounded loudly in the small room. Joel looked over his shoulder to see their guests and his partner on their feet. Slowly he released Samantha’s arm. He longed to wipe the superior expression from her face. Dropping back to the bench, he ignored the others doing the same. He did not know what he would have done anyhow. He could not hurt a woman. All he wanted was for her to understand that she would not decide how things were at this claim. He tried to remain obtuse to the compliments being offered to Samantha. That the men were almost climbing over one another to be the next to say something to her disturbed him. He did not want to admit the real reason why his gut twisted with each smile she offered to their guests. Looking across the table while he wiped his face on a rag he scooped up from behind him in the cupboard, he saw his feelings mirrored on his partner’s face. That added to his disquiet. "Why don’t you wash off?" came a soft voice near his ear as a softer body brushed his arm. He met Samantha’s eyes while she leaned past him to place his refilled bowl in front of him. "I’ll keep your supper warm if you wish." "And what else will you be keeping warm tonight?" he asked, viciously. Without thinking, she upended the second serving over him. He sputtered in disbelief. Her eyes snapped with her fury as she stated, "Don’t you ever suggest something like that again!" "Does the truth bother you, sweetheart?" he asked sarcastically. Samantha was the only one who could hear him beneath the roar of laughter. She looked from the amused face of her guests to the double dose of stew cascading down Joel’s beard. Vegetables and gravy stuck to the sharp hairs. Suddenly she wondered how she could have done something like this. Twice. "Excuse me," she mumbled. The men’s laughter halted instantly as she backed away from the table. Her face was nearly as pale as the Arctic snow. "Samantha," Joel began, but was interrupted as his partner leaped to his feet. "I’ll be right back," announced Kevin. He followed Samantha as she raced out of the cabin. Uneasy, self-conscious comments tried to fill the silence left behind them, but each word only added to the discomfort. Joel glared at the others before

stretching to spoon himself another bowl of stew. "You are being damned civilized about this whole thing," stated Calloway. The rare Canadian in their group, his voice still contained the accent of his British childhood. "Stew will wash." He grinned maliciously. "She will have to clean out the stains." "I didn’t mean the food." Burroughs added with a laugh, "He means that other tasty morsel you are leaving to Houseman’s tender care. Didn’t think you’d give up so easily, Gilchrist." "Who says I’ve given up anything?" The men could not stifle their mirth. Soft chuckles became uproarish chortles. He watched, tight-lipped, as the men guffawed, slapping the table and each other on the back. "So you never wanted her?" demanded one. "Are you a fool or a eunuch, Gilchrist? Ain’t a man out here who doesn’t envy you and your partner the softness of that woman in your cabin. What is it? His turn this week?" Reaching across the table, Joel grasped two handfuls of the man’s shirt. He shook the man viciously. Furious, he did not realize how closely his words resembled those of his partner when they had fought in the river. "Don’t you ever suggest Samantha is less than a lady, Austin!" "Cool down," warned Burroughs. He rose to his feet, hunched over as he must each time he came into cabin. Even so, his head brushed the ceiling. Putting his hands between the two men, he shoved them apart. "Look, Gilchrist, we don’t care what arrangements you three have worked out. It just seems damn odd you would pay to bring her all the way up here simply to do your laundry." Joel suddenly smiled. "It does, doesn’t it?" The abrupt change startled the men. Their jeers remained unvoiced. Slowly one, then another sat again until only Joel and Liberty Burroughs stood across the table from each other. "Supper?" he asked as if he had been nothing but the genial host. "Eat up. I’ll be back as soon as I wash off. We have to get this celebration underway." *** *** *** Kevin touched Samantha’s shoulders. He was not surprised to she hook like a dried leaf in an autumnal wind. "Go away," she said in a soft voice. She did not turn to look at him. It was easier to keep her arms around the tree and lean her heated cheek against the harsh bark. "Samantha — " "I said, go away!" she snapped. "Why can’t you two leave me alone?" "Joel cares about you. And I — " He hesitated, then hurriedly continued, "I love you, Samantha." She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Tonight was the last night she wanted to hear such a confession. She waited only for the chance to run away from this, and Kevin spoke of plans to bind her tighter to the ridiculous situation. When she did not answer, he sighed. "You don’t love me, do you, Samantha?" "No," she whispered. "You ask too much too quickly. I only met you a few weeks ago." He stroked her hair, not noticing how she flinched when he touched her. Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear, "But I have known you for so long. When we got your first letter with your photo in it, I couldn’t believe a woman like you would be writing to two cheechacos on the Bonanza."

"That didn’t stop you from lying to me." "That is why we lied to you, Samantha. Don’t you understand?" He turned her slowly to face him. "We didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose you. Someday I will make all those promises come true. As soon as — " Bitterly she stated, "I know. As soon as you make your big strike, everything will be perfect. Haven’t you learned that gold isn’t what I long for? That is your dream. That is Joel’s dream. It isn’t mine." "And what is your dream?" She whirled when she heard the deep voice behind her. "Joel!" "At your service!" He bowed deeply, and a chunk of potato dropped from his head. Samantha put her hand over her mouth as a ripple of laughter emerged. All efforts to halt it failed. Suddenly she was giggling. Kevin stared at her as if he were wondering if she had become mad, but his partner simply lounged against a tree and grinned. Through her amusement, she ordered, "Go get cleaned! Look at you! Look at the three of us! We invite our friends for a victory party and leave them to their own devices in the cabin. Wash up, Joel! Supper will be getting cold." "I hope so," he retorted drolly. "It was damn hot when you poured it over my head." "I know!" Her eyes twinkled while she hurried toward the cabin. The two men watched her as they had so often. After more than a month of living with Samantha Perry, they were no closer to understanding her than they had been at her arrival. Joel pushed himself away from the tree to go to the spot where Sam did her laundry. The buckets there would be filled with water. As silently, Kevin returned to their home. He was not surprised to hear laughter inside. Samantha had shown she could be charming to everyone but the men who had brought her here. Quietly he entered the room, noting the expressions of their neighbors fawning over the lovely woman. He dropped into his seat next to Burroughs. Taking one of Samantha’s delicious biscuits, he bit into it reflectively. She had not refused him. Simply she had been honest enough to tell him she did not love him. . .yet. He smiled, determined to make that change. When she placed a fresh bowl of stew in front of him, he did not touch her. It took all his strength not to do as he longed. He would not hurry her. Samantha Perry was going nowhere in the immediate future. That gave him time to woo her into his arms. Samantha paused in her teasing of Liberty when she heard another set of footsteps entering the cabin. She said, "Come in, Joel, and join us. We are about to raise a glass to Admiral Sampson and the victorious U.S. Navy." Amid the celebrating and rousing cheers which met her words, she knew no one but Joel saw her expression. Her eyes widened as they wandered along the breadth of his bare chest. Muscles rippled easily beneath his skin as he went to the peg over the bedstead and lifted down his extra shirt. As he pulled it around him and buttoned it, her gaze followed his fingers shutting off the enticing view. He tucked the shirttails in his trousers, and she jerked her eyes from him. Ladling yet another bowl of stew, she placed it in front of him when he sat. He looked up at her and asked, "Do I get to eat this one?" "That’s up to you." She could not keep from admiring the thick, dark spikes rising from his hastily washed hair. It was so tempting to put her hand out and smooth them into place. She forced her fingers around her spoon. Liberty raised his cup. "To the future and the gold we hope to find."

Answering shouts seconded him as they clicked the wooden mugs together. She reached across the table to tap Kevin’s before turning to his partner. Joel smiled as he leaned forward to put his face close to hers. In a husky whisper, he said, "To the future and what we hope to find together, Sam." Her voice dried up in her throat as she saw the candid desire in his blisteringly blue eyes. His tone left no question of what he wanted. When she stared at him, an emptiness opened within her that she yearned for him to fill. Somehow she managed to say, "To the future." As his smile broadened, she knew she had betrayed herself again. Yet, for some reason, it did not matter.

Chapter Eight Samantha placed the dripping shirts over the ropes strung between the cabin and the storage sheds. Her eyes roved along the array of red and cream fluttering in the cool breeze. Very few shirts of any other color were brought to her. She looked at her hands. They were variegated with the same colors. The cost of her escape from the Yukon would remain with her long after she reached true civilization again. When she had counted the number of shirts she had washed today, she knew in a month she would have enough to pay back Joel and Kevin for her fare to Dawson. Then she could continue until she had the amount needed to return home. It would be considerably less. She doubted if she could save enough money before the winter closed the Yukon in its solid sheet of ice. That would keep her imprisoned in the Klondike until spring. For the past few days, the idea of leaving Fifteen Above had not been as enticing as it had in the beginning. She had not been infected by the gold lust. Another desire urged her to stay and, at the same time, added to her yearning to flee. What she had feared had happened. She had forgiven the two for their foolish idea of bringing her here. Forgiven and more. "How’s business?" "Fine," she replied without looking over her shoulder. This voice made her heart beat with the powerful rhythm of a locomotive climbing a steep slope. Only one man caused this reaction with a simple greeting. "I’m surprised to see you away from the claim, Joel." She tried to tip the water onto the muddy ground. Her tired muscles strained with effort. Broader hands grasped the edge of the tub and lifted it easily. She stepped back before the dirty water could spill over her boots. When she was about to thank him, he waved aside her words and said, "Come with me." "I’m very busy." She did not want to speak the truth. The idea of being alone with this disturbing man frightened her. "Maybe some other day." "Now." He put his hand around her shoulders and drew her away from the drying clothes. Instead of fighting, Samantha decided to go with him. She needed a respite from work. More than that, she wanted to be with him. Her eyes roved along him as she walked by his side. He was undeniably handsome. The lean line of his body had

been more firmly sculptured by his hours of drudgery along the river. Each step he took revealed muscles moving beneath his well-worn denims. In the still pleasant weather, he wore the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to display brawny arms which could be so gentle when they were around her. He caught her looking at him, but she did not lower her eyes. Many times he had admired her openly. It would not hurt him to discover how she felt when she found him watching her every move. Without saying anything, he held out his hand. She smiled shyly as she put hers in it. His grip tightened when her boots slipped on the rocks along the sharp incline leading west from their claim. They said nothing as they walked through the trees along the riverbank. The clank of the machinery on the bench claim overlooking the river across from Fourteen Above was muted by the distance. Among the shadows, the insects were fewer. She raised the veiling and pushed it back across the brim of her hat. It was heavenly to breathe the untainted air. At the top of the ridge, they paused. She turned to enjoy the view of the valley below them. All along the river, tiny forms sought the nearly impossible dream. Their sluices mocked the mighty trees clinging to the hillsides. In the distance she could see the twisting of the Bonanza in its journey from where it met the Eldorado. The sun glittered with eye-burning power on the ripples of the current. "It’s beautiful," she said softly. "It could be. It was once. I hope taking the gold from the hills does not destroy what was here when we arrived." He continued to gaze across the river valley. "We were some of the first to arrive. I wondered then how many others had trod across this land before me. No more than I could count on my hand. Then the Klondike belonged to the moose and those hardy enough to love its rigors." She was not sure what to say. That his thoughts echoed hers did not surprise her as much as it would have weeks ago. She simply sat on a fallen tree. The bark felt cool and damp beneath her. It crumbled in a fine powder as she ran her hand along the trunk. When he turned to look at her, a grin teased his mustache up at the corners. "Why did you dump the stew on me?" She smiled, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the sunlight on the water. "Because you deserved it." "Why? For jesting about a lad who has yet to have his first woman and cannot keep from slobbering over you like a bull calf in rut?" "No, because I don’t like to see you being so jealous." "Jealous?" he exploded. Picking up a rock, he flung it into the water. Samantha gasped, "You told me never to do that! What if it had gold quartz in it?" He shrugged. "So the folks at Fourteen will find it when they sluice in the morning or we will dig it out later. Don’t change the subject." Watching him sit on a stump by the side of the rushing river, she stated, "I didn’t attempt to change it. I enjoy watching you act as if you don’t know what I am talking about. Continue, Mr. Gilchrist. By all means, continue. I would be delighted to see what lies you can concoct to deny that you are jealous whenever I talk to any other man." Joel considered retorting heatedly. Then he paused. She was right. Anything he said otherwise would be false. The base emotion he had not wanted to experience in the cabin last evening was simple jealousy. Although he had admitted he

envied Kevin, he was not ready to show how much he hated to see her flirting harmlessly with their neighbors. He wanted Samantha. He wanted her to be his alone. A smile lilted on her lips as she watched the conflict speeding across his face. When he moved next to her, she tried to read what he was feeling by the intensity on his features. Her smile faded when his hand stroked her cheek. Even though his river roughened skin was harsh against her, his gentle caress created a flow of warmth from her center. "Sam, you have known how I feel about you since before we met." "I know." She sighed. "I know that, but I know nothing about Joel Gilchrist." He did not meet her eyes. "There’s not much to know about me." "You couldn’t have lived thirty years without having something happen to you." Softly she asked, "What are you running from, Joel?" He started at her perceptive words. They flayed open the wounds he had wanted to keep hidden forever. He took a deep breath of the fragrant pine and looked into her dark eyes. When he saw the candor there, he discovered he could tell her what he had told no one else. "The past," he murmured. "The past and its ghosts." "Can you talk about it?" Putting his hands on her arms, he wondered how he could have believed Samantha had lied to them in her letters. Honesty was as much a part of her as her soft lips he longed to taste. Her compassion had come through in her words. She offered it to him now. "Yes, I think I can." His gaze grew distant as if scenes from the past appeared intact before him. "I dreamed of becoming a professional musician. A symphonic violinist. For years I studied with music professors in Virginia, often traveling many miles to find the best. I had planned when I was eighteen I would leave Lynchburg to go to Europe and study beneath the best orchestral performers in the world." "But you didn’t." He smiled sadly when he heard the sympathy in her voice. "No, I didn’t. Instead I listened to the lure of another siren which called to me so loudly it drowned out my dreams." Samantha understood what he could not bring himself to say. To be fooled by love would have been devastating to a strong, single-minded man like Joel Gilchrist. He had risked everything on it and lost to be set adrift without the consolation of the one thing which had given meaning to his life. "Maybe she didn’t realize what she did." "How did you know?" Wiping the shock from his face, he answered his own question. "You see too many parts of me which no one else has guessed existed. Camilla knew exactly what she was doing. She wooed me when she thought I would be inheriting enough from my father’s estate to provide for her comfortably. When she discovered how mortgaged the estate was, she wasted no time marrying another man. One who could give her the money she was sure she needed. One I had considered my best friend." Pain for him filled her as she wondered how many years these wounds had festered. Joel would let no one think he was other than the carefree adventurer determined to vanquish the world. Instead it nearly had destroyed him. "I’m sorry, Joel." She did not know what else to say. "Are you?" he demanded with sudden heat. "You are planning to leave us." He did not make it a question.

She decided to be as blunt. "Yes." "Why?" "Because this isn’t what I expected." She flung out her arms to encompass the trees and the mountains. "I knew this country would be rough, and I was prepared for that. What I didn’t anticipate was finding two men waiting for me." He smiled at her. "Two men who want to marry you." He ran a finger along her arm. "Even if there were one hundred women for every man instead of the other way around, I think I would have chosen you, Sam. You make me feel alive after a decade of just stumbling through each day." Pushing aside his hand, she moved away slightly from him. "Thank you." "But the compliment isn’t returned." "Not as you want it to be." She looked at him directly. "Why should it be? Why should I care anything about you and Kevin? You have lied to me from the beginning." "But you came." She smiled with a sorrow which matched his. "I fell in love with a man who offered me a chance to share his dream." Her eyes grew nugget hard as she stated, "But, as you know too well, that man doesn’t exist. Unfortunately, for both of you, you must compete with a man who lives only in your imaginations. And in mine." "But he does exist. We invented very little when we wrote to you. We wrote what was in our hearts." His hand stroked her cheek. "Sam, how could anyone not want you?" Her eyes were held by the azure glow of his. Slowly her hand rose to the coarse surface of his face in an identical, testing touch. When she saw how the light in his eyes burned a richer shade, she discovered she had been right from the beginning. What she experienced when he was near she did not feel alone. "So?" he persisted in a whisper. She laughed with a sensual throatiness which set his blood soaring through his head like the pounding of a spring floodtide along the river. "Give me time. I’m still confused." "Will this help?" Her reply was muted by the gentle pressure of his lips on hers. Suddenly time telescoped on itself to be the moment she had waited for during the year she wrote to a man whose name matched this one’s. This was the happiness she had hoped to find. When he drew away from her slightly, she moaned in heartfelt regret. The sound was the only invitation he needed. He drew her to her feet and into his arms. Releasing the passion he had dammed on the first kiss, he captured her mouth again. His arms tightened around her. He wanted to every inch of her pliant form against him. At first tentatively, then with more assurance, she stroked the broad plane of his back. Warmth spiraled through her as she exulted in the rapture created by his lips over hers. She stepped deeper into his embrace. A gasp escaped from her parted lips as his mouth left hers to caress the length of her neck. The texture of his beard on her skin accented the heat of his kisses. Her hands curved around the back of his head, holding him close, wanting him never to stop. He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her fingers continued to stroke the rough texture of his face above the matted thickness of his beard. "Out of hundreds, thousands, I would chose you, Sam. We could have so much fun together.

You aren’t intimidated by anything, not even by me. Why don’t you marry me?" "Because I don’t love you," she replied softly. She grinned. "Although I do like your kisses. I like them very, very much." He laughed. He locked his fingers behind her waist to keep her close to him. "Are you always so honest?" "Always. It was a trait which caused me so much trouble when I lived with my brother. His wife hated me, but tried to pretend otherwise. I hated her and never failed to show it." He bent to kiss her on the nose. "So you fell in love with Joel Houseman. When he asked you to come to the Klondike, you saw it as an escape." "Yes." Her eyes widened as his hands caressed her back through the thin material of her blouse. "I loved him." His mouth was less than an inch from hers as he whispered, "Then why can’t you love me?" "You aren’t him." "I’m not?" Her answer was lost in his lips. She had no time to think anything as he lowered her toward the ground. A brief warning in her head disappeared when he teased her mouth open with the tip of his tongue. His breath swirled into her mouth as he claimed its liquid surfaces. She became as fluid as she melted beneath his questing touch. The movement of his hands along her side urged her to caress him as eagerly. With a shocked cry, she pushed his fingers away as they moved to the curve of her breast. Jerking her face from under his, she tried to escape. She could not allow her passions to destroy her good sense. So often she did not like this man. She could not let him become her lover! "No, no," he whispered in her ear. "I’m not going to let you go." "Joel!" "Hush." He soothed the furrows from her forehead as he smiled. "I won’t touch you now, if that is what you wish." "I — " Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "I don’t know what I want. I don’t love you." He winced, but had his normal, irreverent grin on his face when she opened her earth dark eyes again. "I won’t say I’m sorry, Sam. I thought it was time you kissed me. You have been kissing Kevin for a month. Even Liberty rated one. I figured it was my turn." "You only had to ask." She looked up at him. The grass crackled softly beneath her head. "I’m asking." "What?" she asked, stiffening. She did enjoy his caresses, but she was not ready to make a decision on anything yet. A few stolen kisses were not enough to be a prelude to a permanent relationship. His lips touched her forehead, before sliding to the tip of her slightly turned up nose. "I’m asking that you stay at Fifteen Above and give us a chance to share these wondrous moments. You don’t want to give up this, do you, Sam?" She had no opportunity to answer as his lips found her mouth again. When she realized he would not push too far again, she relaxed. Instantly the fire within her flared higher again. Her arms tightened around his shoulders to bring him closer. The sensation of him holding her to the ground created a strange pulse in the center of her being. It urged her to move in a rhythm she did not recognize.

When he paused and raised his head, he hushed her questions. She heard the sound which somehow his ears had caught through the rising tides of love. He looked down at her, smiling sadly. His voice was as dull when he said, "Kevin." "I know," she answered. "I have to get back to work, Sam." He kissed her with swift passion. "Soon we’ll do this again." She accepted his hand to assist her to her feet. Brushing off her skirt which betrayed she had been lying in the scruffy growth, she only nodded. She did not know what to say. That this moment had been something he had planned she accepted. She wanted to have a chance to be with him spontaneously. That would be impossible with Kevin nearby all the time. Her sigh seemed overloud among the shadows of the trees. When his arm circled her shoulders, she leaned her head against his chest. This crazy life was like nothing else she had ever known. She wanted to find a way to make it have some sense. "Are you that unhappy?" Joel asked. "No. . .and yes." She smiled when she heard his soft chuckle. "It seems as if I’ll never escape from these hills. I have been here such a short time, I realize, but I feel as if they are going to suffocate me." "Maybe today will be the day we make the strike, Sam. Then we can put this damnable land behind us. Imagine what it’ll be like to return to the states with all the money you could possibly want." His eyes glowed with obsession. "To tell those who once said you would amount to nothing that you had succeeded." She said softly, "I can’t think that far ahead. I can think only of the work I have left to do by the cabin." She stepped away from him. His hand slid along her shoulder blades, clearly reluctant to release her. "And you have work to do in the river if you plan to make your dreams come true." "You would have made a very good slave overseer," he answered with a twisted smile. "See you at supper. And, Sam?" She turned. "Yes?" His lips found hers easily. Too soon, he moved to continue along the path to the sluice. "Don’t forget that, honey." "I won’t." For once, sarcasm did not taint her voice as she watched him walk away. She grinned when she saw the pleased swagger in his steps. And, why not? She was happy with what they had discovered today. It gladdened her heart that he felt the same. *** *** *** During the next month of unchanging chores and long days of toiling until she fell in bed with her tired muscles every night, Samantha recalled those stolen moments. Although Joel did not miss an opportunity to touch her in passing or to hold her hand out of sight of his partner, they had no chance to repeat the passionate kisses they had shared on the riverbank. The weather changed with nearly visible speed. Summer heat vanished as if it had never existed. The mornings of September brought frost glittering on the few sprigs of grass living in the clearing. She often woke to find a skin of ice on the water in the bucket by her bed. More than once, she dressed beneath the covers because she could not put her bare feet on the frosty floors. At midday, the sun continued to beam down on her shoulders as she bent over the washboard. She already had let her customers know that, at the first snow, her laundry would close. Now she wondered if she should have changed that to the first frost. Carrying pail after pail of icy water from the spring and hanging

clammy shirts with her chapped hands burning in the wind had become more trouble than even the gold could recompense. She spent more and more time in the cabin. Joel and Kevin did not work as long at the river. Partly because the hours of sunlight were decreasing rapidly, and partly because they had sluiced most of the pay dirt accumulated last winter. They spent some of their time shoveling piles of riverbank soil to prepare for the high waters of the spring more than half a year in the future. They wandered into the cabin often to warm their hands which grew stiff even in their heavy gloves. She grew accustomed to the constant parade back and forth to the river. Any changes to that constant tempo sounded as loudly as a shout. When she heard a single set of footsteps approaching the cabin, Samantha noted it immediately. Seldom did either Joel or Kevin leave their partner alone working at the river. Samantha looked up from making the bed. The blanket settled slowly in a lumpy mess in the middle of the mattress. "What is it?" she called as someone shouted her name. "Find your prettiest hat, Sam!" ordered Joel. He poked his head into the cabin, before walking to where she worked. "Hat? Why?" Taking her hands, he twirled her into his arms. "I have been speaking with Kevin about your assertion that you are bored looking at the same vistas every day. We decided you should have your horizons broadened. How about a ride into Grand Forks?" "Oh, Joel, that would be wonderful!" Her hands slid along his arms. The strength of his body that was warm and sticky from his long hours of labor in the unrelenting sun enticed her fingers to continue. Suddenly he released her. She rocked back on her feet and grasped the iron railing of the bedstead. When Kevin came smiling into the cabin, it did not surprise her. She understood why Joel acted as he did. For the same reason she could not bring herself to be honest about her growing attraction for him, Joel pretended as if nothing had changed between them but a mellowing of the distaste they had shared upon her arrival. "So what do you think, Samantha?" the blond man asked. He drew off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve. A streak of dirt crisscrossed his skin. "Going to Grand Forks sounds wonderful!" She was glad she had a reason to allow her eyes to glow with the happiness she savored whenever she was near Joel. "What shall we do?" Joel answered, "There’s a spelling bee scheduled at the Presbyterian church." Before she could respond, Kevin stated, "No! Something else. Something more exciting than trying to spell Cincinnati and encyclopedia." "We can discuss that on the way in," she said soothingly. She had no idea why Kevin had reacted so vehemently, but it was not worth an argument. The idea of attending a spelling bee where they would be competing against their neighbors and laughing together had sounded delightful to her. "All right," agreed Joel. "We’ll hitch the horse to the wagon. Get your bonnet and meet us at the stable. Two minutes!" "Two minutes! How do you expect me to get cleaned up?" He shrugged. "You don’t need to be fancy in Grand Forks." "You aren’t going in those clothes, are you?" The two men looked at each other as if they could not see what was wrong with what they wore. When they saw her stubborn expression, it was a warning of her desire to break the monotony of work clothes dirty with sweat and hours of

labor. Joel slapped his partner on the back. "I guess we are going to have to be all citified to satisfy her." With a grin, he added, "Maybe she thinks we can’t be anything but the filthy prospectors she has seen." Accepting the challenge, Kevin laughed. "Half an hour then, Samantha." He reached for his clean shirt and scrounged in a box at the end of the bed for other things he had not worn in longer than he could remember. As he pulled out a dark coat, he frowned. The last time he had worn that was for the funeral of his stepfather. He did not want to remember that. Samantha did not see the odd twist of his lips as she raced to her ladder. Caught up in her happiness, she could not think of another’s bad memories. Like the men’s things, her clothes had begun to show signs of the rough labor she did. She had saved one skirt and blouse specifically for a time like this. Pulling them from their pegs, she placed them reverently on the bed. The black taffeta skirt tied at her waist and ended at the hem with a pleated flounce. Over it, she wore a cream colored shirtwaist. The yoke was smocked with gold threads to match the shirring at the cuffs. Aware of how rough the journey would be, she added a heavy cape to her ensemble. She smoothed her hair into place and took her straw hat off the single shelf over her bed. A rose decorated the upturned brim when she settled it on the back of her curls. Although she hurried, most of the half hour had passed by the time she slipped her feet into her half boots and buttoned them in place. She climbed nimbly to the main floor of the cabin. Before she left, she checked that the fire in the stove was properly banked. She was smiling as she closed the door behind her. The buckboard waited in the middle of the yard. It did not hold her eyes as she looked at the two men standing beside it. Both were dressed in dark, frock coats over wool trousers. High stock collars matched the one in the picture of Kevin they had sent to her. Neatly combed hair was slicked back in the accepted style. That it brushed their collars did not distract from the abrupt change. Despite herself, her eyes lingered longer on Joel. Even with his bushy beard hiding the bottom half of his face, she savored the appealing image he once must have considered normal. The hard work had broadened his muscles to strain at the seams of his shirt and coat. Her fingers yearned to reach out to follow the lines of his body silhouetted against the sunlight. She had never been able to forget the one time she had been in his arms and had touched him as she wanted. He bowed to her and said with his slightly mocking tone, "Lady Faire, your carriage awaits." As Kevin leaped up onto the seat to grasp the reins, Joel lifted her to the high plank. He climbed aboard easily. When she slipped her arm through his, he smiled at her. That she did the same with his partner brought only a twinge of envy. He guessed Sam’s heart could be his, but he wanted to be sure. Listening to her happy voice brightened by the excitement she could not conceal, he wondered as he had so many times what quirk of fate had brought this delightful sprite into their lives. Joel was humming as his partner turned the wagon to follow the river path south and east the where the Eldorado emptied into the Bonanza. There, in Grand Forks, he might be able to determine if she would be his. If that was so, he could still garner the prize he wanted.

Chapter Nine The general store was crowded with miners eager to get their supplies before the winter shut them off from the small settlement. When Samantha felt a hand in the center of her back, she smiled over her shoulder at Joel. She was glad her two partners were with her. Although the looks from the other men continued as lustful as in Dawson, she had the protection of Joel and Kevin to keep the miners from putting their thoughts into action. Men fell away before her, so she had little trouble reaching the side of the store where the few bolts of material waited. With all eyes on her, Kevin took the opportunity to push to the front of the line and give the storekeeper their order. Samantha touched the broadcloth. Picking up the corner of a maroon fabric, she rolled it between her fingers. It was as soft as its sheen. "That color would look lovely on you." Lifting the bolt, she asked, "I thought I might get enough for a new skirt, Joel. My others have been ruined by work." "Then get it." He smiled. "I like seeing you dressed prettily, Sam. You look lovely today." She lowered her eyes to escape from the fantasies he could build in her head with the simple power of his gaze. Ignoring his compliment, she continued, "It’s expensive." He took the material from her. "Don’t worry about that. You’ve worked hard enough for us. This is little to repay you." He motioned with his head. "While we are shopping for you, there is something else you need before winter." Unsure what he meant, she followed to where a middle-aged woman sat watching the customers. He greeted her with a pleasant smile. Her hard face did not lose its calculating expression even as she nodded when he told her wanted to purchase material for Samantha. "And she needs a Union suit," he added. "Joel!" Heat billowing from Samantha’s face warned her of the redness of her cheeks. To be discussing such unmentionables was so inappropriate. His deep voice must have carried across the crowded store. Everyone in the room would know what a man was buying for her. He ignored the storekeeper as he turned Samantha to face him. His lips twitched while he fought not to smile. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he leaned forward so she could understand his soft words through the hubbub in the store. He had no interest in saying anything to deepen the flush of her face, although he found the color very appealing. Of course, he told himself with pure honesty, he found everything about Samantha Perry enticing. "Sam, this is something you need. You have no idea how cold it becomes here in January and February. Modesty is fine, but you’ll need this. Trust me on buying this for you." "I trust you." She smiled. Matching his outspokenness with her own, she added, "I never thought of having to admonish a man for buying me such personal things. If I had, I wouldn’t have expected to be discussing red flannel." His eyes glowed with barely banked yearning as he murmured, "I would prefer you

in silk and lace, honey. Believe me! Maybe someday when we don’t have to worry about the Klondike cold." "Maybe." She shook her head to break the bewitchment of his words. Stepping away from him, she answered the unsmiling woman’s questions about the size and style long underwear she wanted. There was little choice. The smallest set proved too long when Joel held them up before her. "Charming," he teased. "You don’t need to be sarcastic." She took them from him and rolled them over her hands to keep the eager eyes of the other prospectors off her and the hideous undergarments. "I wasn’t. You’ll be glad you have them." Coldly she stated, "I’m sure." She tried to convince him to change his mind, but Joel was insistent that she buy them. He took the brown wrapped package containing the luxurious, dark red material and her brighter crimson, winter clothes. He signed the tab offered by the storekeeper with a flourish before offering his arm to Samantha. Placing her gloved hand on it, she said quietly, "Joel, I did not intend for you to pay for the fabric." "We haven’t changed our bargain, have we? We promised we would take care of you until you paid us back for your fare to Dawson." He grinned with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "If you wish, I can just add this purchase to the thousand dollars for your ticket. It will take you that much longer to even your debt to us." "You always have some scheme going, don’t you?" He laughed at her wry expression. "When it comes to a way to keep you at Fifteen Above a little longer, I think you are right." Samantha did not know how to answer. He was making it more and more obvious that he did not intend to let her leave without becoming his lover. That his infrequent kisses urged him to do what he did not say aloud scared her. She yearned to flee, and she wanted nothing more than to return to his arms. When he called to his partner, she forced her thoughts aside. It was her decision. Although he made little attempt to hide the truth, he had not pressured her to be his lover after the first time he kissed her on the riverbank. She tried to compose herself as she listened to the two men talk. She was astonished when she realized Joel was leaving to do some errands of his own. Kevin smiled and nodded. They would meet Joel in an hour. Until then, he and Samantha would finish the shopping for the winter and explore this section of Grand Forks. With a wave, Joel left. The crowd like a multi-faceted creature moving in every direction at once swallowed him. She turned to their partner and smiled. "What can I do to help?" she asked. Kevin wrenched his eyes away from her enticing form. The sooner he finished his business, the more time he would have alone with Samantha. He smiled as he said, "Look around. I have to complete our order." "You are sure I can’t help?" "Unless you want to assist in loading the wagon with the fifty pound bags of supplies, I think you would spend your time better enjoying yourself." She nodded, knowing she only would be in the way. With her gaze on the floor, she wandered away from the counter where he bargained with the dour man who owned the store. She smiled. The storekeepers knew they did not have to waste

charm on their customers. There was no other place to go but Dawson too many miles away. If the patrons did not want to pay the highly inflated prices, they could do without. The shelves around the store were filled with everything from thread to bottles of whiskey. She noted a variety of medicine in one shadowed corner. Catching the eye of the taciturn woman, she asked for several varieties to be added to their order. In the cabin on Fifteen Above, there was nothing to ease the discomfort of the winter sicknesses sure to strike. Kevin looked at the bottles placed in front of him. He picked up one and scowled at the label. From across the room, Samantha did not have to hear his question. When the unsmiling woman pointed at her, he turned and smiled. He raised the bottle in a jesting salute to her before finishing his business. Discomforted by the press of seldom washed bodies, Samantha moved to the rear of the store. Here she discovered some things which she had not expected to see in a trading post in the Yukon. Squatting, she looked at the fine, china figurines and the fringed lampshades for electric lights. It seemed the height of ridiculousness to have such frivolities when there was no electricity in Grand Forks. "Find anything interesting?" She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Kevin took her hand and raised her to her feet. Pulling it away, she brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. Something about his touch made her uncomfortable. She suspected it was her own guilty conscience. To cover her discomfort, she reached to pick up a book on the lower shelf. "Look!" she said excitedly. "Have you read this?" He squinted at the cover. With a shrug, he said, "I don’t think so." "Do you like Charles Dickens?" "Yes, I guess so," he replied, but without much enthusiasm. He brightened as he added, "Would you like it?" Her fingers stroked the raised letters on the cover of the book. Great Expectations always had been one of her favorite Dickens novels. She had been forced to leave all her books behind because of luggage restrictions on the trip west and the steamer north. To be able to read again seemed a luxury. "Do we have the money?" "Don’t worry about that." He took the volume. "If you want this, then I think you should have it. You have been working very hard with no pay. A small thing like this is less of an award than you deserve." "I’ve been rewarded. Joel bought me some fabric for a new skirt." She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them and saw Kevin’s mouth become a compressed line. "Is that so?" he asked tightly. "A book seems a small gift compared to such." "No," she said to soothe him. "A book is a wondrous gift." She forced a smile on her lips to ease the darkness dimming his eyes. "I have many hours of labor ahead of me before I can turn the material into a usable form. This book I can enjoy immediately." He lifted her hand and caressed her slender fingers. "That is true, isn’t it? Samantha, I want you to realize how important it is to me having you at Fifteen Above." "I know." "I know you know." He bent to place a surprising, swift kiss on her cheek. "I just don’t want you to forget that I love you."

Honestly, she could say, "I can never forget that, Kevin." "But you don’t feel the same yet." "No." She did not add that she doubted if she would ever feel for him as he yearned. If she could have loved Kevin as he loved her, everything would have been so perfectly simple. Joel would not have contested her decision. It would have been so perfect, but so wrong. Her heart never had listened to her head. When she saw he was waiting for her to say something else, she linked her arm in his and let him lead her about the store. She asked questions about the items she could not identify. His explanations describing the tools used for on the bench claims taught her how the men dug deep into the hillsides hoping to find a vein of gold. She could not understand the obsession which caused prospectors to start fires to defrost the layer of permanently frozen earth below the top few inches of soil. Only by melting the permafrost could they sink spades or explosives into the ground. Slowly Kevin’s good humor returned. He entertained her with stories of the many hapless attempts to shortcut the process and find gold with the ease reported in the States. Only by such foolishness did men and women learn the truth. Gold could be found only with hard work. She laughed as she paused near the door. "Look at what this says, Kevin." She began to giggle again as her fingers led his along the letters. When he did not chuckle, she looked at him strangely. She had thought this would appeal to his sense of humor. Feeling her eyes on him, he laughed, but she could tell it was forced. "Is something wrong?" "Nothing!" he snapped. "Let me pay for your book. Then we can get out of here and see something else of Grand Forks before we are to meet up with Joel. I’ll be right back." In bafflement, she watched as he crossed to the counter where the storekeeper had been waiting on another customer. Kevin pushed past the other miner. Although he cursed, the prospector stepped aside when Kevin gestured toward her. She understood instantly. Nothing would be denied the few women of the Yukon. Kevin leaned on the counter as he spoke to the shop owner. The two men talked lowly. She stepped closer when the door opened to reveal a trio of mud-covered miners. Their glances in her direction seemed more lascivious than the others she had met today. She did not want to confront them alone. "Just sign here, Houseman," the man behind the counter was saying. He paused. "Oh, I forgot. Is Gilchrist here with you? I must have a signature if you want to put this on your tab." Kevin motioned for Samantha to come nearer. "This is another partner in the Fifteen Above. Samantha Perry." "Your mail order bride?" The man smiled as he folded his arms on the high counter and regarded her with increased interest. "You sure picked yourself a looker, Houseman. So who does she belong to?" Kevin did not need to look at Samantha to know her face would be bright with embarrassment. He wondered if she knew how much he longed to take her away from this rough world and back to the one she deserved. Those fantasies filled his dreams. To emphasize his point and ease her discomfort, he repeated, "She’s another partner in the Fifteen Above. She can sign." "I don’t know. . ." He seemed unsure with such a revolutionary idea. "Ah, her signature is as good as ours." The man started to remonstrate, then nodded. He wanted to sell the book. No one

else had been interested in it during the three months it sat on the dusty shelf. Few men wanted to read of another’s trials after a day of mucking in mud and gravel or digging through the permafrost. "Where do you want me to sign?" asked Samantha. "Here." He pointed to the page where Joel’s name appeared several times. When she picked up the pen, she did not say anything about the oddity of not having Kevin’s name anywhere on the page. She glanced at the blond man. He flushed and turned away as if he was ashamed. Comprehension burst over her with the brightness of the lights shining in the northern, night skies. Kevin was not refusing to write his name because of a quirk of nature. He refused because he could not write his name. It answered many of the questions which had lingered in her mind, but created more. Silently she handed the pen to the storekeeper. Now she understood why letters supposedly written by two men did not reflect Kevin’s personality. Joel had penned them alone, although he may have listened to his partner’s suggestions on what to say. This discovery only added to her confusion about these two very different men. Who was "Joel Houseman"? A composite of two men, or a single man who teased her to believe her heart? She pushed the ever-present questions to the back of her mind. Taking Kevin’s arm, she walked with him out of the store. He turned her down Percentage Avenue. A steady parade of wagons and miners passed them, but he said nothing to her of them or anything else. It did not surprise her to see a duo of Mounties riding along the street. When one of them tipped his hat politely in her direction, she wondered how long it had been since she had last thought of Constable French. Her life before Fifteen Above seemed a distant collage of memories disconnected to the present. Even Dawson and the hours of laundry with Mrs. Kellogg were a dream of the past. "Having fun?" She turned to answer Joel, shocked an hour had passed already. Her words vanished unspoken as she stared at him. A well-defined line showed where his missing beard had kept his skin from being tanned to the same shade as the rest of his face. The bushy mustache had been trimmed, although it remained in the thick style favored by the miners. Without the beard, his face seemed less forbidding. She never would have guessed a cleft softened the crag of his chin. The temptation to place her finger against it she hid. "Are you speechless because of the transformation?" Joel teased as he winked at his partner. "I don’t know if that’s a compliment." "It is!" she assured him quickly. "You simply look so different!" He laughed. Closing the distance between them on the boardwalk, he took her hand and placed it on his arm. When he spoke, it was to his partner. "Is the wagon loaded?" "All set." "Then it’s your turn, Kevin, to have some time to yourself. Shall we meet you here in an hour as well?" With a glance at the woman standing between them, he nodded reluctantly. He could not hide that he would rather spend his time with Samantha. Mumbling a farewell, he strolled away from them. More than once, he glanced over his shoulder to see them standing motionless on the boardwalk. He wondered what his partner would do to top the gift of the book Samantha so clearly coveted. "What’s that?" asked Joel. His voice broke her mesmerism with the change in him.

With his frock coat and perfectly tied stock matching his freshly scraped face, he did not seem like the man who mucked through the icy waters of the Bonanza in search of a futile dream. She looked at his finger pointing to the package in her hand. "A book. Great Expectations." "My favorite Dickens," he said while they wandered toward First Avenue. "I think A Tale of Two Cities is mine." He put his hand over his heart and struck an irreverent pose. "Ah, to die for the one I love. To give my life so that the one I love can be eternally happy. Such a noble sacrifice." Samantha laughed at his antics as she strolled along the footway. "Continue digging for gold, Joel. Such overacting would bring boos from any audience." "And I thought I was so stupendous. I could play Caligula or Oedipus Rex or Romeo." He stopped walking as he turned her to face him. "Those men would present challenging roles. An emperor of Rome, a king of Greece, or a young lover. All needing to be loved." His fingers stroked her arm through the thin silk of her blouse. She could not escape the entreaty in his eyes. Hoping her true feelings were not as visible, she said only, "Joel, we’re on the street." "I know." His frustration tainted the lightness of his voice. "Dammit, Sam, I know! Sometimes I wonder how any country which is supposed to be so empty can be so crowded. I never can find a moment alone with you." "Not here," she pleaded. Others walking past regarded them with curiosity. The flow of people went around them as they stood like a boulder in the middle of a stream. With a growl, he took her by the arm and walked down the street in the direction of the Gold Hill Hotel. He ignored her gasp as he opened the door. She had no time to protest when he shoved her into the lobby. It could not compare with the luxurious trappings of the Dawson hotels. Simple walls were whitewashed and lit by intermittent lanterns. The odor of kerosene permeated everything. A pair of rickety chairs offered the only seating in the narrow space. Joel looked at nothing. Walking up to the desk, he pounded his hand on the top. A slender man popped out of a small office behind it. "Yes?" "I want a room for an hour." "An hour, sir?" He noted the flushed face of the woman standing beside the dark haired man. Quiet dignity surrounded him as he stated, "Sir, it is not the policy of the Gold Hill Hotel to rent rooms for the purpose of a tryst. If you want such, you might be wiser to visit — " He leaned on the counter without releasing Samantha. "All right. Pretend I said nothing of renting it for an hour. I want a room for the night." "Joel, what are you doing?" Continuing as if she had not spoken, he asked, "How much?" "Four dollars." Without blinking an eye at the exorbitant rate, he drew a small bag of gold dust from his pocket. The clerk had the scale waiting as Joel measured out the appropriate amount. Neither of them paid any attention to Samantha’s demands that he be reasonable. Silently the slight man handed Joel a key. Joel was just as unspeaking as he forced Samantha ahead of him up the stairs. Along the dim hallway he steered her. He did not react to her words or the way

she tried to slip from his grasp. Easily he opened the door of the room he had rented. Closing it, he watched as she walked across the room to peer out the window. He waited for her to speak, but she remained uncharacteristically silent. It warned him of the depth of her outrage. He knew only one way to break the stalemate. Whenever she tried to avoid him, he found she would talk if he infuriated her enough. He smiled as he queried, "Planning to jump?" "What is wrong with you?" she demanded. Looking at him, she slapped her bag against her leg to show the frustration bottled within her. "You bring me to a hotel and want to rent a room by the hour? Why don’t you just put up a sign that says. . ." "That says what?" She reddened more and turned away. "I don’t know. I don’t know, Joel. Let’s just leave." Securing the key in the pocket of his vest, he went to where she stood. He put his hands on her trembling shoulders and leaned her back against him. With his cheek resting on the top of her head, he whispered, "Sam, I don’t want to leave. Neither do you." "How do you know what I want?" She twisted out of his arms and ran to the door. When she found the doorknob would not turn, fury gripped her. Rounding on him, she cried, "How dare you lock me in here? I thought you were my friend!" "Sweetheart, I’ve never been your friend." She stared at him aghast as he continued, "You know you’ve been in love with me for more than a year." Refusing to admit the truth, she snarled, "I don’t love any man who would hold me against my will! The clerk downstairs was right. Why don’t you go to one of the whores on the edge of town?" He drew her into his arms. Although she struggled to escape him, he simply put his lips over hers and tasted the dulcet flavor waiting for him. She drew in a deep breath to scream out her fury. He tightened his embrace until that air had no way to escape. Samantha wanted to fight him, but found she was battling herself. As the first time he kissed her, she found it so rapturous to sink into the velvet strength of his arms. Pressed tightly to his body, she was aware of her own fevered reaction as well as his deepening desire. Her yearning to shriek out her outrage was swallowed by a soft moan as his tongue sought to rediscover the succulent secrets only he could uncover in the depths of her mouth. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, "just to hold you like this is so wondrous." His finger beneath her chin brought her face up so he could see her glazed eyes. "Stop denying what you know is true." "I don’t know yet." "I do." With a husky laugh, he scooped her up in arms as unyielding as the rocks on the hillsides. Instantly she stiffened. Only when he sat in the well-worn, upholstered chair near the window did she relax. She had been sure he intended to place her on the bed and convince her to do what she wanted as much as he did. Drawing her head down to rest on him, he murmured, "I don’t want to hurt you, but you tempt me." "You tempt me!" "But strong willed Samantha will resist temptation," he teased with a laugh. "I must." She gazed up at him. Her finger traced the previously invisible cleft.

