Snowfire

by French, Colleen

  It was not until after supper, just before dessert, that Gabrielle finally got the chance to speak to him alone. Alice got up from the table, excusing herself to check and see what was holding up the baked pie. The moment she was gone from the room, Gabrielle turned to Taylor.

  "What the hell are you doing?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with venom.

  "Doing?" He leaned back in his chair, extracting a cigar from a gilt case on the table. "Having dinner with my mistress."

  "What are you doing with my mother? Who the hell is Malcolm?" She leaned in toward him, her anger stronger than her fear.

  "I met your mother just after you left town. I would have returned to Seattle sooner, but I was ill." He poked the cigar between his teeth. The man was perfectly relaxed, feeling entirely in control of the situation.

  "You should have died on that river instead of just losing your leg. . . ." Gabrielle whispered.

  Lucas's hand darted out to catch hers, squeezing it viciously. "You little bitch! It's because of you that I lost my leg!"

  "Me?" Gabrielle tried not to let her voice shake. She was scared. "Who came after me? It was greed that took your leg, your own greed."

  He tightened his grip on her hand, making her rise up in her chair. "Just wait. You're going to pay. It may take time, but you'll pay."

  "Why not kill me now?" she dared. "Do it yourself instead of sending idiots to bungle it."

  He smiled, the cigar still clenched between his teeth. "Too messy. To easy to get caught. Besides, I want your money. Your mother says you brought back your half of the gold strike."

  She struggled to wrench her hand free. "I'm going to tell her who you are, what you're trying to do! What you tried to do to me."

  He released her hand, and she fell back against the chair. "Tell her and I'll kill her while she sleeps. Besides, she wouldn't believe you and you know it. She fancies herself in love with me." He lit the thick cigar with a candle that burned near his plate.

  He's right, Gabrielle thought frantically. She won't believe me. "But my father. You killed my father. There's records to prove you were charged with my father's death. It wouldn't be that hard for me to prove you're the Lucas Taylor that killed Rouge LeBeau," she treaded carefully.

  He shrugged. "There are records that prove I was found not guilty. It was self-defense. And as for my name, it's no crime to change one's name. I can assure you that there is more than one man who has changed his name in this town. I only did it because there were too many . . . shall we say bad rumors connected with Taylor." He exhaled slowly, watching the cigar smoke rise above his head.

  Gabrielle's hands shook as she lowered them to her lap. She had to get out of there! She had to book her passage before he caught up with her. She couldn't live like that, watching her back. She rose up out of her chair, her napkin falling to the floor. "I . . . I have to—"

  "Gabrielle." Alice came floating into the dining room. "Where are you going? You haven't had dessert."

  "I . . . I . . ." Gabrielle stuttered, too shaken to reply.

  "Gabrielle has a headache, dear." Taylor smiled handsomely, falling back easily into the role of the gallant protector. "I suggested she go back to the hotel and rest." He got to his feet, reaching for his cane. "I thought she could come another evening, when she's feeling better."

  Gabrielle hurried past her mother and through the parlor into the front entryway. Alice followed her. "Are you all right, dear? Would you like me to have the carriage brought around?"

  "No." Gabrielle shook her head, swallowing against the nausea that rose in her throat. She felt trapped, like an animal in deep snow. No matter which way she turned, or how hard she fought, she didn't seem to be able to break free of Taylor. "Just my coat, Mother." She could hear Taylor coming through the parlor, his peg leg tapping on the polished floor.

  A maid came in and handed Gabrielle her coat. "Thank you," Gabrielle murmured, stuffing her fists in it as she opened the door. "Thanks for the meal, Mother, it . . . it was good."

  "Are you certain nothing's wrong?" Alice looked at her with a hint of genuine concern.

  Taylor entered the entryway, slipping his hand around Alice's waist. "I'm quite sure she'll be fine, won't you, Gabrielle?"

  She nodded her head. "Yes, yes, fine. Good-night." Without looking back at them, she ducked out the door, closing it behind her. Turning down the street, she ran as fast as she could over the icy walk. "Alex . . . Papa . . . anyone, help me."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alex wrung out the cotton cloth over the washbowl and kneeled to wipe Alexis's flushed face. The little girl moaned softly, twisting away to roll over on her side beneath the bedcovers. Persisting, Alex brushed the cool cloth over her brow, mopping up the tiny beads of sweat that clung to her pale skin. Heaving a sigh of relief, he pushed back a lock of golden hair off her cheek and tucked the covers tight beneath her chin.

  At least the fever had broken, and that was what the old woman had said was important. Getting to his feet, Alex dropped the cloth in the washbowl on the night table near the bed and went to stare out of a small window. Rain trickled down the glass clouding his vision so that he could barely see the San Francisco street below. He damned his luck silently as he watched a horse and carriage hurry through the rain down the paved street.

