Snowfire

by French, Colleen

  "I thought I was dead," Alex muttered. "Can I have some water?" His eyes drifted shut as he combated the pain.

  Gabrielle was immediately up on her knees, thankful to have something to do. "I thought you were dead, too. Some partner you had there, huh?" She offered her tin cup to his lips.

  Alex strained to lift his head high enough to take a sip and then let it drop. "Yeah. Some partner."

  Gabrielle held the cup between her palms. "Let me guess, your partner's real partner ambushed your camp, took all you had, and then tried to kill you."

  He swallowed hard, no longer trying to keep his eyes open. His head hurt too much. "How did you know?"

  Gabrielle crawled to the stove to throw in some more wet wood. "Seen it before, too many times. You're lucky, most don't live to tell their story." Suddenly her voice was laced with sarcasm. Any man who was fool enough to be swindled like that deserved to freeze to death!

  "How'd you find me?" Alex's voice was becoming distant as his mind drifted to escape the pain. His feet felt as if they had been set on fire, the flames shooting up his legs.

  "I was running my dogs along the river. Thought I'd found another body to bury." She didn't know why she was being so cruel. She just didn't like him. She didn't like fools and liked gold miners even less.

  "Thank you . . ." he murmured drifting off to sleep again.

  Gabrielle woke in the morning to the sound of the wind still lamenting, howling and whining as it whipped at the eaves of the old cabin, threatening to rip it to shreds. Snow still blew in through the cracks in the door she'd wedged shut, forming drifts on the worn wood floor.

  Snuggling deeper beneath the parka she shared with the stranger, Gabrielle turned hesitantly to study his face. She had never seen anyone with such beautiful hair; it was clean and shiny, a deep startling red that appeared brown in the darkness. Hanging at the same length as her own, it framed his angular face reminding her of a painting she'd once seen on the wall of a church. His lips were parted slightly, his eyelids heavy with sleep. A day's growth of red beard shadowed his face, but it didn't matter. Gabrielle was used to men with beards and saw them as being natural. No, the only thing that marred his serene face was the ugly purple bruise on his temple that spread across one cheek.

  Suddenly the lips moved. "Good morning."

  Gabrielle scrambled to get out from under the parka, startled by his voice. He knew she had been looking at him. "Good morning," she answered briskly, opening the stove's door with an old rag. She felt so foolish. What had possessed her to lay there beside the stranger and stare at him like some brazen hussy? Alice LeBeau she was not!

  Alex opened his eyes, moving slowly to pull Gabrielle's parka up to his chin. His entire body ached as it never had before. Not even when he had fallen forty feet from the mast of the whaling ship and broken six ribs had he hurt this badly. "It's cold in here. Where are we?"

  "Yes, it's cold in here," she snapped before she could catch herself. "This is just a squatter's cabin. I'm sorry if you don't like the accommodations. A storm came up fast. I had to get you in out of the weather." She busied herself stoking the fire and adding wood to the fresh blaze.

  Alex followed Gabrielle's movements through half-closed eyelids; there was something about her that was familiar. She moved like a dancer, smooth with no wasted or jerky movements, yet she was dressed in dark, baggy wool pants and a bulky sweater. There was no evidence of femininity in the clunky leather boots or unfashionably short-cropped hair, yet something about her lit a spark deep within him. "Do I know you?" He raised one dark eyebrow.

  "I think not." Gabrielle scooped up a pot of snow from the drift near the door. No sense in telling him if he doesn't remember, she thought. No need in it.

  "I do. I know you." Alex wouldn't give up so easily. "I'm Jefferson Alexander . . . Alex. Have you ever been to Richmond or maybe New Bedford?" Slowly he eased himself into a sitting position, putting all of his weight on his good arm.

  "Nope. Born and raised on the muddy banks of the Tanana." She placed the pot of snow on the stove and waited for it to melt, deliberately keeping her back to him.

  "Have I done something to offend you?" Alex asked hoarsely. He was tiring quickly as the pain washed over him in great waves. "I'm certain I'd remember if I'd wronged you." His head hurt; his brain seemed foggy. She was little more than a child. How could he have done anything to her? How could anyone? "I know I've caused you a lot of trouble, but . . ." His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off. "I'll pay you whatever you ask."