"If it was simply you and me, Joel, it might be different. But Kevin — " He swore with bitterness before spitting, "Kevin! That is all I hear from you. Can’t you forget him for just one hour?" Her eyes closed in pain. The partners of Fifteen Above should have known their plot was madness from the beginning. To ask any woman to chose between two men like this suggested insanity. Rising, she walked to the large bed. Her hand followed the arc of the footboard. If all had come to pass as she had wished, she would have had a husband she could love without guilt and self-recriminations. "How can you ask that of me when you truly want me to forget him forever?" She pointed to the bed. "Could you hold me here and not once think of cuckolding your partner?" "Cuckolding? You don’t belong to him!" He stood and closed the distance between them. "Sam, I want you to be mine. It’s been months since you arrived at Fifteen Above. How much longer are you going to play this game?" She laughed sharply. "Game? I wasn’t aware I was the one playing a game. If you and Kevin had not — " "Stop talking about him!" "Jealousy doesn’t become you, Joel Gilchrist!" "Lying doesn’t become you!" he retorted. When she flinched, he smiled. "So you find it harder to take insult than hand it out?" "I didn’t intend my words to be insulting, only truthful." He stepped away to lean on the windowsill overlooking the busy street as she had when they came into the room. For several, long minutes, he said nothing. The silence grew ear wrenching, but Samantha was determined she would not surrender to speak first. When he turned to look at her, the rage was gone from his face. Instead a naked yearning softened his rock hard eyes. In a much lower voice, he stated, "I can admit I’m jealous, Sam, if only you would stop pretending you feel the same for me as you do for Kevin." Lured by his unspoken apology, she walked to him. Her hand caressed the breadth of his chest. "I have never said I feel about you two the same. He’s my dear friend. You are — you are something else." "Something else?" Suddenly he laughed and flung his arms around her. "I guess that isn’t an open declaration of love, but the best I can hope for now." "Yes, it is," she answered more seriously. "Don’t push me into a corner, Joel. I have had to fight dirty to survive for the past few years, and I will do the same here." "Will you now?" Devilment twinkled in his eyes. With a sudden shove, he pushed her back against the creaking mattress of the bed. "Joel!" she cried as he kept her from rising by holding her to the dust filled blankets by pressing his mouth to the soft curve of her neck. Moving his lips in a meandering path along her skin until they reached her ear, he whispered, "Fight me, Sam. Show me how much you hate it when I hold you." "I don’t hate it," she managed to say. She closed her eyes to savor the heat which flushed through her with the breath of his voice. A quiver raced along her when she felt his fingers move across her shirtwaist. Her hands clenched on his back as he touched the sensitive surface of her breast. All of her softened beneath him as she melted into the burning of her passion. At the seemingly distant call of her name, she looked at Joel’s face blurred by her glazed vision. She tried to speak, but could only say his name in a fevered

whisper. The sensation of his caress cut through the thin material of her shirt to make her want to beg for something she had learned of so slightly in his arms. "Sam? Open your eyes, honey." It took all her strength to obey his order. When he started to move his hand from her, she covered it with her own. "That is. . ." She could think of no word to describe the luscious feeling his touch created. A comforting warmth and a fierce aching for satisfaction. "I know, Sam." He smiled and kissed her lightly. "You cannot escape what you feel, but you will never surrender." "I can’t." He shook his head. "I don’t want to argue with you, my love." The bed protested with a shrill squeak as he reclined on the musty surface. His arm slipped beneath her shoulders to bring her to rest against him. Instantly Samantha sat and swung her feet off the thin mattress. This was exactly what she had feared Joel intended when he wanted to rent a room for an hour. She wondered how she could be so stupid to allow him to compromise her as he had. Her only consolation was knowing no one would learn of her disgrace. His broad hand captured her wrist and kept her from standing. Desperately she said through clenched teeth, "Joel, please." "Please what?" His teasing brought a smile to her lips. She wondered again and again why she could not stay angry at him. He was a diabolical man, playing with her life as if she had been born merely to amuse him during his stay in the Klondike. "You would like me to say ‘Please me’, right?" she retorted with faked coldness. "It is tempting." He reached across the bed to stroke her back. "You are tempting, Sam." He grinned. "All that is true, but you still won’t make a decision, will you?" She stood and smoothed her skirt. "I have made a decision, Joel. I’m hungry." "So am I!" He drew her back to him and kissed her lightly. In a whisper, he said, "I’d like to taste you." With a laugh, she pulled away and demanded, "Stop it! I would like something to eat. I skipped breakfast this morning." Only partially feigning his reluctance, he rose. "One thing before we go." He whirled her into his arms from where she had been fixing her hair before the mirror. His fingers entangled in its lushness. "Sam, don’t forget I want you." Even as he was kissing her, she wondered how she could ever erase from her mind the sweet power of his lips on her. He stepped away from her and held out his hand. Silently she put hers in it. Watching it swallowed by his much larger fingers, she wondered how much longer she could pretend. She loved Joel Gilchrist. Not because she wanted to. Not because she even liked him. Simply because she did not want to imagine a life without him sharing it. "I won’t," she said as he opened the door. "Won’t what?" "Forget." His secretive smile teased the corners of his mustache. "I didn’t think you would, Sam, but I will be sure to make certain you don’t." "I thought you would." He laughed broadly as he closed the door behind them. Life together would never be dull. He just hoped it soon would be more exciting. Glancing down into her sparkling eyes, he saw her true feelings. A twinge teased him, but he ignored

it. If making her and himself happy aided in helping him do as he had wanted for so many years, then it could only be for the good. That thought increased the twinge in his mind, but he ignored it. All would come as he hoped soon. It must.

Chapter Ten "Dinner first," announced Joel. When he saw Kevin nod, he smiled. They had met their partner less than five minutes ago. He wondered if Kevin had done more than walk up and down the streets. His pants were covered with dried mud and his face as scraggly with his beard as when they left him an hour before. He liked Kevin. If he had not, it would have been much easier to tease Sam’s heart into his possession. The truth was that Kevin reminded him of his younger brother. In many ways more self-assured than Joel, but needing someone to lean on at times. Perhaps that was why he and Kevin had gotten along so well before Sam’s arrival. The patterns of a lifetime had been easy to follow. Looking from his partner to the woman walking between them, he felt his breath clog in his throat. Although Sam’s face was nearly as brown as his from her hours in the sun, she had not lost her delicate beauty during the hard months of the summer. Neither had she given up her charming innocence which contrasted so violently with the stubborn streak she exhibited each time he urged her to let him touch her. Not that he minded. . .too much. The chase was exhilarating, but he hoped she would realize soon how useless it was to keep from giving in to the desire they both suffered. Samantha knew his eyes were on her. She glanced up to meet his admiring gaze. A smile drifted across her lips, and she stroked the strong line of the arm beneath her left hand. A simple touch like this delighted her. When she saw his eyes glow with eager yearning, she knew this teasing only whetted his longing. Softly Joel asked, "Where would milady like to eat?" "There’s a choice?" She looked at the primitive buildings along Percentage Avenue. Although she had become accustomed to the filthy conditions along the Bonanza, she had hoped to find things better in the small town. She had been disappointed when she imagined it a miniature of Dawson. None of the gaudiness had reached the mud and sod topped buildings of Grand Forks. He laughed. "Perhaps I should ask what type of international cuisine you would prefer. There’s a Japanese restaurant in addition to the Hotel and Dewey’s Saloon. If you want to satisfy your sweet tooth, we could go to the confectionery which makes wondrous Viennese treats or to the German bakery on First Avenue." "All of that here?" "Don’t let Grand Forks’ appearance deceive you. It offers many hidden delights." "I’m sure," she said sarcastically. His eyebrows arched when he listened to Kevin’s chuckles. She would not allow him to think she forgave him for embarrassing her before the clerk at the hotel. Kevin suggested, "How about the hotel? Hattie always cooks a good meal."

"No," answered Samantha hastily. She did not look at Joel as she continued, "Somewhere else." The thought of having to listen to another comment to match the one spoken when Joel rented that room made her sure she never wanted to set foot in the building again. "How about the Anglican church then? They have venison every Friday night." Although she wanted to reply she had enough game to last her forever, she knew it was useless to wish for chicken or beef. Such luxurious items did not reach Grand Forks. What little arrived in the Yukon was taken by the El Dorado kings in Dawson. "That sounds wonderful, Kevin." "Joel?" he asked. "I think it’s unanimous." His smile peeked from beneath his dark mustache. "Eating at the church fits better into our budget as well." Reaching past Samantha, he clapped his partner on the back. "Next spring, Kev." "If not before. The water is running high again. We can do some of that pay dirt before — " "Hush!" ordered Samantha. "No talk of work today. I want to think only of what we will be having for supper." They laughed as they walked, linked arm in arm, along the sidewalk. The thick twilight descended with its Arctic slowness along the street. It would be totally dark by 7 p.m., but the sun set far earlier. Already the cold settled on them. As if it were of the least consequence, Joel said, "By the way, Kevin, I rented a room at the hotel for the night. With the late start we had, I thought we would be wiser to stay overnight and head home in the morning after we have the wagon loaded." Samantha glared at him, but he only smiled more broadly. He was daring her to call him a liar and speak the truth. She fumed. Both of them made every effort to protect Kevin from the truth, but now Joel was using her discomfort as a tool to twist them both to his will. She vowed to halt him. How she did not know. All she was sure of was not allowing him to have complete control of her fate. "Good idea," answered Kevin, unaware of the unspoken challenge between the others. "We checked out the one at the hotel this afternoon," Joel continued. "There’s a single bed which Samantha can use, but there’s room enough for both of us to sleep on the floor. I’m sure we can get some extra blankets from the clerk. He was a pleasant man, wasn’t he?" She smiled coldly. "To tell you the truth, Joel, I can’t remember him being particularly pleasant. Then again I must admit I wasn’t exactly comfortable with going into a hotel and arranging for a room for any length of time." Kevin admonished his partner. "That was thoughtless of you, Joel. You should have made those arrangements before you came back to meet us." "I’ll remember that next time," he said, not acting chagrined. Samantha was glad when they paused before a storefront. Only the sign announcing "Anglican Church of Grand Forks" made it appear different from the other buildings on the street. A crowd of men, loitering outside the doorway, stepped aside to allow the trio to enter. When they followed the others into the dining room which also served as the sanctuary on Sundays, Joel went to pay for three meals. The other two waited to one side. Samantha wanted to shout with delight. In the far corner stood more women than she had seen in one place other than a dance hall. The four women

were ladling out the food onto the plates held out eagerly by the miners. Kevin followed her happy gaze to the women and back to her illuminated face. Seldom had they considered the true hardships they invited Samantha to share. The whole time she had been at Fifteen Above, she had not seen another female. For the first time, he realized she missed feminine company as much as they had. They had her, but she had no one. He sighed. Nothing could be done to change that, but go back to work and steal gold dust from the river. Only then could they afford to leave this horrible land and return to the life they wanted. He put his arm around her shoulders and vowed he would do all he could to pay back her sacrifice when he took her away from here. When Joel urged them to join the line of diners, Kevin frowned. He wondered if Samantha had noticed his touch. She had not reacted in any manner. Hurrying to take a plate, Samantha could sense Kevin’s displeasure. She did not want him to know she could never be indifferent to him. It simply was that she yearned to keep it a secret that she found his fingers on her brought no swell of emotion as when Joel touched her. Anything she said might hurt him or urge him to try to change her mind. "Good evening," she said to the first of the ladies as she held out her dish. "Well, good evening!" gushed the buxom woman. "And who are you, child?" "Samantha Perry. I’m living out on Fifteen Above on the Bonanza." The white-topped head turned from Kevin to Joel. "So you finally convinced her to come up here, did you? Not so successful at talking her into marrying one of you, I see." Joel offered her his most charming smile. "It was our misfortune to discover Miss Perry has a definite mind of her own. She refuses to be browbeaten into deciding to make one of us very happy and the other miserable." "Good for you, Samantha," the woman stated. "Too many men in the Klondike for you to tie yourself down to just these two. It’s a shame winter is bearing down on us. There are far too few women up here. The ones in Grand Forks get together on Wednesday evenings when our men folk are attending their so-called lodge meetings. Being in the church, it isn’t fitting to talk about what they really do when they meet at the dance hall." She winked broadly. "Mayhap you can talk Joel and quiet Kevin into bringing you in once spring arrives next April." "Mayhap," Joel agreed in the same light tone. "Now, how about some of that stew before I fade away from hunger, Mrs. Young?" "You have a ways to go, lad. Looks like not having to eat your own cooking agrees with both of you." She ladled out generous servings on all three platters. "Get your rolls from Mrs. Noonan. Mrs. Fowler has coffee. If you smile pretty, Mrs. Ritchie might give you a piece of pie." Kevin grinned. "Why are all you good cooks married?" "To make you young bucks appreciate us more," she teased. Waving her spoon at them, she urged them to move along, so the others could be served. She called after Samantha. "I’ll see you when I’m done serving, child. I’m sure you could use some womanish conversation." Her warmth followed Samantha as she walked along the line. The other women were as welcoming to a new member of their small sorority. Each one teased her companions about the cleanliness of their clothes and how smart Samantha was not to choose between them. "Go ahead and find us a seat," Joel said. "I will get our coffee. Kevin, why don’t you give her your plate? Then you can carry my dessert."

She left them working out the details as she turned to survey the room. Every eye seemed riveted directly on her. She hesitated, then walked to the empty spot on the bench which Kevin had pointed out to her. Quietly she greeted the men nearby. She gasped when they leaped to their feet to wait for her to sit before they resumed eating. Never would she be able to become accustomed to the fact she was a rare and precious commodity in the Yukon. When she selected her seat, the others lowered themselves to the crowded benches. No one spoke directly to her, but she knew all the men remained aware of her. More than one paused in the middle of a curse to glance guiltily in her direction. She smiled at her plate. This was the first time she had considered herself a civilizing influence. Putting her fingers over her mouth to hide her mirth, she wondered if these men would believe her tale of the potluck at Fifteen Above. She doubted if any of them considered her likely to tilt a plate of stew over a man’s head. She relaxed when she saw Joel and Kevin crossing the room toward her. The two partners sat on either side of her. She picked up her napkin and unrolled it to reveal her eating utensils. With her eyes on her lap, she took great pains to spread the stained cloth neatly. She brushed out every wrinkle before she lifted her gaze as far as the tabletop. "So this is why you two have been hiding out at Fifteen Above." Samantha looked across the table to see a burly man regarding her with unveiled lust. If he had taken a bath recently she saw no signs of it in his long hair which hung in oil thick strands past his collar. Pale eyes, squinting as he must when the sun burned bright on the crisp, Arctic snow, roamed along her face with obvious enjoyment. On her right, Joel lowered his knife to the table. Out of sight of anyone, he put his hand over hers in her lap. Easily he said, "I had no idea that working hard would be considered hiding out, Ogilvie." "Haven’t you realized you will never get a sparkle out of that useless skunk claim?" He laughed heartily. "So in what dance hall did you find this desperate whore?" "What makes you think she’s desperate?" asked Joel with a studied air of nonchalance. That he had not responded to the greater insult warned Samantha he was trying to hold his temper in rein. Ogilvie chuckled. "She’s with you two, isn’t she?" His gaze moved again to Samantha. "I can understand why you would need two when neither of them is half the man I am. What do you say you get rid of these fools and let me show you the rewards of being with a real man?" "Is that so, Mr. Ogilvie?" She squeezed Joel’s hand to keep him from interrupting. Opening her eyes wide, she affixed an innocent expression on her face. She put her other hand on Kevin’s arm as he started to react to Ogilvie’s lascivious smile. "Sure thing." "I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ogilvie, but I don’t think you are qualified to show me anything." Her dark eyebrows lowered as she glowered at the man. "I trust you will remember to keep your insulting inferences to yourself. These men are my business partners." Again he laughed. "I’m sure of that, darling. When you are looking for customers for her, Gilchrist, Houseman, be sure to remember me." His amusement faded as the two men flanking Samantha exploded from their bench. The table tilted to spray food over everyone. Hands grabbed her and pulled her

away as the room dissolved into violence. Fists rose to impact dully on thick flesh. Screeches rang through the room. She could not see where Kevin or Joel were in the midst of the melee. Scared they would be hurt, she started to step forward. The hands on her tightened. A hissed warning not to be foolish whistled in her ears. She did not look over her shoulder to see who held her. All of her thoughts centered on the two men who shared her home. A strong voice carried over the other shouts. She saw the pastor standing next to his altar. His face was disfigured with rage as he stared at the fight taking place in his church. Again he shouted. Those closest to him stopped fighting. They helped him halt the others. She was not surprised to see Joel standing next to the minister. Scanning the room, she discovered Kevin wiping blood from his cracked lip and smiling at a man leaning drunkenly on him. When all fists were halted, the man dressed in black demanded, "How can you act like this in God’s house? We open the hall to offer you a good meal so you don’t sicken as you did last winter from too many flapjacks and beans. We plan entertainments for free so you don’t have to spend your hard earned dust at the Gold Hill Hotel or the dance hall or Dewey’s. This is how you repay us?" He glared about the room. "Who started this?" As the men looked at the floor like guilty children trying to avoid his piercing eyes, Samantha bit her lip. Shaking off the hands holding her, she stepped over a broken bench and walked resolutely toward the clergyman. She stood straight before him. "I did, Reverend," she said with quiet dignity. A slow smile crossed his lips as he saw the sorrow in her dark eyes. That she was brave enough to come forward when the men cowered before his wrath pleased him. He did not have to be told what had happened. From where he was serving the food, he had seen how the men ogled her. He recalled she had come with Houseman and Gilchrist. Almost everyone had heard about the mail order bride they had lured north on some false tale. "You?" At his much lighter tone, she relaxed and smiled. "I’m afraid so, parson. I’m afraid I am a disruptive influence." "I would say so." His scowl returned as he looked past her. "What are you men standing there for? Stop gawking like fools at the circus. Clean up this mess. Young lady, please come with me." Not sure what he intended, she nodded. While Mrs. Young handed out cleaning rags and set the men to resurrecting the dining room, Samantha followed the pastor into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter by the dry sink. Dark eyes regarded her with a kindness which she had not experienced in longer than she could remember. Since she had arrived in the Yukon, everyone seemed to want something from her. She needed someone could offer warmth without expecting what she could not give in return. "You are Miss Perry, aren’t you?" "Yes, Reverend." He smiled when he heard her terse answer. "I guess you have learned you are quite famous here along the Bonanza." "It’s a notoriety which doesn’t appeal to me." "I’m glad to hear that." He folded his arms over his chest. "Do you need help?" Her forehead creased with bafflement. "Help, Reverend?" "Reverend Healy," he supplied with a smile at her continued tact. "I thought you

might be trapped in a situation distressful for one who is obviously a lady." She understood immediately what he wanted to say. Eager to assure him she appreciated his concern, she explained, "I’m fine, Reverend Healy, at Fifteen Above. I made it clear to Mr. Gilchrist and Mr. Houseman from the beginning that I did not intend to be bound by an agreement which wasn’t the one I expected. Presently, I’m taking care of the household chores while they prospect. I get a third of all they discover once I pay my fare north back to them." "That could be a long time. Most of these claims turn out barren." "I do have the promise of a ticket out of Dawson to St. Michael." She did not add more about First Mate Penn’s offer. That was a secret she wanted to keep. If Joel or Kevin discovered it, they might find a way to undermine her plans. "I thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I really am." Patting her shoulder, he nodded. "I think you are quite capable of handling the situation. If, at any time, it becomes too much, remember you can find shelter here." "Thank you, Reverend." "My pleasure, Miss Perry." When his eyes became hard, she could not understand what she had said to anger him. He added as he looked past her, "I assume you are interested in the whereabouts of Miss Perry, Mr. Gilchrist." Samantha whirled to see Joel’s grin. He showed no signs of being in a fight. It was out of character for him to become involved in such antics, so she was sure he would find a way to emerge unscathed. "I am, and I see she is safe with you. With some of those rowdy fools out there, I didn’t want to think of her being insulted by another." He grew serious. "You didn’t get hurt, did you?" She put her hand on his arm. "I am fine, Joel. I know better than to strike a man twice my size." His fingers covered hers. Gazing down into her face, he discovered her sharp tone covered other, more dangerous emotions she did not want to reveal before the minister. Sam had been concerned about him being injured in the fisticuffs. With satisfaction, he decided she was falling in love with him. He congratulated himself silently. His efforts had not been in vain, after all. When he started to turn to lead her back into the hall, the clergyman said, "Before you go, Mr. Gilchrist, I suggest you think about the damage done to the hall. I will be passing a plate momentarily." "I expected that, Reverend." "Good!" Reverend Healy’s smile did not match his sharp response. Stepping past them, he walked out of the kitchen. Through the door, they could hear the raucous complaints which met his announcement. Joel drew her closer so he could feel the trembling of her restrained fear. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, he whispered against her hair, "Sam, I told you that you tempt me. I didn’t intend for you to tempt me to do something crazy like pretending I was your dashing cavalier set to rescue you from that ogre Ogilvie." "It wasn’t necessary." "No, but it was fun." His other arm went around her waist as she tried to move away. He did not want this moment to end so soon. "That is one thing I always have when you are around. Fun! Perhaps not the type I would choose, but interesting experiences nonetheless." She laughed lowly. "You are very odd, Mr. Gilchrist." "And you are very beautiful, Miss Perry."

His mouth caressed hers for the briefest second before he released her. Keeping her hand on his arm, he walked with her into the main room. That her face glowed with the unsaited love burning inside him he knew without looking at her. Samantha accepted the plate held out to her by the voluble Mrs. Young. Sitting at the closest table, she ate without raising her eyes from her dish. She did not want anyone to guess she was more distressed by her fright for Joel than she was about causing a brawl in a church. Over and over she asked herself what it was about him which urged her to surrender to the longing they shared. Even if she forgot the many times he irritated her with his sharp comments, she could not understand why she continued to want to be with him all the time. Love. She forced the word from her mind. She did not want to love Joel Gilchrist. Although he murmured endearments when he held her, she disregarded any hopes she might have that he would come to love her. Above all else, Joel cared about what he was going to gain out of any situation. She knew that. She knew all of that. Then. . .why couldn’t she stop imagining a life with him far from the rustic horrors of the Klondike? She ignored the answer bouncing through her head. She did not want to love him. She would never allow herself to be so foolish as to fall in love with him. Never.

Chapter Eleven The stars seared the black sky with cold fire. Wisps of the Aurora Borealis flowed in ghostly patterns between them. Beneath Samantha’s feet, the mud crunched as the cold hardened it into strange patterns. No wagons could navigate the frozen sea contorted by uneven waves. "I think I need a drink after all that," mused Joel as he put his left hand in his coat pocket. The other held Samantha’s. "Where to? Dewey’s or the dance hall?" His partner said quietly, "I think Samantha would prefer the dance hall. Remember what we witnessed last time we went to Dewey’s?" "You are probably right, although I never have seen a fight there more enthusiastic than the one at the church." "Joel," she admonished. Her fingers tightened on his arm. "Can’t we forget that?" He laughed lightly at her embarrassment. Her modesty continued to charm him. Many of the more brazen women of the Yukon would have been delighted to have a roomful of men fighting for their honor. "I doubt any of us will forget it for a long time. After the hefty, so-called donation the reverend extracted from every man there, every pocket will recall its fleecing." "I heard McKinnon talking about a major strike on the Eldorado last month," said Kevin in a hasty attempt to ease the distress he could feel in Samantha’s fingers resting on his arm. Gladly Samantha allowed him to change the subject. She did not want to recall the uneasy thoughts she had shared with her supper. It was simpler to lie to

herself and pretend she cared about both of these men equally. As she had too often, she wondered why "Joel Houseman" could not have existed. His gentleness and aspirations had matched her own. Sometimes she caught glimpses of the imaginary man in Joel, but he refused to let her close enough to discover if it was just another act to seduce her into his arms. They did not walk far before they paused in front of a storefront brightened with two kerosene lanterns. The sod topped, one story building did not resemble its much finer, Dawson cousins. Yet, when they stepped inside, she could have been transported back to the larger city and one of the dance halls she had peered into as she walked with Mrs. Kellogg along the streets. Nearly a dozen women danced with customers in the center of the crowded room. Many other men waited with ill-concealed impatience for the minute long dance to be completed. Then they would pay their dollar for an equally short turn. Kevin pointed to an empty table. He pushed past his partner to pull out a chair of Samantha. Thanking him gratefully, she kept her eyes lowered. While the blond signaled for a waiter, Joel took her hand out of sight beneath the table. "Honey, don’t be so concerned about those men looking at you," he whispered. "They enjoy looking at women, especially beautiful ones like you." "I’m just tired of being appraised like a mare on the auction block." He chuckled at her surprisingly outspoken words on this subject which always brought an enticing blush to her cheeks. "I can assure you, Sam, they don’t look at you in that way. They just are envious of Kevin and me for being with the prettiest woman in Grand Forks." She brushed aside his effusive compliments, wondering if he knew how much they disquieted her. Never could she guess if he was being honest or merely joking. She started to retort, but made the mistake of looking directly in his face revealed by the rosy glow of the colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Whether he was teasing her with his words or not, there was one thing about which he always was truthful. He wanted her. Leaning toward him, she did not realize she had placed her hand on his steel hard leg until he put his over it. Her lips softened while her fingers slid away from his along the soft wool so different from his usual denim trousers. A glow she had never seen came into his eyes. Gentler, yet more avaricious than any expression she had seen showcased in the center of sapphire flames. "Sam," he breathed. The single word sent the storm within her spiraling into heated heights, swirling her brain through a maze of muted, love lighted images, stirring the hunger for the feast she yearned to sample. Her hand rose of its own volition to touch his expressive eyebrows punctuating the commands of his eyes. A laugh to her right halted her, bursting the momentary dream of fleeing the present to find rapture in the madness of love. Turning from the sudden flare of blue rage which was not aimed at her, she fixed a tremulous smile on her face. She knew how weak it was when Kevin asked, "Is something bothering you, Samantha? I know this isn’t exactly the entertainment you are accustomed to." "Nothing is wrong," she lied. She could not tell him how she forgot his existence as well as the rest of the world when she dissolved into warm pools of muscle sapping desire. "A drink?" He sensed she was not being totally honest with him, but wondered what he expected. From the beginning, this strange relationship had been based on lies.

"Wine, please." "Beer for me," added Joel. Kevin’s smile tightened. He had been cast into the role of servant again. The waiter was busy arguing with one of the dance hall girls and ignored Kevin’s attempts to gain his attention. Shoving back his chair, he rose with a low rumble of disgust. Samantha watched him use his frustration as a battering ram to propel him through the crowd. "Joel, sometimes you treat him so poorly. Ordering him about. He doesn’t like it, you know." "Really?" When her eyes met his cynicism, all her sweet thoughts vanished into oblivion. The open reaction inflamed his jealousy again, and a self satisfied smirk twisted his lips. "I guess I should come to you with any questions I might have about my partner. Kevin and I have been together for nearly a year and a half, but you seem to be the expert on his sensitive feelings." "Stop it!" "You’ve said that before." His arm snaked around her to hold her stiff form against him. "Too damn often!" When she turned her face away, he gripped her cheeks and twisted it back to his. "I’m talking to you, Sam!" Pushing away his fingers, she rubbed the back of her hand against her face. "I realized that. What you don’t realize is that I don’t want to listen to you!" "Listen?" He put his mouth close to her ear and delighted in her involuntary reaction as his breath tantalized the hollows half hidden beneath her hair. "Honey, listen to this. I won’t be able to resist much longer the temptation to quench this thirst I have for your loving." He laughed when his hand halted hers raising to strike him. Enraged by his assumption she would accept this heavy-handed wooing, she tried to break out of his iron embrace. His continued amusement increased her rage. Samantha used the only weapon she possessed. She ceased struggling his arms. That only added to his already overblown sense of conceit by emphasizing he could control her physically. Slyly, with her eyes directly on his face so she would miss none of his reaction, she asked, "Is this how you courted the women in your past?" When the mirth left his eyes to be replaced by shock, she did not feel the sense of victory she had expected. His arms slipped from her as she rose. She did not know where she was going, but she had to escape from the pain displayed so vividly on his face. She was astonished to when his hand reached for hers. Her mouth became as round as her eyes when a gentle tug brought her back to stand before him. The words she had never expected to hear from him left her speechless. "I’m sorry, Sam." When she did not answer, his ever-present smile eased the straight line of his lips. "Do I need to get down on my knees and beg?" "It might not be a bad idea." It was more comfortable to jest than reveal the emotions boiling through her. He stood to pull out her chair for her. As her eyes moved along the high collar of his shirt, up over the firmly defined squareness of his stubborn chin, and along the hawk strong line of his nose to his eyes, his hand came around her to stroke the straight line of her back. Neither of them could bend enough to be the first to admit the truth. Hiding the fear of intimacy behind a façade of sharp wit protected them from what they both wanted desperately. "Are you sure you want me on bended knee?" he asked softly. "I might be tempted to do more than ask for your forgiveness."

"I’m not required to accept any offer, remember?" Breathing in the soft perfume of her recently washed hair so close to his nose, he nodded ruefully. "I remember all too well." His voice regained its normal jauntiness. "And here comes Kevin with our drinks." Samantha sat while Joel joked with his partner about doing the honors next time and soothed Kevin’s bruised feelings. She was not surprised when Joel’s arm went along the back of her chair as he took his own again. The conversation swirled around them, drowning out the clinking sound of the music. Every minute or so, the piano player would pause, so the dance hall girls could switch partners. It would begin again to last sixty seconds before the pattern repeated. When the uneven melody stopped and did not restart, Samantha looked across the room in confusion. A man jumped on the stage set to one side. He waved for their attention. Kevin paused in the middle of a sentence to watch the wiry man bouncing from one foot to the other in eager anticipation. "What is it, Riley?" called one of the miners standing at the edge of the dance floor. He shouted toward the piano. "Fingers, we want to dance. Play!" "Can’t!" yelled the piano player. He leaned back in his chair to watch the stage. With a wide grin, he announced, "Time for a bit of business." Samantha looked at Joel as the men began to cheer. He lifted his shoulders to show he was as confused as she was about what was taking place. Glancing around the room, she saw the grins on the faces surrounding them. A shiver of unease cut through her. What these men were waiting for might not be something she wished to see. When Kevin rose to refill his mug at the bar, she felt bereft. She wanted both of the men with her to safeguard her from the lunacy running rampant in the north. Applause greeted two men carrying a large meat scale onto the stage. From one hook hung a sling. The other side held a flat board attached to four wires to keep it even. They placed it carefully in the middle of the broad platform. Dipping their hats with faked gentility, they leaped down onto the floor to watch the entertainment to come. The remaining man leaned forward and grasped the hand of a dance hall girl. Her crimson locks glowed in the lanterns lighting the stage. The shoulder strap of her gown dipped immodestly down her arms, revealing too much of her full breasts. Samantha tried to ignore the heated blush climbing her cheeks as a low, animalistic murmur of admiration rumbled through the room. "It’s all right, Sam," came a whisper to break her mesmerism with the woman strutting on the stage. She ripped her eyes from the spectacle to meet the concerned expression on Joel’s face. "Is it?" she asked as quietly. Her voice trembled. "Is it really?" Taking her hand, he held it beneath the table. He smiled to ease her pulse he throbbing along her wrist. Neither he nor Kevin would take her to a place where the stage shows bordered on lewdness. He suspected she would react with something other than embarrassment when she realized what was actually taking place. This was not the first time this had happened, although he had never witnessed the culmination of this uniquely Klondike custom. The skinny man on the stage raised the woman’s hand as she dipped in a deep bow, offering the view of even more skin to those closest to her. He called, "You all know this is Lucky Lille. You all know I asked her to be my wife." "And I told him no!" the gaudily dressed woman interjected in her too shrill voice. The announcement brought peals of laughter from the floor.

"So I offered her a dowry payable tonight, if she would marry me." He doffed his hat, revealing his balding head. "And this time — " "I said ‘Yes!’." Hoots and catcalls resounded through the room. With a wiggle hardly appropriate for the regal stance she tried to portray, Lille walked to the scales. She smiled and waved to the men as she sat down in the sling. "Take a good look, boys. After tonight, I’ll be a respectable, married woman." Samantha gasped in horror. When she saw Joel’s smile, she jerked her hand out of his. She grasped her bag and started to rise. His hand on her arm kept her in her seat. "Stay," he ordered softly. "This is harmless." "Harmless! She’s selling herself — " "For her weight in gold." Joel’s lips tightened in a coldly unemotional glare. "It’s her life, Sam. Let her choose how she will waste it. She has decided what she wants and is going after it, instead of vacillating." She snapped. "Is that what you want?" She flung her hand toward the stage and the giggling woman. "It is appealing, but you would never trade yourself for gold, would you?" Appalled he would suggest such a thing, even as a joke, she glared at the table. When he put his fingers under her chin to turn her to look at him, she twisted her head away. She gasped when he took her chair and scraped it across the floor to face him. His hands framed her cheeks. "Let me go!" "That is one thing I don’t ever intend to do, Sam," he said in a tone far gentler than his hand on her face. When he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, she raised her fingers to the freshly smoothed surface of his cheek. He released her suddenly, and she knew Kevin approached. The blond was in a jovial mood as he sat next to her. Picking up the mug of beer which had replaced his empty one, he took a long draught on it. He wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve, paying no attention to the dark stain on the wool. "Belles from Thirty Above is up at the bar, Joel," he said with a broad smile. "Wants to talk to you about the storage of pay dirt for the winter." "You know as much about that as I do." "He wants to talk to you. That’s what he said." He shrugged. "Maybe he trusts your highfalutin’ words more than plain speaking." Joel stood. "Belles is an ass. Oh, what the hell! My beer is gone anyhow. More for you, Samantha?" She wondered what he would say if she told him what she wanted more of. All she did was shake her head. Her glass of wine was barely touched. She did not know when Joel could have swallowed his. It took all her strength of will not to watch him as he walked across the room. She liked the way he moved with an assured grace. Kevin’s voice brought her attention back to him. "So Lille and Riley are finally going to get hitched?" He laughed. "Damn expensive bride. Even more expensive than you, Samantha." "Kevin," she warned, "I think you are drinking too much." "And why not? It’s a wedding. It’s time to celebrate." He pushed his face close to hers. The odor of beer washed over her, and she wondered how many he had been drinking while he was with other friends at the bar. He could not be this intoxicated on less than two beers. "Too bad it isn’t our wedding. I wouldn’t drink too much that night. I would want to be aware of every inch of you in our bed."

She shoved him away. When he cursed good-naturedly at the beer sloshing onto his arm, she knew he was too soused to care what she said or did. All he thought of were his own desires to love her. "Now, Sammy," he crooned as he slipped his arm around her waist, "don’t be so cold. Hell, girl, you know how I feel about you." "Kev — " The rest of her words disappeared beneath his beer soured lips. When she slid out of his embrace, he wrenched her from her chair and onto his lap. She averted her face to avoid his mouth. Thick fingers twisted in her hair. She gasped in mixed astonishment and pain as he jerked her face back under his. When she saw the malevolent gleam in his glazed eyes, she bit back the reprimand she had been about to make. This was not the gentle Kevin who delighted in bringing her flowers to grace their table. She faced a stranger. A stranger who terrified her with his fury. In a tightly clipped tone, he whispered, "I nearly lost once before, but he found he couldn’t take her away from me." "He? Who?" she managed to say past her teeth clenched with anguish. He shook her, smiling when she winced. "You’re different, Samantha. You won’t be like her. She cried. You wouldn’t cry, would you?" "Kevin, I don’t know what you are talking about!" Desperation tainted her voice. She searched the room for Joel. As never before, she needed him to help her escape from this manifestation of Kevin Houseman. "Kevin, please. You are hurting me." He blinked rapidly. Much more slowly his fingers released her hair. He placed her on her feet and stood. "Excuse me," he said in a nearly inaudible tone. "I think I have had too much to drink." Instantly her fear became compassion. "Sit down. Sit down and relax. You’ll be feeling better in a minute." "What’s the matter here?" Samantha wanted to shout praises when she heard Joel’s steady voice. He would keep this queer Kevin away from her. Then she wondered how she could answer him. Kevin already had made it clear this was not normal for him. She did not want to embarrass him further. "Kevin isn’t feeling well." His blue gaze left her colorless face to rest on his partner slouched in his chair. When he asked if Kevin wanted to leave, the blond shook his head slowly and grumbled some unintelligible answer. Joel’s next question was halted by an announcement from the stage. "Five thousand dollars! A bride for five thousand dollars! ‘Tis a bargain. Where’s the preacher?" A man dressed in dusty blacks was aided onto the stage. The rapid service reminded Samantha of the insincere one she had witnessed when Gwen married her Mr. Munroe in Dawson. She doubted if this bride and groom were any more serious. Everything was a game in the Yukon. Everything but the search for the elusive, gold flakes along the waterways. When Riley kissed his new wife, cheers echoed among the rafters. Orders for a free drink for all the witnesses increased the volume and enthusiasm. The untuned clank of the piano barely could pierce the shouts as the men surged to the bar. "What do you want?" asked Kevin in his slurred voice. "Nothing, thank you." She hesitated when she was about to say she thought he had had enough also.

"Nothing?" "Not now." She smiled uneasily. "Joel?" "Just got one. I’m all set." Rising, Kevin patted her companionably on the shoulder and reeled toward the crowd on the opposite side of the room. She watched him bounce off one man, then another. None of them seemed concerned by his erratic steps. "Does he always drink this much?" she asked softly. Joel shook his head. "I have seen him this drunk only once before. Right after we arrived in Dawson, he struck up a very warm friendship with a dance hall girl at the Aurora Hotel. Her name is Leslie Morgain. I never saw a man so smitten so fast. He wanted to marry her. She was more interested in the hundred dollars a night she could make for dancing and pushing drinks." He picked up his mug and sipped on the cold beer reflectively. "He still sees her each time he goes to Dawson. Of course that may have changed now." "Because of me?" "Looking for compliments again, Sam?" She scowled at his infuriating grin. "Can’t you be serious about this? He is your partner, after all." "My partner, not my child. He’s a grown man. If he finds comfort in alcohol, I won’t deny him that solace." He took her hand and drew her to her feet. "Let’s dance, Sam." "Dance? Can we?" "I will pay you a dollar if that is what you want." He stroked her arm as her cold features thawed into a smile. Whatever Kevin said to Sam when the liquor loosened his tongue had disturbed her greatly. When she stepped into his arms, she was not astounded at how perfectly they fit her. Although the rhythm of the dance was broken by misplayed notes and the pause for the dance hall girls to change partners, he twirled her evenly across the floor. With the powerful fluidity of all his movements, he created a complex pattern her feet followed with ease. As her skirt belled at the apex of each turn, it flowed back to spin around his legs. His hand on her back urged her closer to him. The taut line of his thighs brushed hers on each step, creating a flush across her face which had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Thin layers of material could not keep her skin from sensing the movement of muscles all along his virile form. Her fingers behind his neck slipped into his high collar to tease the small hairs at his nape. She hoped he was watching where he steered her through the crowd of dancers. All she could see was the indigo velvet of his gaze. It cushioned her as his arms did when he reclined her beneath him to tease her body with his loving. Moving with him to this different tempo, she could think only of those infrequent kisses. As they circled the room away from the table where Kevin had returned to sit in morose silence, Joel murmured in her ear, "Finally it’s my turn to dance with you. I have been waiting for this since the night you first danced with Kevin in the cabin. Now I know it’s true." She looked up into his face so near to hers. "What is true?" "You feel as perfect in my arms when we dance as I imagined while I watched you with him." Leaning her head on the sturdy expanse of his chest, she listened to his

heartbeat in a counter tempo to the music. He stroked her back, creating a pattern of sparkles across her skin. She smiled in a happiness she had never known. Months ago, she would have laughed if anyone had told her she could fall in love with this haughty, obsessed man. She feared she was proving them right. Her head jerked up as they paused in the middle of a step. Joel’s boot came down directly on the toe of her thin slipper. She yelped with pain. When he pushed her behind him, she was not surprised to look up and see the bruised face of a man she recognized immediately as the troublemaker from the church dinner. She had not realized Joel had struck Ogilvie so often. His face was a paisley print of bruises. That Joel had escaped without a mark became more astonishing. With a fierce shove, the brutish Ogilvie pushed Joel aside. He laughed and grabbed Samantha. "Changed your line of business to dancing, honey?" he taunted. "Mr. Ogilvie, take your fat hands off me! I don’t want to dance with a man whose face is the color of blueberries!" He growled at her insult. His eyes glittered with intoxicated lust as he stuck a dollar bill between the buttons of her shirt. She tried to pull her hands from his grip to throw the money on the floor. Abruptly, she fell to the hard boards as the large man was whirled about to face an enraged Joel. Her scream was no louder than the sound of the dark haired man’s fist impacting once again on the drunken man’s face. Ogilvie reeled. She cried out as his heavy boots nearly stepped on her fingers. Scrambling to her feet, she tried to escape from the fight. Those watching the impromptu entertainment eagerly kept her penned in the center of the room. She lifted her hands to ward off Ogilvie as he raised his fists, but he was no longer interested in her. Another shriek erupted from her lips as she saw the bigger man strike Joel. He went down onto his knees and was struggling to his feet only to meet the thick fist again. Blood splattered across the floor. She did not think. There was no time. As she heard Ogilvie’s exultant laughter, she reached for a heavy tray on a nearby table. Raising it high, she brought it down against his head. It stunned him. She did not wait for him to turn on her like an pain-maddened bull. Again she lifted it. With a dull clunk, it hit him a second and a third time. Only when he slumped face down on the floor did she stop. She clutched the dented tray, ready to use it if the man tried to hurt her or Joel again. Until someone took it from her, she stood over the prone body, her chest heaving with her efforts. She did not realize she was the one sobbing uncontrollably until she was turned against a strong body she recognized instantly. Holding onto Joel as tightly as she had her weapon, she wept in relief and horror. "Hush, Sam," came the mumbled words spoken into her hair. "Hush. Now isn’t the time to cry. You were so brave." "I wasn’t brave. I was mad!" she gulped between body-shaking sobs. A scratch on the floor became a chair. He lowered her onto it gently. Her stiff body refused to answer her demands. Someone pressed a glass into her hands, and she mumbled thanks as she lifted it to her lips. The wine eased the tight bands around her chest and allowed her to breathe more normally. Curses sounded as Kevin finally broke through the crowd of spectators to see his partner wiping blood from his mouth on a corner of a tablecloth. He ignored Joel as he dropped to his knees by Samantha. "Honey, are you hurt?"

She blinked at the endearment spoken in a tone used by the Kevin she called her friend, but calmed herself enough to answer coherently. "Don’t worry about me. It’s Joel he struck." She looked over his head to the dark haired man. "Joel?" "I’m fine." He grinned, then grimaced at the sharp pain racing through his head. "I’m much better than I would have been without your help." Gazing at the still unmoving form of the bully sprawled on the floor, he added, "Ogilvie will be suffering a headache far worse than mine." When Kevin rose and put his face close to his partner’s, Joel leaned away with a baffled expression. Samantha leaped to her feet to capture the blond’s raised fist. He nearly shook her off, then lowered his arm to rest on her shoulders. All the time he continued to glare at Joel. In the same strange voice Joel recognized as the one used when they fought in the river shortly after Samantha’s arrival, Kevin said, "Don’t ever risk her like this again. Do you understand? If you do, I will take you apart inch by inch." "Kevin," she murmured, "let’s go. I’m tired. We have a busy day tomorrow." She wanted to defuse this confrontation. The odd timbre of his words brought to mind the terrifying incident when he seemed to alter before her eyes to someone so unlike Kevin Houseman. If she could divert his attention to her again, perhaps this would come to an end. "Of course. Joel, why don’t you get her cloak? C’mon, honey." As they walked toward the door, Samantha looked back at Joel. He saw her eyes speaking of gratitude and a love he had been waiting for her to discover. That expression put a lilt in his step as he scooped up the wool cape from her chair. Meeting them at the door, he smiled. "Shall we go to the hotel? I think we all deserve a good night’s sleep after our adventures. Will you be ready for the same old views tomorrow?" Samantha slipped her arm through his while keeping her fingers on Kevin’s arm. "The same old views will be wonderful as long as I have my partners with me." "Always," he said with fervor. "Always," seconded Kevin. "Always," she added to make it unanimous, but her smile was solely for Joel. She had learned many things on this trip to Grand Forks. Most of all, she discovered she wanted to find out more about this enigmatic man named Joel Gilchrist. She looked forward to learning that in the days and nights ahead.

Chapter Twelve "Kevin!" Samantha cried as she saw him reeling toward her. "What is wrong?" Rushing out into the cool breeze, she put her shoulder beneath his arm to help support him. She had heard the hesitant footsteps beyond the door and knew something was not right in the frost dusted yard. He had no chance to answer as Joel came racing up the hill from the Bonanza. In his hands, he held the irreplaceable tools they used by the sluice. Dropping them next to the door, he said, "He’s sick. He has to get to bed."

"I’m fine," the blond mumbled. "Just feel cold." "I don’t wonder. That river had a layer of ice on it last night. You should be done with the sluicing for the season." She relented when he staggered heavily against her. That his stomach threatened to revolt she could guess by the odd color of his face. "Help me, Joel." He nodded. As she had, he drew Kevin’s arm around his shoulder. Together they aided the increasingly weak man into the cabin. By the time they reached the table, they were supporting him totally. His feet dragged at the end of his rubbery legs. While Joel assisted him into bed, she drew the coffee pot off the warming shelf and placed it on the stove. In the brief minutes between completing that task and joining Joel by the bedside, she could see a marked change for the worse in the sick man. "It might be mountain fever," whispered Joel man before she could ask. "I saw a man with it up the river. They say he got it from a skeeter bite. He suffered horribly." "Did he — did he — ?" He hugged her in silent comfort. Not removing his gaze from the man lost in the dark region of his chills, he shook his head. "No, he didn’t die, but he was so sick, he had to go home. Damn shame it was, for they discovered gold less than a month after he left." The riches possibly waiting in the river were the least of her concerns as she stared at Kevin who was huddled beneath the covers. Strength flowed through her when she realized she had heard of a similar illness along the swampy, low lying river areas of the Ohio. She knew how it should be treated. "Joel, get the blankets off my bed upstairs. While he is cold, we must do everything we can to make him cozy. Within the hour, he will be far warmer than he ever wanted to be." He smiled fleetingly at her courage to battle this enemy she had never met. That Samantha would be squeamish was something he had not considered. Since she arrived on Fifteen Above, she always faced each challenge with forthrightness. He listened to her orders for extra firewood and the medicine bag she kept on a shelf in the addition. Even as he climbed the ladder to her private quarters, he noticed she was pouring a cup of coffee for the sick man. Samantha sat on the edge of the bed. In the week since their trip to Grand Forks, she had avoided Kevin, unsure which man of the two seemingly coexisting in his body she would meet. Her fear of the vicious stranger kept her far from her friend. She forgot that as she stroked his knuckles which were pale on the coverlet. "Kevin?" she called quietly. She put a hand under the cup. His shivers shook the bed so hard, she was afraid the motion would spill it on her skirt. She did not want one of them to be scalded. "Kevin, I have something warm for you to drink." As if it took the greatest effort, his eyes opened slowly. He tried to focus them on her. She knew he could see her when he smiled and whispered, "Samantha?" "I have some hot coffee to ease the chill. Let me help you sit, and you can have a sip." "I’m so cold." His chattering teeth made it nearly impossible to discern his words. She slipped her arm beneath his shoulders and eased him up slightly. It demanded every ounce of her concentration to balance him and keep the cup at his lips. She clenched her jaw as she fought not to lose him or the mug. Every muscle along her shoulder blades protested the mistreatment.

When another, broader arm slid beneath hers, she raised her eyes to Joel’s worried ones. She flashed him a grateful smile before she moved to place the cup more securely at Kevin’s lips. How much longer she could have done both, she was unsure. He waved the drink away after a few more sips. Joel lowered him gently against the pillows. When Samantha placed her fingers on Kevin’s forehead, Joel’s blue eyes watched her face to determine what he knew already. The heat of fever had billowed through the coarse material of Kevin’s shirt to burn his partner. If it was mountain fever, it was running its course very rapidly. Too rapidly. Yet, if Kevin did not suffer from that fever, it must be something else. Something potentially more dangerous for all of them than the chronic chills and sweat disease. Samantha did not meet his eyes as she drew the other blankets over the bed and tucked them around the ailing man. Her slender fingers smoothed the covers as lovingly as a doting parent. It did not surprise Joel when she bent to place a cool kiss against Kevin’s flushed forehead. As she straightened and went to the stove to warm some of the previous night’s soup to offer her patient, Joel kept his gaze on her lithe form. Her actions seconded what she had told him, but he had refused to believe. She did love Kevin Houseman. She loved him as a sister loved a brother, as a friend, as a partner reaching for a distant dream. She loved him differently from how she loved Joel Gilchrist. Although she refused to speak of her true feelings, his heart heard what hers sang silently. "Can I help?" he asked quietly. She lifted her head to see his weak smile. It seemed so wrong to feel this wondrous when Kevin suffered. Yet she could not help being happy when Joel offered her that special expression he saved solely for her. Her left hand stroked his arm as she continued to stir the soup. "Are you returning to the creek?" "Not if you need me here." "You know how much I need you," she whispered. The flare in his eyes told her he guessed at the true meaning of her words. His folded fingers tilted her chin as his lips descended to touch hers for a succulent second. When his other arm went around her waist, his hand tangled in the ribbons of her skirt. He forced the fantasy of undoing them from his mind. "Joel, the soup will burn." Slowly she stepped away, although she did not want to leave the tantalizing caress of his body. No longer did he try to hide the strength of his yearning to stroke her with slow, sensual fingers until she forgot everything but the need to be his. "It’s not the only thing overheating in this room." "Joel!" Her reprimand was accompanied by a smile as he winked at her. She recognized his attempt to defuse the power of the desire ready to detonate between them. She poured the soup in a bowl and placed it on the warming shelf. It would be ready when Kevin awoke. His weak body had succumbed to sleep. She sighed as she wondered when she would have a chance to do the same. Not until her partner was well. When she held up the ladle in a silent question, Joel nodded. The soup smelled wonderful to him. His feet still squished in his damp boots, and he wondered if they would be warm again before spring. She placed a dish before him and sat on the opposite bench. "None for you, Sam?"

"I can’t eat when I’m worried." She glanced involuntarily at the bed where the man was too motionless. "You don’t want to become ill." A wry smile eased the fear on her face. "No, I don’t want to become ill, but mountain fever isn’t contagious." "If it is that." Her gaze followed the spoon from the bowl to his mouth. "I’m going to continue with the assumption that he has mountain fever. The treatment is the same as for any other fever. I hope we can help him." Joel placed his hand over hers. Softly, as if it was the most precious vow, he said, "I hope so, too." *** *** *** That heartfelt phrase stayed with Samantha all through the days to follow. Whatever held Kevin in its horrible grip refused to release him to her guesswork attempts to ease his suffering. Joel did all he could to help, but more than once she sent him to the river to work. The patience necessary to take care of a bedridden patient was something he did not possess. Day and night followed in quick succession. With the hours of sunlight shortening nearly perceptively, Joel tried to do all the work outside in the few hours of bright light. The long, Arctic twilights indolently welcomed the night. When a week had passed, she saw the first signs of a turn toward recovery. The periods of delirium when Kevin moaned unintelligible phrases and gnashed his clenched teeth disappeared. Occasionally he opened his eyes and seemed to remember where he was. Too weak to speak, he drank the broth always waiting for him. At the end of that first day of improvement, she was shocked to see him relapse into the deep fever again. She wondered if she only had imagined the change for the better. The thought of the ongoing battle seemed too much to face. Tears scorched the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Preparing herself for another long night, Samantha poured herself some coffee and put a mug before Joel sitting at the table. She lifted her cup to her lips, then lowered it without taking a drink. Her eyes strayed to the man lost in his delirium. "Should we try to take him to a hospital?" "No." She looked at the distress on Joel’s face, and her stomach knotted tighter. When she had thought the fears were hers alone, she could try to disregard them. Knowing he was as anxious as her gave them a validity she did not want them to have. Softly, she moaned, "He is so sick." "There’s no hospital in Grand Forks. You know how far it is to Dawson. If the river was frozen and we had a dog team, it would be a possibility. Along the shore on horseback would be too dangerous." He paused and looked at her directly for the first time in days, for they had found it easier to ignore the pain on each other’s face. "We won’t attempt that unless we have no other choice." "Oh, God help us," she breathed, realizing what he meant. Only if it appeared Kevin would die could they risk him on the rough journey. When he stood, his arm around her shoulders offered her the sturdiness of his body. She needed that strength as she never had. None of her remedies seemed to make a lasting difference in Kevin’s condition. "I don’t want him to die," she continued. "Neither do I, sweetheart. He has taught me more than I could have learned alone about life here in the Yukon." He smiled with gentle memories. "Everything was

so good between us." "Until I arrived?" His finger wiped a lone tear from her cheek. To see this strong woman weep unmanned him. He wanted to hold her until the power of love strangled the fear taunting them. "Sam, what has happened isn’t your fault. We were fools to believe we could find a woman we could twist to our plans. Maybe another would have been less resistant than you, but you were the one I wanted." "You?" "Both of us." She moved away from him. Guilt severed her dreams of being in his arms and feeling his lips on hers. She should not be thinking of the way his azure eyes glowed. All her thoughts should be of the man fighting his illness across the small room. When the light touch of hands along her upper arms turned her back to Joel, she wanted to tell him to stop, that this was all wrong. She could not. Battling this sickness had drained her, and she needed his love to revive her. Suddenly the dam broke. Tears littered his shirt as she pressed her face to his chest. Sitting on the bench, he settled her on his knees. She cried for everything which had gone wrong since the beginning of her odyssey to the north. There was so much. Promises broken and illusions shredded beyond recognition. Her sorrow spread over Joel as he leaned his head against hers. He listened to her sobs and the mumbled phrases of the man on the bed. Silently, he stared at the red glow peeking from beneath one of the doors of the stove. If Kevin could not return to work, there would be no choice but to sell the claim. The springtide would require two to man the sluice. When she jumped from his lap to rush across the room, his grim thoughts were interrupted. He watched as she knelt by the bed and took Kevin’s hand in hers. Her head bent forward to listen to his muttered words. With a smile he knew she did not feel, she stroked his forehead and whispered something too low for Joel to hear. When Kevin gave a muted chuckle, a warmth spread through his partner, thawing some of the coldness which had frozen his heart since the woman he loved betrayed him. Sam’s gentle spirit had found a home in this rustic cabin. More than anything else, he realized she needed to be needed. He recalled the few letters which had reached them from the failing farm in the Ohio River valley. So often he had read them that he could remember every word she had written. Over and over he had sensed her frustration at being considered only a burden. She yearned to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved. His eyes moved along her once more. Following her profile that was brightened by her smile, he wondered if she would be willing to share a future with him beyond this cabin. He had asked her to marry him more than once. Each time she refused, but he noted the longer and longer hesitation. Samantha sensed his gaze. Letting hers drift from Kevin’s face to where Joel still sat on the bench, she tried to suppress a flutter in her center. As she had so often, she wondered if this was love, this wondrous thrill leaping through her like a hind crashing amid the trees. She wanted to speak the words held prisoner in her heart, but feared the circumstances if he repulsed her. . .or if he said he loved her also. "Samantha?" "Yes, Kevin. I’m right here." She patted his perspiration soaked hand. The fever

had broken again, and she rejoiced he recognized her. If the fire on his skin would stay away through the night, he might be better in the morning. She scowled as she looked at the addition, wondering what time it was. Starlight was defused through the strange window to ripple on the ribbed floorboards. "Do you love me, Samantha?" She swallowed harshly, covering her shock by smoothing the covers over him. In a studiously pleasant voice, she said, "Now isn’t the time to speak about such things. You know you are very, very special to me, Kevin Houseman, but all I want you to do is think about getting well." His fingers shook as he lifted her hand to his lips. Fever glazed eyes met hers when he whispered, "I love you." Turning away before her face betrayed her, she said only, "Sleep. I’ll give you your next dose of medicine in an hour. For now, sleep." She slid her hand out of his weakened grip and walked to the back of the cabin to look out the window. The night sky was distorted by the bottles. She shivered as the icy wind seeped through the gaps in the chinking. Her forehead rested against the glass, letting the cold cut through her distress. "Sam, why don’t you go to bed? You’re exhausted." Slowly she faced Joel. In the shadows of this darkened room, what she did Kevin would be unable to see without his glasses. As never before, she was grateful for his nearsightedness. Her hands rose to the sharp planes of Joel’s face. Stroking them, she brought his mouth to hers. She sighed deep into his mouth when he pressed her close to the wall. Every inch of her was reintroduced to his body. The tempo of his breathing matched hers as he kissed her again and again, each filled with more fierce desire. When his lips moved along her face to the bits of skin revealed above her modest blouse, her fingers explored the length of his back. Hard muscles were revealed to her touch. As she moved with the rhythm of the unknown melody evolving from somewhere deep in her center, she sensed his growing passion. "Joel?" she whispered. The single word vanished into a murmur of rapture when his fingers loosened her hair to flow over them. "Yes, my love?" "I love you." He paused as he was about to kiss her again. Brushing her dark tresses back from her face, he moved slightly so he could see her in the dim light. He gave her a bone-melting smile as he asked, "What did you say?" Saucily she retorted, "You heard me." "I know, but I want to hear you say it again." The tip of her finger traced the full line of his lower lip until he took her hand in his. As she had teased him, he used his tongue to outline her skin with glowing tingles. She slanted against him, not wanting to miss this opportunity to feel his intriguingly masculine form. "I love you, Joel Gilchrist." He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. Using it to bring her face close to his, he whispered, "And I love you, Sam." He wrapped his arms around her and whirled her about the room in wild abandon. Her dress ballooned around them as they tried to control their laughter which would awaken the sleeping man. Gently he set her on her feet. As his lips lowered to hers, he added, "I’m glad you chose to marry me." "Marry?" She wrenched herself out of his arms and stared into his incredulous

face. "I didn’t say I would marry you, Joel." "If you love me — " "Don’t!" she cried, pressing her hands over her ears. "Don’t argue with me and spoil this moment." "Spoil it?" He forced her arms down to her side. His brow furrowed as he regarded her face once more closed to hide her emotions. "Sam, you tell me you love me, but you won’t talk of marrying me." "Why are you in such a hurry?" She spoke the one thought which had bothered her since the first time he spoke of marriage. "We have only discovered this love. Can’t we savor it as it is?" His mouth pounced on hers, urging it to surrender. She longed to succumb to the temptation to do as he wished, but she knew she had to select the way she thought was best. Pushing herself out of his arms, she smoothed her dress back into place. "Joel, I must check on Kevin." "You just want to avoid this conversation." She paused in mid step to glare over her shoulder at him. "If you must know the truth, the answer is yes. I don’t want to debate this with you. While I tend to Kevin, why don’t you think about why I might be indecisive about marrying you? Why don’t you start the list with your overbearing assumption that you can tell me how to run my life?" "Go to bed," he ordered. "You are exhausted." "You can’t resist bossing me, can you? Don’t you listen to anything I say?" she cried, too frustrated to realize her voice was waking the man at the far end of the room. "Yes, I listen to everything you say." He moved closer to her. His dusky silhouette swallowed her. Tender fingers traced the aching muscles of her back. "Sam, we can finish this fight tomorrow, but I want you to go to sleep tonight. You look nearly as peaked as Kevin." She closed her eyes and sagged against him. As his arms went around her, she whispered, "I don’t understand why I love you." "Because I’m irresistible?" "Hardly." When he chuckled against her hair, she nestled closer to him. "Maybe because I’m a glutton for heartache." She looked up when he did not respond lightly to her teasing. Even with the shadows distorting his face, she could see the odd tilt of his eyebrows in a sorrowful expression. "Joel?" He yawned broadly. "Sorry, I’m tired, too, but I have slept since you have. Go to bed. I will wake you if I need your help." The odd glitter returned to his eyes as he added, "I do love you, Sam. Whatever happens, remember that I love you." "I don’t understand you. What do you mean by ‘whatever happens’?" "Don’t worry about it." He tweaked her nose in a childish manner. "All I want you to think about is the dreams of me holding you." Samantha considered delving deeper to determine what bothered him when everything should be so perfect. Then she paused. She was worn out from tending to Kevin. He was exhausted from trying to do two men’s chores. All that would come of her questions would be more angry recriminations. After the house was back to normal, she would try to find out why he was asking her forgiveness for a crime he had not committed. *** *** *** "How is Kevin doing?"

Samantha smiled at Joel as she stopped at the edge of the riverbank. Piles of dirt nearly obliterated the ground. Joel and Kevin had weeks of work ahead of them in the spring. Lightly she answered, "He ate a good breakfast, and he’s sleeping now. I don’t think it was mountain fever. Whatever it was should be gone in a few days, if he continues to rest. As soon as he is better, I want you to help me convince him to go into Dawson to see the doctor at Good Samaritan Hospital. If it’s something which can recur, he should be prepared." Her eyes roved over his wet clothes as her face grew serious. "You have been pushing yourselves too much." "The weather is changing. Winter will be here any day. If we don’t get this done now, it will have to wait until next April. Once the water freezes during the day, we won’t be able to work." He lifted his shovel to drop another water soaked load in the sluice. "It is rough to do by myself, because it’s a two man job." "Two man or two person?" With a laugh, he said, "You don’t have to prove to me you are a full partner, Sam. I know you work damn hard. This just isn’t work for a lady." "No?" Before he could speak, she slipped past him and down the bank into the river. She swallowed her groan as her feet went numb almost immediately. She had not expected the water to be this cold and still be able to run without solidifying. Without looking at him, she pulled off her gloves and shoved up the sleeves of her coat. She went to the far side of the sluice and began spreading the dirt as she had seen the men do. "Get out of here!" She looked up to see Joel’s angry face. His rage did not frighten her, for she knew it was because he cared for her. "You need help. I can help." Dropping the shovel onto the bank, he rounded the end of the sluice and grabbed her arm. He swung her toward him. "You can help best by getting out of this river before you freeze, too." "Let me help you, Joel. You can’t do this all alone. I don’t want you to sicken also." "How about you?" He frowned at the stubborn glare from her dark eyes. "Those cotton petticoats are no protection from the cold. You aren’t immune to whatever made Kevin ill." "I’m fine. I want to help." Her fingertip brushed his ear before slipping beneath his collar to discover the warmer skin there. "Let me help you." His gaze eased along her to where the water smoothed her skirts to the lines of her slender legs. Releasing her arm, he put his own around her. He smiled as she gasped when he jerked her to him. The sensation of the frigid water disappeared as he savored holding her slender form so close. "How in hell do you expect me to concentrate on work when you look so desirable when you are drenched, Sam?" His fingers, stiff with his hours of work, stroked her face. "When I see the lovely, virtuous Samantha Perry with her dress plastered to her limbs, all I can think of is how much I want to touch you." "More than the gold?" she asked in wide-eyed awe which did not fool him. He laughed. "Always looking for compliments, my dear?" "The truth." Her eyes lost their teasing glow as she regarded him seriously. "The truth?" he repeated when she did not lose her intense expression. "It seems we have been damnably short of that around here since you arrived." "You aren’t jealous of Kevin still, are you?"

Gently, he cupped her chin in his stiff fingers. "No, for I know the truth now. I was thinking more of our plans for the future." "I don’t know." She sighed. Joel’s continual insistence that she agree to marry him bothered her. Until she was sure herself of what she wanted, she could not make that decision. "But I do." She let her gaze move along the stern line of his jaw shadowed by unshaven stubble. An ache grew within her as she discovered the pain he hid. She wondered how long it had been secreted behind his façade of cockiness. How many heated words had they exchanged needlessly because neither of them could admit what would make them happy? She wondered if she had been denying the inevitable since she arrived at Fifteen Above. Softly she answered with a sincerity missing before, "I don’t know if I can marry you. Maybe if I had known the truth before I came here. . .You are so different from the man I expected to love. I must get used to that. And to you." "At least you are being honest." His fingers tilted her face upward. "You are, aren’t you?" "Yes." Suddenly she dimpled. "I’m also being honest when I say my legs are freezing. If I don’t get to work soon, I swear they will turn to sticks of ice." With a smile, his lips descended to seduce hers into surrender. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her arms around him kept her from being swept away on the currents of passion which flowed faster than the water swirling around her legs. Suddenly he pushed away from her and cursed. When she saw him chase his hat down the current of the creek, she laughed until tears ran along her cheeks. As if it had a mind of its own and intended to prevent him from recapturing the felt hat, the water twisted it out from beneath his fingers again and again. When he finally caught it just before it entered the rapids between Fifteen Above and Fourteen Above, she cheered and clapped her hands. He held it over his head in a victorious pose that lasted only as long as it took the water to pour out on his bare head. Splashing back to her, he pressed it back on his soaked hair. He bent and kissed her lightly. "Dammit, woman, why do I love you so much?" "Because you love the fact you leave me weak with laughter at your foolishness." His eyebrow arched in the caricature of a burlesque villain. "You might be right about that, my dear, but I can think of other things I would rather do to strip you of your strength." "We have to work now," she said softly, overwhelmed by the eager passion in his voice. "Joel, I’m freezing. At least let me help you instead of making your day longer. Perhaps tonight you can play some music for us." "We’ll see, Sam." He grinned as he ruffled her hair. "Back to work, honey. Then we can discuss our plans for this evening." "You are impossible!" "And you love me because of it." Samantha decided it was wiser to end this conversation when Joel stepped toward her to take her into his arms again. Already she regretted her offer to help in the creek, but she could not quit. The quicker they finished the day’s tasks, the quicker they could get out of this water. For the rest of the hours of sunlight, that thought repeated in her head like the endless tolling of a church bell. Her legs cramped if she stood in any position too long. She continually rocked back and forth from one foot to the

other to seek a comfortable way to stand. More than once the wet dirt splashed out of the sluice to strike her in the face. She waved aside Joel’s apologies and wiped her face on her filthy sleeve. After an hour, the motions became automatic. She no longer thought about what her hands and legs did. With her eyes on the sluice, she concentrated only on the dirt. Black sifted through her fingers, but no sign of glitter emerged to make their labors worthwhile. She did not notice when Joel stopped shoveling or that he went to the far end of the sluice to check what had washed down to the heaviest particles. His shoulders sagged when he saw no sign of gold. At the beginning of the spring thaw, they had found enough to allow them to continue. They had not sluiced a sparkle since Samantha arrived. Joel looked at her, working with the same slow sense of pain he had suffered his first days of walking the trail north with a fifty pound pack on his back. It was an anguish that defied definition. It began with an ache in the middle of the legs which rose to the center of the back and perched most heavily on the shoulders. He had overcome that through constant labor and building up those muscles, but he would never forget what he suffered. "Sam?" It did not surprise him she did not respond. All of her strength was being expended to keep her from admitting defeat. He put his arm around her to assist her out of the water. "Come on, honey. It’s time to quit." "Oh, I’m so glad." She looked up at him with childish expectation. "Did we find gold?" "Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you home where you can warm up." Unashamed of her fatigue, she leaned against him. The wind blew the clammy hand of her skirts tighter to her legs. She shivered as she stumbled along the path. It would take all night for her wool skirt to dry before the stove. "You did well," came his whisper in her ear. "I’m exhausted." Joel laughed softly. "You should be. You kept pace with me all day. We worked for six hours." "Thank goodness the sun sets earlier now. I never could have managed to put in a day like you and Kevin did when I first got here." "You did well," he repeated. He stopped and turned her to face him. When she put her head against his chest, he stroked her back. Samantha did not want to move. The gentle massage of his hands eased the pain of muscles she had not known she had before today. Every step added to her agony. She wanted nothing more than simply to fall asleep cradled in his strong arms. At the thought, she started. Pulling out of his arms, she forced her abused body toward the cabin. She could not shrug off his hand when he caught her and whirled her to look at him again. "Sam?" The confusion on his face invisible in the twilight could be heard in his voice. "Let me go. Please, just let me go." At the near hysteria in her cry, he tightened his grip on her. "Sam, what is it?" "I’m scared," she murmured. She could not hide the truth any longer. "I’m so very scared, Joel." His brow rutted with bafflement. "Scared? Of what?" She sagged, fatigue adding fire to the tears burning in her eyes. Her fingers

caressed his face rough with its day’s growth of black whiskers. "Of you. Of you and the way you make me feel." "How do I make you feel?" He enfolded her in his arms again. The lustrous glow of her eyes in the deepening purple of the evening urged him to watch them close in eager delight as he kissed her. "Scared and. . ." "And?" he prompted when she did not continue. When she spoke, he could barely hear the whisper of her words which were deliciously warm against his wind-lashed skin. "Wonderful." He took her face in his hands. Bending so their eyes were on the same level, he tried to share with her his own turbulent feelings. His words repeated what his eyes told her. "Scared and wonderful. That’s no different from the conflict in me, sweetheart." He placed his lips against her forehead, before adding, "And I think it is thrilling." "Thrilling?" She pulled away to look at him from an arm’s length. She could imagine nothing of the sort about the confusion tying her center into spasms. "Undoubtedly." He laughed as he put his arms under her knees and scooped her up to rest against his chest. Although his body had been strained with the long hours of work, when he held her all of that was forgotten. "I can imagine carrying you to some secluded, green wood bower and loving you all through the night." She laughed, her exhaustion lowering the last of her barriers to him. "That sounds lovely except for a few small details." "Such as?" he asked in the same, light tone. "I doubt if something as civilized as a green wood bower exists in the Yukon. If we stay out all night long, we would probably freeze to death. Lastly, I doubt if I can stay awake through supper." His husky tones caressed her ear. "I could try to keep you awake, Sam." "I’m sure." She yawned broadly and laughed. "But I think even you would lose tonight, Joel." "Another night?" She caught her breath at the intense tone of his words. The simple question forced her to see what she had been trying to avoid. She wanted Joel to hold her and teach her of the love they shared. That was why she thought of such a lovely moment so often. Unsure of anything but the truth of her answer, she whispered, "Yes." "Soon?" "Yes." When he placed her on her feet and held out his hand, she wondered when that bewitching moment would come. She walked with him to the cabin. The flickering light of candles did not brave very far into the darkness. It clung in a close circle to the rustic cabin built on its mound above the fierce force of the river. Another shadow was silhouetted against the deepening twilight. "Here we are, Sam," he murmured. "Let me tend to the horse. Then I will help you cook us supper." "Supper?" Her body dragged with fatigue. All she wanted was to find her room and sleep until she was refreshed. "You don’t need to help. You have worked all day, too." "But I want to help." He smiled into her tired eyes and saw the longing that no toil could squeeze out of her. "Everything I do with you is fun, honey. Besides, I want you to stay healthy. Just in case." With an irreverent wink, he left her

alone with her dreams in front of the door. She reached for the door latch and wondered if those dreams would ever become reality. Even as she greeted Kevin and asked how he felt, she tried to think of a way she could convince him to grant her and Joel some time alone without revealing the truth. Pushing the thought from her mind, she sat on a bench to pull off her wet boots and regale him with tales of her misadventures in the creek. Despite the cold and cramp of her body, she did not think she had ever been so happy. She hoped this joy would last forever.

Chapter Thirteen Samantha came out of the cabin to see Joel setting a board on top of two logs. He had leaned them against the wall, so they would not tip over. Carefully he was placing four dishes of liquid on it. "What are you doing?" He glanced up and smiled as he saw her shivering in the doorway. "Put on something warm, and I’ll show you." Grabbing her thickest cloak from the hook, she wrapped it around her shoulders. She hurried out into the wind. It flipped the cape and her skirt ahead of it, revealing the red flannel encasing her legs. As the temperature had turned sharply colder, she delighted in the warmth of the horrid appearing, flannel underwear. Joel’s eyes twinkled as he raised them to look at her face chafed by the breeze. He said nothing about her choice of clothing, for he did not want to enrage her by stating that he had been correct. The Union suit had become a necessity. "I’m making a Klondike thermometer," he explained. "We have a thermometer in the cabin. Why don’t you simply hang it out here? Then we won’t run the risk of spilling these each time we go in and out of the house." He teased her hair until she grimaced and pulled up her hood. "You sweet innocent, the liquid in that first bowl is mercury. The same as in the thermometer by the stove. We bought two and broke one to get this. When the real cold arrives in a week or two, this will freeze solid." "Mercury will freeze?" she gasped. "Anything can up here, honey. Just remember that, if you get the urge to go for a walk in the snow. When the temperature reaches minus 38, the mercury will become solid. The next is whiskey from Dewey’s in Grand Forks. If that freezes, it shows the air is at minus 55." He lifted the third dish. "Smell this." She did as he ordered. Turning her face away, she choked on the strong fumes. In a tight voice, she gasped, "You could have warned me. That is kerosene." "Valuable liquid, too. Forty dollars a gallon." He placed it back on the impromptu table. "Pray that doesn’t solidify. If it does, it is getting damn cold at around 65 degrees below zero." "65 degrees below zero? You must be joking!"

Joel smiled at the disbelief on her face. "I wish I was. We had a week last year when the kerosene never thawed. This last is some of the Perry Davis’s Pain-Killer you bought at the store. We had none last year, so I don’t know if it got to the minus 75 degrees when that freezes." He chuckled. "Cheer up, Sam. Everything is fluid now." "The letters you sent told me it was cold, but I had no idea it would be like this." Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him suspiciously. She had learned not to trust that too charming grin. "You aren’t teasing me, are you?" "Would I do that to you? Don’t answer. I would, but unfortunately this is the truth." Taking her hand, he drew her toward the stable. "Come with me. I have to feed the horse. I’ll be glad when Kevin is feeling better." His words reminded her of why she had been looking for him. "Joel, I think he should see a doctor. He does not seem to be bouncing back from whatever this was. That cough is too deep in his chest. It should have disappeared by now." He opened the door of the small building and ushered her inside. It was warm with the smell of hay and animal waste. The horse whooshed a greeting at them as Joel slapped its rump. He opened a valuable bag of grain and poured a ladleful into the tray before the animal. "Have you spoken to Kevin about this?" he asked. "I suggested it obliquely once, and he cut me off before I could finish my subtle hint." Samantha laughed. The idea of Joel being subtle about anything amused her. His forthrightness had attracted her at the same time it enraged her. She leaned against the prickly pile of hay and crossed her arms over her chest to hold in any bit of body heat. "I think we should confront him together," she said, suddenly serious. When she met his gaze, she knew he agreed. More all the time, she was discovering she did not need to speak or hear Joel talk to share what was in their minds. It seemed as their love melded their hearts together, it intertwined their souls. "Now?" She nodded. "The weather is clear." Smiling grimly, she added, "And everything is still liquid." "If he takes Skookum here, he will be able to conserve his energy. He knows enough folks along the river, so he can find a friend to stay overnight with on the way." "What?" she gasped. "Then why did we sleep in the woods on our way out from Dawson?" Joel motioned her aside as he dug the pitchfork deep into the haystack. "Use your imagination, honey." "He was a gentleman." "Kevin Houseman would be. It’s a good thing he won the flip of the coin and came into Dawson to meet you. I might have let you believe the lies and married you as Joel Houseman." Laughing again, she watched the ease of his body as he flung the hay into the stall. Everything he did appeared to be as beautifully choreographed as a ballet. Even when he sharpened his razor in the morning to shave, she enjoyed watching the innately melodic movements of his muscles beneath his skin. He brought the lightness of his fingers flitting across the neck of the violin to all his motions. Although she enjoyed this moment of privacy with him, she was glad when he said it was time to return to the cabin. They seldom left it except for necessary tasks. With the river becoming more solidly frozen, no work could be done there.

That pleased Samantha. She did not want to have to repeat too often the back bending labor in the icy water. Kevin looked up from his seat by the fire. He smiled as he lifted the blanket from his shoulders and motioned for Samantha to take his place on the bench. "Where did you go to?" "Joel was showing me your unique way of telling the temperature." "Unique is correct," he said, responding to her smile with his own. "It matches the weather. I was hoping we had spent our last winter in the Klondike." His face lengthened before a spasm of coughs dropped him to the bench again. She used the metal ladle to break the ice on the top of the water bucket and offered him a serving of the cold water. Gratefully he drank it as soon as his ravaged throat allowed. Taking it back, she said softly, "We think you should see a doctor, Kevin." "Can’t." "Why not?" Joel demanded. His partner pointed to a wooden box on a small shelf next to the door. "You know how much gold dust there is in there. Nothing. Doctors like to be paid, you know." Samantha went to the small box, not much larger than one containing matches, and picked it up to carry it back to the table. "Open it." "I — " His voice disappeared into the coughing fit again. He lifted trembling fingers to the top. Holding his hand over his mouth so no violent volley of coughs would blow away the precious dust, he stared at the half filled box. "Where did this come from?" "First payment I owe you two. I figure it’s about half of what it cost for my trip north." She did not add an equal amount remained hidden under her bed upstairs. A cautious part of her refused to let her reveal the total amount she had made by cleaning the prospector’s filthy clothes. "Take what you need for the doctor and go to the hospital in Dawson." Kevin looked from her pleading face to the equally serious features of his partner. Although he did not want to admit it, he knew they were correct. He needed to see a doctor to regain his health. After the months of work he had given to this claim, he did not want to give up simply because he could not survive a Klondike winter. "All right," he said simply. "I’ll go. I can stay with Byrd on Thirty Below. That’s close in. Then I will be able to make it home after seeing the doctor." "I’m glad!" Samantha hugged him quickly. "I don’t want to think of either of my partners suffering all winter. Let me start a warm meal for us. I want you to be plenty warm when you leave in the morning." His arms released her slowly. He tried to catch her eye, but she was busy chattering about what she would pack for him. If he held Samantha and showed her the love he had for her, he doubted if he would feel the cold all the way to Dawson. As it was. . . Leslie would be in Dawson. Since he first saw Samantha, he had not thought about the woman who had jilted him. Once his mind had been busy with ways to make Leslie change her mind, but even that vanished when the mail order bride he shared with Joel arrived. For the first time in too long, he thought about the lush pressure of Leslie’s full breasts as he paid her a dollar for a dance or more for other entertainment. As Samantha laughed with his partner, Kevin’s hand closed over the small box. This would allow him to enjoy his earthy Leslie for more than one night. He

would bring Samantha a present home from the city to show her that he had missed her. Truthfully she would be in his thoughts, for he knew even when he satisfied his need for a woman with Leslie, he would be loving this dark haired beauty in his mind. His only consolation about failing to woo Samantha into his arms was being sure Joel had been as unsuccessful. The long hours of darkness and leisure they would have during the endless months of winter might grant him the chance to have pretty Samantha to himself. To himself. . .That thought lingered. He glanced at Joel and saw him taking out his violin to play while Samantha kneaded the bread she would cook tonight for their breakfast. If he went into Dawson, Samantha and his partner would have the privacy he craved. He smiled as he pocketed the container of gold. She had made it so very clear she did not intend to become involved with either of them. Imagining his homecoming from Dawson, sated with the well-practiced lovemaking of Leslie, he knew he would have pity for his partner who had panted futilely after the skirts of a woman who refused to surrender. He laughed as he rose to throw a few other things in his knapsack. It should be a good trip. *** *** *** Samantha tried to sleep, but the cold ate into her bones, crunching, keeping her awake. She hoped Kevin had reached his friends and was warm tonight. When Joel came in for supper tonight, he laughingly had told her both the mercury and the whiskey were frozen. She found nothing amusing in that. In her attic far from the stovepipe peeking through the first floor roof in the original cabin, she shivered. If they had finished the fireplace chimney in the addition, she could have been cozy with the heat stored in the stones. Each time she forced her eyes to close, they popped open as she imagined freezing to death in this isolated cabin. She was conscious of every inch of her trembling skin. She knew she could not spend the night here. Wrapping her blanket around her shoulders, Samantha ran quickly across the freezing floor. Her toes in their heavy, wool socks gripped the rungs of the ladder. Through the darkness, she moved with the ease of memory. The stove glowed feebly in the cold. She held out her hands to its warmth which barely challenged the chill. Closing her eyes, she savored any touch of heat. After the horrid summer weather, she had thought she never wanted to be drenched with perspiration again. The first bite of winter had taught her differently. "Oh, Joel, did I wake you?" she asked as she heard movement behind her. The mumbled words were distorted by a yawn. She laughed lightly and drew the pot from its shelf on the top of the stove. With one hand keeping the concealing covers around her, she reached for two cups and the tin of tea. She put them on the table, but he picked them up and shook his head. With his voice thick with sleep, he murmured, "Too cold even that far away. We can sit here on the floor by the stove. I think it is the only warm place in this blasted cabin." He grinned as he saw her shoulders shaking with the cold. "I was hoping last winter was a fluke. I guess this is what we must expect every year we stay." "I hope Kevin is somewhere secure." The days when his partner’s name on her lips had created rage were past. He simply held up the cups while she poured the lukewarm water in them. Neither wanted to wait the length of time it would take to heat the water fully. "He’s probably holed up with friends dreaming about being in some saloon in Dawson

with his arms around his dollar a dance girl." "Leslie?" "Probably, if he can convince her to take him back. I hope he’s enjoying himself." He took a sip of the weak tea. "He does so seldom. I have never met a man more determined to look on the sour side of life." "Joel!" Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he urged her to sit on the floor next to him. She leaned her head on him. With her toes curled beneath her and the blanket, she could pretend she was as warm everywhere as she was where his fingers stroked her arm. Lazily, she asked, "How did you and Kevin partner? You are as opposite as two men can be. I don’t know how you convinced me you were one person." "That’s easily explained. When I wrote to you — " "No," she interrupted, "I want to hear how you became partners. You wrote to me in the winter. I don’t want to talk about those months. Tell me about something that happened when it was summer." He laughed and squeezed her. "Winter has not yet started, sweetheart. All right, you want to know how Kevin and I became partners. It was simple. He arrived at Skagway the same day I did. We started north at the same time. It quickly became obvious to us that we couldn’t walk that treacherously sloping Dead Horse Trail with all the supplies we needed separately. Others were partnering, so we did the same. It was fortunate, for his horse dropped dead on the trail. Once we reached Dawson, footsore and nearly broken in spirit, it seemed obvious to us that two men could find gold twice as fast as one man alone. So we were lucky enough to get Fifteen Above." He snorted. "Lucky? Maybe not good luck." When his voice lost its lightness on the last words, she sat to face him. "You’ll find the big strike, Joel. I know you will." "I wish I had your faith." He sighed as he saw the sympathy in her sad smile. "Sometimes it seems I have been working all my life in that damn creek. I see others come in and walk away wealthy men. Some seem to have the good fortune to sink their shovels into the earth and come up with the glitter." "You know it isn’t that easy!" "You truly believe we will hit pay dirt, don’t you?" Her forehead rutted with bafflement as she exclaimed, "Of course! You don’t think I would have stayed here if I thought I had teamed up with a pair of losers, do you? I have been working hard, and I’m anxious to see my third of the profits." "You talk as if you had a choice. You were forced to stay here. You had no place else to go." "No, Joel, that’s not true," she said slowly. Since she had told him how she loved him, she wanted to be equally honest about other things. "I had somewhere else to go." It was his turn to be confused. "Somewhere else? What are you talking about?" Quickly she explained the offer she had had before she left the steamship Merwyn. It did not take her long to add that Mrs. Kellogg had made her another one. "You see, I didn’t have to stay here. I wanted to." "From the beginning?" "From the beginning!" She dimpled as she reached up to stroke the sharp angles of his face. "Of course, at first I wanted simply to make your life miserable." He laughed as he put his fingers over hers. "You did, but you stayed longer than that."