  She glanced at him, hearing the strain in his voice. "You'd better lie back down before you pass out and hurt yourself."

  Alex slid his body down until he rested flat on the floor again. "How bad are my feet?"

  "Bad."

  "Am I going to lose my toes?" He closed his eyes, running a palm over his shaggy face. He was badly in need of a shave.

  "Might."

  Alex's eyes flew open. "Look, have we got a problem here?" He inhaled sharply when a fierce stab of pain ripped through his chest.

  "You've got broken ribs, too, so I wouldn't go shouting for a couple of days." Gabrielle's voice was as chilling as the wind that blew through the cracks in the walls.

  Alex took a deep breath. This was all he needed. First he'd been robbed and beaten with the butt of a rifle, then his coat and boots were taken and he'd been left in the snow to freeze to death, and now he had this little snit of a woman to contend with. "I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you, ma'am. I'll pay you for your trouble." His voice had a touch of a southern drawl. "I assure you I'm no more pleased with this than you are."

  "Keep your money and your highfalutin words, okay?" She pulled a cloth sack of beaten biscuits from her feed sack and slammed them onto the dirty table. She didn't know why she was so angry with this man, but she was. He had invaded her privacy; he had forced her to care for him. She went on. "We're stuck with each other for the time being, so we'd just better accept it and go on from here." She pulled a biscuit from the bag and threw it at him.

  Alex's arm shot up to catch the biscuit, and he took a bite, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  Gabrielle continued to speak as if nothing had happened, but secretly, she was pleased. Maybe he did have some survival instinct. She took a deep, calming breath. "From the color of your toes, I think I found you in time. You're not going to lose them, but the recovery is slow. You have to give the flesh time to heal and replace the dead meat. It will probably be weeks before you can walk."

  He gnawed at the dry biscuit; it was too salty, but he was starving. Weeks? He couldn't believe his bad luck. "I couldn't have been out there too long; it was past morning light when he attacked me."

  "It doesn't take long out here, Mr. Alexander. Don't you know anything about cold weather?" Gabrielle dropped a few leaves of tea into her hot cup of water. He would have to wait for something to drink; she had to have her tea in the morning.

  "I know a little. I was on a whaling ship for a couple of years off of New England. It gets cold at sea, damned cold." He tried to swallow, but the dry biscuit caught in his throat until he thought he would choke.

  "Well, you should have stayed on your ship and chased your whales, Mr. Alexander." Probably all a pack of lies, she thought. Men, they were all liars. He sure didn't seem like any deep-water sailor she'd ever known. He was too tall, too clean.

  "Considering the circumstances, don't you think Mr. Alexander is a little formal? I never cared much for Jefferson. My friends call me Alex." He forced another bite of biscuit down and waved the remainder at her.

  "This is the worst damned biscuit I've ever eaten in my life. Who made these awful things?"

  Gabrielle's dark eyes grew cloudy with checked anger. "I made them, and if you don't like it, give it back. I'll eat it. I don't usually carry fancy food with me when I'm out dragging jackasses out of the snow." She took a swallow of her tea, burning the roof of her mouth.

  Alex tuc
ked his good arm beneath his head. This girl was vicious, quite a sparring partner. "What's your name?" he asked with an equally gruff tone.

  Instinctively, Gabrielle hesitated, reluctant to give any information about herself to this stranger. "What difference does it make?" She laughed nervously, taking another sip of the hot tea.

  Alex's grey-blue eyes grew wide as he struggled to sit up again. "What did you say?" He stared at Gabrielle in disbelief.

  She laughed again. "I said what difference does it make."

  "It's you," he whispered huskily.

  She turned to tie her biscuit bag, knowing she'd been found out. "Who? What are you talking about?" She was stalling for time. She didn't want him asking questions. It was none of his business, any of it. He'd done her a favor, and now she was returning it. It was as simple as that.

  "Seattle. You're the girl on the wharf." He pointed a long, tapered finger at her. "You sailed on the Lady Yukon." His voice was laced with an emotion Gabrielle didn't recognize. "You're the woman I keep dreaming about."

  Chapter Three

  Gabrielle's cheeks grew flushed; her pulse quickened. "I am not." Her voice wavered. "I don't know you."