"I did." "Because you decided to fall in love with me?" Instantly her face closed up. She snatched her fingers away from him. Loving him had not been a conscious decision. Life had become so sweet in the cabin she did not want to change it by admitting the truth of the desire which had kept her awake more than the cold. She wanted Joel to take her in his arms and to his bed. Although she had been concerned the previous night how she would keep him away once Kevin left, she learned today she need not have worried. All day, he had been the epitome of a gentleman, laughing with her, talking, playing music after supper. When Joel asked her what was wrong, she said nothing. She was not sure why anything could be wrong when he had done exactly as she had thought she wanted. With regret, she rose to place her cup on the table. She would wash the dishes tomorrow when the temperature in the cabin reached above freezing. Standing by the bench, she tried to convince her feet to take her away from the precious warmth of the fire to return to her frigid bed. A strange, scratching sound astonished her. She turned to see Joel pushing the bedframe toward the stove. Silently she watched as he maneuvered the heavy piece of furniture to within a foot of the stove. If he moved it closer, a vagrant bedcover might catch fire. Sighing, she turned to walk to the ladder. She envied him his warm bed tonight. She vowed never to complain about the heavy, summer heat of the Yukon again. "Good night," she said as she stepped past him. His broad hand plucked one of hers from the front of her blanket. She hastily clenched the drooping cover. Although her thick, flannel nightgown offered complete modesty, she flushed at the thought of him seeing her so underdressed. He placed her hand on the headboard. "Get in," he urged. "Joel, I don’t think. . ." His laughter drowned out the rest of her words. "It’s your choice. If you go back to the loft, you may freeze before morning. You can sleep here." "With you?" Her eyes widened as he gave her a lustful leer. "With me. I don’t have any great desire to freeze to death either." He sat on the bed and drew the stiff covers over him. Taking her fingers between his, he rubbed the cold from them. "Sam, don’t be foolish. If you love me, you have to trust me, too." She looked at him warm beneath the blankets and tightened her grip on the one around her. If she laid down beside him, she doubted if they could curb the desires which raced through them each time their gazes touched. Her tongue moistened the suddenly arid surface of her lips. This might be the end of yet another dream. So often she had imagined how heavenly it would be for him to hold her when she wore the chiffon peignoir still packed in the case beneath her bed. Her fingers could feel the heavy flannel of her ugly nightgown. "Well?" he demanded with a smile. Holding out his hand for her other hand, he added, "If you want to stay there all night, you will have to excuse me. I have a full day of digging pay dirt tomorrow. I need to get some sleep tonight." Walking to the far side of the bed, she leaned on the headboard. His shockingly blue eyes met her gaze evenly. They dropped to follow the blanket as she let it slide from her shoulders. When they rose to hers again, she could see the amusement in them. She knew how hideous her high necked gown was, but it had the distinction of being warm.

"Push over," she ordered quietly. "Over? Why?" "Oh, Joel, be a gentleman just once," she admonished as she loosened her hair. She wanted its thickness around her to shut out the cold. "Let me have the side closer to the stove tonight." He took her hand and lifted the covers to welcome her into his arms. As she discovered the warmth where his body had been resting, she sighed with soft delight. He settled her into the pillows and rested on one elbow to look down into her face. His fingers itched to touch the dark velvet cascading along the muslin pillowcase, but he did not put out his hand to stroke her hair. Samantha tried to think of something to say, but all coherent thoughts vanished from her head. The open neckline of his long underwear revealed the dark matting across his chest. She wondered if it would be as silken as the strands on his head or as spiky as his mustache. "Good night," she whispered. "And thank you, Joel." She turned away from him. Placing her hand under her cheek, she closed her eyes and willed herself to forget him so close to her. That was impossible. The bed shifted slightly. "A kiss good night?" came the breath soft against her ear. "One. I guess I owe you that much in gratitude for letting me share your bed." Compliantly she rolled onto her back as his arm slid beneath her. "Sam, I have been trying to convince you to join me here for so long. I’m the one who is grateful." His lips burning into hers snatched her breath away, sweeping aside anything she could have said. As her arms rose to encircle his shoulders beneath the covers, she knew she had been fooling only herself. She wanted him to love her. She had been waiting all day, all her life, for this moment. He lifted his mouth from hers to whisper, "Sam?" "Love me, Joel." "I do." Placing his lips against her ear, he smiled as a quiver raced all along her body. "And I will." She closed her eyes as his tongue teased the lobe of her ear before tracing its uneven ridges. All hesitation disappeared as he brushed her hair aside so he could place a fiery line of kisses along her neck. Her hand dropped under the neck of his collarless shirt to feel the smooth surface of his back. His skin was as warm as it had beneath the droplets of summer sweat. When his mouth found hers, he delved deep for hidden pleasures. Luxuriating in the slippery texture he found within, he let her accelerated breath puff into him. With fingers more eager to discover a treasure than when he touched the infrequent, gold flakes in the river, he undid the buttons on the front of her nightgown. He was astonished to touch silken skin beneath it. "Where is your long underwear?" he asked, watching her eyes open with dazed pleasure. A throaty chuckle drifted from her lips. "I didn’t put it back on after I washed the clothes this morning." "It didn’t dry?" She smiled coquettishly as she began to unbutton the front of his shirt muted to gray by the dim light. "I thought it might be inconvenient when we. . ." Her voice faded as he hungrily pressed his lips to the skin revealed by her loosened clothes. Her words revealed how much she wanted him to be her lover. All the reasons why

he had yearned to have her fall in love with him dissolved into the single, mind-sapping need to hold her without the thickness of their clothes between them. When his mouth moved to the gentle slope of her breast, she moaned in unspeakable rapture. She never had imagined anything could be as luscious as the warm wetness of his tongue creating spirals across her skin. Her own lips were at the perfect angle to taste the rough unevenness of his ear. A smile tipped them when she heard his half-drawn breath of delight. She chuckled lightly when he realized her nightgown would not slide down her shoulders. Rising to her knees, she pulled it up to pool around her on the bed. As she leaned over him, she teased, "If I take this off, I will be chilly. Will you keep me warm?" His whisper seared her soul. "Always, Sam." His eyes stared, entranced, as she lifted the nightgown over her head. Even in the sparse glow of the stove, he could see the outline of her body through the thin material of her chemise. Sitting, he put his hands on the narrow straps at her shoulders. He lowered them along her arms, following the drooping neckline with his lips. In the downy valley between her breasts, he placed gentle licks before letting the cotton lead him across the flat plane of her abdomen. Swaying against him, she gasped as he returned to fascinate her lips with his own. She found her bones had melted in the fire of his love. Against her bare skin, the roughness of his winter wear accented her awareness of every inch of him. She did not need his urging to continue opening the front of his shirt. As he had, she pushed the sleeves along his arms. A single sigh of his name escaped from her lips when she delighted in the furred breadth of his chest over her. She pulled him to her, wanting to be so close she could feel the beat of his heart with her own. "Just a moment," he whispered. She sat to watch as he rose. Easily he pushed the one piece, Union suit along the lean line of his legs. Her eyes widened as her gaze dared to explore him eagerly. The sight of his naked form augmented her yearning to find a way to fill the demanding void within her. She reached to trace the darkness warm against his chest to where it narrowed near his hips. Although she had touched him in the past, she was not prepared for the vigor of his reaction. With a muttered cry, he pressed her to the bed. He propelled her breath away with his lightning fast kisses. She clutched tight to his shoulders as he bent to tease the tip of her breast with his tongue. A pulse beat louder than her heart. It came from far inside her where the maelstrom of desire ripped away the last shreds of sanity. Her fingers twisted in his hair as he sought to find the source of that tempo moving her. She succumbed to the potency of the bewitchment of his touch. Swaying to a pattern she longed to share with the man she loved, she reached to pull his mouth against hers. Looking down into her face softened with her surrender to his love, he knew he could not wait any longer for what he had wanted since the moment he saw her bright eyes gazing at him from a wrinkled photograph. He placed his mouth over hers as he brought them together to find the surcease of their oneness in the love they shared. All his fantasies came to fruition as her velvet softness welcomed him. She was aware of everything and nothing as she floated on the spiraling storm of her passion. It sent her flying higher into crystal clouds until, with a

thunderous explosion, she was swallowed by the golden power of the sun’s heat. She faded into it, taking his love with her, knowing they would be a part of each other for all time. *** *** *** The icy fingers of the wind tore Samantha away from her sweet recreations of love. When she shivered, she heard a gentle laugh. She opened her eyes to see Joel’s smile bright in the twilight. "I’m cold," she said needlessly. "You weren’t a few minutes ago." He placed his lips against the still uneven pulse beat in her neck. With a gasp of the passion which would never lie quiescent again when this man was near, she whispered, "I love you. I never dreamed being with you would be like this." "I did." He laughed again. "I imagined it over and over until I swore I would go mad with longing. To watch you with all the men who called here to see the most beautiful woman in the Yukon and to do nothing, I was sure I would do something horrible." "Horrible?" He framed her face with his broad, work rough hands. "Yes, my love, horrible. Something like finding a chance to be alone with you and seducing you without waiting for you to choose between Kevin and me." "But, you see, I made the decision to love you long before I met you. I just didn’t want to admit it." Drawing her close to his fading fever of his sated passion, he said with clear confusion, "I thought you loved the man in your imagination. Do you know how hard it was to compete with the perfection of a man who doesn’t exist? A man who never becomes angry at your stubborn insistence to have things your way. A man who understood every nuance of your feelings and always said the right thing. A man who could give you all you want." She was careful the blanket did not slip from her bare shoulders as she leaned over him. Her fingers outlined the shadow of his lips. Fighting the urge to feel them against hers again, she whispered, "That man was you. Oh, he looked like Kevin, for you sent me his picture, but all the sentiments in the letters were yours. I know Kevin cannot read or write, so he would not have been able to compose such lovely missives." Joel did not bother to apologize as he dove into the love swept glow of her eyes. "He thought he was helping." "Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you try to convince me that the man I loved did not exist?" With a shrug, he smiled. "Guilt, perhaps. After all, Kevin did pay half your fare to Dawson. I thought he should have a chance to woo you also. Not that it was easy. I wanted you, for I had fallen in love with the woman who wrote so openly of her dreams of distant vistas. To discover you are prettier than any photograph could show made it more difficult. My frustration with the situation came out too often in anger." "I noticed." "I thought you might have." She nestled into his arms and stared at the darkness clinging to the low roof. Soon she would have to redress, but she wanted to savor the sensation of his naked body against hers for as long as she could. In a thoughtful tone, she murmured, "You are a very nice man, Joel Gilchrist."

"I know that. You know that, but don’t tell anyone else. I would hate to have my reputation ruined." "You have ruined mine," she stated pertly. He tipped her chin up so he could see her face so close to his. "Oh, no, my love. I have simply proven what everyone has known from the moment they met you. You are a loving woman who can make a man’s dreams come true." "Not every man. Just you, Joel Gilchrist." She savored the roughness of his unshaven face beneath her fingers. All along her body were tender spots where the bristles had reddened her skin. It was a delightful reminder of the ecstasy he offered her. When an uncontrollable shiver raced along her, he laughed against her hair. "Cold, Sam?" "Yes. After all, it’s a two bowl night." "Two bowl?" he asked, bafflement filling his deep voice. "Both the mercury and the whiskey are frozen, aren’t they? That is enough reason to be cold." He moved to look down into her smiling face. His hand covered the pliant roundness of her breast, and she softened against him. "If you are chilly, my love, there is one, very fine way of keeping you warm." Her arms drew the blankets over his shoulders as his lips descended on hers. In this sweet cocoon, they would not notice the deepening of the night’s cold. All they wanted to know was the love binding them together. *** *** *** Wind swept snow and a snow-encrusted man into the cabin. Tightening her shawl over her shoulders, Samantha looked up with expectation. Joel had promised to hurry with the chores so they could have the evening together in the sweetness of their love. Through the day, as an early storm had prepared to throw its might against their tiny cabin, they ignored the winds as they discovered the eloquence of the emotion growing between them. She longed to sleep by his side again tonight. "Kevin!" she gasped. Fearing she had shown her disappointment with his return, she leaped to her feet and urged, "Quickly! Get out of those frozen clothes and warm yourself. We didn’t expect you would beat the storm home." He drew off his fogged glasses and put them on the splintered top table. Dark eyes so lifeless in comparison with the fire in Joel’s regarded her myopically. He shrugged off his heavy parka and threw it into a pile by the door. "Samantha, you sure do look beautiful." "We were worried when we saw the snow clouds building on the horizon." Sincerity returned to her voice when she added, "I’m glad you are safe." That was the truth. She just wished he was safe somewhere else, so she could have another night alone with Joel. One was not enough when she did not know when they would have the chance to dissolve in love again. He smiled as he pulled off his boots and dropped them next to his coat. The snow melted into a cold fog around them. Crossing the narrow room, he put his icy hands on her arms and bent to kiss her cheek. His mustache dripped with miniature icicles. "Joel should have explained to you I would try to outrun the storm. It’s too expensive to stay long in Dawson. I left as soon as I saw the doctor. It has simply taken me most of the day to get here." "He told me, but I worried nonetheless." "Did you now?"

"Yes, of course I did!" She wondered if her vehemence was to convince him or herself. Guilt heated her cheeks as she thought of how seldom this man had been in her mind since he left the cabin. "What did the doctor say?" He chuckled. "Avoid drafts. Rest. He hinted at a recurrence of the pneumonia if I overdo." "Pneumonia?" Her cheeks became gray. "Is that what you had? Oh, Kevin, you could have died!" "It’s very nice to hear you being so concerned about me, darling." His squarish hands framed her face and brought her mouth up to meet his lips. Before she could react, he swept her into his arms and was kissing her with a fervor he had never shown in the past. Her heart broke as she did not resist his open desire. Why now? it cried. When he took her acceptance as a yearning to match his own, his tongue tried to tease her lips open to grant him the privilege of intimacy she wanted to share with only one man. His hands moved along her with an eagerness which made the two seem like twice that many. She clamped her elbows to her sides to keep his fingers from stroking her breast. With a chuckle, he found his way past them to touch her with increasing passion. Her own hands pushed against his chest to enable her to escape. "No, my love," he murmured against her neck. "Not this time. Be mine, Samantha." She tried to speak, but his mouth pressed viciously into hers. All of her efforts centered on breathing. She could not halt his fingers loosening the buttons along the front of her blouse. When he placed his cold hands on the lace of her chemise, she moaned in terror. Kevin was too strong. She could not break his hold on her. Another blast of frigid air announced the opening of the door. "All done! Now, how about that evening you promised me? I thought. . ." The joy in Joel’s voice disappeared as he stared across the room to see Samantha in his partner’s arms and his hand possessively on her. Sapphire rage was sharper than the icy wind beyond the log walls. Tightly he said as Samantha whirled away from Kevin, "Welcome home. I’m glad to see you made it back safely before the storm settled in." No one believed the words when they were spoken so differently from Joel’s first ones. He did not look at Samantha who still had her back to them. Her rapid movements told of her attempt to redo the buttons with trembling fingers. Joel redid his coat far more systematically. Picking up the one on the floor, he tossed it to his unspeaking partner. "Let’s finish the chores." Kevin paused as he was following Joel out the door. He gave her a broad wink. She wrapped her arms around herself as she realized he meant to continue with this later. As she watched the two man leave into the already white coated outdoors, she shook with more than the cold. The idyll had ended. Too soon it was over. Now she and Joel must face the consequences of their love.

Chapter Fourteen

Samantha placed a flat slab and a long piece of chalk on the table in front of Kevin. He glanced at her in shock and saw there was no humor on her face. There had been few smiles for any of them since he returned from Dawson. The winter had settled into the valley as if it intended to exact a revenge for the mild weather of the summer. He looked past the stove to the bed where Samantha slept each night. He and Joel now shared the one in the loft. The sense of that was clear. Two bodies could keep each other warm and alive. Silently he groaned as he thought of how he had come downstairs this morning before Samantha woke. The image of her dark hair tangled across his pillow, her fingers innocently folded under her cheek, and her red flannel covered leg revealed nearly to her knee remained in his mind. It taunted him with thoughts of waiting until Joel slept tonight, then coming downstairs to let her take the cold from his bones. His gaze moved along her prim outfit. She wore a heavy sweater over her blouse. Beneath her skirts, a half dozen petticoats and the long underwear thickened her waist and slowed her movements. He did not notice that as he played again through his fantasies her unwitting invitation to join her in the bedstead near the stove. Only with the greatest effort did he rip his eyes from her to note again the stone she had placed in front of him. "What is this, Samantha?" "Write your name," she ordered. "Why?" "Because I asked you to." Her voice remained gentle, although her dark eyes told him she would not allow him to avoid obeying her command. Uneasily he picked up the chalk. He balanced it in his hand. Looking from her to the stone and back again, he shifted on the bench. He remembered other times of staring at a blank slate and trying to devise an excuse to stop what she intended to coerce him into doing. "Just do the best you can," she urged. She leaned forward to place her hands on the end of the table top. Her eyes gauged his reaction, but she still jumped back when he snarled a curse. He threw the chalk to the table. It cracked sharply into several pieces. When she started to speak, he grasped the largest. In the center of the flat rock, he laboriously made an X. He turned it so she could see what he had written. "There! Are you satisfied?" A pang went through her at his obvious pain, but she knew she could not relent. Someone had given up on Kevin years ago. She did not want to let him convince her to do the same. "No," she answered softly. "If you and Joel make the big strike here, Kevin, you are going to be wealthy men. There will many who would be glad to cheat you out of what you have broken your backs to earn. You have to be able to read and write to protect yourself." "I can hire lawyers and accountants to handle my business." She came around the table to sit next to him. Earnestly she asked, "And if they are dishonest? Who will tell you the truth if you can’t read the forms they bring you to sign? The money may disappear from your accounts to theirs without you being the wiser until it’s too late." Refusing to meet her eyes, he glowered at the slate. His clenched fists wanted to strike something to relieve the frustration. It shocked him that this woman

he wanted could see through him to discover his feelings of inadequacy. All his life, he had hidden this stigma which made him less than those raised beyond the coal mining towns of Pennsylvania. He wondered what else she might have sensed. If she had discovered secrets which must remain hidden. . . He shook his head. She could not know what no one but he knew. To think of what would happen if that truth revealed itself to her gentle heart sickened him. Some secrets demanded too large a sacrifice in order to remain concealed. "I could have learned," he grumbled. "When a boy spends twelve hours working below the ground six days a week, he doesn’t have energy to spend on booklearning." Samantha put her hand over his and smiled when he looked at her questioningly. "I want to help." "No!" He stood and swung his leg over the bench. Going to the pail, he reached for the dipper. He snarled when he saw the water was frozen solid. "Damn!" Rising, she poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. "Here, Kevin." She held it out to him as a peace offering, although she had done nothing wrong, but wanting to help him. Softly she asked, "Why won’t you let me teach you to read and write?" "It’s too late," he said as he took the cup. "Why? I will help you." She looked up at him sincerely. If she could do this for him, she would not feel so guilty about what had happened while he was in Dawson. She did not regret one moment of the joy she had shared with Joel, but she wanted to keep from hurting this man who had been wounded by life too often. He put his broad hand on her shoulder and stroked it gently. A slow smile spread across his bearded face. Suddenly he knew he would be a fool to pass up this chance to have Samantha’s attention totally to himself. Since he had returned, he had been unable to miss the change in her relationship with his partner. Her steps lightened when she neared Joel, and her voice soared with joy. He wanted to have her eyes sparkle especially for him as they did when she looked at Joel. "All right, Samantha," he answered almost gleefully. "If you want to work with a very slow student, I will be glad to try to learn what you can teach me. You’re right. This is something I will need to know." "Wonderful!" Taking his hand in hers, she led him back to where the improvised slate sat on the table. She lifted a piece of the chalk and said, "First we will begin with the alphabet. Once you learn that, we can go on to reading." He slipped his arm around her slender waist and leaned forward to watch as she slowly drew an "A" on the stone. Busy chattering about her lesson, she did not seem to notice when his fingers moved along her clandestinely. Not too much, not as passionately as he longed to touch her, for he did not want to scare her away while he had this chance to hold her close. When she looked at him, he refrained from kissing her parted lips. As determined as she was to start this lesson, she would resent such an attempt to court her. He forced his eyes back to what she had written and tried to concentrate on what she was saying instead of the soft curves so close to him. An hour later, she put the schoolwork away, pleased with his progress. Kevin remembered bits of the sporadic education he had been given in the mining town. It heartened her, for she had to struggle to have patience to explain what to her seemed obvious. "Tomorrow again," she vowed. "You are going to be stern taskmaster." He grinned as she poured him another cup of coffee and one for herself. The expression faded slightly when he heard the

banging of boots against the side of the house. Samantha recognized the sound as well. Her heart wanted to sing, but she allowed herself no more than a welcoming smile. Joel blew into the cabin on the forceful propulsion of the ever-present wind. Although she wanted to fling her arms around him and kiss the cold from his lips, she contented herself with a simple greeting and pouring a third cup of the beverage which always waited on the stove. The dark-haired man shrugged off his heavy coat. Holding a packet under his arm, he awkwardly untied his boots and left them behind him to pad in stockinged feet across the room. "Damn, it’s frigid out there today. I would not have attempted this trip into Grand Forks if I had realized the wind would be blowing directly from the North Pole. Thanks," he added when he took the cup. He did not drink it, but just let the steam from the coffee melt the frosting of ice solidifying his mustache and whitening his skin. "Did you get what you wanted?" asked Samantha. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned his gaze on her. It was the one thing that the winter could not cool. Surely a century had passed since the luscious night he held her in love. "I got what I needed," he qualified. When he saw the tint of rose rising along her face, he knew she had understood what he could not say before his partner. He glanced at Kevin. More than once, since the blizzard which had cabinbound them for three days and ended their work in the river, he had tried to introduce the subject of Samantha’s decision to be his lover into a conversation with his partner. Each time, Kevin changed it rapidly, as if he wanted to ignore anything which might destroy his dream of having Sam for his own. Joel shook off his doldrums. If Kevin chose to be intentionally obtuse, he would learn in a far less gentle way. Perhaps he knew already. Sam was finding it impossible to hide her love. Vowing to keep the miserable thoughts from his head, he dropped the package in front of her. "Here," he announced grandly. "Open it." "For me?" He laughed at the childish delight on her face. If Sam only could understand how he longed to shower her with gifts! Not just practical things, but lovely things which would flatter her beauty more than the simple clothes she wore each day in the cabin. "Of course, it’s for you. Aren’t you going to open it?" Samantha did not need a second urging. She pulled off the coarse twine and unfolded the paper. A soft gasp of pleasure fired his blood as he remembered a sweeter version drifting into his ear when he held her in their bed. He swallowed his yearning as he watched her lift out the items in the packet. Easily she drew the bear pelt parka over her arms. The dark fur of the hood she pulled around her face accented her eyes of nearly the same shade. She buttoned the front to find the hem reached nearly to her knees. Savoring the warmth she had thought gone forever, she smoothed the lush fur along her. Her eyes widened as she saw other items on the brown paper sitting on the table. Suede gloves were beaded with a pattern she did not recognize, but she decided instantly they were lovely. When she pulled them over her fingers, she found they fit almost perfectly. That did not astonish her. Joel would be a good judge of her size. Little was missed by his keen eyes. She giggled as she kicked off her shoes and slipped on the fur-lined moccasins. The off-white rabbit fur welcomed her toes into its plushness. She wiggled her feet and laughed again. Standing she spun slowly.

"You look wonderful," said Kevin quickly, wanting to be the first to compliment her. He wondered where Joel had found gold to pay for these garments. All the gold in the box had been spent in Dawson. If either Joel or Samantha wondered at the amount the doctor charged, they did not ask. Kevin offered no explanation where it had gone. "Warm is how I feel, and that’s what is important." She held out her gloved hands to Joel. When he took them, she leaned forward to kiss him much more chastely than she wished. She bent to do the same to the blond man sitting on the bench. "Thank you." Joel drew back her hood and undid the first button. "Don’t get sweaty in there. If you get over warm and take a chill, you could become ill." When her hands raised to complete the task of removing the coat, he could see the longing on her softened face to have him take off more than her jacket while he kept the cold from her. To hide his matching desires, he dropped to the bench and began to speak to Kevin. He hoped he was coherent as his mind continued to plague him with images of pretty Sam loving him. He wondered how long this winter could truly be. *** *** *** As the winter deepened in the far north, Samantha appreciated the clothes Joel had purchased for her. She discovered the truest meaning of the word frozen. The first morning she woke to discover the interior walls of the cabin covered with frigid cascades of ice, she had to go to them and touch one before she could believe what her eyes showed her. Although the men explained to her that the ice formed from the steam of food cooked on the stove and the fog of their respirations, she could not become accustomed to them. She did learn to appreciate the ready source of water which could be gained from chopping them off the wall. She made it a habit to sift the boiled water through a towel to discover any splinters cut from the logs with the ice. Soon she saw the luxury of not having to make the long climb to the spring in the dim light. Dark surrounded them. Where in October it became dark at seven, by the middle of December, pitch black riveted with the sparkle of the stars arrived by mid-afternoon. The sun did not show above the horizon before ten in the morning. Inside the cabin, the costly kerosene burned in a single lamp. They clung to its pool of light and the warmth of the stove. Samantha became frustrated with being a prisoner in the small building. Working with Kevin in his rapid progress at learning what he should have been taught years ago was her only pleasure. He had disparaged his own intelligence so often she was unprepared for the ability of his facile mind to grasp everything she offered. Within days, he had mastered the alphabet and numbers and was reading simple phrases she wrote on the slate. She brought her Bible and the copy of Great Expectations from the loft and underlined passages in them for him to study. Never did she see him work on it when Joel was around. He refused to discuss the lessons before his partner. After once being interrupted rudely, she discovered he did not want anyone else to realize how well he was doing until he was satisfied he could do as well as any of his peers. Other than those often short lessons, she found little to do in the cabin. Cooking and cleaning took too few of her hours. No one had much to say when they spent almost all of their time together. Night after night, the wind howled beyond the door and scratched its way through any crack in the walls. Some days

she found it simpler to go to bed early and enjoy the warmth of the comforter over her. Soon it became habit to wear layers of clothes and her warm moccasins to bed. When the cold snap broke, air she would have considered intolerable in Ohio seemed balmy. She escaped the house to discover snow past her knees and the brilliant sparkle of the sun on a world of crystalline jewels. As Christmas neared, Samantha worked to devise the only present she could for her partners. The meal she planned would not be as sumptuous as she wanted because many of the ingredients she needed were unavailable. The preparations kept her mind busy and eased the incredible boredom. On the day before the holiday, she was rolling out dough for the molasses cookies she loved to make. She shivered when Kevin opened the door and called to her. His smile peeked through the icicles formed on his mustache. His gloved hands grabbed Samantha and pulled her away from her task. When she asked what was wrong, he simply tossed her the bearskin parka. "Come outside. We have something to show you." Impatiently he waited as she pulled on her sweater first, then the heavy coat. Boots went over her moccasins she wore all the time in the house. Her gloves, a scarf and a knitted hat under her hood, and she was ready. The cold bit into her although she knew the day was mild for an Arctic winter. The temperature could not be much above forty degrees below zero. By the door, the mercury had frozen solid, but the dish of whiskey remained liquid. A one dish day, as they ironically called their temperature gauging system. Fortunately no wind blew from the river to chaff her skin with its sandpaper touch. She shivered once more, then tried to put the cold from her mind. Taking her hand, Kevin pulled her around the edge of the house toward the barn. "Merry Christmas, Samantha." "Merry Christmas?" she asked in confusion. His smile was out-shone only by the eye-wrenching glare of the sun on the snow. "To all of us. Look!" He pointed to the source of the strange, too long shadows stretching across the ground. She obeyed and gasped. Sitting patiently by Joel in the snow were a quartet of sled dogs and the strange vehicle they could pull so effortlessly along the frozen ground. The sled seemed to built in a design too flimsy to support the huge loads she knew they could carry. The runners which curved in the front were no thicker than her wrist. Above them were two more rows of saplings slightly less than the height of Joel’s knee-high boots. They also had been bent to come together in the front. He leaned on a handle which came upward from both sides to the perfect position for a man’s hands. Broadly woven rope created a net at each side of the slats supporting any load. She wanted to push on it to see if it were as bouncy as it appeared. She approached the dogs slowly, recalling the tales she had heard of the vicious nature of these animal who certainly were not pets. Four pairs of dark eyes and a set of smiling, blue ones — Joel’s eyes — watched her. "They are beautiful," she breathed in a white cloud. That was the truth. The long-haired, broad-chested dogs wore a variety of shades. Brown, black, gray, and gold created color against the less than pristine snow near the stable. Strong legs, feathered with fur, relaxed, but would be ready to leap forward at a controlled run upon the first command. Blunt snouts sniffed in her direction to investigate her at the same time as she admired them.

"They are fine dogs," agreed Joel. "You can touch them, if you want. Tex Kresge told me they would be fine around a woman." Her eyebrows arched to hide beneath the edge of her hood. "Is that so? And you trust him?" "Enough." He laughed, remembering the difficulty she had during the summer in getting the man from Thirteen Above to pay for his laundry. She finally had to refuse to do his shirts after he cheated her out of a payment a second time. "The big black at the front is Bear. Next to him, the brown and white one, is appropriately Brownie. The others are King and Lucky Star. Fancy names for a dog." Squatting, she looked directly in the face of the lead dog. Quietly she said, "Bear, you certainly look like your namesake." She put out her hand cautiously. "Do you want to smell?" The dog slowly lowered his massive head to place his nose briefly against her hand. She reached out to touch his forehead which was broader than her palm. When he allowed her to pet him, she remembered the pets with their wagging tails on her brother’s farm. They had been eager to be noticed, not submitting with the haughtiness of royalty acknowledging a beggar on the street. "That is a hell of a fine team." All of them spun to see a stranger coming into the clearing. Concealed in his heavy clothes, it was impossible to tell if he was slight or heavy. Bright eyes glowed at them from his ice coated cheeks. Like almost all the men she had seen, he wore a mustache. He stepped forward and offered his hand. "The name’s London." His gaze settled on Samantha, and he grinned. "Well, I’ll be. What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here? You sure are a sight for eyes hungry for the sight of femininity." "Thank you, Mr. London," she said as she rose. She saw he must be in his early twenties, but wore the toughened expression of a man accustomed to the hardships of life. "Where are you headed, London?" asked Joel. He ignored the low growl in the throat of the lead dog. Kresge had warned him Bear often protected what he considered his territory. He shrugged. "Out. I have heard there is gold on the Stewart." "The Stewart?" Joel’s glance of disbelief brought an answering laugh from Kevin. "You are going all that distance in December?" "I got tired of Dawson. Too many people. Too little fun." He dropped his backpack to the ground. "I don’t suppose you people would be willing to offer me the use of your stable tonight?" Samantha smiled. "No, we wouldn’t be willing to let you use the stable. You are welcome to sleep in the house. There is room for a third in the loft." She felt the cold burning her feet and stamped them in the snow. "I’m going in, if you don’t mind. Mr. London, would you like a cup of coffee?" "It sounds divine, ma’am." Realizing they had not introduced themselves, she told him their names quickly. She watched as he hefted the large pack as if it weighed nothing. That did not surprise her. The men who had managed to walk north with all their supplies on their back had been hardened to do things which she would have said impossible. By the time Joel and Kevin returned after tending to the dogs, their guest had made himself at home with the ease of a man used to the hardships of the road. Sitting on the bench with his feet turned toward the stove, he was joking with

Samantha as if they were the best of friends. Joel saw his partner scowl when she lightly called the man "Jack." "Come in, come in," she urged as she placed some of the cake she had intended to save for Christmas on the table. The luxury of having company was a reason to celebrate. "Jack was just telling me about some of his escapades taking cheechacos along the White Horse Rapids." The charming smile of the slender man was ingratiating. "It is easy to have many tales when too many idiots tried to make a journey of which they were incapable." He laughed, his eyes crinkling with easy humor as he pushed dark waves of hair back from his narrow face. "If they were stupid enough to pay me twenty-five dollars to navigate them through the rapids, I was glad to take their money. Most of the fools had never been aboard a ship before they came north." "So why didn’t you stay?" London pierced Kevin with his steady gaze, but the blond man did not back down before the stare which had daunted much larger men. "It got boring. Money is fine, but there must be more to life than the simple gathering of greenbacks." When he paused, a wistful, gentler expression softened the mercenary expression. He added quietly, "Besides, a man cannot become a famous writer without experiencing life to its fullest." "A writer?" Joel sat at the table and accepted the piece of the darkly rich cake. He winked at Sam. When she stroked his shoulder quickly, he had to force his attention back to their guest. Having her hands on him drove all other things from his head. He picked up his fork and dug it deep in the cake. "Do you belong to one of those newspaper syndicates which sent their reporters north to cover every detail of our lives? Fortunately most of them have gone back where they belong, but there was a time when one of them peered from behind any tree. A man likes a little privacy." "Especially behind any tree?" Jack crowed with amusement, slapping his thigh. He had met few in the Klondike who were willing to share intelligent conversation. Although he wanted gold as much as any other prospector, he did not understand how so many of the others could ignore everything else around them. He spoke around his mouthful of cake. "Not a reporter. I want to write books." Samantha sat next to Joel, leaving the space by their guest for Kevin. "How wonderful! Maybe we all will appear in one of them." Graciously he lifted the forkful of crumbling cake in a salute to her. "Rest assured, Samantha, if I ever need a pretty lady to steal my hero’s heart, she will be modeled on you." "Spin the words as lyrically when you write as when you talk, and you will sell every volume you can print," she teased in return. Joel changed the subject to the team he had purchased for the partners on the claim. The young man seemed to have a great deal of knowledge about sled dogs from his work along the Dyea Trail. This alternative path to the one taken by Joel and Kevin was shorter in distance, but harrowing. Its steep slopes daunted even the dogs carrying loads on their backs like miniature horses. The hours passed quickly as they savored the luxury of having a guest. Nothing Joel could say would change Jack’s mind about heading south and east to the Stewart River. The large tributary of the Yukon lay as far south of Grand Forks as the settlement of Dawson did to the north of the small town. Jack had learned of the first prospectors in this area, more than fifteen years before, finding gold in the river. That news encouraged him to try where only a handful gold

rushers had staked claims. A man, who had been a smuggler before joining the San Francisco harbor police to corral the ones who had been his rivals, would not be daunted by something as incidental as the idea of his survival in the uncompromising lands of the Yukon. Despite his outward brashness, Samantha sensed his pleasure in having a meal warm from the stove. She raided the dishes she had set aside for their holiday to prepare a gala feast. The conversation remained light with their guest contributing more than his share to the outlandish stories of the gold rush. He asserted each one was true, and they believed him. Stranger things had happened along the trails than the tales of a man who carried a sackload of kittens north to sell at a tremendous profit to lonely miners or a woman who pulled a stove along the trail on a rickety sled in order to open a bakery in Dawson. Samantha was sorry when the evening came to an end. For the first time since the summer had ended, she did not want to go to sleep. Happiness raced through her, and her jaw ached from the hours of laughing. She pressed her face into the dampness of the cold pillow and let sleep overtake her. In the morning, Samantha woke to the sound of muted singing. She rose to one elbow to see Joel trying to be quiet by the stove while he wiped his face clean of the soap he used when shaving. A twinge of regret ran through her. She enjoyed watching him shave. The smooth rippling of his muscles while he honed the straight edged blade always delighted her eyes. She loved the masculine scent of his bay rum which he put on with such horrible grimaces she wanted to laugh at his antics. A low creak of the bed as she moved must have alerted him. He turned to look at her watching him, and a slow smile climbed the slopes of his cheeks to perch in his eyes. Placing the razor on the table, he crossed the room to the bed. Her breath stopped in her throat as his hands which were still damp with warm water caught her face between them. She sighed in indescribable rapture when his lips swiftly covered hers. Her arms encircled his shoulders as he leaned her back into the tick still indented with the shape of her sleeping body. Eager kisses peppered her face and every visible inch of her skin. A gasp flew from her lips as he drew aside the covers so his hand could slip along the gentle curves of her body that was nearly hidden by the layers of her clothes. Nothing could halt the powerful sensations emanating inward from his touch. "Oh, Sam," he whispered against her hair. "I love you so much. To have you so close and keep you so far is the most exquisite torture I can imagine." His words broke the enchantment of his fingers on her. She asked urgently, "Joel, have you told Kevin? If — " "He and London are out with the dogs for an early morning run. Let them have their fun." His eyes twinkled with merriment, and she had no trouble guessing what lies he had concocted to excuse himself from going so he could have this time with her. "Happy Christmas, my love." "The same to you, darling." She relaxed into the nest of his arms. "I wish I could give you what I want for Christmas." "You are what I want," he murmured huskily. The tip of tongue teased the skin along the high collar of her nightgown. Barking dogs neared the cabin, announcing the return of the two men. Joel rose and held out his hand to Samantha. Lowly, he said, "You’d best dress before they arrive. My love, we will celebrate Christmas as soon as we can." She caressed his hand over her cheek. The sorrow in her voice matched the pain in his eyes. "I know." She whirled to collect her clothes and race upstairs

where she could have the privacy so seldom found in the small house. When Samantha emerged from the cabin fifteen minutes later, the joy had returned to her words. Her felicitations on the holiday put smiles from wind reddened faces. She delightedly accepted the opportunity for a ride along the frozen river. Only Joel, as he tucked the blankets around her, could see how forced her words were. Only he knew the anguish of the love they could not express. Vowing to tell Kevin as soon as London left, he listened as the young man from San Francisco offered hints on how to use the sled. He concentrated on that, glad for the advice of a man who had spent hours with sledders and their dogs. Samantha half-turned on the flat bed of the sled and looked at Joel. With her face shadowed by her hood, she knew the other men could not see her as she mouthed, "I love you." He grinned, patted her shoulder, and shouted, "Let’s go!" Christmas, like all the days of the past months, was sweeter because of Sam. Suddenly he wanted to celebrate what no one could destroy. A love which would bring him all he wanted.

Chapter Fifteen Samantha flipped back her snow-dusted hood as she entered the stable. Absently she patted the horse on the haunches. It made a blustery sound as it breathed heavily in the twilight. "How are you doing, Sam?" She turned to smile at Joel. He placed the pitchfork load of hay on the floor and spread it carefully. With hay running nearly a thousand dollars a ton, he did not want to risk wasting any of it. More than once, she had overheard the men suggesting they sell the horse. Its upkeep took too much of their money. Yet they delayed, not for sentimental reasons or for convenience. Neither spoke the truth, but she knew why they kept it. In an emergency, if rations were short as they had been the previous year, they could eat horse meat. "I’m almost done," he added. He took the pitchfork to the other side of the tiny building and stuck it into the ground. It did not go far. "Frozen?" Glancing up, he smiled. "Like a rock. Only because this ground is inside the barn keeps it from being as solid as the earth in the yard. What do you think of these winters now?" "I am cold," she whispered without the humor he expected. She moved to take his hands. Her eyes burned with a feverish intensity he recognized in his heart. Easily she wound his arms around her. "I am so very cold, Joel, but it has nothing to do with the weather. The last time you truly held me was two months ago at Christmas. I need your love." With a moan of hunger, he pressed his lips into her welcoming mouth. His arms tightened around her. He wondered if she knew how often he had dreamed she would do exactly as she was doing. To come to him when he was alone, murmuring of the

love tormenting him. When his hands settled on the clasps of her coat, she looked up in surprise. He smiled into her baffled face as he opened his own parka and pushed aside the front of hers. Now the thick pelts did not separate them. His hand slid beneath the back of her coat to stroke her through the thin cotton shirt glowing pinkly with the flannel beneath it. She closed her eyes and breathed with the rhythm of his hand moving along her. He did not release her hand as he bent to pick up the kerosene lantern. His gaze held hers while he lead her to the second stall of the small barn. Placing the light on a hook over their heads, he spread a wool blanket on the bits of hay spilled on the floor. He dropped to his knees, bringing her with him. The thick odor of the horse increased as he leaned her back on the saddle blanket. A smile settled on her lips as he kissed her cool cheek. His breath warmed her and started the conflagration deep in her soul. Wrapping her arms around him, she urged him closer. Such coherent thoughts vanished when he placed his mouth against her throat. While his tongue seared a river of desire across her skin, the only thing in her mind was satisfying the ravenous longings within her. He reached for the buttons of her blouse, then paused. It could not be above zero in the barn. If he disrobed her as he wished, she could suffer chilbains despite the closeness of their loving bodies. He swallowed his frustrated moan. As he had so often, he wished Kevin had been caught by the blizzard and snowed in in Dawson for the entire winter. When he bent to whisper the truth in her ear, she quivered beneath him. He smiled, for he knew it was not the cold which made her react like this. It was the scorching power of their love. She did not comprehend what he was saying until he repeated his warning. Lost in the delights of being with the man she yearned for every waking hour and during her arousing dreams which left her soaked with sweat, she could not understand anything. Realizing he was saying they must wait a bit longer, she groaned, "No, Joel!" Encircling her face with his hands, he murmured, "Sweetheart, I know how you feel, but I won’t risk you out here in this cold." "I want you to love me." Her brown eyes entreated him. "Please." "You don’t know how much I want to love you, Sam." With her hand against his face, she steered his mouth toward hers. Softly she whispered, "We may not be able to touch each other as we wish, but we can. . ." She blushed prettily, still too shy to ask for the loving she craved. Instantly he understood. He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "We can, my love, but I didn’t know if you wished to make love in such horrible conditions." "Any way," she breathed in the second before his mouth covered hers. Her words drove the last of his hesitation into oblivion. Closing her eyes, she let the world vanish. She let her fingers reacquaint her with the breadth of his back. His body pressed her deeper into the unyielding ground. When he lifted the hem of her dress to stroke the length of her flannel covered legs, she entwined them with his. His fingers were reaching for the buttons to loosen the collar of her blouse when her hand halted him. He started to ask what was wrong, then heard the same sound she had. Kevin’s voice. "Damn!" he growled. "Why can’t he leave us alone?" He looked down into her sad face and knew the truth. If he had told Kevin, then the explosion would have

been past by now. He had intended to tell his partner the truth, but always found an excuse to let it wait one more day. He did not want to hurt his friend. When Kevin had a relapse of the pneumonia in the first weeks of new year, he wanted nothing to interfere with Kevin’s recovery. Only in the past week had Samantha any break from the sickroom. "Wait!" she gasped. "If — " Gently he said, "Stay here, Sam." He stroked her hair which somehow had loosened to fall along them in a silken river. "I will deal with Kevin." "Maybe we should tell him the truth. How much longer can we lie?" Her tear brightened eyes asked the same question. "Later, honey." He rose to meet Kevin at the door. Redoing her jacket, Samantha pressed close to the concealing wall of the wooden stall. To her ears, Joel’s voice was breathier than normal when he answered his partner. She wondered if she could sound as calm. "All done out here, Kev. How about a cup of coffee to ease the chill on our bones? I think it is going to be damned cold tonight." She bit her lip as she heard Kevin’s reply. "Have you seen Samantha? She went out over a half an hour ago, and this is the time for — " "For what?" asked Joel, instantly seizing the chance to gain the offensive to keep his friend from realizing the truth. "Nothing. It’s not important now. She isn’t back yet." "She isn’t?" His astonishment seemed honest. "She may have gone up to the spring for water. I heard her say she wanted some clean water." "In the dark?" A chuckle filled the room. "Do you think Samantha Perry is afraid of the dark?" The light flickered as he motioned with the lamp. "Come on, Kevin. Let’s walk up the hill and see if she went that way." Giving them time to walk far enough so her furtive form would not be visible in the twilight lingering over the clearing, Samantha raced to the cabin. Her chest heaved with more than the effort necessary to run through the wind which cut into her on each breath. Tears burned in her eyes, and her throat was raw with the words she could not allow escape. Words which would tell the world of her love for the man whose face filled her dreams and whose hands fulfilled her fantasies. Her hands fumbled with the latches on her coat. She was still fighting the thick buttons when the men entered the room. Rage emanated from Kevin so strongly it nearly obliterated her own unhappiness. "Where in hell have you been?" he shouted with a fury that was alien to his normal tones. Hating the need to lie, she tried to smile. "I’m sorry to worry you. I went out for a walk with Bear." "You should know better," admonished Kevin. "It’s too cold for a lark with the dogs. Stay close to the house. If you wandered away and got hurt, you might freeze to death before we could find you in the dark." "I understand." She lowered her eyes and crossed the room to stand by the stove. When she heard the door close, she looked up in surprise. Joel stood behind her. He put his hands on her trembling shoulders. "He has gone out for a minute." "You must tell him the truth!" she urged. "Or do you want me to do it. He is going to be hurt, Joel, but delaying won’t help. He — "

"He what?" When she did not answer, he gripped her arms and pulled her tight to him. "Dammit! Forget him!" "Forget him? How? How much longer do you expect I can wait until I feel your arms around me again? Another two months?" His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her uneasy face. "Why this sudden urging to be honest with him? You have been so eager for a confrontation lately. Are you trying to gain something by forcing this issue? You and he were outside for quite a while yesterday. Could it be — ?" Her face paled as she gasped, "Joel!" That he could think she shared with his partner the sweet love she wanted to give only to him sickened her. She was more surprised than he was when her hand struck his face. Instantly she dissolved into tears. The days, weeks, months of waiting for the moment when they could be together had driven her to the edge of sanity. Instead of reacting with the angry frustration in him, he put his arms around her. He murmured, "Forgive me, Sam. I didn’t mean to suggest you. . .Never mind. I love you, honey. I will tell him as soon as he is totally better." "But when will that be? ""I don’t know," he answered honestly, sharing her anguish. "Sam, I don’t know." *** *** *** Joel did try. More than once while the two men were working by the river, heaping the piles of pay dirt to sluice as soon as they could break through the ice, he brought up the subject of Sam and the decision they had expected her to make. Each time, Kevin waved aside the words. He knew Kevin thought Sam would choose to become Mrs. Houseman. No hints could change that opinion. When his partner disappeared for an hour each afternoon, offering only a flimsy excuse, Joel’s curiosity was aroused. If he knew where Kevin went, he might be able to use the time to be with Sam. Allowing the blond to get far enough ahead of him so he could follow easily, he slunk after him. He was shocked that Kevin went directly to the cabin. From the edge of a stand of trees, he watched as Sam greeted him at the door. He could see her wiping her hands on her apron he was sure was dusted with flour. The light sound of her voice carried on the breeze, but the words were lost in the distance. Leaning against a tree, he fought his own jealousy. Sam had told him more than once her love belonged solely to him. He wanted to believe that, for her honesty blared from her pretty face. She was not like him. Viciously he forced his thoughts from his head. Ignoring the slap of the wind against his face, he tried to puzzle out why Kevin had a rendezvous with Sam every afternoon. When he smiled at his own foolishness, he pushed away from the prickly bark. If he wanted to know the truth, all he had to do was walk in and see for himself. Samantha was pointing out the passage she had selected for Kevin to read when the door opened. Kevin tensed, but she was glad these lessons had been discovered. She was tired of the need for secrecy, especially when she could not understand why Kevin insisted on these clandestine meetings. She said nothing as she waited for Kevin to react with more than stiff silence. Joel did not seem as willing to let Kevin decide what to do. He came in chatting about some work he needed help with, tracking snow in his wake. In mid-word he paused to ask, "What’s this?" "It’s a slate," answered Kevin tersely. "And chalk and books." A broad smile lightened his face. Clapping his partner on the back, he crowed, "So this is what you have been doing? Going to school."

"Samantha thought I should hone my skills." Joel raised an irreverent eyebrow at the obvious exaggeration of the truth, but said only, "I think that’s great. How long has this been going on?" "Since Kevin came home from Dawson," Samantha said quietly. She noted Joel’s shock before he masked it. When he looked at her, she saw her simple answer had told him things Kevin would not understand. Things about guilt and compassion and friendship. Joel slapped the table, making the chalk bounce. "Stay here, Kev, and finish up. I wouldn’t want to make Professor Perry angry by stealing her star pupil. How long will you be?" "About an hour." Kevin was clearly shocked by his partner’s reaction. A swell of pride burst through him. Since they had partnered, he had admired Joel Gilchrist for his intelligence and ability to deal with people and this strange life in the Yukon. Now Joel was awed by his modest accomplishment. If Joel felt that way, surely Samantha must be impressed as well. He glanced at her smiling face as she told his partner she would see him later. Yes, Samantha was proud of him. She had told him that over and over. Many things they had discussed while they sat side by side on the bench. She often alluded to one of her letters she had written. It had been one of his greatest regrets he could not read them. A grin brightened his face. He could read them now. Tonight, with the truth known, he would ask Joel where he had put them. While the other two sat by the stove, he would read the precious letters in the privacy of the loft. That thought warmed him all through the day. He waited patiently through the hours of working by the river and their convivial supper. When Samantha took the scraps out to give the dogs, he decided this was his opportunity. He had not wanted to ask for them in front of her, afraid of embarrassing her. With a preamble, he asked, "Joel, can you get me the letters from Samantha?" "I don’t have them," Joel answered without looking up from his task at the table. "I burned them." "You did what?" Joel continued fitting the new handle in the shovel. "I burned the letters. Hey!" He batted away Kevin’s hands which had reached past the tool to take his shirt. "What in hell are you doing? Can’t you see I am trying to work?" "Dammit!" He wrenched the shovel away and threw it on the floor. His face was contorted with his effort to control his temper. "Are you telling me you destroyed those letters without asking me?" Standing, Joel motioned for his friend to calm himself. When he saw the blond man’s twisted face, he knew only by explaining why he had done what he did would he soothe the anger. At the time he made the decision to destroy the letters, he had not foreseen Kevin learning to read and wanting to see the letters they had shared through all of last winter. "Whoa, Kevin. After she arrived and things did not work as we had hoped, I thought she might not want to be held to some of the things she had written. She spoke of love to a man who didn’t exist. If they were brought out, it might have caused harm. So I threw them in the stove one night." "And you didn’t bother to ask me if I wanted them?" "Why? You couldn’t read them, and I had told you more than a dozen times what was in each letter." He shrugged. "I didn’t think you would be interested." "You should have asked me! I can read now. I wanted to read for myself what she wrote to us. I — " He paused as the door opened.

A gust of frigid air blew Samantha into the room. She smiled as she pulled off her coat and hung it on the peg by the door. "Brrr. I think we may even freeze the Pain-Killer tonight. If it gets much colder, perhaps we should bring the dogs in here. What do you think?" When she did not get an answer, she looked up from her removing her boots. Her smile disappeared as she saw the strained expressions across the room. "What is wrong?" Kevin stamped to the ladder and climbed into the loft. She started to follow, but Joel caught her arm. "Leave him alone," he ordered softly. Putting her hand over his, she whispered, "You told him?" "Yes," he said with an abbreviated laugh of derision, "I told him, but not what you think. I told him I burned the letters you sent us." "Why did you tell him that?" "Because I did." He released her arm and turned to sit on the bench. Looking at her startled face, he repeated what he had to Kevin. When he was finished, he demanded, "Why are you staring at me like that?" She dropped to her knees beside him. Her fingers cramped with the cold took his. "Because I love you. To think that while I hated you so much, you were doing something nice like this." "You hated me?" He stroked her cheek and watched her eyes close with pleasure. He was sure if she had been a kitten with fur as soft as her skin, she would have purred at his touch. "When?" "Until I loved you." She stroked the strong line of his thigh to discover his trousers were stiff with the cold. Even in the house, it could not have been above zero, but they did not notice the cold as they regarded each other with love. "And when was that?" "When you helped me into the cabin that first day. I knew any man with such tenderness could not be the ass he was trying to portray." He chuckled at her smiling face. "An ass? Is that what you thought me?" "Still do, sometimes." Jumping to her feet, she lost her happy expression. "Joel, I’m going to talk to Kevin. Let me soothe him." Putting his hand on her arm again, he said softly, "Sam, he might — " "Kevin?" She laughed with a lightness she did not feel as she thought of the next revelation they must make to their partner. She could not think of that now when she must help him realize the letters were of little importance. "Kevin would never do anything to hurt me or anyone else. He is the gentlest man I know." Joel nodded, but wondered. He had interrupted Kevin punishing one of the dogs for breaking into their makeshift meat locker where they had stored a dressed caribou for fresh meat during the winter. It had cost them dearly. They had traded their rifle and all the ammunition for it. With no time for hunting, this had worked better for all of them, but they did not want the dogs eating the food reserved for them. Kevin had been beating the animal until it whimpered and cowered away from him. The sled dogs did not daunt easily, so he wondered what he had not seen. When he suggested the dog had been punished enough, a stranger had stared at him out of Kevin’s dark eyes. Joel had recoiled at the appearance of madness, but when it faded, he wondered if he had seen it. He recalled that incident as he watched Sam climb the ladder. Kevin would be more angry at his partner than he had been at the dog. Joel moved to sit near

the ladder. Sam would not be the one to suffer. With a shiver, he wrapped his arms around himself. He hoped she would not be long. He did not want to be far from the stove long. Samantha knocked on the floor in lieu of a door to the loft. Her eyes widened as she saw the mess the men had made of her small room. Clothes hung haphazardly over the line which once had held her hastily arranged changing screen. The blanket there now was crumpled at the foot of the bed. "Kevin?" she asked softly. He appeared from the shadows past the bed. "Samantha, what are you doing up here?" "It’s my room." She forced a smile on her lips. "May I come up? I’d like to talk to you." "All right." She hoisted herself into the room and resettled her layers of skirts around her. Sometimes it seemed as if she were wearing a hundredweight of clothes, all hanging from her middle. "Kevin, it doesn’t matter," she said bluntly. "Doesn’t matter?" He scowled, but it did not hide his pain. "I wanted to read those letters, Samantha. They were important to me, to us." "They are in the past." His blustering faded at her calm words. "What I was when I wrote to you and Joel, I am not anymore. That woman doesn’t exist. No one can live in the Yukon and be unchanged. Forget about the past, Kevin. Remember the dream which brought you here. The dream of a future." Walking across the room, he put his hands on her shoulders. Involuntarily she tensed. That he felt it, she could tell by the way his eyes narrowed. She wondered if he understood the truth of her words. She was very different from the child who had come to Dawson almost a year ago. Since then, she had matured and found a real love to replace the imaginary one she had created out of her fantasies. "Forgive Joel," she continued. "He didn’t mean to hurt you. He only wanted to spare me from embarrassment." "And you appreciate that?" "Of course." She tried to ignore his intense stare, but it was impossible. Knowing what he might ask soon if she did not end this, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "It’s cold, Kevin. Let’s go back downstairs." For a moment, she did not think he would take his hands from her. Then he stepped away and motioned for her to precede him. She flashed him an unsure smile and placed her feet on the rungs. Carefully, she climbed to the floor, glad her toes remembered how to cling to each crosspiece. She went to the stove to allow the men to settle their differences. Her heart pounded with love for Joel when she heard him apologize sincerely to his partner. She was not the only one who had changed since her arrival at Fifteen Above. Joel was more compromising. Placing cups of steaming coffee on the table, she took one of the slabs of ice cut off the wall earlier and put it in a pot on the stove. They would need more water for breakfast. This would melt and stay liquid all night on the stove. At least she hoped it would. She could not remember any night, even in the coldest weeks of January, when it had been this frigid. The evening passed slowly. Although Kevin had said he would forgive Joel, his attitude made it clear he could not do it as easily as he said. Every attempt Samantha made to lighten the conversation sounded hollow and failed dismally.

When Kevin stood and said he was going to sleep, she cried, "You can’t sleep upstairs tonight! It’s so cold here, I fear freezing. It will be worse up there." Joel paused, remembering the task it had been to take the bedstead up into the loft. He glanced at Kevin and saw the same recollection in his eyes. He mused, "Perhaps, if we just brought the tick down." "Nonsense," she argued. "This is your bed down here. You sleep in it tonight. I can spend the night on the bench." "No!" both men stated at the same time. She repeated in a sterner voice, "Nonsense! You two are too tall to sleep on the bench. Push the two of them together, and they are wide enough for me. I can sleep near the stove, too, that way. It will work fine." "It’s a waste of time to try to change her mind," said Joel with a laugh. "I guess we are sleeping down here, Kev." For the first time all evening, Kevin smiled. "I guess we are. Let me get the dogs in the stable, and we will get to sleep." "I’ll help you." Honestly he answered, "I’d appreciate that, Joel." Samantha sighed as her tight muscles relaxed. Perhaps now they could get on to the important issue sure to test their friendship even more. Not tonight. Not when her teeth chattered each time she unclenched them. All she wanted tonight was to sleep until it was springtime warm again. Going to the pegs on the ice coated wall, she drew down a sweater and two shawls. From beneath the bed, she found three more pairs of wool socks. She pulled all of them on and hoped they would ease the cold. *** *** *** In the darkest hours of the night, Samantha realized how foolish such hopes had been. Her body ached from battling the ravages of the vise of the cold. It seemed to be grinding into her, squeezing out every ounce of warmth clinging to her blood. The shivers had become so pervasive, she was sure she would not have felt an earth tremor beneath her. Rising, she moved closer to the stove. Even its glow was muted by the cold. She reached for the pan of melting ice and gasped. After hours on the warming shelf on top of the stove, it still was not totally liquid. She placed it directly on the stovetop and hoped they could have a warm drink in the morning. When it clattered on the cast iron, she held her breath. She did not want to wake the men who had found respite from the discomfort by sleeping. Joel was roused by the sound of softly padding footsteps. He tiptoed across the floor to where a slender form stood as close as she could to the stove without the chance of her blanket catching on fire. He put his finger over her lips as she started to speak. That she meant to apologize for waking him was not important. Her risking illness in this weather was. "Honey," he whispered, "you can’t stand here all night." "I’m so cold," she answered through her chattering teeth. "The wind seems to blow right through the walls to settle on me when I’m lying on the bench." He held out his hand. "Come to bed then." "To bed? With you and Kevin?" She seemed to pull back into the woolen blanket. Even without being able to see her face in the dim light, he knew shock would be emblazoned across it. The same as the first day she arrived here and thought the two of them intended to share her. It would have been far simpler if something like that had happened, but he knew now he did not want to share her with Kevin.

This one woman he wanted entirely for his own. "You will be warm sleeping between us." "I can imagine," she retorted tartly. "No, thank you." "Would you rather freeze?" She shook her head and stepped closer to him. Her numb fingers rose to his face as she tried to defuse his quick anger. "I would rather be sleeping with you." "Oh, Sam," he murmured as he swept her against him. Even with the layers of clothes between them, he could sense the sweet body he had been able to love so briefly a dream ago. His mouth heated her cold lips until they thawed to soften in a warm invitation to ecstasy. His arms slipped beneath her blanket and under the sweater she had placed over her dress. The fired touch of his fingers gently smoothed the wrinkled fabric. Clutching more tightly to him, she savored the sensation of his hard body against her. Her fingers stroked the thick darkness shadowing his collar. Slipping within to caress his skin, they settled on the pulse at the base of his neck. It leaped with the yearning matching the desire in her heart as his tongue reconquered the secrets of her mouth. "I love you so much," she breathed as his lips traveled along her skin. "Then come to bed with me." His eyes twinkled wickedly. "With us." Abruptly he was serious again. "Honey, I don’t want something to happen to you." "All right, but this won’t be easy." He puffed a derisive laugh. "That may be the understatement of all time. To lie next to you and not touch you is worse than any punishment waiting in Hell." When he held out his hand to her, she slowly placed hers in it. How much more eager she would have been if what she had wanted would be waiting for them in the lumpy bed! She moved closer to him and was grateful for the arm he put around her as they walked the few, frozen steps around the bed. Kevin cracked open one eye and wondered if he could be dreaming. By the bed, Samantha stood. She gently was smoothing her blanket over him and lifting a corner of the covers to slip beneath them. In shock, he sat up to regard her silhouette. When he saw another move past her, he scowled into the darkness. "I invited Samantha to sleep here," said Joel as he reached past her to place the third pillow in the center of the already crowded bed. "Sleep here?" In the same tone of astonishment she had used, he asked, "The three of us?" She shivered as the cold ate through her moccasins and five pairs of socks. "Kevin, I’m afraid I will freeze to death tonight. Please, don’t make me sleep alone." Holding out his hand to her, he helped her onto the thin mattress. He wondered if she could guess how often he had imagined doing exactly this. His smile disappeared as the bed moved when his partner sat on the other side of her. Joel had not been part of his fantasies. Samantha sensed the antipathy on either side of her. She did not want to let her fear of the cold further alienate them. The secret of Joel’s love that she held in her heart bothered her enough as it was. With her hand on his arm, she leaned forward and kissed Kevin on the cheek. "Thank you, Kevin." She turned and did the same to the dark haired man. "Thank you, Joel." With a laugh, she slipped beneath the covers. "I doubt if any of us will sleep tonight, but this way we will all be alive in the morning."

Chapter Sixteen Joel was grateful for being the first to awaken the next morning. He was sure exactly how Kevin would have reacted to discover Samantha cuddled close to his partner. Although he did not remember falling asleep, Joel recalled slipping his arms clandestinely around her. She had been asleep and curled against him the same as she had the one night they had had together. He did not want to lose this serendipitous opportunity to hold her again. Carefully he eased out of her arms. Bending, he placed a swift kiss on her parted lips. She smiled, but did not wake as she wrapped her arms around his pillow. He walked to the stove and opened it to refill it with the logs waiting by the door. Taking the ax from beneath the stove where they must keep it on these cold nights so the metal would not shatter on impact with the frozen logs, he pulled on his coat. It was stiff from hanging near the door. The frigid air of the midnight dark morning stung the last residues of sleep from him. Although he guessed it to be past seven, no hint of the sun colored the eastern sky. He went first to the meat locker. The ax cut readily through the elk carcass. Chopping the meat into fist-sized pieces, he carried them to the stable. The dogs yelped in eagerness as he let them out. Falling on the meat, they acted as if they had not eaten in a century. Later he would bring them water heated on the stove. By the time he fed the horse and collected a new supply of wood, his mustache had frozen solid with his own respirations. Each step seemed nearly too much effort. His body was stiff with his muscles clenched against the cold. He wondered how he could have forgotten the worst power of the Yukon winter. At the cabin door, he paused. The impromptu thermometer told him exactly why he could not recall a day this frigid. Even the vial of Perry Davis’s Pain-Killer had frozen solid. Without a breath of wind, it was colder than minus 75 degrees. There was no consolation in learning this might be record cold for the beginning of March. He would have preferred reading about it in a warmer clime. He smiled as he eased the door open only enough to enter. As cold as the interior was, he did not want to allow more of the icy air to follow him into the cabin. He closed the door as quietly as he had opened it, his smile altering abruptly to a scowl. Through the bars of the iron footboard of the bed, he could see furtive motions lit by the glow of still gaping stove door. Rage like he had never known took control of him as he watched Kevin reach for Samantha as she slept. When his partner’s face lowered toward her lips, Joel started to shout out his fury. The soft murmur from the bed interrupted both of them. Kevin froze as unmoving as the river when he heard what she called him. Samantha’s eyes creaked open while she murmured, "Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well, Joel? I — " She came instantly awake as she realized where she was in time. This was not the luscious morning after the magic night she had slept in Joel’s arms. Only expediency had brought her here during the night. Trying to recover for her hesitation, she said, "I mean, Kevin. Forgive me." She laughed

with the exactly proper amount of amusement. "I’m still half asleep. Brrr! Isn’t the cold over yet. Did you sleep well?" His face above hers reformed into a smile. She could tell he easily had understood the words she wished had been garbled by her sleepy voice. Not daring to move, she saw how close he was to her. He leaned on one elbow, with his other hand on the far side of her head. She swallowed harshly. She did not have to guess what he had planned, for she had woken the first morning of their trip to Fifteen Above with him looking at her in exactly the same way. That sunrise she had been eager to have him kiss her, for she had believe him to be the man she loved. Now she knew differently. Her brow furrowed. She recalled a kiss from the depths of sleep. Which man had placed it on her lips? "Good morning," called a cheerful voice slightly too loudly. Kevin moved from her, allowing her to sit. She kept the covers around her. Not for modesty, for she was wearing almost everything she owned. Simply because the chill which had caused her consternation during the night had only become more bone-crunching. She leaned forward to rest her crossed arms on her knees. Her smile welcomed Joel as he came to sit on the side of the bed. Glittering happiness shone in his eyes. Instantly she knew her nebulous memories of being held through the night and the tender kiss over too quickly had come from this man. "Good morning, Joel." She could not keep the lilt from her words. "Thank you." Turning she smiled at Kevin as well. "Thanks to both of you for letting me share your bed last night." Joel chuckled. "Not exactly how we thought it would be when we invited you north, eh, Kevin?" With such a direct question, the blond had no choice but to enter the conversation. He rose and found his glasses on the table. The cold metal bit into his nose as he adjusted them so they were comfortable. "Perhaps the cold has advantages we hadn’t considered then," he said emotionlessly. He moved toward the door. "No need for you to go out," called Joel. "I did the chores except for giving the animals water. If you want to heat some while breakfast is cooking, we can give them something to drink after we get some warm food in us." "You did all the chores?" He smiled at his partner’s grateful expression. "You two were asleep, so I thought I would get those things done before my stamping around the cabin woke you." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Samantha’s face when he made that announcement. She could not hide her shock when she discovered he had left her to sleep alone with Kevin. He tried not to laugh. His partner was the last man he could imagine forcing himself on an unwilling woman. Sam was safe with Kevin. On that one thing he would be willing to gamble his life. If he had not, he would have put an end to this long ago. *** *** *** Fortune and the whims of the wind swept the coldest weather away from the river valley. Although they clung close to the stove during the day, the men returned to their loft bedroom. None of them spoke of the one night they had shared a bed. The subject remained so sensitive, Joel did not even joke about it with Samantha. As soon as the daylight hours were warm enough, the two men returned to work

scraping pay dirt from the section of riverbank opposite the one they had worked during the past year. They could reach it easily by walking across the frozen Bonanza. When a knock came on the door late one afternoon while they were recovering from the day of hard labor, Samantha went to answer it. In shock, she cried, "Liberty! Liberty Burroughs, how are you?" His booming voice filled the cabin. "Well, look at you. I told the boys you would last out the winter without hightailing it back to Dawson like a green cheechaco." "Come in, come in," she urged, unable to hide her delight at seeing their boisterous neighbor. "No need to freeze us all." Joel rose and offered his seat by the fire. When Samantha placed a cup of tea in front of the man as well as a piece of cake, Liberty grinned. He winked at the other men before turning to her. "You certainly have made this cabin warmer than it was last winter." Accustomed to the candid words of the prospectors, she teased, "I wanted to fatten up these two, so they could work it off sluicing the pay dirt in the spring. I’m going to take my share of the gold and build myself a castle right here on Fifteen Above, so I can enjoy this lovely weather for the rest of my life." Liberty slapped his knee and rumbled with good humor. Talking around his mouthful of cake, he said, "I can offer you a bit of that gold." He laughed again and turned to her partners. "Tomorrow we are having a sled race up the Bonanza. We just heard you bought Tex’s team before he left for Dawson. You want to run it?" "What is it?" asked Joel. His eyes glistened with excitement at the thought of doing something other than the tedious labor by the river and spending his evenings wishing he was holding Sam. "Just a few miles out and back. Speed. Quickest one wins. It starts by Sixteen Above and finishes back there as well. Just a big loop. Interested?" Samantha interrupted before anyone could answer. "No, they aren’t interested!" All three men regarded her with astonishment. They had not anticipated her sharp response. Her stiff face softened as she realized how her assertion had sounded. "Kevin, you shouldn’t go. That cold air blowing in your face would be forced down into your lungs. If you are ill when the ice breaks. . ." "She is right," the blond said with a resigned sigh. He wanted to join in the fun of a race, but could not risk his health when it was so close to the time when the river water would be running again. "Sorry, Burroughs." Liberty nodded. "All right. How about you, Gilchrist?" "Don’t I need a partner?" He hooked his thumb toward the woman preparing supper. "How about Samantha?" "Me?" she squeaked. Joel smiled with the eagerness. She knew he was not thinking about winning the race, but about the hours they would have alone. They could talk easily without guarding every word and open their hearts to one another. Standing, he took her hands and brought her to the table. When he seated her next to him, he did not release her fingers. The gentle stroke of his thumb against her palm sent quivers along her. She wanted him to touch far more of her than the rough skin of her hands. "Let’s do this," he said, conveying another message with his eyes. She wished she could say yes to the invitation to be his lover tonight. "It will be fun,

and we might win." "You might," added Liberty. "With a light load like Samantha, you should be able to skim that sled across the ice without trouble." He regarded her eagerly. "What do you say? Yes? We have two sleds. We need a third." Kevin seconded, "Go ahead, Samantha. You know you love to ride in the sled." Holding up her hands as if to keep them all away, she laughed. "All right. I’ll do it, but only if you lend me your thick scarf, Kevin. I don’t intend to freeze my nose off to win a race. What’s the prize?" "We have donated a shovel that Tex left behind. It’s a damn good one, too. Shouldn’t break like the ones they sell in Grand Forks." He grinned. "That will be second prize, if you will do us the honor of donating first prize, Samantha." "Donate? What?" His bright eyes twinkled in his full face. "Make a cake like this one, honey, and every man on the Bonanza will want to enter the contest. Will you bring one for the first prize?" Despite her best efforts to control it, she blushed. Although she loved to bake, she considered her talents more utilitarian than exotic. She had learned so much about these men and their dreams, but always forgot how they missed the niceties of home. "Of course, Liberty. I will be glad to make a cake for the winners. Just be sure your partners don’t eat it before the end of the race." "Bargain." He clambered to his feet. Lifting his cup, he drained it easily. "See you tomorrow at sunrise. That will give everyone time to do their chores. We have charted a short course, so everyone should be able to complete it in the eight hours of sunlight." They did not wait for the door to close before they started to make plans for the race. When they jested about their determination to come in second, so they could win the valuable tool, Samantha remembered her promise. She left the men to completing the lists of essentials to be packed even for such a short journey. Soon her dark skirt was spattered with another layer of flour dust as she mixed up the cake made with the valuable ingredients which would urge the other teams to compete for first place. This race could be the most fun she had had in a long time. *** *** *** The day dawned crisp and cool, but not the icy cold they had suffered during the past month. Tying her scarf around her chin, Samantha’s eyes glowed with excitement. She did not doubt their team could beat the ones from Sixteen Above and Twenty Above. Since Christmas, she had seen the joy the dogs had in simply doing what they had been trained to do. By the time they arrived, the other teams were finishing cups of coffee laced liberally with brandy. While Joel and the other drivers checked their sleds and bragged about their dogs, Samantha went with Kevin to the cabin sitting at a cockeyed angle on the slope overlooking the riverbank claimed by Sixteen Above. Voices buffeted her ears as they entered the crowded room. Kevin steered her through the enthusiastic miners. More than one hand barely missed her nose as the men discussed the upcoming season of work in the cold waters of the Bonanza. She listened to the snatches of conversation and wondered how often they had talked about the same things at Fifteen Above. A spasm of sorrow went through her as she realized many of these men would be here a year from now still clutching onto the dream and praying that tomorrow would be the day it came true.

Someone pressed a cup in her gloved hands, but she grimaced at the horrid smell of the thick liquid in it. She did not attempt to taste it. If this was the swill the prospectors at Sixteen Above drank regularly, she could understand why the men appreciated her cooking so much. A shout called them out into the yard. Like a bag of marbles suddenly upended, they spewed out into the brilliant sunshine. Kevin took her hand and led her to the river. She was glad of his help down the steep cliff carved out of the once gentle riverbank. Liberty and his partners had decimated the hillside in their search for the gold had littered through the soil by the river over the passage of time. "All set?" called Joel as they approached. His words were accented by the cloud of frozen breath they had come to accept as normal, even inside their cabin. Grinning, he took Samantha’s hand and led her to where the sled sat on the ice behind the patient dogs. As he helped her into the seat and bundled the blankets around her, he did not note the tight expression on his partner’s face. Kevin stepped forward when Joel went to give the dogs a final check. Unwinding a long scarf from around his neck, he tied it over her hood and tucked the ends behind her. She reached to pull it to cover the lower half of her face. His firm hands halted her. When she saw his face descending toward hers, Samantha wanted to halt him. Her heavy clothes slowed her movements. His cold lips captured hers and pressed her down into the nest of blankets. The touch of his tongue against hers brought up her gloved hands against him. She shoved. Kevin slipped, bringing a blast of laughter from all sides of them. On the slippery ice, her motion had been enough to knock him off his feet. She busied herself with lifting the scarf into place when she saw Joel offer his hand to his partner. Whether Kevin accepted the aid or not, she did not know. "All set?" she heard through the muffling folds of material. "Yes." She repeated it louder when she realized Joel would not be able to understand her. His wave told the audience that the sled from Fifteen Above was ready to begin the challenging course he had gone over with the other drivers. He glanced at their competition. Bemis from Sixteen Above sat in the sled driven by Burroughs. Comeau, the slightest partner of Twenty Above, was nearly lost in the huge sled driven by Finnegan. Both banks of the creek were crowded with eager observers. Samantha spotted Kevin standing right above the starting line to the left. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she called, "Have cocoa ready when we return." Joel shouted, "To hell with cocoa. Have Scotch poured! That will warm us much faster and better than hot chocolate." Laughter rippled along the shore as the words were repeated to those who could not hear through their thick clothes. Anticipation murmured as the starter raised his rifle. For an eternal second, the only sound was the moan of the wind through the branches of the pine trees. The gun fired. Three sleds leaped forward at the shouted commands of their drivers. The dogs yapped in contagious eagerness. Sure-footedly, they sped along the river toward where they could reach the snow covered bank through a gap in the sluices and steep hillsides. Samantha clung to the sides of the sled, fearing at every moment it would tip over and careen into the path of one of their pursuers. She dared not exult as

Joel left the others behind them. The trip was a long one, and the leader at the beginning might be the last when the race was through. Slowly she relaxed and enjoyed the speed. When she had ridden with Joel before, they had not gone this fast. She recognized the pattern of the claims without looking for the cabins. The thick odor of green wood smoke clung to the ice on the river, growing stronger each time they approached a claim. She laughed and waved as Liberty’s sled passed them. With five dogs, he had an advantage, but she doubted if any of the dogs could match the ones racing in the traces of her sled. She was glad this was a friendly race. To be with friends again was a delight. The fun lasted through the first half of the race. By the time they reached the outermost point on the long journey, the sleds were no longer in sight of each other. Somewhere in the distance ahead of them, Liberty led. They had not seen the contestants from Twenty Above since an hour after they started. Whether Comeau and Finnegan continued, they could not know. A film covered the sun when Joel called for a halt. She reached for the packets of food they had stored by her feet for their midday meal. Silently he took the ones for the dogs. Giving them a strange look, he handed back all but two. "They must be hungry," she urged, starting to stand. His hand held her in the seat. "We aren’t stopping, Sam. I’ll give them this. We’ll eat ours on the run." "Why? What’s wrong?" "Look!" He pointed to the sky. "Blizzard clouds coming in." She repeated the words silently. They were out beyond the farthest claim. In such a storm, they could be marooned until they starved or froze to death. Her hands clenched on the sandwich until her fingers came through the meat and bread. She understood why Joel rationed the dogs. It might be long before they could get more food. "Don’t look so glum," he ordered in a lighter tone as he fed the dogs. He would not meet her worried eyes, for he did not want her to see the same expression in his. "It isn’t far to the first claim on this tributary. We’ll be able to stay there until it passes." "If we don’t reach it. . .?" He shook his head as he walked to the back of the sled. "Don’t think about that, Sam. We will." Pausing, as he watched the dogs devour their food, he added, "Let’s go." At the shouted order, Bear began to pull the sled back in the direction they had come. The animals seemed to sense the desperation of the situation. Their happy barks had vanished as they struggled to pull their burden as quickly as they could. If they had been running in front of the storm, they might have reached safety before it struck. Instead, their path cut directly across the oncoming clouds. The golden sunlight became gray, washing the color from the hillsides. Before they had traveled more than half an hour, a few, forlorn snowflakes spiraled down to rest in pristine perfection on the dark blankets around Samantha. Within minutes, that gentle fall had been replaced by the biting force of the wind. The snow cut into Samantha’s face. With her scarf raised over her nose and her parka hood low across her forehead, little of her skin was bared to the miniature knives of ice. She bent forward to bow her head to the cold. Each breath burned in her chest. She wondered how Joel could manage to continue running alongside the sled. Snow on the ice was slowing them perceptively.

Nestling into the blankets, she wished she could pull them over her head. She closed her eyes to protect them from the wind slicing even through the tightly woven wool. Her knees drew up to make her more comfortable in the confining sled. She wanted to get her toes closer to the warmth of her body. They ached with the cold. In a ball, she began to enjoy a bit of relief from the storm. She smiled as she listened to the hypnotic rhythm of the runners on the ice. It was a tranquil sound bringing back memories of other rides in the days before she lost her childhood dreams of happy ever after. Maybe it was not so impossible. She conjured up an image of a future with Joel far from this desolate land. A home, a family, a life together to express the love they treasured. In her ears, the rush of the wind became organ music, and she was transported to the familiar scene of her church. She wore the pink dress hidden in the bag beneath the bed in the loft. On her upswept hair was the misty hint of a veil crowned with orange blossoms. In her hand, she held roses. Their softly heady scent filled her senses. Reaching out her hand to Joel, she felt him place a wedding band on her finger. "Sam?" he asked beneath the swell of music at the end of the ceremony making them man and wife. "I love you," she whispered, knowing it must be kept a secret from the world no longer. "Sam?" His voice was more urgent, but she simply smiled. She knew what her beloved husband wanted. The same as she did. A chance to express the sweet, warm love. "Soon, my love," she tried to say, but her mouth refused to work correctly. Fear spiraled through her as she tried again. The same thing happened. No sound answered her efforts. From a thousand miles away, she could hear a curse, but did not know where it came from. She knew she could not answer. It was easier to float in her dreams. Only when a gloved hand vigorously shook her shoulder did she look up. Her head weighed too much for her neck. Closing her eyes, she let it drop forward again. She was warmer when she did not see the white curtain of snow eclipsing everything in view. She moaned when she was shaken harder. In her mind, her hands raised to bat away the ones tormenting her. The effort to attempt it proved to much. All she wanted to do was sleep. She was so tired, and it was so lusciously warm to dream away the storm. "Sam! Sam! Honey, wake up!" "Hmm," she murmured before her eyelids drooped again. For the first time in months, she was warm. The slap of hand against her frozen cheek shattered her lassitude. She cried out as the hand struck her again and again. This time she managed to lift her arms to block the glove from hitting her. Opening her eyes, she regarded Joel with surprise. Every hair on his face was individually frosted with ice and snow. His skin had been pitted by the wind driven particles. When she saw he stood over her with his coat open, she found the strength to cry, "Why are you unbuttoned? Do you want to freeze to death?" He did not answer her as he lifted her from the sled. When he placed her in the snow, she found her legs would not support her. She clutched onto his shoulders as he undid her parka as well. Brushing off the snow, he opened it and pressed

her against the warmth of his body. He held his own coat closed around her. Instead of the meager heat making her more drowsy, she found herself slowly revitalizing. Within minutes, she was awake enough to understand what had almost happened to her. The gentle slipping into oblivion was not dreams, but death by freezing. When her arms slid up to stroke his back, he smiled against her hood. Speaking over the roar of the wind, he asked, "Sam, are you awake?" "Yes!" she shouted back. "We can’t get home in this storm. I’m lost, and the dogs have been running aimless too long. They can’t find the scent of our route." "Lost?" The word exploded out of her, wiping away the last seductive strands of sleep. He bent so his face was directly in hers. Their mingled breaths froze in the air between them. "Not truly lost. I know we are on the same tributary. I’m not exactly sure how far we have to go to reach the river. What I do know is we can’t go on much longer." "If we stay out here, we’ll freeze." He ordered her to close her coat. While he did the same, he explained what they would do. Like the natives of this land, they would build a shelter with the snow and branches of the overhanging trees. With the sled to block the wind, they and the dogs could huddle together until the wind abated. By the time the sun rose tomorrow, they should be able to find their way back to Fifteen Above. Although her legs ached with the hours of riding in the sled, she helped him gather the primitive materials he needed. She was careful never to wander too far. As she worked, she kept the dark shadow of the sled in sight. While he stacked the branches to his satisfaction, she gathered their limited supplies from the sled. She carried armfuls of blankets and the remaining packages of food into the waist-high shelter. When she crawled into it, she spread the blankets on the floor except the one spot where Joel had gouged a hole in the permafrost. Stones sat there, and she suspected he planned a fire. He followed her in after releasing the dogs. When he pulled the sled at an angle across the door, she gasped, "What about the dogs?" "They want to stay outside," he answered with an exhausted sigh. "With their thick fur, they don’t seem bothered by the wind. I will check them before we sleep. Now, let me get some heat in here." Samantha had been afraid the fire would melt their roof, but the low flame faded quickly into smoky embers which burned her eyes. Its slight heat did not penetrate her heavy clothes, but vanquished the most vicious waves of the wind penetrating the walls around them. She pulled her knees tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Choking with the smoke, she tried to make herself comfortable. When she heard Joel speak, she looked up in surprise at his joshing tone. "What did you say?" He laughed. Pushing back the heavy hood of his coat, he crossed his arms on his knees and smiled at her. "I said it’s a damn shame we missed out on both the shovel and your cake. It smelled ambrosial when you took it out of the oven." "You like everything I cook," she retorted, allowing his humor to ease the tight bonds encircling his chest. She always could depend on Joel to see her fears and soothe them.

"More than that, I like everything you do." The glow of desire in his eyes shocked her. While they struggled with the deadly forces beyond their shelter simply to survive, she had not thought he would be thinking of love. In a shaking voice, she said, "I don’t think this is the time for discussing that." "Don’t be frightened, my love," he murmured. He tilted her head back so he could see her eyes dim with fear. Longing to return the bright light of happiness to them, he smiled roguishly. "My love. That sounds so sweet from my lips. This escapade isn’t without its advantages. We are alone." She smiled as she brushed the nagging lock of hair from his eyes. "And it is less than 45 degrees below zero beyond these walls of snow. I think you are mad, Joel Gilchrist!" "Of course. I’m mad with longing to hold you. I want to feel the fire of your love melting all the cold around us." When he lowered his head toward her, she welcomed him with lips which could never be cold for him. He had forgotten how her breath inflamed his desire to love her. Every reason he had to love her disappeared except for the most important. He wanted to her all around him, giving them the pleasure they could know only with each other. She forgot her fears that they might not live to see the dawn hours away. If they were to die, she wanted to taste once more the succulent fruits of this precious love. As his mouth moved along her cheeks, the stiffness of his frosted mustache scratched her skin. A sudden hunger erased the discomfort. She sensed the same uncontrollable passion building in him when he held her against the blankets. The iron bar of his arm beneath her tightened on her shoulders as he lifted the hem of her skirts. She did not feel the wind as his tongue led hers on a feverish tarantella. Reaching for the buttons at the waist of his denims, she impatiently ripped off her gloves and tossed them aside. She did not want to bother with the time it would take to manage the metal fasteners with the thick suede on her hands. He moaned into her mouth as her questing fingers caressed him while she completed her task. He growled her name into her ear as he pinned her to the blanket. A satisfied cry erupted from her lips when the first swell of joy was swallowed by the escalating ecstasy. The months of longing to be in his arms again vanished as the fire of his love melted her to him. She became the rhythm of their movements. The heat of his breath on her face matched the pulse beating wildly in her ears. When, in the moment of perfection, she heard him mumble her name, she dissolved into a fathomless pool of rapture. As she sank into its depths, she took the wondrous thought that the man she loved joined her in this drowning of all the senses in love. *** *** *** "Sam, I’m sorry," Samantha heard as she opened her eyes to find herself in the small, snow house. Her bleary vision tried to bring Joel’s face into focus. "Sorry?" She could not imagine what could be wrong. Soon the cold would sift back into their lethargic bodies, but, for now, she clung to heaven. His tender hands smoothed her skirts around her boots. "Honey, that was not how I planned to love you when we were alone again. It has been so long since I held you. I — " "You made me feel wonderful." As his mouth became round with shock, she smiled and kissed him lightly. "It has been as long for me, darling. You weren’t the

only one who couldn’t wait to share our love. Don’t you understand? I love you. I love you when you are a gentle, giving lover. I love you when you demand what I want as well." Joel had an odd expression of disbelief on his face. When her fingers smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead, he whispered, "You mean that, don’t you? You would love me no matter what happens." "Of course." She laughed while she placed her face against the heat of his clothes. "Are you going to tell me now that you are a murderer or have a wife in the States?" In a muted voice, he said, "No, nothing like that. I simply am awed by the strength of your love, Sam." Her fingers brought his face close to her gaze. "And do you love me?" "Do you need to ask?" He grinned as she began to retort. Placing his finger over her lips, he added, "Hush. Yes, I will tell you the truth. I love you, Samantha Perry. You are never far from my mind and always in my heart. Stay here in my arms tonight." "And tomorrow we will get home?" Tilting her face so her mouth was directly beneath his lips, he whispered, "I don’t want to think of that, my love. I want to think only of the love we will share tonight." "Me, too!" she managed to say in the seconds before he kept her lips too busy to talk. They would return to their world in the daylight. For now, she wanted the magic.

Chapter Seventeen "Joel, what should I do? I don’t want to hurt him." "You could tell him the truth." As Samantha heard the answer she knew in her heart to be the best solution, she closed her eyes to shut out the image of Kevin’s sad face. When she discovered that only made the picture more vivid, she looked up at the tall man beside her. Her disquiet was mirrored on his face. In the weeks since the nearly disastrous race which had ended in hours of love, she had hoped Kevin would understand the truth of her feelings. At first she was sure he did. When she and Joel arrived with the dog team back at Sixteen Above with the end of the storm, Kevin had been pacing the bank of the river. The fear ingrained into his face could not be hidden. She had soothed his ravaged heart while Joel gracefully accepted the relieved jesting of their friends. The next few days, Kevin had treated her like a precious treasure. He insisted she rest in bed while he tended her as closely as she had watched over him during his recurring bouts of pneumonia. Even Joel’s insistence that they return to work would not budge him from her side. When she finally convinced him she was fine, the trouble started.