  "I know you remember," he whispered. "Someone was after you. You said you feared for your life. You had me put you aboard the Lady Yukon." He shook his head. "No one could forget that."

  Gabrielle turned slowly to face the man who lay on the floor of the old cabin. She could feel her hands trembling at her sides. She'd left Seattle to escape the prying questions. She'd wanted no part of the investigation into her father's death; she had just wanted to be left alone.

  Alex studied the slender girl's face, reading the fear in her heavenly dark eyes. Something was very wrong, but he couldn't fathom what. "Tell me your name," he implored.

  "Gabrielle," she answered without hesitation. "Gabrielle LeBeau."

  He smiled. "Gabrielle, what a beautiful name. You're French. Do you speak it?" He spoke softly, intrigued by her haunting voice. It was a husky, utterly feminine voice that hinted at untapped sensuality. Even through the pain of his injuries, he felt a shudder of pleasure race down his spine.

  "My father was French-Canadian, but I don't speak the language. He never bothered to teach me." She averted her eyes, trying to release the tension strung between them. There was something about this man that made her tremble. No one had ever made her feel this way before, and it frightened her.

  A lump caught in Alex's throat. Never in his life had he felt so strongly for a complete stranger. She appeared to be a tower of strength, yet beneath that façade he sensed a frightened child. He suddenly wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the hardened lines of her angelic face. He wanted to smother her biting words with his mouth, to taste her lips again. His eyes drifted shut, and he laughed beneath his breath. Was he mad? A woman was the last thing he needed in his life!

  Gabrielle watched Alex through lowered lashes, sipping her hot tea-laced water. He appeared to be sleeping now, and she was glad of it. She needed time to think. Reaching for her parka, she slipped into it and started for the door to check the dogs. She had to get rid of this Alex somehow, and the sooner the better. Something deep inside her told her he was dangerous—dangerous to her orderly plans for the future, dangerous to her way of life.

  Hours later Gabrielle sat in front of the old woodstove, its door swung open, watching the flames lick at the leg of a broken chair. She could feel Alex's eyes boring holes in her back, but she refused to turn and face him. The snow storm still raged around them, howling and tearing at the cabin walls, but she knew they were safe within. There was another day's worth of firewood lying about on the floor, and she had food and her gun. Her dogs were safe just outside the door, sleeping comfortably beneath a snowbank. Her only problem was the stranger.

  "Why do you dress like a boy?" Alex's voice startled her.

  Gabrielle picked up a stick to poke at the fire. "Been doing it for years. My father made me dress in breeches to keep strangers from knowing I was a girl. There's not a white woman for hundreds of miles, and these gold seekers sometimes get tunny ideas."

  He strained to sit up, leaning against the cold wall of the cabin. "The gown I saw in Seattle was far more becoming."

  She gave a snort. "But not very practical. Of course you wouldn't know anything about practicality, would you, Mr. Alexander?"

  "I said call me Alex."

  She spun around on the floor to face him. "You said your friends call you Alex. I'm not one of your friends, and I have no intention of becoming one."

  "How can you dislike me? You don't even know me." He ran a hand over the red stubble of his beard.

  "I dislike stupidity." She drew up her knees, hugging them against her chest. "And I've seen enough men like you to know you."

  "Oh, so you're an expert on men are you?"

  She grinned, giving a shrug. "Stupid ones at least."

  Alex tipped back his head to laugh in disbelief, and Gabrielle squirmed in discomfort. No one had ever laughed at her before. No one had ever not taken her seriously.

  Alex shook his head. "If only we'd met at a different time . . . a different place."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I think you do, Gabrielle." Alex's eyes rested on hers for the briefest moment, and then she turned away.

  "Tell me what brings you to the Tanana."

  "I thought you weren't interested in sad tales. . . ."

  "I'm not actually." Gabrielle had gained her composure now. "But I thought it would make for entertaining conversation. Not much else to do, is there?"

  Alex studied her face in silence for a moment, watching the way the firelight cast shadows over her features. The bright light filtered through her short, curly hair like a halo, tinting the ends with gold and red. He sighed, letting his eyes drift shut to ward off the pain that still streaked through his legs. "It's a simple tale."

  "I'm sure it is—" Alex's eyes flew open, and Gabrielle hid a smile behind her hand. "All right." She put up her hands in surrender. "I'll keep quiet."

  He gave a nod. "Do that, or I'll not provide the entertainment." His eyes drifted shut again, and he began to speak in a low, masculine voice. "I'm from Richmond, Virginia. Ever been there?"

  "Never been out of the territories."

  "It's the same old story. My family owned land and prospered before the war. My father and brothers were killed at Sharpsburg. The Northerners called it the battle of Antietam. We sold much of the land after the war for taxes." He laughed wryly, his voice echoing in the tiny cabin.

  "You didn't fight?" Gabrielle asked quietly.

  He shook his head. "I wanted to. They'd have taken me. Hell, they were taking them younger than sixteen. But I promised my papa I'd look after my mama and sisters."

  "No need in all of you dyin'."

  Alex opened his eyes, tucking his hands behind his head. "After the war, I tried a couple of things, but nothing worked out. I wrote for a newspaper, I shoveled grain in a mill, but I just couldn't make enough money to support my family. We were planters, but with the slaves gone, we couldn't plant more than a few acres. Then I met Amber; we married, and a friend hired me on as a deck hand on his whaling ship out of New Bedford." His voice took on a new pitch. "The pay was good, it was terrific, but it bothered me slaughtering those beautiful creatures." He looked up at her. "Have you ever seen a whale, Gabrielle?"

  She shook her head, intrigued by the emotion reflected in the stranger's eyes. "Never." She drew closer, listening intently. Storytelling was as natural as breathing to the people who lived this lonely life in the territories. They thrived on it.

  "Ah, they're one of God's most beautiful creatures, huge and glistening. They're the size of the sailing ships we track them on." His blue eyes sparkled as he raised a hand to arc in the air. "Time seems to lose all meaning as they surface and dive again crying out in this strange, haunting voice. I hear their songs in my dreams. . . ." He paused staring into nothingness for a momen
t. "But anyway. I left New Bedford and returned to Richmond to find my wife buried in the family graveyard and my sister caring for my newborn daughter."

  "So you came north?" Gabrielle was so close to the stranger now that she could see the dark streaks that ran through his intense blue eyes. He had a light sprinkling of freckles across his nose and high, handsome cheekbones.

  "Tried some other things that didn't work out. So, I came north. I read about the tales of gold in a Richmond newspaper and packed my bag. My daughter Alexis is with my sister Clarice and her Yankee husband."

  "How old is she?"

  "Alexis? She'll be five in the spring." He struggled to sit up, and Gabrielle took his good arm to help him. The broken one she had set with wooden slats from a crate and strips of flannel from her favorite shirt.

  "What does she look like?"

  "An angel." He laughed. "Red-gold curls and an impish smile."

  "You must love her very much," Gabrielle dared hesitantly.

  "I do." He looked up at her. "So, that's my sad tale. How about yours?"

  Gabrielle stiffened. "Mine?"

  "Sure."

  "Oh, no." She got to her feet to throw more wood on the fire. "You'll not find me spouting my life story to a complete stranger." She kept her back to him. "Besides, there's nothing to tell."

  "Liar."

  Gabrielle spun around. "Pardon?"

  "I said you're a liar, Gabrielle LeBeau." He slid his body down until he rested on the floor again and closed his eyes.

  For a moment she just stared at him in disbelief, then grabbed her parka and stepped outside, slamming the door. Behind her, she could hear his laughter filtering through the cracks in the cabin's outer walls. She covered her ears with her hands, lifting her chin to let the snow sting her face. She breathed deeply, letting the frigid air fill her lungs, and gasped in response. Conceited jackass, she thought, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Who was he to laugh at her? She stood in knee-deep snow, staring out at the forest blanketed in white.

  One of the younger sled dogs crawled from his haven in a snowbank to nuzzle her leg, and Gabrielle patted his head, smoothing the thick coat that protected the husky from the elements. "What's the matter, Anthony, boy?" she crooned. "I've no meat to give you." She scratched the underside of his chin. "The snow's just about stopped, though. We'll go home tomorrow." The dog whined in response, and Gabrielle laughed.