Every time she lowered her guard for a moment, Kevin was there urging her to kiss him, to tell him she loved him, touching her too intimately. She had resisted with the kindness she reserved for him, but it was proving futile. Her efforts to keep him away only made him more determined to show her the strength of his feelings. What had happened an hour ago had been the impetus to send her to Joel for help. She had been reaching into the sack of flour in the addition when hands circled her waist. Her disappointment at seeing Kevin instead of Joel did not lessen her shock when he turned her into his arms. "Let me go!" she cried. Realizing how terrified she sounded, she amended in a calmer voice, "I need to get the bread started if you and Joel want it for breakfast tomorrow." Instead of doing as she ordered, he pulled her more tightly to him. "Samantha, I don’t give a damn about bread. I want you. Don’t you know that?" "I know, but, Kevin, I can’t." He must have sensed the sympathy in her words. Translating that as pity, his mouth twisted with rage. "You won’t ever love me, will you?" "I can’t force something I don’t feel." She placed her hands on his arms holding her painfully. "Kevin, you don’t want me to lie to you, do you?" "No, I want you to lie with me, Samantha!" he snapped. When she colored, he laughed. "You won’t change, I see. You are still the sweet, little girl you were when you arrived in Dawson. Well, honey, I have waited just about as long as I can for you. I struggled to learn to read and write to please you. I have tried to woo you with pretty words and vowed to give you marriage if that is what you want, but, Samantha," he said through clenched teeth, shaking her to emphasize every word, "I won’t wait much longer." Her face had become ashen as he released her and stamped across the room. The door had slammed in his wake, but she had not moved. She could not. Her weak knees would not have supported her. When the first wave of horror passed, she knew she must speak to the only one who understood her dilemma. She had sought out Joel, finding him trying to repair a loosened board on the sluice. "How?" she asked softly as he put his hammer in a pocket and stood. "How can I tell him the truth? How would you want me to tell you if the situation was reversed?" "That is the problem." She did not respond to his half-hearted teasing. "Sam, let me talk to him tomorrow while we’re working." Turning away, she shivered as she gazed at the sky ablaze with the northern lights. She wrapped her arms around herself. Her hands hid beneath the thick fur of her sleeves. It did not help. As frigid as the spring night was, she was colder inside. She should not let Joel tell Kevin the truth. Poor Kevin had not found any of his dreams waiting in the Klondike. The wealth of gold discovered by some along the Bonanza was not here for them, although not one of the partners was willing to admit the claim was a blank. In addition, Kevin would lose his dream of love for her. "No," she whispered. Strong arms encircled her, leaning her against the body she longed to feel without the bulky clothes between them. "Will delaying help, sweetheart?" "I just don’t want to hurt him more." He pressed his lips to her icy cheek. "And us? Sam, do you realize how long it

has been since you slept in my arms?" "Nearly a month ago," she said with a sigh. "That question didn’t need an answer. I was sure you knew." His arms tightened around her. "My love, you have warmed the winter for me. Yet to see you, to brush against you as we pass in the cabin, to smell your perfume and not be able to love you as I want. . .I told you already that it is driving me to madness." "Me, too." With a hungry moan of unsated desire, he whirled her into his arms. His mouth found hers as their silhouettes blurred into one. The hurried loving in the snow shelter only served to whet their appetite for more. She wanted to touch his skin tight across his muscles and delight in his fingers moving along her in a directionless spiral of ecstasy. When he released her, he sighed. Holding her added to the anguish of knowing it might be months again before he could love her. He vowed he would allow this horrible situation to exist no longer. Kevin was well. He had not suffered another relapse since the dog sled race. Spring would be here soon. If Kevin could not accept the truth and wanted to dissolve their partnership, it would allow whichever one of them left Fifteen Above to find another partner. "I will tell him tomorrow," he whispered against her hood. "The ice was soft today. I’m hoping we can break through it in the morning to release the water under it. If we do that, I will broach the subject to him. It will be better when things are looking up for all of us." "Do you want me to help?" She knew how difficult this would be for him. Joel’s hard exterior could not hide his often broken heart. She could not imagine him wanting another to suffer the anguish he had known when his fiancé jilted him. He nodded. "Come down in mid-morning with the coffee like you do every day. We’ll tell him then." Although she agreed, she dreaded the confrontation to come. Kevin would be deeply wounded. She wished there could be another way, but when her heart decided, she could not change it. All she could do was soften the pain to come. *** *** *** Enthusiastic cursing made Samantha look up in amazed amusement as she poured Kevin a cup of coffee. The temperature flirted with the balmy temperatures above freezing. She normally was happy to take advantage of every moment she could to breathe in the air which no longer cut through her with each inhalation. Today she merely thought of the confrontation to come. The river ran beneath a thin sheet of ice. Joel had broken through it at dawn to begin the endless quest for the gold they needed so desperately. If they did not find some sparkles soon among the gravel, they would be forced to admit defeat and return to the States as so many others had during the past year. She wondered if it might not be better under the circumstances. Rehearsing again how she would tell Kevin that she loved Joel, she filled the other mugs with the steaming liquid. When the shout was repeated more excitedly, she slid from her chilly seat on the stump where she had placed the three cups. She gasped when Kevin came careening up the riverbank toward her. With an excitement she had never seen on his face, he grabbed her and twirled her in his arms. Her questions were ignored as he kissed her soundly. Holding her hand, he led her pell-mell toward the sluice. Her hand covered her mouth as she met Joel’s triumphant smile. A happiness nearly as strong as when he held her in his arms coursed through her with the power of the spring run. He held out his pan. She put her finger in to touch the

sparkles winking at her in the sunlight. There was far more than the infrequent glitter they had found before she arrived. "Gold!" she whispered. She looked up at Joel as her gold-tinted finger settled on his arm. The dream had come true for them. Her smile broadened as she tightened her grip on the hand Kevin held and invited him into their private joy. Their wishes had taken life. "At least she did not ask how much," the dark haired man teased. "How much then?" "Enough to buy you a new hat!" His arm swept to include the whole bank on the opposite side of the creek. "It appears we may be as lucky as those on Eldorado. Hundreds!" "Thousands!" added Kevin. "Millions!" Joel pulled off his hat and slapped it against his side. "Can you believe it? We wasted a whole year digging on this side when a fortune waited for us on the other side." He grinned broadly. "Dammit, Kevin! It’s a good thing we didn’t give up, eh?" The blond waded into the water, breaking a path through the thin sheet of ice. "Shut up, will you? Let’s get back to work and make the three of us very, very wealthy!" Samantha laughed with giddy abandon. Clapping her hands, she watched as the men continued the work which finally would bring them the rewards they had been seeking for over a year. She thought briefly of what they were to discuss with Kevin this morning, but pushed the sorrow out of her mind. She wanted to be happy and celebrate this streak of good luck which could be too short. Rushing back to the cabin, she opened several tin cans without bothering to read what was in them. She spooned their contents into the stew pot on the stove. Cautious not to cut her hands, she washed out the cans and dried them carefully. There was a skip in her step as she returned to the water. "Here!" she cried. "Something to hold your findings." Kevin sloshed from the far side of the sluice to take the tins. "You’d better open a few more, Samantha." "You can’t be serious!" He laughed. "Serious? Hardly, for I feel like kicking up my heels and dancing a jig. Yet it’s the truth. Start figuring how you intend to spend your third of a share of all the gold at the rainbow’s end." Samantha did not believe what she considered an exaggeration until the early darkness of spring kept them from working as late as they wished. Their grumbling was tempered with their light-hearted jesting about the turn of good fortune settling on Fifteen Above. She was glad she had paid no attention to what she prepared for dinner. The plates were pushed aside as Kevin uncovered a very special bottle of whiskey they had been saving for this moment. Three generous glasses were poured. Drinking toasts to everyone and everything they could think of, they celebrated their luck. Samantha took one sip of the liquor and poured hers in Joel’s mug. She refilled hers with wine. Laughter flowed more and more freely until Joel was convinced to take out his violin. Kevin whirled her around the room until she was dizzier from the dancing than the drink. He did not pause until she told him her toes could take no more of his abuse. That set him laughing. He tried to follow her back to the table, but dropped into a heap on the floor. His antics brought only more amusement. As she walked by the bench, Joel’s arm corralled her and pulled her onto his lap. He held up her cup, not caring that it splashed onto her lap. "To hell with

it!" he crowed. "Soon you will have a dozen dresses to wear each day. Don’t worry about these old things." "Old things?" she demanded in mock outrage. "Look at you! All mud and filth." Lifting her from his lap, he stood and bowed awkwardly. "Excuse me, ma’am. I did not realize this was a formal party." "Formal?" A mischievous grin crossed her lips as she stood. "Wait here." "Where are you going?" he called after her, unsure what he had said to send her scurrying up the ladder. "You’ll see." She gave him the broad wink he had used to disconcert her on many occasions when she was newly arrived at Fifteen Above. "Have another drink. I’ll be right back." Samantha smiled indulgently as she heard Joel launch into another cruder version of the song he had been humming all day. He sang so lustily in his mellow baritone that she wanted to fling her arms around him again and sample his lips caressing her. Reaching beneath the bed, she pulled out the carpetbag she had never unpacked. The latches flipped aside easily as she opened the top. She held her breath while she lifted the crinkled, paper wrapped bundle. Reverently she placed it on the bed and pushed the tissue aside to reveal the pink silk. Her wedding dress, a frock for a wondrous celebration, the gown she would wear tonight. Hastily she unbuttoned her clothes stained with the mud from the riverbank. Washing in the ice-coated water in the pail by the bed, she hurriedly redressed. The temperature continued to drop with the deepening of the night. Joel and Kevin would be more frustrated than before if the Bonanza froze solid again and they could not continue to sluice and pan. With their dream in their grasp, they would hold on tenaciously, unwilling to relinquish it again. She let the rose cloud billow over her. Straightening the squared neckline, she smiled at the glitter of sequins amid the Hamburg lace. The skirt fell fully to the floor. Its pink point d’espri netting shadowed the stiffened silk beneath it and hid wrinkles from the year the dress waited in the bag. When she moved to stand before the small mirror, she was thrilled by the flow of the tiers at the back of the skirt. She puffed out the wide sleeves dropping to her elbow and a fall of lace. Brushing her hair into place in a more formal style than she normally wore, she smiled. This is how she had wanted to look the day she married the man who possessed her heart. Instead she wore the luxurious gown to commemorate the discovery of gold. Surprisingly that did not bother her. Unbeknownst to her, sometime during her months at Fifteen Above, she had become as bemused as the men with the idea of making the big strike. She wanted Joel to have his dreams come true. They had! Joel glanced across the room as he heard Samantha’s footsteps overhead moving toward the ladder. He called, "Hurry! We are waiting to make a toast to our. . ." As his partner’s voice faded, Kevin followed Joel’s gaze. His eyes, bleary with whiskey, widened. A vision straight from his dreams smiled through the pale blur of pink. He started to rise from the floor, but realized the liquor had slowed him too much. Joel pushed past him to greet Samantha. Kevin smiled as he reached for the whiskey bottle. Soon she would be dressed like this all the time. They would have plenty of gold to waste on all kinds of baubles. He wanted to decorate Samantha with everything her heart desired while she made his fantasies come true in the gleam of the gold surrounding them.

Gold! He raised his cup in a silent toast to the yellow metal and what it would buy for him. Draining the whiskey from it, he sloshed another serving into the wavy mug. Across the room, the other two did not notice his actions. In a soft voice, rough with the emotions he could not keep from his eyes, Joel murmured, "Sam, you look so beautiful tonight. Why haven’t you worn this gown before? It’s perfect for you." "I had planned to save it for a special occasion." She smiled as she ran her fingers along his arm. "Tonight is a very special one." "This is your wedding gown?" He lost his buoyant good humor when she nodded reluctantly. It took little effort for him to imagine pretty Sam in this puff of pink standing by his side in front of a preacher. It took even less for him to fantasize the night to follow when he rediscovered the softness he knew waited beneath the dress. "Don’t look so glum," she teased. "After all, you have never shown any signs of regretting what you did to me. It’s a little late for that now." He put his hand against her cheek and tilted her face to look up at his. Emotion thickened his voice. "Sam, how could I be sorry for anything which brought you into my life?" A crash interrupted her answer. She smiled as she saw their partner had tried to stand and had failed. He was sprawled across the side of the bed. "Shall we?" "I do think he needs some help." Joel moved to one side of Kevin while Samantha took his other arm. "C’mon, Kev. How about an early night for you? We have a busy day tomorrow stealing more of that gold from the pay dirt." The blond man grinned idiotically at Samantha as she removed his glasses and put them on the table. "Thanks, honey. You want to — " "Not tonight, Kevin," she said softly before he could say anything to betray his thoughts they all knew. "You sleep. Tomorrow you can find more gold." "Gold," he breathed as he closed his eyes. They left him to his dreams. Joel was nearly as unstable as he groped for the bench. He sat and turned to look at his partner. Kevin snored inelegantly on the bed. One leg dangled off, its boot partially unlaced. A hole in his stocking revealed his big toe. He mumbled something before rolling to his side. The comfort of the stove reached almost across the room to where Samantha joined Joel on the bench. "I have never seen Kevin drink so much. Not even when we went into Grand Forks," he mused. His own voice was blurred with the whiskey he had consumed during their celebration. "Don’t deny him his happiness." "Or us ours." He turned her to face him. Candid desire softened his features harder than the rocks on the cliffs overlooking the river. "Tonight, Sam. It has been an eternity since the last time you slept in my arms." "Now that we have found the riches you dreamed of, it might make the whole situation easier. Kevin can go back home and choose any woman he wants. Maybe even his Leslie Morgain, if he still loves her. Few would refuse to marry a man as wealthy as he will be by the time the Yukon thaws and we can leave." His finger caressed the line of her cheek before becoming entangled in her hair. "You will be rich, too, sweetheart, in your own right. Remember you get a third of all coming from the river. You won’t need to marry a wealthy man." "No," she answered slowly. She watched as his face lowered toward hers. "I told you that didn’t matter to me. I never planned to marry a rich man."

"Then would you reconsider?" His warm breath washed over her with the thick aroma of whiskey. "Would you marry me, Sam?" "I told you once in a letter I wrote to you ages ago that I would marry you," she said. Her laugh disappeared into the moist caverns of his mouth as he drew her lips beneath his. When he released her and slid off the bench to kneel on one knee, she giggled. Kevin was not the only one who had had too much to drink. The wine they poured for her had loosened her inhibitions and made everything more merry. Her hand stroked the rough stubble on his face. In the excitement since the discovery of the ice thinning two days ago, he had not taken time to shave. Although he smiled, his eyes were serious as he said, "Miss Samantha Perry, I would deem it the greatest honor if you would consent to being my beloved wife. I vow I will cherish you more with each passing day and try to make your life as happy as you have made mine. Just say ‘yes’. Tell me you will be mine." Fighting not to chuckle, she responded in the same officious tone, "Mr. Joel Gilchrist, you have lied to me and made me insane with fury. I vowed to make you sorry for what you did to me." "You did." She smiled at his sharp answer before she continued, "Now I find I want to make you happy. If marrying you is what will do that, then I say yes." "Are you doing this only for me?" "For me, too." Her eyes twinkled as she said, "Even though I still question why so often, I love you, Joel. I love you more than anyone or anything in my life." "And I love you." He grinned wickedly as he stood and lifted her into his arms. Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he stepped past his senseless partner. He walked to the ladder and placed her on the first rung. "Up, wench. Delay, and you will find yourself walking the plank and pleasuring the fish." She threw over her shoulder as she climbed, "You are drunk." Only when he stood next to her on the upper floor did he reply. "Intoxicated with desire for you, my love." She gazed up into his face and noticed how his hair brushed the rafters over their heads. Her hands stroked the length of his steel strong arms. Watching his eyes rove along her in eager yearning, she whispered, "Should I believe a profession of love and an offer of marriage from a drunkard?" "Silence, wench," he ordered with a lusty laugh worthy of the pirate he portrayed with his arrogant stance. When she laughed, he bent. Putting his arms around her waist, he tipped her over his shoulders. His long hours of working in the river allowed him to heft her easily on knees weakened by the whiskey. Ordering her to be silent before she woke the man sleeping below, he dropped her on the bed. He flashed an imaginary broadsword. "By the orders of your master, wench, prepare yourself for the night of your life!" She laughed. In the spirit of the game, she sat on the pillows and crossed her arms over her chest in a protective pose. "Never, Captain. You have sunk my ship and killed my crew. Before I allow you to touch me, I will fling myself over the side." "You have read too many novels," he said as he sat beside her. "Aye, Captain," she answered saucily. "Enough to know what happens to captive wenches on pirate ships." "And?" Her hands rose to the front of his shirt. Slowly she undid each button. With her gaze unabashedly speaking of her love for him, her palms spread across his bared

chest. When she heard his gasp of pleasure, she slipped her arms beneath the loosened shirt to stroke his back. Her face pressed to the warmth of his hard body softened so slightly by the curling hair across his chest. Gently he drew her head up so he could see her loving face in the dim light. "Tonight, Sam, I will love you as I have wanted so long. No hurried coupling in the snow. Tonight we will share love." He placed his lips against her left cheek, then her right. She closed her eyes in eager anticipation as he kissed her forehead and the chin which had raised too often in obstinacy. A breath of delight billowed into his mouth when he tasted the pleasure waiting for him on her lips. He lowered her back against the bed. When it creaked softly, he smiled. This would be the only music to accompany the sweet dance they shared here tonight. The normally caustic sound would become the most wonderful melody. Lifting her arms, she draped them over his shoulders and brought him to lean over her. The luscious pressure of his body holding her to the thin mattress allowed her to recall the lines of his masculine body. Within her, the dull ache of longing became anguish. She wanted what she had been denied too long. It took him little time to undo the hooks along the back of her gown, but he did not hurry to remove it from her. Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered the neckline of the fancy gown. His lips followed the dress along her body. She writhed as she wanted to cry out for him to hurry. A moan slipped from her as his mouth found the curved surface of her breast that was visible above the lace chemise. All of her centered on the liquid path he blazed across her skin. Even as he explored the velvet valley hidden beneath the lace, she was slipping his shirt from his shoulders. "Don’t be in a rush, my love," he whispered against her. "But I want you so much!" He chuckled in the second before his lips crushed hers. The gentle lover had become the rapacious pirate intent on devouring her to satisfy the passion exploding between them. She had no time to react as he stripped the gown from her and unlaced her chemise to toss it to the floor. Her petticoats followed nearly as quickly. Rising, he loosened his denims and removed them while keeping his lips against hers. The nectar he drank there only whetted his thirst for more. He kicked aside the clothes. With a sigh of indescribable satisfaction, he drew her beneath him on the narrow bed. Too many months had passed since he had felt her naked body moving with heated invitation next to him. She gasped as he rolled so she rested atop him. A calculating smile tipped one side of her mouth as she ran her finger along the virile lines of his body and watched his reaction. Staccato breaths of rapture puffed into her mouth when she placed it against his open lips. In the same intense, intriguing way he had explored her, she moved to taste the textures of his skin. Along the side of his face, sharp bristles scraped her lips. They metamorphosed into the softly twisted hair along his broad chest. She continued to explore his body, exulting in the newly discovered flavors and the subtle, musky scent of his desire. His hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back to meet his lips. "You are driving me mad!" he gasped between heated kisses. "That’s what I intended," she teased. "Then pay the price, wench!" Any retort she would have made was forgotten as he lifted her over him. Her

fingers fisted on his chest as she fought the ecstasy cascading over her. The rush of the cataract became deafening, although she could taste his words of love murmured against her lips. She slid into the vortex where only her body moving against his had form. As she surrendered to the rapture, she whispered, "I love you." She vanished on the wake of the words into the heated passion only two could know. *** *** *** Samantha’s finger ran lazily along Joel’s face, softened from its usual brusque irony. "Remind me never to get close to you when your cheeks are as rough as if they are covered with steel wool." "Do you mean that?" "No," she replied with a laugh. She wondered how she could have denied her heart this joy for as long as she had. With another laugh, she answered the question as silently. There had been few chances for this stolen intimacy when Kevin acted as an unsuspecting chaperone. "I want to be close to you under whatever conditions as often as possible. I love you." "I noticed. Very well you love me." When she grimaced at him, he kissed the top of her head resting on his chest. "I love you, Sam. As soon as the spring waters go down and the work lessens, we will go into Grand Forks and get married." "The prospecting comes first, of course." No bitterness altered her voice. "Only because I want to give you everything you want when we leave this desolate land." She placed her arm across the broad expanse of warm skin. "I have everything I want right here with me." Her compliment was marred when she yawned. Smoothing her hair, he whispered, "Go to sleep, my love. We all have been working too hard." "You are staying?" "For now." He chuckled against her head. "After all, it has been a long time since I slept in my bed." "This is your bed?" He drew her arm back across him. The echoing thunder of his laughter sounded beneath her ear. "You knew it must be Kevin’s or mine. Do you know what exquisite agony it has been to know you slept in my bed without me?" "Yes," she whispered. Her simple answer sent heat spiraling through him. That flicker became a conflagration when he leaned her into the pillows once more. The expression of delight on her face blinded him to anything but the realization he had found what he had been looking for during the past decade. The fact Sam could bring him everything he wanted faded from his mind as he thought of only of this insatiable passion. *** *** *** Samantha smiled as she stretched happily. Her arm swept the spot in her bed where Joel had rested until he left before Kevin awoke. Once the giddiness from their discovery wore off, they would tell their partner the truth and ask him to share their happiness at their wedding. Delighting in her joy, she closed her eyes again and imagined the ceremony they would have. Not in Grand Forks. In Dawson it must be. She wanted Mrs. Kellogg to attend and Constable French. Also Gwen and Mr. Munroe, if she could get a message to them. She pressed to her face the pillow Joel had used. The residual scent of bay rum clung to it. Soon she would be able to wake to this every morning. She doubted

if anything could be more wonderful. When she could delay no longer, she dressed and climbed down the ladder. She hummed as she went to the stove and the pot of coffee to wash the remaining flavor of the wine from her mouth. They had celebrated wildly last night. She had never seen the two men so openly happy. It seemed somehow perfect that all of them had had a dream come true yesterday. She turned as the cold breeze announced the opening of the door. A smile threatened to break through her cheeks to escape in a chorus of exultation. When Joel closed the door behind him, she leaped across the room with her arms outstretched. Gruffily, he stated, "Stay away. I am soaked from trying to fix that damn sluice." "It’s broken?" "I wouldn’t be trying to fix it if it wasn’t, would I?" he snapped. "Dammit, woman! Don’t just stand there. Get me something warm to drink." Samantha recoiled from the sharpness of his words. Unsure what to say, she poured him a cup. Silently she placed it in front of him. He took a drink and spewed it across the table. The rest he tossed in the bucket by the door. "Joel!" When he glared at her, she refused to be intimidated. She knew he was upset by the break in the equipment when the previous day had been so profitable, but that was no reason to taint their drinking water. She would have to climb the hill to the spring to get more. "Why did you do that? You can empty the pail and get some on your way back to the river." He hurled the mug viciously toward the wall. The tin cup clattered to the floor. The dents were visible even from where Samantha stood. Her soft cry of dismay added to his rage as he gripped her right arm in his powerful hand. Looking down into her shocked eyes, he said in a tightly quiet tone, "Don’t give me orders, Sam. Don’t ever give me orders." "You are hurting me." She searched his contorted face and tried to discover where her tender lover had vanished with the morning light. "Joel, please, let go of me." "No orders," he hissed. He released her to fall back against the table. "What is wrong?" she gasped. Watching as she rubbed her arm, his mouth worked with words he did not utter. Spasms of conflicting emotions sped across his face, but he simply turned on his heel and walked out of the cabin. In horror, Samantha started as the door slammed. Had she imagined last night when he spoke of love and made every effort to bring her pleasure? If she had not, then there must be another explanation for this chameleon behavior. She wished she knew what it was.

Chapter Eighteen When Samantha stepped from the cabin, she shivered. The wind did not cut as harshly as it had a month before. Even so, she tightened her cloak over her

coat. If anyone from home saw her, they would chortle at her odd assortment of clothes, but she had learned the many layers protected her best from the cold. Kevin walked beside her, holding her arm as they went through the slippery patches of ice on the hillside leading down to the river. Starting in the predawn darkness, they hoped to be able to use the refrozen waterway for the first few miles. The brief warmth had vanished, bringing back the thicker layer of ice on top of the creek. Once the sun rose to warm the ice, they would have to resort to traveling on the uneven country along the Bonanza and Klondike. With the uneven weather, they had to halt the sluicing until the ice softened again. After a brief discussion, Joel and Kevin had decided to take this opportunity to go into Dawson for supplies unavailable in Grand Forks. They would not want to leave the river when the water ran fast and they could find more gold. "There are two extra loaves of bread in the meat storage," she said earnestly. "I left the remainder of last night’s soup on the stove for you." He smiled. "I can assure you, Samantha, I will be fine. You are only going to be gone a short time. I don’t intend to starve in that time." "Just take care of yourself. After that bout of pneumonia this winter, I don’t want you to sicken again while I’m gone." "I promise if I feel the illness coming on, I will delay the symptoms until you return." He paused as a shadowed form moved against the ghostly paleness of the ice. "Here you are. All set, Joel?" The dark-haired man nodded. "I have been ready for an hour." Samantha did not say anything. Too often in the last week, she had wanted to shout to him to stop being so petulant. She could not understand why Joel lost his happiness just when she would have thought he had every reason to be elated. He had found his gold and won her heart. Every chance he could, he snapped at her. She wondered if he had had second thoughts about marrying her. If he had, he should say so. She would have thought Joel would be honest with her about such important matters. Kevin’s smile broadened, as he bent to kiss her. He could not miss the coldness between her and his partner. If they once had been close, he was sure she had decided she did not want Joel Gilchrist. That meant he would have a chance to woo her again. He was less than sincere when he said, "Have a pleasant trip." She clamored into the seat in the dog sled. Pulling the furs around her, she nodded. "Thank you. Take care of yourself." Joel added to him, still pointedly ignoring the woman, "If all goes well, and the weather holds, we should be back before nightfall. I know Samantha wants to visit Mrs. Kellogg, but we will leave early. I don’t want to be traveling the rivers with only the light of the stars to guide us." A sharp order to the dogs started them along the creek. She turned to wave to Kevin. When he was no longer in sight, she crouched down in the covers. This would be a very long trip if Joel continued as he was. She had thought whatever irritated him would be resolved long before they left for Dawson. Cold ate into her bones as the dogs set a good pace. She could hear the clump of his boots behind her, but he said nothing. It was not simply that the exertion took all his breath. When they had traveled in the dogsled before, he had chatted easily of the excitement of this exotic form of transportation. She clutched the sides as they bounced on a rippled patch of ice. Drawing her scarf up over her mouth, she gratefully breathed through the wool which strained the most cutting iciness from the air.

The hours passed in silence. Occasionally they met a prospector Joel knew. He would greet his acquaintance cheerfully, but did not stop. Not once did he speak to Samantha. She wanted to scream out the questions plaguing her. If only he would explain why he was angry. She had done only as he wanted, as she wanted. That should not have created this wall which he had erected to keep her far from him. When the roofs of Dawson appeared in the distance, she breathed in relief. She had not thought any journey could be as long as this one. Although the dogs had run well and the sled did not break down, the lack of conversation made the trip drag on at a much slower pace than she was accustomed to in the dog sled. They slowed as they merged into one of the outer streets and the clogged lines of traffic. Her head swiveled as she noted the changes in the city since her arrival almost a year before. Electric wires hung from poles along the edges of the road. More buildings constructed of planks instead of logs lined the street. Additional businesses had been started to take the gold from the prospectors. Joel turned the sled behind the line of hotels on Front Street. There waited a barn labeled simply Livery. It had been used little, for few had the leisure to enjoy the luxury of a ride. Slowly Samantha rose from the sled. In a cursory manner, Joel offered her his hand to assist her out of it. Her muscles, cramped from the hours of riding, betrayed her. She swayed against him. Gruffly, he said, "Are you ill?" "I’m fine," she answered, jerking her hand away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him walk away without another comment. Again she wondered where her Joel had disappeared. This could not be the same man who wooed her with succulent phrases and more luscious kisses through the cold months of the winter. She listened silently as he negotiated with the stable owner to leave the dogs there for the day. A flash of gold caught the midday sun to seal the bargain. Joel patted the dogs on the head and walked out of the stable. "They will be fine here. Come on." "Joel?" "What is it?" She recoiled from the venom in his voice. Every day he became more impatient with her, but she could not understand why. She was sure she had done nothing to cause this rift. She loved him, although she was not sure if he loved her any longer. That thought sent a fierce pain through her center. Her hand started to raise to touch him, but she pulled it back. Softly she asked, as she had so often, "Joel, what is bothering you?" When he stamped toward the street without answering, she hurried to follow. This time she did grab his arm. He tried to shake her off, but she refused to be intimidated by his glare colder than the piles of snow around them. "Tell me what’s wrong!" she cried. "I told you not to order me about." She grimaced at him as she tried to contain her frustration. In a simpering voice, she asked too sweetly, "Then, please, tell me what’s wrong." He started to answer, then paused. "Nothing’s wrong, Samantha. Can we get on to business?" Her voice caught in her throat. She could not remember the last time he had not called her "Sam" when they were alone. The pet name was something she treasured almost as much as his fired caresses. She lowered her eyes from his challenging

gaze. Silently, she walked by his side to the boardwalk which had been kept clear of snow. Frequent cuts had been made in the banks to allow them to reach it. Although the day was icy, nearly as many men walked along the thoroughfare as had when she lived in Dawson for two weeks in the summer. They had the same aimless expressions on their faces. If she had not been so caught up in her anguish, she would pitied them. She had no room for sorrow for anyone but herself. Samantha could not pretend any longer. The sweet love she once shared with Joel had vanished in the last week. She did not understand why. Perhaps now that he was wealthy, he had reconsidered and decided he did not want to enter society with a mail order bride at his side. If that was true, he should be honest with her, as honest as she had been when she told him she wanted to be his forever. Holding her hands in her muff, she walked by his side. She longed to touch him, to have him tell her he loved her. Just once more. . . By her side, Joel kept his eyes straight ahead. He did not look at her. He did not want to see the sorrow he knew would be emblazoned on her expressive features. Too often he had seen her angry. He had savored the warmth of her eyes glowing with love. This bereft waif he did not want to recall. His hands itched to grab her and twirl her into his arms and kiss her as he had not in too long. The hours of lying awake next to Kevin and aching for her had created dark arcs beneath his eyes. He should not do as he wished. If he did, it would be only more horrifying for her. He knew that, but so close to having what he wanted, he could not deny himself the final satisfaction. He needed her for that. Concentrating on that, he fought the pain as he considered the future. Going into the Alaska Commercial Company store, he greeted the clerk who jumped from his high stool to help them. As coolly as he had spoken to Samantha, he gave the skinny lad his order. "‘Twill be ready by three," the young man said, pushing his green tinted visor back from his forehead. "I need it by two." He ignored Samantha’s gasp of shock at his disagreeable tone. Her reaction enraged him more. When the clerk started to protest, he grabbed the page of items back. "If you feel that way, I will take my business elsewhere." "No, no, Mr. Gilchrist." He glanced over his shoulder at his boss crossing the floor to see what was causing a problem. "We can have it ready by two. That should be possible." He nodded tersely. "At two then. Come, Samantha." In astonishment, she stared at him as he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. She had not ridden all the way into Dawson in discomfort to hurry through the luxurious task of shopping. She wanted to look at the newest offerings brought by the last boats of the season. They had money now. She yearned to buy herself a new dress and a present to take back to Kevin. Viciously she submerged the recollection of Joel promising, as he held her the night they discovered gold, that he would buy her an engagement ring on this trip into town. "I’m not done," she answered simply. "Yes, you are." He reached out a long arm and grasped her hand. Jerking on her, he pulled her to stand next to him. "Joel, you said — " He interrupted her. "Later! I don’t intend to stand here and argue with you in a

public place like common trash. Perhaps you were raised that way, Samantha, but I wasn’t." Her face turned alternately pale and red. She could not believe what she was hearing. If she had believed in fantasy, she would have guessed an evil spirit had come to inhabit the body which once loved her so sweetly. The Joel Gilchrist she loved never acted like this. He had been acidic, but never so calculatingly cruel. Bowing her head, so she did not have to see the astounded and pitying expression on the face of the clerk, she wrenched her arm out of his grip. She opened the door and walked out, allowing it to slam in his face. Blindly she walked along the boardwalk. She did not know where she was going or whom she passed. All she wanted was to escape from her agony. Tears seared her eyes, threatening to burn their way past her eyelashes. She shook off a hand on her arm. An involuntary moan oozed out of her lips as Joel’s broad hand held her more tightly. "You are hurting me," she whispered. "If you want to show your fine, Southern breeding, you shouldn’t be manhandling a lady on the streets." Although the vise loosened somewhat, he said only, "You are going in the wrong direction. I need to go to the bank to make arrangements for the storage of our gold." "I don’t think — " "Come on." He spun her about so quickly, her skirts flared out around her. "Don’t act childish." She wanted to spit insults back at him, but that only would grant him more ammunition to his contention. Suddenly she knew she could not salvage what they had had unless he was willing to do the same. She sighed silently. Joel made it clear he did not want her any longer. Why should he? With the gold he and Kevin were panning from the Bonanza, they could buy any woman they wanted. He did not need to settle for one who had shared his bed already. At the bank, she stood quietly to one side while Joel talked to the banker. He smiled without emotion at the spry man who sat behind the oak desk so out of place in the rough city. Accepting congratulations as if they were long overdue, Joel silently paid off the last of their outstanding loans for grubstaking their claim. In the same terse voice he had used all day, he discussed how the accounting of their riches would be handled. "Fine," he said, offering the bank president his hand. "On my next trip in, I will bring what we have panned so far." "That shall be wonderful, Mr. Gilchrist. I can assure you that you shall be very pleased with the services we offer." "Service doesn’t interest me. I just want my gold protected and readily available when I leave this damnable wilderness behind me." The banker cleared his throat and glanced past the stern faced man to the distress on the pretty features of the silent woman. Other than a whispered greeting when he had spoken to her, she had said nothing. He wondered if she was as bothered as he was by the sudden alteration in Joel Gilchrist he had known in the past. "Good day," he said quietly as Gilchrist took the woman’s arm and led her to the door. Neither answered him. On the street, Samantha remained as mute. She could not think of anything to say which would not worsen the situation. Her eyes stayed on a spot directly in front of her toes. She did not want anyone to see the glitter of sable tears.

"Miss Perry!" She paused at the familiar voice. A weak smile crossed her face. Although she could not put a name to the hairy face, she recognized the man. He hurried across the street. Only when he noted Joel’s hand on her elbow did he hesitate. Doffing his hat, he gave a half bow in her direction. "How are you, miss?" "Fine. Did you get a claim, Mr. — ?" "Bingham," he supplied almost eagerly. "No, miss, I didn’t get my claim, but I signed on with several partners. As soon as Moose Hide Creek thaws, we should hit big. We have a pile of pay dirt ready to go. If we don’t, we are thinking of investing in the bench claim on the hill behind us. We will hit, miss." His enthusiasm dimmed as he nodded to the man by her side. In a more sedate tone, he added, "It sure is nice to see you again, miss. Good day." He put his hat back over his reddened ears and tipped it to her. "Good luck, Mr. Bingham, and good day." The last was called over her shoulder as Joel tugged on her arm to urge her away from the garrulous miner. When they had put several storefronts between themselves and the man, Joel demanded, "And how do you know him?" Samantha looked at him in surprise. Such jealousy she had not heard in his voice since before the snow marooned them in the cabin. Joel should know her aching heart belonged solely to him. "I met Mr. Bingham when I was in Dawson last summer. I’m surprised he remembered me." He glanced back at the man whose eager gaze remained affixed on her. When he scowled, the man scurried away. "Samantha," he said coolly, "you aren’t easily forgotten. Few women come to Dawson and fewer ladies. I just wondered how you could know scum like Moose Bingham." "Even ‘scum’ like to have their shirts cleaned occasionally. He was a patron at Mrs. Kellogg’s laundry. "Stopping in the middle of the snow covered street, she clasped her gloved hands in front of her. Her chin lifted in defiance. "Why won’t you tell me what’s really wrong? You can’t be so upset by me being polite to a stranger." "I can’t?" His frigid tone cut deep into her heart, but she refused to be daunted. "I didn’t know that our plans to be married restricted me from speaking pleasantly to a man I knew briefly and in a most businesslike manner." He frowned as he spoke in a rough voice, "You should remember that many consider such pleasantness an invitation to further intimacy." In spite of her attempt to curtail it, her laughter burst forth. His scowl deepened, but she did not curb her amusement. "I have told you before that I can take care of myself. I lived in Dawson for two weeks before you and Kevin deemed it the proper time to come to see me." "Proper?" he snarled when he heard her sarcasm. "You know we were slaving — " "I didn’t then. I thought you didn’t care." "This is a stupid time to be discussing things which happened months ago." Rage returned hot tears to her eyes. "Everything I feel is stupid, isn’t it?" Her voice rose as she continued, "If only once you would accept that what I feel is as real and important as your so sensitive feelings. Perhaps it’s good you decided not to be a professional musician. How could you take so much from your audience and give nothing back?" "What do you know of that?" "I know enough to realize I may have been a fool to say I would marry a man who measures love by the joy it brings him and worries nothing about the woman he

professes to love." He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. His lips burned into her as he sought to subdue her with the very thing which strengthened her. Her determination surprised him when she wrenched herself out of his arms. Ignoring her snapping eyes, he recaptured her. He yelped as her suede covered hand impacted on his cheek. Samantha backed away from him as she saw the fury on his wind-scratched face. She stared at him, wondering if she was seeing him clearly for the first time in too long. "You have changed since you and Kevin found the gold." "Why are you complaining? I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?" "I wasn’t talking about the first night," she murmured, hurt by his vicious tone. "That night you were the Joel Gilchrist I love. Since then you have changed so much. Why are you punishing me for what Camilla did to you?" Bitterly, she stated, "I’m not your precious Camilla. I don’t rate two men to determine which one will bring me the best rewards and lure on both until I make my decision." "Shut up!" he shouted. "Don’t talk like that about Camilla! I don’t want to hear her name on your lips!" Samantha backed away from him, a look kindred to horror distorting her face. In a whisper, she exclaimed, "You still love her! You love her, but you are loving me!" When he did not hasten to deny her words, she knew they were the truth. Tears glistened on her eyelashes as she moaned, "That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you have been so distant the past week. You knew what you were doing. You have been using me. I thought you cared about me." "I do, Samantha — Sam." He tried to put his arms around her, but she spun away. "Sam, you have to understand. I care about you like I feared I never would be able to care about anyone after. . ." He hurried on to cover his hesitation, "I think you are a wonderful woman. Certainly I can’t imagine another woman who could bring me the pleasure you create in me. It’s just. . ." "You still love her." He nodded, regretfully. "I think I still love her. Listen, Sam," he urged as he saw the pain flicker across her face before it closed up to deny him the chance to see how she hurt. "Honey, give me a chance to forget her." "I’m not steel wool to scour your heart free of the scars there." She turned her back on him. "At least this solves one problem. There’s no need to tell Kevin anything, except that I have been a fool for believing the words you whisper in my ears when you are lonely for a woman." Her voice broke as she added, "I should have stayed in Dawson. At least there, I could have had luxurious quarters when I sold myself to a man who didn’t love me." "Sam, I love you. I asked you to marry me, so I can take you home with me." Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Home? To Virginia? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To go back to Lynchburg with wealth to parade before your darling Camilla. You want me only to lavish on me all the things you wanted to give her. You can have your revenge when you show her what she could have had if she had been smart enough to love you." Her calm shattered. Sobs punctuated her words. "Well, I can tell you one thing, Joel Gilchrist. She was smart. She was far smarter than me. She used you instead of being the one used." "Sam — " His voice had regained the tender tone she had missed during the past week. She feared he spoke like this only to tease her into becoming part of his plot again. "No!" she cried. "I want more from a love affair than to be the pawn to make

another woman jealous." She stepped away again from his outstretched hands. Tears burned against her frozen face. "Good-bye, Joel. Find another woman to play your games. I don’t want to do that anymore." He ran after her as she hurried along the street. When a miner reeled in front of him, Joel shoved him away without mercy. All he wanted was to stop headstrong Samantha from continuing with whatever she had planned. Samantha had nothing planned. She wanted more than ever to flee from him and the pain he could create so easily with his callous disregard of her love. She heard him coming and began to race away. Tears coursed along her cheeks. If she allowed him to catch up with her, she feared she would submit to the longing to be his. Despite his twisting of her heart, it still yearned to belong to him. She screamed as his familiar fingers caught her arm. Twirled to face Joel, she struggled. He growled at her to desist, but she refused to listen to him. Already she had allowed him to be false with her too many times. She would not let that happen again. Suddenly she was pulled out of his arms. In shock, she looked up the red front of a North-West Mounted Policeman’s uniform. She recognized the man as Corporal Barron, whom she had met the previous summer. "Miss Perry!" he gasped. He covered his shock by scowling. A venomous tone came into his voice as he asked, "Is this man bothering you, Miss Perry?" Samantha hesitated for a long second as she stared at Joel’s infuriated face. Closing her eyes, she realized she could not remake him into the man she wanted simply by wishing. It was too late for whatever might have been for them. The truth would stand between them and happiness. "Yes," she said without emotion. "Sam — " began Joel as he stepped forward. Corporal Barron moved between him and Miss Perry. "Sir, I suggest you leave." "Look here, Corporal, she’s — " "Sir," he repeated, "I suggest you leave, or you will be using some of that fired-up energy to help build the new warehouse down by the quay. Miss Perry has made it clear she doesn’t invite your attentions." "Invite?" His mouth twisted. Staring at her pale face, he wanted to remind her of the time she came to the stable begging him to love her. Suddenly he dropped his hands to his side. "All right, I’ll leave. I’ll leave right after I say something to Miss Perry." "Sir. . ." Barron’s voice faded as Samantha put her hand on his arm. "It’s fine. I will listen to him." Joel took a single pace toward her. Glaring directly in her eyes, he smiled. "Sam, it has been fun having you around. Thank you very much for the good times this winter." Whatever she had expected to hear, it had not been this heartless farewell. Pain swelled through her. He had no regrets of using her this way. He was sorry only that his ploy had failed. Now he would have to go to the trouble of finding another woman to destroy as he sought to destroy her. A smile tilted the corners of her lips as she said softly, "I hope you rot in hell, Mr. Gilchrist." The police officer did not speak as she motioned that she wanted to walk farther down the boardwalk. He offered her his arm and was not surprised when she accepted. Neither looked back at the man standing in astounded silence, watching the one who loved him most walk out of his life.

*** *** *** As Joel readied the sled for the long trip back to Fifteen Above, he asked himself over and over how he could have told Sam what he had. The answer came back each time that he could be nothing but honest with her. He had been brutally truthful with her since they met, especially when he held her in his arms. Then, and only then, he could forget the spiteful eyes of a distant woman who had used him and cast him aside. Then, and especially then, could he believe he truly loved this charming sprite here in the Klondike for no other reason other than the fact she fired his soul with joy. He straightened and clenched his fists against a wall of the livery. Camilla had broken his heart as he had Sam’s. It did not excuse him. It made his crime more heinous, for he knew intimately the pain Sam would suffer when she learned the truth. That was the truth. He had seduced Sam with cold thoroughness, wooing her with her love of music and her need to be wanted. How simple it had seemed when Kevin first spoke of the idea of finding a woman to live at Fifteen Above! Joel had been happy to accept the responsibility of writing enticingly worded letters to any woman who answered. Although he did not think at the time of what his plan would cost her, he should have been wise enough to know he could not continue long without her discovering why he wanted her. Despite that, he loved Sam for many reasons which had nothing to do with Camilla. He could not pinpoint the exact moment when he had begun to look forward to the arrival of one of Sam’s letters simply because he wanted to read what she had written. It had been the truth when he said he had fallen in love with her before she arrived in Dawson. The thought of returning to Fifteen Above and not seeing her pert smile and listening to her sharp wit sent a pain deep into the coldness in his center. A thousand scenes of Sam coursed through his head with the speed of a moving picture. Sam working vigorously in the yard with her laundry tub. Sam laboring by his side in the Bonanza. Sam serving them supper. Sam soft and loving beneath him as he shared her sweetness. He groaned and looked up at the stars twinkling more brightly than they had in Virginia. There was no doubt he had been false about this love affair. Yet, when he let her believe he loved her only because of his desire to revenge himself on Camilla, had he lied to Sam? And to himself?

Chapter Nineteen "Thank you, Corporal." Corporal Barron tipped his broad-brimmed hat to Samantha as they stood before the hotel door. The man who had been plaguing her had disappeared, so he had no concerns about leaving her here. "You are welcome, Miss Perry. Are you sure I can’t do more for you?" "I’m fine," she lied. "I want to get something to eat. Then I have some business

to attend to." She offered her hand. "Thank you, again." "You’re welcome." He shook it gravely before continuing along the street narrow between the stacks of gray snow. She watched until he stopped to settle the differences of two men arguing. With a sigh, she looked at the door in front of her. The Aurora Hotel. She hoped they were serving dinner. Pushing aside the door, she entered the lobby. It was as plush as she recalled from her deliveries here last summer. A wide staircase climbed directly across the open area from the door. Ringing the second story, a balcony showcased the series of doors opening onto the rooms rented by the dance hall girls. To the left along the dark blue carpet was the dining room. She went in to find most of the tables empty. A man was polishing glasses behind the bar. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Looking for work, honey?" Drawing herself up to her full height, she answered haughtily, "No. In fact, I am looking for dinner. Is the restaurant serving?" He placed the glass and the tattered cloth on the counter. Walking toward her, he dried his hands on another piece of material hooked over his belt. A grin brightened his surprisingly clean-shaven face. She was astounded she could not remember the last time she had seen a man without a mustache or beard. "It’s late," he said, "but I think there must be something left from lunch in the bottom of the cook’s kettles." "Whatever." She did not tell him she would not be able to taste anything. The bitter flavor of Joel’s parting words had burned into her. Hoping she could swallow past the lump in her throat, she added, "Does it matter where I sit?" "Anywhere." He paused as he was about to walk away. "You are Samantha Perry, aren’t you?" She nodded, wondering if there was anyone in Dawson who did not know her. She did not recall meeting this man, but it seemed she had had many more admirers than she had guessed. "Yes, I’m Samantha Perry." "Well, well." He chuckled as he walked toward the swinging door leading to the kitchen. Perplexed, she wondered what his strange comment had meant. She dismissed him from her mind. All of the men in the Klondike were odd. Only that eccentricity would allow them to believe such worthless dreams. A pain ruptured her calm as she thought of her own silly hopes of happiness. Fiercely she submerged the errant thought. The love she had for Joel must be forgotten, for it had not been what she believed it to be. A love affair shared by only one had no future. She had learned that most agonizingly today. It was not something she would never forget. Samantha ate her meal without realizing what was on her plate. She paid with the gold she had brought to buy a present for each of her partners. Silently she did not comment that prices had risen even from the ridiculous high they had been last summer. The waiter took her payment with the same amused efficiency he had served her. She rose and brushed the crumbs from the hard rolls off her skirt. All through the meal, she had been considering her options. They were few. She could return to Fifteen Above and apologize to Joel for what she had said. That one she did not think about long. He was the one who had wronged her. She could go and explain the truth to Kevin and ask his forgiveness. If the darkness did not fall so early, she might have done that. Instead she decided to do what

she had known she must do all along. The streets pulsed with the life of the city as she walked along the boardwalk. With her eyes on the planks beneath her feet, she could avoid the stares of the men. In that one way, Dawson had not changed at all during her time at Fifteen Above. Although the city had been built up so much since the summer, she found her way easily along the rutted roads she had learned. She stumbled in one of the potholes. When she cursed, it was not at whomever drove so erratically to rip up the road, but at Joel Gilchrist. She could forgive him almost everything but stealing her dearest dreams from her. A sense of having lived this scene in the past swept over her as she entered the cluttered area of the laundry. This time Constable French did not accompany her. This time she was not hopeful of the future. Only the fear and the sense of being adrift remained the same. Mrs. Kellogg opened the door when she heard the muted knock. "Samantha?" Rushing to close out the cold, she drew the young woman into the steamy laundry. "Child, what are you doing out on such a day? I swear winter has decided to return with a vengeance. Can you believe it’s April? It was boiling hot by this time last year." "Mrs. Kellogg," she interrupted as her teeth chattered with the cold, "you said when I left that I could come back to work for you if things didn’t work out with — " "With your Mr. Houseman?" Samantha smiled wryly. She forgot how much her life had changed since she had left here to go with Kevin to the claim. Tonight she was too heartbroken to explain. All she said was, "I need a place to stay until the Merwyn runs again when the ice breaks up on the Yukon." "Of course you can stay here." The older woman patted her shoulder maternally. "It will be wonderful to have you here again. I missed you so much after you went with him." "I missed you, too." "Does Constable French know you are back in Dawson?" "I — I don’t know." She did not know what else to say. She had thought little of the Mountie since she left Dawson. With her heart shattered from Joel’s cruel words, she did not want to get involved with any man now. Mrs. Kellogg chatted about local events while Samantha went to the room where she had slept in the comforting delusions of a love waiting for her. When she saw the unuttered pain on the young woman’s face, the laundress hurried back to work, urging Samantha to join her. In the steamy room, no one would notice tears falling from dark eyes to roll along colorless cheeks. *** *** *** "Miss Perry!" Samantha fixed her smile in place as Constable French rode toward her. It did not surprise her to see him. What had astonished her was that two days had passed since she had spoken to his colleague Corporal Barron. She had thought her friend would come to check on her before this. Duties or personal reasons must have kept him busy. "Good afternoon, Constable." "I heard Mrs. Kellogg had a pretty lady with dark hair working for her." He slid easily from the horse. "I could not believe the description even when Barron told me he had interrupted a ‘discussion’ between you and a man who matches Joel

Gilchrist’s description." "I’m here as you can see." "Why?" Turning away, she said, "I didn’t know you dealt with the private concerns of your jurisdiction as well as legal matters, Constable." "Miss Perry — Or is it Mrs. Houseman? Or Mrs. Gilchrist? Only after you left did I hear the two of them concocted a scheme to get you up here. If I had had any idea. . ." He let the sentence drift on the cool air. Gruffly he stated, "The tale of the mail order bride with two husbands waiting for her entertained most of Dawson through the winter." She was glad her face was averted. She did not want him to see how much it hurt to hear the name she had longed to have for her own. Softly she answered, "It’s Samantha Perry still." "So you decided not to marry either of them?" "I decided it might be more prudent to return to my own world, Constable. If you will excuse me, I have work to do." "How about dinner?" "Excuse me?" He smiled. "You do eat, don’t you? Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight at the Aurora?" Samantha hesitated. She did not want to hurt his feelings, but she could not imagine going out into public and pretending to have a good time when her heart remained in pieces within her. Especially in front of people who had been entertained by what had been tragic for her. "I am sorry, but — " "Miss Perry, Samantha, listen." He took her arm to keep her from fleeing. His warm, gray eyes soothed the panic in her. She had never heard Constable French being called "Yellow-legs", the derogatory term used by the prospectors for the Mounties. Everyone admired his sense of honesty and his heartfelt attempts to keep the peace. "Constable — " "Palmer. You can call me that." He relinquished her arm when he saw she would stay to hear what he had to say. "You have had everything you believed in taken from you by this experience, but you can’t continue to mourn for what could have been. I’m not asking you to consider me as a replacement for your Mr. Houseman. I’m offering my friendship to you. It seems to me that you are in dire need of a friend." "I am. . .Palmer." She smiled softly as she added, "I hear you have found a very special one." He grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the side of the house. Knocking the crusted snow from his boots, he said, "Little stays unknown here." "I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to take me to dinner under these circumstances." "Rhonda understands." She paused as she was about to lift the basket of shirts stiffened by the cold wind into boards of hard flannel. "She understands?" "As I understand that she must dance with other men in her line of work. That doesn’t mean she loves me less or that I would think of another woman as I do of her." He stepped past her to pick up the basket. When she thanked him, he nodded. "Something about you reminds me of a lost kitten, Samantha. I just want to watch over you until you get to where you belong."

Samantha laughed. "I don’t know how many would agree with your estimation of me. Some who have suffered what they would kindly call my claws might say I wasn’t exactly a kitten." "Dinner?" "Yes, and please, could you introduce me to your Rhonda?" He grinned with obvious pride in the woman he loved. "It would be my honor. I know she would like to meet you, after hearing all the tales circulating Dawson. Tonight at seven?" "Yes." She bid him farewell, not telling him the reason she had consented was because she wanted to see how a love grew without jealousy trying to strangle the joy from it. The idea of Joel agreeing for her to work in such a job while she professed to love him was too outrageous to consider. Perhaps, she mused, that was what love was. The security of knowing that, no matter what the other said or did, it did not lessen the strength and purity of that love. *** *** *** "Sing another, Penny!" Additional shouts brought a smile to the face of the woman dressed in a befeathered gown of the gold they believed was waiting in the hills surrounding the city. She stood on the bare boards of a brightly lit stage. Behind her, a tattered curtain reflected its beginnings as several women’s velvet gowns. Seams remaining in the cloth were an abstract shadow. She signaled to the man playing the badly out of tune piano, and they launched into another bawdy song to satisfy the men crowded into the room. Cheers resounded as they recognized one of their favorites. Her reedy voice was angel perfect in their ears. The noise continued raucous. Garish, electric lanterns glowed off the gaudy wall colorings designed to lighten the spirits and pockets of lonely men. The men who had been far from the luring sweetness of feminine company did not care that the women they were holding had comforted many others before them. They did not worry about the cost of the dance. The dollars they had. Women were the precious commodity. All they were interested in was not being alone for the evening and having a bit of fun. Palmer French held the door for his companion. After a quiet meal at one of the hotels, he was bringing Samantha to the dance hall where Rhonda worked. Both women were anxious to meet the other. He looked forward to a pleasant evening with the two. Samantha blinked in the bright light. Beyond the door, the Arctic night had fallen with its normal vengeance. Inside the dance hall there was no interest in the cold or the yellow metal becoming more and more scarce. Here only festivity was welcome. Pasting a false smile on her lips, she realized her facial muscles were tired with the effort to maintain it all evening. She had been extraordinarily quiet during dinner. It had been easier to let Palmer direct the conversation. She was grateful he always steered it away from prospecting and Fifteen Above. "Is this all right?" he asked as he pointed to a wobbly table far enough from the door so they would not be blasted by the cold each time someone came in or out. "This is lovely. We can hear the music and watch the dancers." She smoothed the folds of her dress as she sat. The dance hall girls were doing a steady business in the middle of the room. With the winter holding so many of the miners captive in Dawson, the women had more customers than they wanted.

"Something to drink?" "Wine would be nice, Palmer." She could not force herself to say anything other than answers to his questions. Remembering her vow to forget Joel and his hate that had masqueraded as love, she added, "Which one is Rhonda?" Palmer grinned as he pointed to a woman half way across the room. Her emerald gown accented her startlingly red hair. When she saw him, she waved past the back of the prospector whirling her through the crowd of dancers. Even at this distance, her sparkling smile of love could be seen. Looking up to where her escort still stood, Samantha noticed the matching expression on his face. For the first time, she understood the painful jealousy Joel had experienced too often. She did not begrudge Palmer and his Rhonda what they had found. She simply wanted the same for her and Joel. That it was impossible deepened the anguish. When Palmer excused himself to get their drinks, she folded her arms on the table and listened to the gaiety. She wished she could be this carefree again, or it might be for the first time. She could not remember any time when she had not been caught up in the problems of those around her. After all her struggle to find what she wanted, she had failed. "Samantha!" At the woman’s voice, arms appeared out of the crowd to encircle her shoulders. She fought to breathe in the tight embrace. All she could sense was the thick odor of a cheap scent too liberally applied. When she could escape enough to see who held her, her eyes widened in shock. "Gwen, what are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Mun — ?" She did not finish the question. The spangled gown her friend wore told Samantha that Gwen had done as she threatened. "Mr. Munroe lied to me about many things. I guess I forgot to tell him a few things as well." "Such as what you did for a living before you came to the Klondike?" "Well, he didn’t tell me he was a zealot and a hypocrite." Her round face became long with sorrow. "He couldn’t accept what I had done in the past and used it to hurt me whenever he could. Some of the things he wanted me to do. . ." She shivered. "None of the men I knew in Colorado would have asked such. So I left him. I’m happier here, dancing with the men and pushing drinks for a comfortable profit." Sincerely, Samantha said, "I’m glad, Gwen." "Me, too." Her full cheek were marred by two, deep dimples as she added, "So it will take me a little longer to make enough money to be the toast of Chicago. With what the fellows pay me here simply to dance with them, I may have the wealth sooner than I had thought. What are you doing here? Where’s your husband? I have been hoping to meet him after all the tales I heard. I was planning to come out to see you in the spring. I thought you might not be in any condition to travel by this time, for I expected you and Mr. Houseman would be well into starting a family by now. You seem like the family type." "You weren’t the only one lied to." It did not take her long to tell the story of discovering she was engaged to one man too many. She let her friend think it was that falsehood which brought her back to Dawson. As much anguish as existed in her heart, she could not bare it yet. "Two?" Gwen chuckled her infectious laugh. "I had heard that, but couldn’t believe you were involved in that. Of all the people in this wide world, you were the least likely to settle down with two men. Good thing they didn’t write

to me. I would have been tempted to stay with both of them. Variety can be charming, Samantha." She looked past the blushing woman to the man approaching the table. "Constable, are you here to keep an eye on us sinners?" He put his hand on the back of Samantha’s chair. Placing the glass of white wine in front of her, he did not miss the instant understanding in the older woman’s eyes. He had spoken to Gwen Goddard several times when he came into the dance hall attached to the Aurora. She seemed to be a good woman, always giving the prospectors warmth in exchange for their money. "Not tonight. Despite the uniform, I’m here in an unofficial capacity tonight. We are enjoying the entertainment. If you would like to join us. . ." Shaking her head, Gwen said, "Sorry. Tonight I’m here in an official capacity." She grinned at her friend. "Where are you staying, honey?" "Mrs. Kellogg’s." "The laundry?" "Yes, I’m helping her in exchange for my room and meals." Gwen gasped, "Didn’t those two fools offer you anything after you — " She interrupted herself. She had to remember she could not judge Samantha Perry by her own standards. Perhaps the young woman had done nothing to be recompensed for at the claim. Hastily she continued, "I will stop by someday and see you. All right?" "That would be nice." After Gwen whirled away to relieve the miners of their gold, the table became an island of silence amid the sea of sound. Samantha twirled her glass while she thought of the strange ending to their hopes of finding love in the north. Neither had found a true love waiting for them. Palmer put his wide hand over hers. She looked at him in shock when he said, "Forget both of them, Samantha." "If only it was as easy as that," she answered, but a hint of a smile tipped her too tight lips. "It will be when you get away from Dawson. Just remember no one in the States knows what happened here. Go to Seattle or San Francisco and start over again. You aren’t afraid of hard work. Something will come your way." She put her hand on top of his. "Is that a guarantee?" "I wish it was." He did not copy her smile as he added, "If anyone deserves it, you do. I — " He paused to look past her. The tender smile told Samantha who stood behind her. When he rose, he did not release her hand as he brought her to her feet also. Rhonda’s bright dress did not detract from her gentle looks. No one would have called her beautiful, for her face was too full and her nose too long. When she smiled, those imperfections were forgotten. After her gaze caressed the man next to Samantha, she included the dark-haired woman in their happiness. "You must be Samantha Perry." Her voice flowed over them, lush and warm. "Palmer has told me so much about you, and I couldn’t wait to meet you. You are as pretty as he said." "Can you join us?" asked Palmer before Samantha could answer. "Of course. Will you bring me a glass of wine?" He bent and kissed her rouged cheek. Winking at both of them, he pushed his way through the crowd toward the bar. Samantha hesitated, then motioned for the other woman to sit where she had. With a smile, Rhonda took the chair across from her. When Samantha started to speak, she was interrupted by a miner asking Rhonda to dance.

"I’m taking a break. Tell the boys I will be back in a few minutes, won’t you, Shep?" She smiled tiredly as he hurried away. "I swear they want to dance the feet off a girl." "Do you like this work?" "It’s better than entertaining men in the cribs in Lousetown or being stuck on some two bit farm in Missouri. Those were my options." She asked, "How are you doing? Palmer told me you haven’t found the Klondike to your liking and are heading south as soon as the Yukon does us all a favor and thaws." It seemed easy to share with Rhonda most of what had happened on Fifteen Above. She could tell no one about how she had given herself in love to Joel. All she said was that she had loved him foolishly. When Palmer rejoined them, she did not change the subject. As he had said, she needed friends. With this couple, she had found two who did not judge her harshly for believing her errant heart. Slowly the jealousy burning in her faded as she watched the honest emotion between the police officer and the dance hall girl. They did not need to touch to allow the love to flare between them. A simple glance, a phrase that meant more than the mere words spoken, a shared joke pronounced their devotion. Once she had had that with Joel. It was gone. She must mourn its demise and go on with her life. Soon the river ice would break, freeing them from captivity in Dawson. Then she could bid a grateful adieu to this place. She smiled into her wine. It was not too early to make arrangements for her escape. Tomorrow she would go to the shipping line’s office in the warehouses along the riverfront. There she would arrange to accept First Mate Penn’s offer of free passage on the Merwyn. The price of repaying him for his kindness no longer seemed too high when she could flee from the source of her pain. She only hoped that when she left the Yukon, her heartache would remain among the goldfields. *** *** *** The sun was heading for the horizon when Samantha pushed open the door of the warehouse. She had been busy at the laundry most of the day and could get away only in the late afternoon. As she had stirred the pots of hot water and dirty clothes, she thought of this moment when she could start the process for her journey south. In the small room sectioned off from the main storage area, a potbellied stove stood in middle of the floor. Although it glowed with heat, little reached as far as the door. To one side was a counter with the prerequisite scales for measuring gold. Similar ones were owned by everyone from the whores in Lousetown to the merchants on Front Street. No one appeared to answer the bell which tinkled over the door as she closed it. She moved to the counter to wait. Noticing the schedules for the steamships posted on the far side, she leaned forward to read them. "Now there’s a charming sight." Whirling, she faced a man as thin as the warmth beyond the door. From his mouth hung an odorous cigar. Dark smoke and a remarkable amount of ash came from the end of it. Scratching the few hairs left on his head, he walked past her and stepped behind the counter. He grinned broadly. "What can I be doing for you, darling?" "I want to leave Dawson." "Don’t we all? This is the worst excuse for a pesthole I have ever seen." His squeaky voice did not match the eagerness with which he continued to stare at her.

Dampening her lips, unsure how to begin, she said, "My name is Samantha Perry, and I arrived on the Merwyn last summer. The first mate, Mister Penn, told me that, if at any time I wanted to leave the Yukon, to come here and ask for a ticket. He said he would arrange for it to be paid for." "Did he now?" He leaned his elbows on the filthy countertop. Resting his chin on them, he smiled lackadaisically. "That’s a lovely story, Miss Perry, but what do you expect me to do?" "Why. . .arrange for my passage." He laughed. "Honey, you should be on stage at the Monte Carlo. You tell funnier stories than the comedian over there. His jokes are staler than last week’s biscuits." His face became long as he added seriously, "Look, Miss Perry. The first ship won’t be here for more than a month at the earliest. I have it booked four times over with paying customers." "Mister Penn told me he would pay — " "But I don’t know that now. If you want to send a wire to St. Michael, I can arrange that. All I need is four dollars to send it." "Four dollars?" she gasped. She stared at him in disbelief. Such an amount of money would take every bit of her savings. She would have nothing left. Ruefully she thought of what remained in the tin can under the bed in the loft of Fifteen Above. Hundreds of dollars of gold dust should be hers. Instead she tried to manage on the small bit she had brought with her to Dawson. "If you have no money, I can’t help you." He shrugged his shoulders as he lifted his hands. "Sorry, honey, but that’s the way it is. Company policy, you know." Determined she would get something out of this long walk, she asked, "Can you at least tell me when the Merwyn is returning to Dawson?" He pointed out the door. "Look at the river. Except for a few leads, that river is a solid block of ice. Until it melts, no captain will risk his ship coming up here. It ain’t like it was last year when people were starving. They know we can wait." When he saw her bleak expression, he added, "Watch the Yukon. When the ice floes start downstream, come back. I should be able to tell you more then." "Thank you," she said softly. "Sorry it’s not more, honey." She smiled, the sadness on her face muting the glow of her eyes. "I am, too. But I will be back." "I thought you would. See you soon," he called after her as she went out the door. His words of encouragement followed her as she left the warehouse and walked to store to complete the errand she had come into the middle of town to do. She waited patiently for one of the harried clerks at the Alaska Commercial Company store to be free to deal with her. Staring at the array of merchandise available, she sighed. Everything was so expensive. Even the letter she wanted to send home would cost her dearly. Perhaps that was for the best. What could she have said to her brother? I was a fool? I believed soap bubble promises, rainbow bright in the sunlight but popping as soon as you try to capture one? I am coming home to be more of a burden on you because no decent man will have me? She could not write any of those things. Suddenly she knew Palmer was correct. She could go to a Pacific coast city and find a life for herself, for she had changed too much to accept the strictures of the staid life along the Ohio. Her thoughts were interrupted when a man asked her what she wanted. She said quietly, "Two spools of white thread for Mrs. Kellogg. She asked that you put it

on her tab." "Yes, Miss Perry. Be right with you." Samantha smiled. Everyone in Dawson knew her, although she could recognize only a small portion of the faces and fewer names. Her amusement faded as she could hear Joel telling her that she was unforgettable. She berated her rebellious heart which forced her to remember too often the foolishness she wanted only to forget. One thing she would never forget. That was the harsh lesson he had taught her about Joel Gilchrist. Other men might come into her life, loving, giving, sacrificing. She might love one or more of them, but she would never be able to forgive Joel for taking the magnificent gift of her love and twisting it to be a tool for his hate. If only. . . She berated herself silently. There was no "if only". In cold manipulation of her emotions, he had abused her trust in the most vicious way he could. There was only one way she could forgive him, and, as that was not likely to happen, she tried not to think of it. Hurrying home through the early darkness, she concentrated solely on keeping her footing. The roads grew more treacherous with each day of hesitant spring. She opened the door of the laundry to smell the welcome aroma of their supper. It must have been delivered from the Fairview Hotel. "How did your errands go?" asked Mrs. Kellogg. Samantha pulled off her coat and sat at the table where they folded laundry. "They couldn’t help me at the line’s office. Until the ice breaks up, they have no idea of what schedule the Merwyn will have. I will have to wait until she docks before I can arrange to leave." "So where will you go, Samantha?" Mrs. Kellogg lifted a ladle of stew and placed it in her assistant’s bowl. "I don’t know. Not home." She smiled wryly. "Wherever that may be." Picking up her spoon, she pointed it at Samantha. "You must plan what you want to do. For so long you just have done as others have decided you will." "Not always. Lately I have been doing as I wish." "Good for you. So where will you go?" "I have some time to think. April isn’t over yet. At the rate spring is coming, I won’t be leaving before the end of May." She took a bite of the tepid meal. "Why can’t it be like it was last year when the temperatures were unbelievably high?" "You are welcome to stay here with me." She smiled and patted her friend’s hand that was gnarled with the years of washing clothes. "No, I cannot stay here. I was thinking I might go to Skagway. What I have learned from you and my own laundry on the Bonanza, I might be able to do well there. With the news of more gold in Alaska, more fools will be careening north. They will be interested in clean clothes before they strike out for the gold fields." As if it were the most solemn vow, she added more quietly, "Whatever I do, it will be because I decide to do it. Not because someone tells me what to do." I just wish I knew what it was.

Chapter Twenty

"Are you sure you don’t mind taking these shirts in to Mr. Scopes?" asked Mrs. Kellogg as she held out the package. Samantha grinned. Tightening her coat around her, she balanced the paper-wrapped shirts under one arm while she pulled on her gloves. "No, I don’t mind. He’s a lecher, but I have learned how to handle him. Do you have any other errands you need me to do?" "No, child." With one of her infrequent smiles, Mrs. Kellogg added, "I will miss you when you are gone back down the Yukon. Not just the work you do, although I have never had anyone who works as hard as you. I wish you would reconsider and stay." "I must go." She could not explain what she tried to keep hidden even from herself. Every morning she woke to see the same mountains she had viewed each day she lived at Fifteen Above. She had to get far away from this rugged land so her heart could heal. She pulled on her thick scarf and drew her other glove over her hand. Even the old-timers were grousing about the late spring. Spring! It had been more than 40 degrees below zero last night. The river remained unbroken, except for open leads along the fastest currents. The brief spurt of spring which enabled the partners at Fifteen Above to find the gold had vanished back into the south. She wondered if something had gone wrong with whatever made the seasons change. It seemed as if they would be in winter for the rest of eternity. Holding the package close to her chest to help cut the wind blowing unstopped from the river, she hunched down into her coat. She watched the ground in front of her feet, only looking up occasionally to be sure she did not bump into anyone. Cautiously she stepped onto the end of the boardwalk. With the warming of midday melting the topmost layer of the dirt encrusted snow, ice often formed on the wood. She did not want to slip. After two storefronts, she realized she was making better time on the street despite pausing to let the loaded sleds pass her. As soon as she came to a cut in the snowbank, she stepped through to the road. Samantha stopped as if she had run into an invisible wall. Before her, his fur trimmed hat in his hands and the hood of his parka pushed back to reveal his thick, dark hair, stood Joel Gilchrist. She stared at him, wondering if her dreams had been given life. "Sam," he said quietly. She did not speak, afraid of what might come from her lips. All she could do was continue to stare at him silently. In the two weeks they had been apart, she had not forgotten how brightly his blue eyes glittered in the spring sunshine or the breadth of his shoulders. Yet, seeing him again before her, it was as if she were meeting him for the first time. He was breathtakingly handsome with his heavy parka and knee high boots emphasizing his lean strength. When her lips parted in the soft invitation to him, she clamped them closed. She must not forget what he had said to her last time they stood on a Dawson street. Meeting him here might be no more than a coincidence. If he had wanted to find her, he should have come to Mrs. Kellogg’s laundry. He would have guessed that was where she was. "Sam honey," he continued, closing the distance between them, "at least acknowledge me." A simple greeting was the last thing she wanted to say to him. She fought back the urge to shout insults at him, to demand he step aside, to tell him he

expected too much after rejecting her in favor of an old love who did not want him. And to murmur how she loved him. Pain swirled through her. That one thing had not changed. She loved Joel. She loved his unrelenting drive for success and his soft kisses. Even knowing his faults of incredible jealousy and the yearning to use her to hurt the one who injured him most, she could not keep from wanting to be with him. It was impossible. Instantly she knew she could not stay here and let him seduce her back into his arms with the glib phrases he spoke so easily. As he stepped toward her, she moved closer to the huge mounds of snow and walked past him. "Sam, you can’t ignore me!" he shouted after her in disbelief. "You have to give me a chance to explain. You have to! I love you." She resisted the temptation to turn and spit the truth at him. She had told him too often. He did not want her. He wanted revenge. If he could, he would scurry back to his Camilla and forget Samantha Perry ever existed. Continuing along the road, she carried her package of clean laundry to Mr. Scopes. Whatever Joel desired meant little to her now. She tried to convince herself of that, but failed miserably. Joel slapped his hat against his thigh as he watched her flow with graceful steps toward the door with its embossed letters proclaiming it as the "Dawson City Hotel". He had only a few days to convince her to rethink her decision to forget him. He had no intentions of letting spring arrive to take the ice from the river and allow her to leave with that sailor she had spoken of. Although she continued to make him furious, he did not want to imagine a future without his lovely and loving Sam. Samantha recoiled as she always did at the red glare of the hotel. When she saw the man behind the counter look at her with a smile, she nodded without speaking. She remembered how he had treated her when she had come alone and scared to Dawson. He made no secret of the fact he would prefer to have her working here than at the laundry. As she did each Wednesday, she would leave the cleaned clothes and hurry away to avoid his unconcealed lust. Mr. Scopes rounded his desk to greet her. With the regal condescension she assumed to keep him at a distance, she allowed him to chatter. She nodded again when he asked if she had the laundry. She wanted to retort she would not come here otherwise, but remembered she represented Mrs. Kellogg. Because of that, she must tolerate the small man’s comments. Concentrating on her need to stay calm, she could keep Joel and her rapidly beating heart from her mind. "You look beautiful, Miss Perry." "Thank you," she replied with coolness. "Here is your laundry. Mrs. Kellogg expects you will pay her at the end of the month as usual." When she turned, his narrow, claw-like fingers took her arm and brought her to face him. Because of his diminutive height, his eyes were nearly on a level with hers. A greasy smile forced his lips into an expression unusual on his hard face. "Why are you slaving at that laundry when you could make much more money here?" "I like my job, Mr. Scopes." He took her hand and ripped off her glove before she could stop him. "Look at this!" he commanded as he held her fingers before her eyes. "You shouldn’t abuse these lovely hands like this. Why do you continue to ruin your most marketable asset in the steam and hot water?" "Mr. Scopes, I have told you over and over that I have no desire to work at the

Hotel. If you will excuse me, I have other, more important things to do than waste my time arguing with you over something I will never change my mind about." She jerked her hand out of his. Scooping up her glove from the counter, she stated emphatically, "Good day, sir." She backed away from him, not trusting him enough to take her eyes off him. He started to walk to intercept her path to the door, but paused as he looked past her. When a hand settled in the center of her back urging her to stop, she glanced over her shoulder in surprise. "Joel!" She scowled when she realized he had tricked her into acknowledging him. "In person." He grinned with the full power of the charm which had lured her into his arms. "As long as we are here, why don’t we have something to eat, Sam?" She forced a tight smile on her lips. She did not want Joel to realize how her obtuse heart continued to leap with joy when he came near. As if it was the truth, she stated, calmly, "I figured you would follow me here. I was waiting for your arrival." She would not let him control her again. "You were, were you?" Amusement brightened his sparkling eyes, but he added nothing more as he motioned for her to follow their suddenly silent host. With her back rod straight, she walked ahead of him toward the center of the dining room. She was determined to show him exactly how unruffled she was. She paused by a table not far from where a trio of men where enjoying the company of the skimpily clad women employed by Scopes. When she heard their antics, she kept her eyes carefully averted. Her gratitude for Joel drawing out her chair was a barely audible whisper. He selected the chair across from hers and pointed toward a slate on the side of the wall. "Appears as if there is the choice of elk steaks or fish soup. What shall it be?" "Whatever you choose will be fine." She flinched as she heard the obscene suggestion of one of the harlots. Blinking, she forced her distaste deep within her. "Plus a glass of wine, if this place serves such." "Don’t know. I don’t come here too often. This is too rich for me." He leaned forward and asked quietly, "You do have money to pay for this?" "You don’t? The gold — I thought — " He grinned disarmingly. "I didn’t plan on escorting a pretty lady about Dawson when I drove in today. I thought you might be sensible and come home. As you can see, I was wrong as usual." "As usual," she agreed, but her lips twitched. She wondered why she only could be angry at him when he was away from her. Whenever he was with her, his sparkling eyes painted images of the sun reflected in the tumbling waters of the Bonanza. "Sam, will you come home?" "I don’t know." Her response was as serious as his question. "Sweetheart, what do you have for you here?" She answered him with a question of her own, "What did you tell Kevin?" Pausing to tell the waiter they wanted two of whatever would be ready first, he added, "A whiskey and a glass of — " "Red." "A glass of red wine." He reached across the table to corral her hands between the long rails of his fingers. "I told him you were staying to help a friend who came on the Merwyn with you. He believed the lie I devised about her being pregnant and sick and all that. I couldn’t tell him the truth."

"And what’s the truth?" His eyes pierced the hard shell she had created to shield herself from the pain she could not face. By reappearing in her life, he liberated the agony secured in her heart. He wanted to give her solace and much more. When he lifted her fingers to his mouth, she remembered other times. Other times when he kissed her far more passionately, but the lurch in her center warned her this simple caress of his lips on her skin could twist her back to his will. She pulled her hands away and clasped them in her lap. "Well?" she demanded, wanting to regain the offensive in this battle of accomplished wits. "The truth you know, Sam. That I am so incredibly in love with you I cannot see sense. I couldn’t believe a woman as wonderful as you could love me after I was rejected by one who cannot even compare with you. It wasn’t you I was so angry at, but myself. I knew that I intended to use you to hurt a woman who matters nothing to me now. Knowing how I would wound you, how could I allow my plans to reach fruition? I did everything in my power to sabotage our betrothal." "Our betrothal was a joke!" she snapped. "A drunken proposal you could not figure out how to escape from. You wanted me only to — " Pain furrowed his brow. "No, Sam. That is what I tried to convince myself, too. I thought I loved Camilla and the anguish I felt was still because of her. What I didn’t realize was how much more it hurt to lose you. Beside the agony I have suffered since you walked away with that Mountie, Camilla leaving me became an irritation of no more consequence than a skeeter bite." "So?" "You aren’t going to make it easy for me, are you?" A smile careened wildly across his face before he grew serious again. She grinned. "Never. You have never made it easy for me." Gazing intently into her eyes, he murmured, "Darling, I love you. I don’t want any other woman but you. I know you love me, too. Why don’t you come home? Where else do you belong, but with me?" She did not bother to answer what was in effect a rhetorical question. "If I don’t come back with you, you will have to think of another lie for Kevin." "No," he argued sadly, "if you don’t return with me, Sam, I will tell Kevin the truth. Then, if he wants the chance to win your heart, he can have his chance." "You would do that?" she gasped. He stroked the water roughened texture of her hands before raising them to his lips once more. "Why not? Wouldn’t that mean you don’t love me? If you love me as I love you, I can’t imagine you refusing me." A smile tilted her lips. "You mean after you have humbled yourself to beg me?" "Exactly." He grinned. When she did not answer his obvious offer to forgive him, he continued in the same light tone, "So how’s the laundry business?" "Debilitating." She held up her hands. "I thought they looked horrible when I was doing laundry for Liberty and his friends. Look at them now." As he had before, he took them and pressed the rough palms to his mouth. Looking over them, he whispered, "Sam, you know I think everything about you is beautiful." He drew her toward him. "Listen, honey, when the ice is off the river, the gold is still appearing in our pans as if someone was pouring it in the water upstream. By the time the Merwyn or one of the other steamships come into Dawson, we will have enough money to turn our backs on this frozen mudhole and return to the States as millionaires." "I told you the money isn’t why I came." He grinned for a second, before adding sincerely, "It’s why I came, but, if I

leave with only that, I will have lost the true treasure I could have found in the Yukon." Her reply was lost in the hubbub as the waiter dropped two bowls of soup in front of them. Thick chunks of fish and vegetables lurched in the bowls, but half of the broth spilled onto the stained table. When the waiter asked if there was anything else they wanted, both of them shook their heads without looking at him. Neither lifted a spoon as he walked away mumbling to himself. They became deaf to every noise of the busy room as their gaze remained rapt. "Did you miss me?" asked Samantha softly as she saw the truth of his love for her on his earnest face. Joy rushed through her, but she was not ready to tell him what she had decided. He chuckled. "That is the most foolish thing you have ever asked. For the past week, I have been hoping every night for it to become too cold for the river to run, so I could have an excuse to hook up the sled team and come back to Dawson." Intense, blue fire burned from his eyes. "Sam, this isn’t easy for me to say. Forgive me, my love. My only crimes have been loving you too much and being afraid to admit to myself that I was opening myself again to being hurt." She yearned to give in to his request. More than anything in her life, she wanted to be with Joel. He made her heart sing with love and scream with rage. With him, the winter nights were less harsh and the spring mornings more precious. She had been miserable while they were separated. His love delighted her. She did not want to lose it, but she did not want to lose Samantha Perry. "You want to suffocate me, Joel. I can’t return to submerging my will to another. I lived like that for too long in my brother’s house. Nor do I want to be the one you flaunt before another woman who hurt you so badly." "I told you Camilla is out of my life." "Even if you return to Lynchburg?" She patted his hand. "Joel, I can’t be her. I can’t be what you want me to be. All I can be is Samantha Perry. I have learned a lot about that woman in the last year, and I know I will never risk letting you hurt me again as you have." "Do you think you were the only one hurt? Do you think a man feels nothing simply because he hides his broken heart behind a wall of stone? For each time you have cried since we were together last, I have wanted to cry." He took her hands and whispered, "You consigned me to hell when we parted, Sam. I have been there without you. Don’t send me back. I could go, if you are with me. I could stand anything, but, without you, even heaven would be without pleasure." She stared at him, unsure what to say. Although he had spoken to her many times of love, never had he told her so sweetly of his yearning to spend the rest of his life with her. Only once when he had been drunk and wanted to sleep next to her. When she did not speak, a pang seared through him. His foolishness might have cost him everything he truly wanted. Knowing he must be completely open with her, he said, "Sam, I love you. If you leave Dawson, I will, too. I will follow you wherever you go until you consent to be mine." "Joel, I don’t know. You — " "Think about it before you answer me. Please, think about it. Think about it five minutes before you tell me what is in your heart." He grasped her hands again and pulled her to her feet. Taking her bag from the table, he glanced at her. She nodded, and he withdrew enough money to pay for their untouched meal. As he led her from the room, he said nothing of repaying her for the food he had not eaten. She did not think of it, for she knew that, like her heart,

everything she possessed she wanted to share with him. That belief had never wavered. All she had wondered was if she was wrong for clinging to her dreams. With her hand on his arm, they walked along the boardwalk toward Mrs. Kellogg’s laundry. The cold from the river cut into their faces, but they ignored the snow and the ice formations. Deep in their thoughts, they did not feel the vagaries of the winter clinging to the hillsides. After walking for a few minutes in uncomfortable silence, he reached past her to take her other hand. She looked in confusion at the small, leather bag he had given her. With a smile, he said, "That’s the gold you hid in the loft. It belongs to you. Take it back to the States, and you can live in comfort for the rest of your life. If you decide you don’t want me, I will make sure you get your share of what we took from the river." "A third of this should belong to you and a third to Kevin. We were partners, after all." "Does that mean you are leaving?" Earnestly, he said, "It’s been close enough to five minutes. Tell me the truth, honey. Are you leaving?" "Yes, I’m leaving Dawson as soon as possible." Stopping, he nodded. His mouth twisted in obvious pain, but he said, "I understand, Sam." She gripped his arms. The bag in her hand struck him, but he did not take his eyes from her. As much as she could, she shook him. She moved him no more than she could have rearranged the mountains ringing the city. "Listen! Will you listen to me once without jumping to conclusions?" "Me?" he gasped, wondering how she could smile at this parting. Perhaps this was her revenge against him for trying to use her to do the same to another woman. The Sam he loved would not do that, but he knew his callous treatment had changed her. "You! Once you accused me of that bad habit. It’s yours now." She laughed at the incredulity on his face. Her smile softened as she paid no attention to the prospectors pausing on the street to look at them and listen to their raised voices. Lifting her hands, she entwined them around his neck. "You foolish man, don’t you understand? I’m leaving Dawson as soon as I can. The only reason I’m delaying is — " "The ice on the Yukon." Continuing as if he had not spoken in such a pain filled tone, she said, " — because I’m waiting for the man I love to be finished searching for his share of the gold waiting at the end of his rainbow. When Joel Gilchrist is ready to leave, I want to go with him as his wife." So sure was he of her intention to leave him, it took several seconds for the meaning of her words to sift past his sorrow. A slow smile burned along his lips and leaped into his eyes as he grabbed her and pressed his mouth over hers. She did not notice the icy fingers of the wind as he kissed her again and again. When he raised his head to look down at her, she twisted her fingers through his hair brushing his lowered hood. This time when he captured her lips, the joy of reconciliation had vanished. Instead she could sense the passion to share what they had known so seldom. When he took her hand and reached for the door nearest to them, she did not notice it said "Fairview Hotel". Her gaze was held by his. With his arm around her shoulders, he brought her head to lean against him as they walked in perfect unison up the stairs to the room he had rented. Opening the door, he ushered her in, already loosening the buttons on his coat.

He slid the latch in place and stepped eagerly into her welcoming arms. As he undid her heavy parka, he murmured against her ear, "I love you, Sam. I don’t want any other woman for any other reason. The only reason I want you is because I love you. Never doubt that again." "I never will," she whispered before giving herself totally to the wealth of sensations they would exult in finding again. All thoughts vanished from her head to be replaced by rapture. Her coat dropped to the floor. With a laugh, he scooped her up in his arms. The heavy sound of his boots was muted by his whisper as he carried her to the bed. "My love, I have imagined so often carrying you to a real bed instead of those uncomfortable ticks and loving you until you beg me to stop." Pertly she replied as she traced the line of his jaw with her fingertip, "I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t think anyone but Mrs. Kellogg will be looking for me. Love me, Joel, until we have no strength to do more than sleep in each other’s arms." "My wish exactly," he murmured as he leaned her back on the pillows. He smiled when she reached up to grip the front of his shirt and urge him to join her. Memories of the last time he had held her brightened his eyes as he resolved to make this day one neither of them would ever forget. *** *** *** Hours later, in the golden afterglow of love, Joel tucked the comforter tighter around Samantha. "Better?" "Much." She shivered delicately. Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek to his bare chest. "You are never cold when we make love, Sam. Only afterwards." She laughed. "I remember one time when I was cold the whole time." He ruffled her hair as he thought of the desperate love they had shared in the frosty, snow shelter. How many times he had wished she would come to him in the snow again! Even the discomfort of that night did not keep him from wanting to love her any way he could. "Soon we will be home where we don’t have to think of such things." He looked up at the cracked ceiling as he asked, "Why did you agree to be mine again? What made you change your mind?" Her nose wrinkled in an impish expression. "Humility. I loved it when you begged me to take you back. It was irresistible to be wanted that much." He pressed her back against the pillows. The gleam of the lantern glittered on his smile as he said smugly, "I know." "You know?" she cried. When she tried to sit, he laughed and held her to the bed. "That was all a trick?" Running his hand along her smooth skin, he whispered in her ear, "No, my love. I meant every word I said, but I was ready to try anything and everything to make you believe me. If it took making myself look like a fool, I was willing to do it." He rose to lean on his elbow and look down into her eyes. "But, Sam, remember this. I love you more than anyone else in this world. That’s the only thing you need remember of this debacle." She twisted her fingers in his thick hair and pulled his mouth to hers. "You are a bastard, Joel Gilchrist!" she announced in a light tone. "And you are a shrew." He kissed her lightly. "I think we shall do just fine together for the rest of our lives." She hesitated, then asked, "What do we do about Kevin?" "Let’s talk about that over dinner."

"All right." As she was reaching to draw back the blanket, he caught her hand and grinned. "Do you really want to go to dinner now, or would you prefer to eat later?" Her voice became soft with desire as she answered, "Later, Joel. Much later."

Chapter Twenty-One Joel’s hand tightened on Samantha’s arm as they entered the saloon. They had said their farewells to Mrs. Kellogg, promising to stop in for a visit before they left the Yukon. It had not been easy for Samantha to see her friend cry tears of joy when she learned the man Samantha loved had professed his devotion to her. Harder still was realizing their next good-bye to a woman who had helped her in her most dire moments would be forever. With the sled packed for their journey in the morning, they would be back to the claim by tomorrow afternoon. They did not look forward to the confrontation with Kevin, but knew they would not lie any longer. Tonight they could enjoy the entertainments offered by Dawson to those with gold or a dream to possess it. Seating her at a table, Joel walked to the bar to order a whiskey for himself. He hurried, but was not surprised to see several men converging on Sam. A smile teased the corner of his mustache. This could be amusing. He paused in mid step, startled. Samantha had changed him, for he trusted her as he had not been able to trust anyone in longer than he could remember. Samantha glanced up as she heard three strangers speak to her at once. She smiled warmly and said, "Good evening, gentlemen." Knowing Joel stood nearby enabled her to forget for a moment that these men considered any woman in the hotels waited only to entertain them. "Are you dancing tonight?" asked one. He yelped when his companion gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs as a reward for such a lack of gentility. "No, I’m here with my fiancé." She smiled as she said the words which warmed her heart. Clutching her bag in her lap, she added, "I see the next dance is beginning. I’m sure you must be anxious to find someone to dance with." "Leave the lady alone." The deep voice led her eyes to the scarlet uniform which undeniably belonged to a member of the North-West Mounted Police. Her eyes went up the shining brass buttons to his strong face. She recognized him as Constable French’s commander, Captain Starnes. The men scattered like crisp leaves blown before an autumn wind. When she tried to thank Captain Starnes, he brushed aside her words. With a tip of his hat, he strode across the room to a table where several men seemed to be waiting for him. "The Mounties to the rescue?" Joel chuckled as he offered her a glass of champagne. "I had hoped that would be my chore." "Too late," she said with a smile. Putting his hand under her elbow, he urged her to her feet. "Come with me, Sam. I arranged for a more private spot for us." "A more private spot?"

He smiled. "The Monte Carlo offers all kinds of luxuries to its patrons. Do you want to see?" "How can I resist?" she asked as she put her fingers in his outstretched hand. "That’s the whole idea, honey." She laughed while they crossed the busy room and walked up the stairs leading to the private rooms. Although she had heard rumors of the lush chambers waiting for the customers wealthy enough to pay for them, she was unprepared for the richness of the room spread before her when he opened the plain door. Her fingers reverently touched the velvet portieres draping the arch beyond the door. When Joel switched on the lights, she gasped. Gilt shown everywhere. Tables and upholstered chairs waited for card players or lovers. Beneath the brilliant glare of the electric lights, the vivid glow of the scarlet, Persian rug under their feet contrasted with the sedately carved back of the settee upholstered in gold fabric. "Sit down," he ordered gently. "Joel, this must be costing you a fortune. If — " He smiled as he took her hands and drew her next to him on the hard cushions. "Don’t think about that." Lifting her fingers to his lips, he kissed them one at a time. A shiver ran through her as his tongue teased the tip of one. She wanted to tell him to stop and explain how he could afford this when he had no money for his lunch. She wanted to urge him to kiss her. Pulling her hands out of his, she put one at the back of his head and brought his mouth over hers. She laughed lowly when she felt his fingers on the buttons of her jacket. "Joel, I just dressed." "And now you will be undressed. My love," he moaned with eager desire against the side of her neck. "My dear, dear love, let me love you again." "Why did you bring me here if — " His chuckle interrupted her. "If I only wanted to love you? I wanted to show you off, Sam. Having you on my arm is so grand, I yearn to let everyone know you love me." He pressed her back against the sofa. "No more talk." With her arms around his shoulders, she surrendered her senses to their love once more. Her fingers moved along the silk of his vest as he loosened her short coat and undid the front of her blouse. The tip of his tongue traced ecstasy along the top of her fancily decorated corset cover. Slowly he lowered the lace to reveal more of the curve of her breast. She tightened her grip on him as the crescendos of passion burst over her in a wild symphony. Somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she heard a strange sound. She opened her eyes to look past Joel. All she could see was the gilded paper on the walls. With a smile, she slid her hands along his firm muscles. She could sense his reaction through the crisp thickness of his clothes. Another odd noise invaded her delight. Looking up, she saw Joel’s face in profile. The horror there could not be shadowed in the bright glow of the electric bulbs. She followed his eyes and gasped. "Kevin!" Their partner did not answer her while he watched Joel move in front of her. As if he was a statue, Kevin kept the pistol in his hand pointed directly at them. Realizing her clothes gaping, Samantha blushed. Her fingers held her jacket closed as she stared at the recriminations and pain on Kevin’s face. He shut the door and moved toward the settee. Fiercely, he stated, "You told me Samantha was in Dawson to help nurse a friend,

didn’t you, partner?" He put snide emphasis on the name. "Instead I come into town to discover she has been working for Mrs. Kellogg. Did you two have a lovers’ quarrel which you are patching up? Is that why I find her half-dressed in your arms, Gilchrist? I assume you two decided to leave without telling me. Or did you intend to return to Fifteen Above?" Samantha answered quickly, "We did." She started to rise, then moved close to Joel again. She was not sure if Kevin would follow through on his bluff to use the gun in his hand. Already he had broken the law by bringing a firearm into Dawson. As angry as he was, she could not guess what he would do next. "The cold made traveling dangerous. We planned to start back in the morning." "After spending the night together here in this expensive whorehouse?" His eyes narrowed. "You must think me a fool." Joel silenced the reply she would have made by placing his hand on her arm. She tried to keep her face calm as he said, as if it were of the greatest importance, "Sam is still unwed, if that’s what worries you." "Sam?" His mouth twisted. The use of the nickname seemed to him far too intimate. "You and she have played me for a fool, haven’t you?" From his pocket, Kevin pulled a leather bag. The gun did not move as he tossed the bag on the floor at Joel’s feet. When he snarled an order, Joel bent to pick it up. He did not remove his arm around Samantha’s waist. Balancing it in his hand, Joel said, "This is your share of the gold we got from the claim. Why are you throwing it around? There’s a small fortune in here!" "A small fortune?" he snorted. He caught it when Joel obeyed his order to toss it back to him. "Smaller than it should have been. When we started together from Skagway, we were partners, Gilchrist. Half for you and half for me. Suddenly we have the grand idea to get ourselves a bride, and the division becomes a third for each of us." "You agreed to that!" cried Samantha. "Joel didn’t want to give me a share." "Truly or just as an act to keep me from knowing you two were in cahoots to cheat me of my share from Fifteen Above?" He smirked as he looked at the rock hard face of his partner. "You fool! Didn’t you think I would become suspicious when you would allow no one else to read Samantha’s letters?" Reasonably Joel stated, through the rage he was trying to control, "What she wrote was personal. I didn’t think our neighbors needed to be shown her private dreams she shared with us." "Yet you burned them before I could read them. You didn’t want me to discover the plot you concocted to steal from me!" Samantha cried, "That’s insane, Kevin! We would never defraud you. You are our friend." His mouth worked furiously, but he said nothing for what seemed forever. More than once his finger reached for the hammer on the gun. Whom he planned to shoot they did not know, for he never pulled back on it. When Samantha started to speak, Joel squeezed her waist in a silent command not to infuriate the other man further. She glanced at him and saw he hoped Kevin would come to his senses. Joel’s blue eyes offered her the strength she needed to deal with this irrational confrontation. Only when she looked back at the man who had lived with them for nearly a year did she discover this would never be solved with reasonable arguments. Enraged eyes accused her of things far worse than he had said so far. She knew suddenly that for whatever he thought Joel had done, he might have been able to forgive him. She would never be granted the same.

Without removing his glare from her, Kevin snarled, "Look, I paid for half her fare. I want what is due to me." He motioned with the gun. "Stand up, woman." "Kevin, I will give you half," said Joel hurriedly. "It’s not gold I want. Come on, woman. Stand up, or I will bring every NWMP in the city when I fire a bullet through Gilchrist." She shook off Joel’s hand and did as Kevin ordered. Her face blanched as she heard his next command. Although it was Joel she had come to love, she had considered Kevin her friend. The gentle, charming man who wanted only to make her happy in the isolated cabin could not be the one speaking to her like this. Following his instructions, she removed her cranberry velvet jacket. Her fingers struggled to push it along her arm as she tried to keep her blouse closed. Rage more than modesty burned on her face as he ordered her to remove it as well. "Kevin Houseman, you must be crazy! Put that gun away, and stop this." She cried out in horror as he raised the pistol toward his partner and pulled back on the trigger. "Stop this!" "Have you been his lover?" Unable to speak, she nodded. As dangerous as telling the truth was now, she feared lying would be worse. Kevin must know if he destroyed their partnership this viciously. "How long?" When she flushed, he snarled, "When was the first time you slept with him?" "The first time," she whispered, nearly overcome with fear that he would treat her so cruelly, "the first time was when you went to Dawson to see the doctor." His mouth twisted as he shouted abuse at her. She cringed away from him, but not because she was hurt by his words. While he raved, she bent to redo the pearl buttons on the front of her silk shirt. Suddenly he stopped and snapped, "Come here." Joel rose slowly to his feet. "Kevin, don’t — " "This partnership is over, Gilchrist!" He aimed the gun toward Samantha. Laughing, he knew he could control them easily in this manner. "You have had your share of Samantha’s company. Now it will be my turn. I suggest you stay in Dawson. I’ll bring in your share of our assets in a few days. Half, not two thirds." He took Samantha by the arm and jerked her to him. "Until then I shall be enjoying this harlot." "Joel!" she screamed as he pressed the pistol against her. A jab with it in her ribs silenced her except for a painful moan. "Listen to Samantha," urged Joel. "Kevin, you are her friend. You were my partner. If — " Houseman ignored them both. Stepping toward the door, he forced her with him. "Follow us, and I will kill her. I mean it." Thinking longingly of his own pistol in their cabin, Joel clenched his teeth in anger. Even if he had it, the blond man held Samantha so close, he would not be able to fire it. He despised his impotence which forced him to watch as Houseman dragged her out of room. When she started to take a great breath to scream, he saw Houseman bend to whisper in her ear. Her face paled, and she nodded. Joel wondered what she had promised. Of one thing he was sure. It was to protect him. Slowly he walked out onto the balcony overlooking the main room. He espied Houseman and Samantha, her every step reluctant, crossing the saloon. As they reached the door, Kevin glanced back to see his onetime partner on the upper floor. The temptation to pull the gun from beneath his thick coat sleeve to fire at Gilchrist proved almost too tempting to be ignored. His eyes were

caught by the scarlet of an NWMP uniform. He swallowed his urging to kill Samantha’s lover before her beautiful, lying eyes. Not yet. "Kevin, please, stop this," she murmured by his side. He smiled coldly. She knew better than to raise her voice. His threats of slaying Gilchrist would allow him to manipulate her completely. A pulse of power raced through him. Finally he ruled a woman he wanted. She would suffer as others had for all the insults he had taken docilely for too many years. Without replying, he pulled her out of the Monte Carlo. The cold slapped Samantha viciously. She wrapped her other arm around herself as she shivered. When she heard a victorious laugh, she did not look at the man hurrying her along the boardwalk. "Cold, Samantha? Or do you prefer to be called Sam by your lovers?" Quietly she answered his first question, trying to ignore the threat of his second. Perhaps she could convince him yet to come to his senses. "It’s cold without a coat, Kevin." "You didn’t act as if you were cold when Gilchrist was undressing you." "Please, Kevin, don’t do this. I — " "Shut up!" he snapped. "I don’t want to hear more lies from you, woman." "Kevin. . ." Her words faded into a groan. She was shocked when his hand lashed against her cheek. Tears scorched her. He jerked her through a door. She had no time to notice they were in the lobby of the Aurora Hotel before he hurried her up the stairs. Again the gun pressed into her side, so she did not dare to cry out for help. He would not hesitate to pull the trigger if she betrayed him. The room was different from the one where she and Joel had spent the afternoon. Pictures hung on the wall and personal items were scattered across the top of what was undeniably a dressing table. Cosmetics and a lacquered box for jewelry glittered in the gleam from the lantern by the door. She did not ask the questions teasing her. Kevin would not answer her. "Over there," he ordered, motioning with his gun. "Where?" He raised his other hand and smiled as she backed away from him. "On the bed." Samantha sat gingerly on the very edge. When he smiled maliciously, she folded her fingers in her lap. She could not believe the man she had trusted was treating her like this. With a laugh, Kevin regarded her colorless face. "Make yourself comfortable, honey. It’s going to be a very, very long night." Behind his glasses, his eyes glittered with lust. He walked toward the bed. "When I saw you the first time, I knew I never wanted a woman as I wanted you. You knew I loved you." "Yes," she whispered. "I knew you cared for me from the day we met." He put the gun under his coat as he paused in front of her. "Instead of taking you as I desired, I let Gilchrist talk to me of courting and letting you choose as we had planned before we sent for you." "I did choose," she said softly. "I’m sorry I could not love you, Kevin. Why I chose as I did, I cannot explain. You are my dear friend." "Friend?" he growled as he grasped her shoulders and pressed her into the thin mattress. When she shrieked for him to release her, he laughed. The sound silenced her as she stared at his transformed face. "For more than a year I waited for you," he murmured, "looking at your lovely

picture, wanting you so bad I ached worse than with the burn of the coldest winter wind. Then you arrived and smiled at me. That is all. You smile. You tease me. You let me touch you and kiss you only as a brother would. At the same time, you are letting Gilchrist into your bed." "Kevin, I — " Her words disappeared into a scream as his fingers reached for her blouse. He did not rip it from her as she feared. Slowly he unbuttoned the top button on her collar. His fingers fondled the skin revealed. Noticing her terror and disgust, his eyes slitted in ill-concealed rage. With another laugh, he rose and motioned for her to do the same. Her hands trembled as she faced him. "I thought you were a lady, but you are no different from the rest of the whores in Dawson. Let’s see how you compare with them." Chortling with malicious glee, he ordered, "Take it off." The color drained from her face. "Kevin, please. Stop this. I did only as you wanted." "But you didn’t choose the right one." He regarded her steadily. "Don’t you understand? You didn’t select me. No one has ever chosen me. I tried to understand when my mother sided with that bastard she forced me to acknowledge as my stepfather. You are different. You are the woman created from my dreams. You are mine!" He loosened another button. "Take it off." "Your mother?" she asked, using any excuse to delay. His mouth twisted. Taking her by the shoulders, he shook he viciously. "He stole her love from me. He thought he could be my father. That was impossible. He charmed my mother. He charmed my sisters and brothers, but he couldn’t fool me. I knew him for the bastard he was. He was one of them." "One of them?" She wanted to hold her aching head in her hands, but did not dare to let him see any sign of her weakness. "Mine foreman." "I — I don’t understand." His wide fingers twisted painfully through her hair as he withdrew the pins. Dropping them on the floor, he lifted a handful of the ebony tresses which gleamed in the strange, reddish glow of the northern lights illuminating the sky outside the hotel. He rubbed the hair against his face. "So soft you are, honey. Take off the blouse. Let me touch the rest of you." "Kevin, why did you hate your stepfather?" she whispered. If she stalled long enough, Joel might find them. Her heart called out to him, but its small voice could not be heard through the pulse of her fear. The mad light gleamed in his eyes again as he gripped her face in his hands. "You are so innocent. When your father dies trying to make things better for his family, you don’t want your mother sleeping with one of his murderers." "Kevin!" Compassion filled her voice, as she said quickly, "I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. It must have hurt you when she decided to marry him." She screamed as he slapped her so hard that the sound resounded through her head. The wall behind her kept her from falling to the floor. Pressing her hands on it, she stared at him in horror. This could not be the man she had known at Fifteen Above. "Don’t you speak like that about my mother! He forced her to marry him." Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, he snarled, "He did! He must have! She wouldn’t have married him otherwise. Oh, she pretended she was happy, but I never believed her. So I killed him." Samantha mouthed his words, but could not repeat aloud what he said so

complacently. She realized that neither she nor Joel had known the true emotions hidden beneath the serene surface of the man they had trusted so unwisely. That he had not killed Joel meant little. He had not wanted to allow the Mounties to guess what he had planned. "Enough talk. Take off your blouse, woman." She knew to refuse now would mean her death. The same gleam of hate in his eyes when he spoke of the man he murdered shone as he gazed at her. Her only salvation was to allow him to degrade her completely. It was a small price to pay for a chance to survive. Her quivering fingers could not undo the buttons quickly, but he made no effort to help her. The sheer silk slid easily along her arms. He stepped closer to her and touched the warmth of the skin visible above her lacy chemise. Laughing, he wrapped his arm around her waist. The sharp steel of the pistol beneath his coat pressed painfully into her, but she did not attempt to draw away. She could not give him any reason to kill her. His mouth descended to trace the curves of her body. She fought not to flinch away. Feeling his fumbling with the ribbons securing her skirt, she closed her eyes. This could not be happening. A moan escaped from her lips as the dark material dropped to the floor. She could not help herself as he loosened her petticoats. The reaction was completely instinctive. Her hand struck his face with an impact which stung her palm. A growl erupted from his distorted lips. Shoving her against the mattress, he raised the outlawed pistol to hit her. She cowered, but the blow never landed. On the second knock, she heard what he had. A muted voice from beyond the door warned of trouble yet to come. It had taken Joel less time than she expected to find them. Kevin rose after whispering an order in her ear. She had no intentions of moving, so it was not difficult to obey. Her fingers clenched on the brass footboard of the bed as she realized it was not Joel on the far side of the door. The voice was one she had learned to recognize before she first went to the Fifteen Above to meet the man she loved. "Palmer," she moaned. Kevin glared at her from his spot near the door. He did not need to speak his threat as he drew back the hammer on the gun. Without opening the door, he called, "Did you want something?" "You have to clear out. The street is on fire." Involuntarily Samantha’s gaze went to the window as the footsteps in the hall and another shouted order told her Constable French was warning everyone in the Aurora. The flickering red had not been the northern lights, but a flame much closer to earth. When Kevin did not move from the door, she leaped to her feet. Her movement broke his paralysis. "Where do you think you are going?" he demanded as he centered the pistol on her again. "You heard Palmer! Fire! We must — !" He growled as he heard her use the man’s name. This was the one she had calling on her before he came to take her out to Fifteen Above and his traitorous partner. He wondered, not for the first time, what she and the Mountie had shared during those two weeks. Joel Gilchrist, Constable French, possibly Liberty Burroughs. He wondered how many men she had slept with, but knew only one thing mattered. She had refused him. "Back on the bed!" he ordered. He moved behind her to grasp her arm to force her

to follow his orders. When he shoved her, she tripped over the jumbled clothes on the floor. Desperation forced her to try to rise although her breath had been knocked from her. As she raised her head, she screamed again. Scrambling back from the outstretched hand covered with blood, she saw a crumpled form under the bed. She did not have to guess who it was. Kevin was destroying all those who had refused him. First the dance hall girl Leslie Morgain, then Samantha Perry. She leaped to her feet and raced in unseeing panic for the door. She must escape. She must. A hand on her arm swung her back toward the bed. She screamed involuntarily. "Shut up! Why do you all have to screech? Can’t you just be silent once?" "Kevin, listen! We can talk about this outside. The fire! Remember the fire. Please, you must let. . ." Her words vanished into a soft groan as he brought the gun down on her skull. All her fear swelled into pain. Dropping into the bottomless maw of unconsciousness, she did not feel his arms around her to keep her from falling to the floor next to his other victim.

Chapter Twenty-Two Constable French rubbed his raw knuckles in his other palm as he watched the men starting fires on the river to thaw the ice. He had not realized there were so many doors in the Aurora. As soon as a hole could be made in the ice, a hose from the pumper would be inserted. The other end was connected to one of the fire engines of which the city had inordinate pride. Then they could fight this fire which was consuming the well dried wood buildings like a starving man eating at a feast. He swore. They were too slow. If the firemen had not been on strike for the wages they needed to buy supplies in the city rife with inflation, this would not have happened. Breaking into the locked firehouse to bring out the engines had wasted vital minutes. Normally the pumpers would have been filled and primed to go as quickly as they could be dragged to the site of a fire. Tonight was nothing like that. Even as he was supervising the men breaking through the ice, others struggled to build up enough pressure in the steam engines to work the pumps. An impatient hand tapped on his shoulder. He spun to face a man he recognized instantly despite the red glare and the strange fog formed by the fire striking the cold air around them. His lips lengthened in open dislike as he recalled Samantha’s sad face and broken heart. "Gilchrist, I have better things to do than talk with you." He could not let his personal distaste for the man keep him from his duties. Although he would have liked to thrash the lout who had stolen Samantha’s joy, he would have to delay that pleasure. Joel could not miss the disgust on the Mountie’s face. Instantly he understood, but he did not want to delay to explain Sam had forgiven him. He must have assistance. Now. "French, I need your help."

"Not as much as the firefighters do. Why don’t you get out of here? These men need room to do their work." "It’s Sam — Samantha." In spite of his intentions to remember his duty, he could not keep from asking, "What’s wrong?" "My part — my ex-partner Kevin Houseman abducted her at gun point from the Monte Carlo. I can’t find her." "What do you expect in this mess?" He did not bother himself with the blatant illegality of Houseman carrying a firearm in Dawson. Such misdemeanors were of little consequence when the city could be destroyed by morning. "Have you seen them?" He started to shake his head, then stopped short. "Houseman was in the rooms upstairs over the Aurora. I’m sure of it. I went door to door there to tell the girls and their customers to get out. He answered at one." "The Aurora?" He turned to look at the wall of fire surging along the buildings of Front Street, although there was no wind to move it. "I should have guessed! He always got along well with Leslie. She must have let him use her room." French smiled with relief. "Then they are fine. I told everyone to clear out before the fire. I — " Shouts cut short his words. Men raced past them, calling for help over their shoulders. Joel did not hesitate as he heard what they were saying. Grabbing the Mountie by the shoulders, he spun him to follow the others. A muted explosion was swallowed by the crackle of flames burst over them. All along the serpentine line of hoses, the seams were bursting as the water in the lines froze solid. The call for hot water had come too late. Every hose was ruined. No hope could be had for the city now. They could not fight a fire when the temperature was more than 45 degrees below zero. A moan swept along the street as the flames delightfully licked at the dry wood roof of the bank. In the vault waited the year’s labor of many of those standing on the street. The fire would reduce that soft gold and currency into useless, ash covered lumps. Palmer lost track of Gilchrist as he called for assistance. Bucket brigades remained their only alternative. Eagerly men lined up to swing the heavy pails and splash them ineffectually against the wall of fire. As the night wore on, it was clear how little they were doing to stop the fire. Being spelled by others and getting hot food offered free at the Fairview Hotel, the men fought on against a relentless enemy. While some tried to rescue what they could from the doomed buildings, Captain Starnes called his Mounties together. They could not continue to let the fire burn until nothing remained but the whores’ cabins which stood apart from the rest of the city in Lousetown. Drastic measures were necessary. "Carruthers," shouted the Mounties’ commander over the roar of the flames, "take your dog team out to the warehouse where Olney stores the dynamite for his bench claim. Bring back enough to set the Aurora dancing on her foundation. We are going to stop this fire!" The short man nodded and raced to get his team, barking as the rest of the city dogs were at the excitement. Even as Starnes set his men to other tasks, Carruthers was hooking his dogs to the sled traces and readying to careen out of Dawson on his desperate mission. Joel wiped smoke from his burning eyes as he reeled from one set of firefighters to the next. He must find Samantha. Leaping aside as someone raced past him, he

bumped into another man and mumbled a hasty apology. A wry smile twisted his lips as he saw Bill McPhee, the owner of the Pioneer with his beloved moose head in his arms. The man had brought it with him to Dawson and made it the centerpiece of his hotel. Although he lost everything else he had worked for in Dawson, he must have risked his life for the moldy trophy. Every man Joel questioned told him the same thing. Miss Perry had been seen by no one since she left the Monte Carlo. For once, he was pleased she had been remembered by so many of the men. It prevented him from being sent on fruitless chases as he heard others searching for missing loved ones in the glow of the flames. "Maybe Linda was with Brillyea tonight." "No, she was with — " Joel left them to their arguments as they swung the heavy buckets. He could not waste time on this. Already he had gone to the livery and pulled out his sled team. They waited at Mrs. Kellogg’s where Kevin could not find them to drag Sam back to Fifteen Above. He sought out the dance hall girls to ask if they had seen Sam, Kevin, or Leslie Morgain. If the woman Kevin first wanted to marry had lent him her room, she must be privy to his plans. She might know where he would have holed up when flushed from the Aurora. The cold cut into him as he continued to fight to be heard over the crash of roofs succumbing to the fire. Heated on one side so his skin felt scorched, freezing where the river wind struck it. He raced from one group to the next. No one could help him. At the end of Front Street, he paused to catch his breath. Each one reminded him of the passage of time. He stared at the flames staining the sky red. No one remaining in those buildings had any hope of surviving. Only French’s assurance that he had warned Kevin to leave the Aurora kept him from risking his life to check in the endangered building for Sam. Barking caught his attention. He looked toward the Yukon which was sleeping in frozen silence. His eyes narrowed as he saw a pack of dogs racing away from the fire. Instantly his attention was caught by a lone form moving along the shore toward Lousetown. Something about the man urged him to race forward. Joel aimed for a point which cut off the man’s straight-line path. When he was within a few feet of the furtive shadow, he shouted, "Kevin!" The man glanced quickly over his shoulder and sprinted toward the frozen river. Joel followed, determined to learn what his partner had done with Samantha. That she no longer was with him sent a shiver of pain through him far stronger than any cold could create. He dropped to the ground as the whistle of the bullet squealed over his head. He had seen the silhouette of the gun. Kevin was so desperate now he would not hesitate to kill his partner. Jumping to his feet, Joel skulked behind a pile of discarded supplies. He silently thanked the disgruntled prospector who had left them on the shore. A quick glance around the edge told him Kevin had not altered his course. Maybe he thought he had killed his partner. In a path parallel to the river, Joel ran from one trash heap to the next or to a tree or anything which gave him shelter. He gauged the distance between them. When he exposed himself to the gun, he had to be sure he could jump his partner before he could fire it. He screeched to throw his prey off balance. Kevin whirled to see a phantom

leaping at him. He raised the gun. Joel’s hand knocked his wrist aside. The pistol went spiraling in the air to skid across the ice. Shoving his partner aside, Kevin raced after the weapon. Joel followed. His shout was ignored. He repeated, "Where is she?" A hysterical laugh sounded through the icy air. Losing his footing, Kevin fell on the ice. He grabbed the gun inches from his fingers. With a smile, he aimed it at his partner standing in the open. Slowly he rose. "So you want to know where she is? I can tell you where she will be before another hour passes. Look." He gestured at the fire outlining the horizon. "She will be dead and join you in Hell." "Will be?" Joel took a half step forward, then recalled the pistol in the hand of a man eager to kill him. "She’s alive now? What did you do — ?" Exulting in his victory, Kevin laughed triumphantly. "One of them is dead, but Samantha couldn’t be killed so quickly. Her crime was greater than my lovely Leslie’s. I will let her tell you when you meet her in Hell!" Knowing he had no choice but attack, Joel threw himself from the bank. Kevin fired, but again the bullet missed. He aimed again. Too slowly, for Joel struck his wrist to send the gun into the darkness. A soft splash told of an open lead not far from them. It had swallowed the pistol. Fire to match that in the city seared from Joel’s blue hot eyes. Grabbing two handfuls of his partner’s coat, he demanded, "Where is she?" "Find her yourself," he sneered. "Let me tell you that you probably too late. The fire was close when I left." "The Aurora! You left her in the Aurora." Joel shoved him away to turn to the shore. "How — ? I mean, you are wrong." Hastily, he tried to regain his control of the ones he hated. "Look for her there, and you may waste your one chance to find her." Fury destroyed every thought in Joel’s head. He swung his fist into his ex-partner’s face. When Kevin did not fall, he struck with the other. He ducked as a wild arm lashed over his head. A vicious sneer twisted his lips as he hit Kevin in the middle. As the man bent over in pain, Joel ran toward the shore. He could not make Kevin pay as he wished. He had to get to the Aurora before the fire. Something hit him in the middle of the back as he was scrambling up the bank. He gasped as his breath exploded out of him. Collapsing, he fell to the ice. He groaned as he was rolled onto his back. Bleary eyes could discern the shape of the madman lifting whatever he had struck him with. Instinct alone moved him. Both feet erupted up to impact into Kevin’s abdomen. He was propelled across the ice to drop harshly. Joel heard a panic-stricken cry. He struggled onto his stomach. Retching, he tried to rise and fell again. "Kevin?" he called. No answer came. His head snapped up. As badly as his partner had bested him, he knew Kevin would not leave until he had completed this beating. Crawling forward, his hand slipped into freezing water, racing between chunks of ice. Profanity slipped from his lips quivering with the cold. Knowing it was hopeless, he repeated, "Kevin? Kevin?" Again no answer to his shout. He dropped his head onto his arms on the edge of the open expanse of water. The way his hand had been sucked beneath the ice by the current, he knew what had happened to his partner. In the darkness, there was no hope of rescue.

Forcing himself to his feet, he reeled to shore. Even though his eyes barely focused, he watched for the treacherous leads which could open any time to suck him into the swirling currents to share Kevin’s horrid death. He could not die. He had to reach the Aurora. If he did not, Sam would die because she had fallen in love with him. *** *** *** Samantha woke to pain and a fierce attempt to gain her breath. An ache ripped across her forehead, but most of the pain centered at the back of her head. She blinked her scorching eyes. The motion caused more agony, and a moan slipped from her lips. As she heard the muted sound from her lips, full consciousness erupted over her. She was bound painfully to the footboard of the bed in the room where Kevin had brought her. Sickness welled through her as she recalled the corpse beneath her. What Leslie had suffered, she had not yet. She was sure her turn was coming soon. Where was Kevin? Not only were her arms bound to the iron railings, but her ankles had been wrapped with more twine. A thick cloth tasted horrible in her dried mouth and kept her from making any noise other than a dull groan. She angrily tested the ropes. It was useless. Too many tied her too tightly. All she received for her efforts was more fire burning along her arms. Fire! In fear, she looked toward the window. The red glow from the fire seemed brighter than before. . .whenever before was. She had lost track of all time, but the fire had continued to burn during the time she was senseless. The smoke which hung heavy in the room warned her the edge of the conflagration was not far from the Aurora. She granted herself only a few seconds to enjoy the luxury of rage. Kevin had left her here to die. As if she could read his twisted thoughts, she knew he intended to be sure if he did not have her love, no one would. In his desperation to be foremost in the heart of one woman he loved, he would destroy her life as he had his mother’s. As he had Leslie’s. Another moan drifted her lips. As he would Joel’s. Those thoughts offered her no help. She had to escape before the flames reached here. She coughed in the thickening smoke. Gagging, she wanted to scream. Instead she scraped the ropes the tiny bit they would move on the spindles. She knew it was futile, but she could not wait here to die without trying to escape. Tears coursing along her face might have been from the smoke. They might have been from the sorrow in her heart as she thought of never seeing Joel again and how he would mourn her. She ignored them. She concentrated on breaking free. She must before the fire reached her. She must, or she would die. Choking, she struggled. She struggled until the clouds of smoke smothered her in their black, hot softness, warning there was no escape. *** *** *** "Stop, French!" The Mountie ignored the imperious words gasped at him. When they were repeated, he turned from listening to his captain to snap, "Gilchrist, I told you before to stay out of the way while I am working. I have to listen to what Captain Starnes says about blowing the Aurora to stop the fire." "The Aurora? No!" Joel’s clothes creaked with the cold as he grasped the constable’s arm. With his teeth chattering from his near disastrous plunge into

the freezing waters, he forced the man to face him. "Don’t let them blow it yet!" "Look, if we don’t do something soon, we will lose Dawson totally." "She. . .she is — is in th — there." He forced his exhausted body to grant him the breath to form the words. "She?" Eyes as gray as the smoke around them widened in horror. "Samantha? You are sure?" He nodded. "Hou — Houseman told me. Leslie Morgain’s room. Don’t let them blow it until we get her out!" Nodding, Palmer ran to where his captain was setting to give the order which might be their last attempt to save the city. Quickly he shouted what Gilchrist had told him. Captain Starnes regarded him as if he was mad. A motion near the flames caught the commander’s eye, and he burst into a series of imaginative curses. "There goes Gilchrist! Damn him! French, this is your fault! Go get that jackass. You have two minutes to get him and your own useless hide out of that building. It’ll take two minutes to finish the work here. When the boys are done, the Aurora is going sky high. Do you understand?" "Yes, Captain." "Get the hell out of here. You are wasting your two minutes!" French raced toward the now empty porch of the Aurora. It seemed odd to see the building so dead when it was not Sunday. He paused for a moment in the foyer. Overhead, he heard the pounding of footsteps. Leslie Morgain was the dance hall girl Gilchrist had mentioned. He knew which was her room. Taking the stairs three at a time, he emerged into the smoke shrouded hallway. The crackling sound of the fire told him it already had reached some of the rooms. He tried not to think this foolish attempt might be too late. "Gilchrist!" he called. "Down here." It took him only a few seconds to find the man. Taking his sleeve, he urged, "Come with me. They are going to blow this place in about a minute and a half." "No! I’ve got to get Sam." "Gilchrist, I know where she is." Joel demanded, "If you know where she is, then why are we standing here? Go!" Neither man was surprised to find the door locked. In unison, without voicing their plan, they crashed their shoulders against the thin board. It shivered once and splintered. Smoke puffed out in a thick billow. Joel pushed past the choking constable. Smoke burned his eyes. Waving his arms like a crazed windmill, he fought his way into the room. Tears blinded him, but he moved toward the opposite wall. No heat of the nearby fire burned him, so he knew only the deadly smoke had invaded this small chamber. "Sam? Sam, are you here?" No answer eased the fear exploding in him. Kevin may have lied. Even at the end, he may have lied. "Sam?" he shouted desperately. Samantha lifted her head at the sound coming through the reddened smoke. Her dried throat could have made no sound, even without the gag. When she heard the footsteps pass her door, she had been sure she would die here alone. Now she feared Joel would fall prey to the smoke as well. She watched him grope across the room. Pain ripped through her when he stepped toward the window. If he could not find her, he might continue on to another

room and search fruitlessly. He would not give up. Kevin’s revenge would be total. Joel grabbed the first heavy thing his fingers closed around. He flung the lamp with all his strength through the glass. Throwing his hands over his head, he swung around to determine if he could see anything in the moment the smoke lessened. He swore vividly when the swirls did not ebb perceptively. Battling the surges of gray, he searched for any sign of Sam. He found the bed more by luck than by design when his boot caught in something on the floor. He did not pause to see what it was. His hands slid along the footboard until he located a form crumpled in the center. He forced his eyes to focus through the burning of the smoke. In a voice choked by more than the black cloud, he whispered, "Sam!" Coughing, he could not snarl the epithets in his heart as he touched the lace of her chemise. He warned himself this was not the time to think of what had happened to her. His hands shook as he untied her gag. Involuntarily, tears fell from her eyes as he pulled the hair twisted in the cloth. He framed her face with hands still cold from his near dunking in the Yukon. "Sam," he murmured as he tasted the welcoming heat of her lips. "C’mon. We have to get out of this hell." "I can’t! He tied me to the bed." Running his hands along her arms, he discovered the ropes and realized why she had not flung her arms around him. Rage seared him. Just as quickly he realized how futile this fury was. Kevin was dead. He had to get Sam out of the Aurora before the dynamite around the doomed building was detonated. "A knife, French!" he shouted over the sounds of the fire and the noise from the street. "Do you have one?" "Did you find her?" he gasped. "Yes!" "Then let’s go. The captain is going to give the command to blow this any second now." Joel ignored the warning as he leaped the two steps to where the man stood. He grasped his arm. Desperately he ordered, "Your knife. The bastard tied her to the bed knowing the hotel would burn." When the sheath was placed in his hand, he whirled to find the bed. The knife had been sharpened recently and began to cut through the ropes nearly as swiftly as the fire ate through the wood of the buildings. "Run ahead, French," he gasped with the remnants of his voice. "Tell them we are coming. Tell them to delay until we are out of here. Get us one minute. Get us two if you can." The Mountie nodded. He wanted to ask if Samantha was alive, but there was no time to worry about such niceties. If he did not get to his captain and ask for the extra time, all of them would die. Hearing the crashing sounds of rapid steps fading in the distance, Joel bent to concentrate on his task. He could see little. His motions were hampered by the need to keep wiping his eyes which were blinking too rapidly. "Hurry." Samantha choked on the single word. Her lungs were scorched. Steadily, breathing was becoming impossible. "I am," he muttered. He did not waste precious air voicing the curses in his head. The madman had secured her too well to the bed. Layer after layer of rope bound her arms from wrist to elbow to the iron spindles. Kevin had wanted to be sure his revenge was successful.

"Hurry!" "Relax your arms, honey. I don’t want to slice you." As if she had not heard him, hysteria filled her voice. "Joel, the fire! It’s getting closer!" He ignored her when she urged him to leave. Gritting his teeth, he continued sawing on the ropes. If she thought he would abandon her now. . . That thought vanished from his mind when he nicked the edge of the knife on the spindles again. Each time that happened, it dulled the blade. A crash sounded somewhere close. He cringed inwardly, but it was not the detonation of the dynamite. "Go!" she gasped. "Don’t die, Joel. Please!" When the last rope fell away, he had no voice to cheer. He tossed the knife on the floor and grabbed Samantha from the floor. In a single step, he realized how his impatience had foiled his plans again. She moaned, "My ankles! He tied them, too!" He muttered something she could not understand. Scooping her into his arms, he noted how little she wore. He dropped her on the bed and ordered her to pull the wool cover over her. Embers fell everywhere. Without her blouse and skirt, she could be burned too easily. "Joel, Leslie. . ." "What about her?" He lifted her, hoping he could find his way out of the smoke clogged building. "She’s here." "Dead?" "Yes." "Then forget her. It’s too late for her. Let’s hope it’s not too late for us." To worry about anyone but the two of them might bring their deaths as well. With her in his arms again, he followed the path French had taken. He moved as rapidly as he could. After his battle on the river, he had little stamina left. He marshaled all the strength remaining within him to reel toward the stairs. With her head cradled against his shoulder and her arms tight around his neck, he carefully felt out each step before seeking the next. He knew he was going too slow. The rumble of the fire sounded its death cry too close to him. If he went any faster, he risked falling and losing any chance they had for escape. Hands reached out of the smoke to steer him and his beloved burden toward the door. He thought he heard encouraging words in shouted voices, but the roar of the conflagration that was anxious to swallow them all dimmed everything else. Behind him he heard the crash as timbers succumbed to the weakening force of the fire. Cold slapped him, releasing him from the velvet tentacles of the smoke. He paused to cough some of the ash from his lungs. Again the bodiless hands urged him forward. He had no choice but to go with them. His numb feet moved until someone murmured, "This should be far enough." A crash rocked through the frozen ground. Unearthly noise swelled around them. Drunkenly he whirled to see the debris of the Aurora and the neighboring store settling to the earth. No chance was granted him to marvel at their luck in escaping before Captain Starnes knew they could delay no longer if they wanted to save what was left of Front Street. In his arms, Samantha moaned softly. He had not reacted to her muted scream that he had barely heard through the shouts and the echoes of the explosion. Only

when she asked, "What happened?" did he remember she had had no idea of their most immediate danger in the Aurora. Before he could answer, a man rushed up to him. He smiled as he greeted Constable French. The Mountie asked, "Is she — ?" "I’m fine," answered Samantha for herself. "Just cold." She laughed as she added, "It’s so good to think I will be able to be cold again." "Take her down to the Fairview. They have coffee and a change of clothes for you, Gilchrist." "And for Sam, I hope," Joel joked, ignoring the clothes frozen to him. "Her things are half way to heaven by this time." His voice grew serious as he added, "Thanks, French." Palmer smiled, his teeth bright in his smoke darkened face. "I could say it was all in the line of duty, but take care of your lady. She’s pretty special." "That she is." His blue eyes smiled at her as he squeezed her lightly. With a shiver, Samantha covered her embarrassment by asking, "Can we go to the Fairview before I freeze?" A crowd swarmed around them as they entered the Fairview Hotel. Joel smiled as he set Samantha on her feet. With the blanket cockeyed around her shoulders revealing the lace of her chemise and her hair loose along her back, she made a charming sight as the bedraggled maiden. He noted several men he recognized as syndicate reporters and knew within the next few weeks Samantha Perry’s dramatic rescue would be in papers across the country. It made the perfect ending to the tale of yet another fire gutting the boomtown. "Is this the one?" demanded a feminine voice. He was included in the embrace of a woman in a garish, dance hall gown, but all her attention centered on Sam. He was not surprised she knew a woman of this profession. Dawson treated all of its citizens as equal members of an extended family. Samantha stepped out of Gwen’s arms. With her lungs still clogged with smoke, she had difficulty breathing. In a scratchy voice, she said, "This is the one. Joel Gilchrist, my dear friend Gwen — " "Goddard," she supplied with a broad wink at her friend. "Charmed, Mr. Gilchrist. So you are the final victor for Samantha?" He winced at her words. Somehow he would have to tell Sam about what happened to the man who had been their partner. Not now. He forced a smile on his face. "I have finally convinced Sam to marry me." "You convinced me?" Samantha teased. "Something like that." He put his arm around her and readjusted the blanket. "And you intend to marry her?" Gwen chuckled as the younger woman gasped at her forthright question. "Samantha is the type who needs to be made an honest woman. Not like me, I’m afraid." Samantha glanced up at him, unsure how he would deal with Gwen’s effusive behavior. She smiled with sudden shyness as he bent to kiss her lightly. Cheers broke out around the room, generating a heated blush along her cheeks. "I’m going to marry her as soon as possible," he answered. "As soon as possible? You mean that?" He squeezed Sam’s shoulders as he turned back to her friend. "Yes, Miss Goddard." Gwen whirled to look at the crowd. She leaped onto a circular divan in the middle of the lobby. With her skirts flaring high around her dimpled knees, she caught the attention of every man in the room.

"Is there a preacher here?" she called. As laughter raced through the crowd, Samantha wanted to hide her face. She took Joel’s hand in hers. In a whisper too low for anyone to hear, she said, "Joel, I didn’t think she would do anything like this." Slowly he brought her to face him. "Do you think I mind marrying you tonight?" "Like this?" He leaned forward to murmur in her ear, "You look delectable this way, my dear damsel in distress. Let us get this ceremony out of the way. Then I will show you how convenient it is to play the rapacious pirate to your captive wench and have you dressed so skimpily." "I love you." The soft huskiness in her laugh urged him to take her in his arms and taste the lips he had feared would be lost to him forever. Laughter close to her ear broke the enchantment. Gwen was pointing to a slight man walking toward them. "You’d better hurry, Reverend. I don’t think they will be able to wait much longer." Pushing her hair back from her face, Joel looked down into Samantha’s eyes. "She’s right. I have been waiting all my life for you, Sam. I don’t want to wait any longer. Will you marry me tonight, my love?" "How can I refuse?" she asked. "Haven’t I told you ‘yes’ almost every other time you asked me?" She put her hands up to cover his. "Do you think I would tell you no now?" Samantha put her arms around his shoulders as he pressed her close. The other sounds of laughter and rejoicing voices vanished into the silken pulse created by his mouth on hers. This rapture would be hers forever, a joy gilded not by gold, but by the love they had found at the rainbow’s end.