  How could Alexis have gotten sick so fast? And why in San Francisco? If only they could have made it to Seattle. Alex was caught between concern for his sick daughter and concern for Gabrielle. He had to get to Seattle! With every passing day, he had felt her moving farther and farther from him, until he could barely hear her voice in his mind or feel the touch of her hand beneath his. And what if she hadn't made it to Seattle? Carrying all of that money she had withdrawn from the bank, anyone could have knocked her over the head for one tenth of the amount!

  Or what if she reached Seattle and caught a steamer and was already headed north into the Alaska Territory? Alex leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold window pane and squeezing his eyes shut. It would take months, even years, to find her once she disembarked at St. Michaels, especially since she didn't want to be found. And now that he had Alexis with him, how could he drag her over the miles and miles of snow and ice searching for Gabrielle?

  Alex tightened his fists in frustration, turning away from the window. He was going to make himself crazy thinking like this! He had to be optimistic. He had to believe he would find her. His chest tightened with heartfelt pain. How could she just have left him like that, no note, not a word? Though he had realized she wasn't happy in Richmond, he didn't know she was so miserable that she would just walk out on him. He was her husband for God sakes!

  Alexis stirred, and Alex moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. "Papa," she murmured. Her eyes fluttered open. "Papa, where are you?"

  "Here I am, Alexis." He took her hand. "Here's your papa."

  She squirmed beneath the heavy quilts, tightening her hold on his hand. "Papa, where's Gabrielle?" Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. "You said we was goin' to Gabrielle."

  Alex reached for a tin cup of water on the table beside the bed and lifted her with a hand, pressing the cup to her lips. "Drink. We are going to Gabrielle, in Seattle, just as soon as you're better."

  Alexis drank thirstily, then laid back on the pillow. "I'm hot, Papa. I don't like this place. Where are we?"

  "At a hotel in a place called San Francisco. We got off the train because you were sick." He smiled at her, returning the cup to the night table. "But you're much better now. The lady, Mrs. Forester, who helped me look after you said you're going to be fine. Just another day or two of bed rest and then we'll be on our way." He stroked the little girl's damp forehead, thankful the hotel proprietor had been able to get his mother to come in and look in on Alexis after the doctor had gone. If it hadn't been for the kind old woman, he wouldn't have known what to do for his daughter.

  "I want to go now, Papa. I want Gabrielle. I miss her." Her lower lip jutted out. "An
d Where's my puppy?"

  Alex grinned. He knew she was feeling better; this was the first time she'd asked for Mister Ballentine in three days. Reaching below the bed, Alex pulled the sleeping puppy from the box and dropped it in his daughter's lap. "Here he is."

  "Mister Ballentine." Alexis laughed, stroking the wiggling pup. It was the same brown puppy with the spotted ear that Gabrielle had left in Alexis's bed nearly three weeks ago.

  Alex shook his head, unable to resist giving the dog a pat on its back. How Alexis had convinced him to bring the puppy, he didn't know. Imagine, his mother had said, a man with a child and a puppy crossing the country by train. Impossible, she had told him. Well, it wasn't, and he had almost proved it. "All right now, little lady," Alex said to Alexis. "Give him a kiss and then back in the bed he goes. You're as bad as your Moth—" he cut himself off. "As bad as Gabrielle with her dogs. Now it's time you went back to sleep, time we both went to sleep."

  Alexis did as she was told, telling the pup goodnight, and then handed him to her father. Alex returned the whining Mister Ballentine to his box beneath the bed and leaned to tuck his daughter in. "Now you go to sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."

  Alexis nodded compliantly, her eyes already drifting shut. "Yes, Papa."

  "Good night, darling. Say your prayers, and add an extra special one for Gabrielle, all right?" he whispered.

  "Okay," Alexis answered sleepily. "Good-night." Her eyes flew open. "And Papa . . ."

  "Yes?" Alex ran a hand through his auburn hair.

  "Thank you for comin' back to Richmond to get me."

  He laughed, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. "You're welcome."

  The morning after Gabrielle had dinner with her mother and Lucas, she went down to the docks early to secure passage on the next vessel that left port headed for Alaska.

  "I don't care if it's a steamer, a sloop, or a rowboat," she told the old man at the rickety desk in a shipping line office. "I've got to get out of here, today if it's possible."

  The grey-haired man clicked between his teeth, shaking his head as he went over a smudged list of departures. "Best I can do is a steamer tomorrow morning, missy. We're busy as I ever saw it, and I been in here nigh on ten years. The Mary Bella is bound for St. Michaels." He looked up, taking in her masculine appearance as well as the bulge of her revolver beneath her coat. "In a hurry are you?"

  She nodded, glancing out the window. "You could say that."

  "You could catch something over to Vancouver Island and pick something up out of there in the next day or two."

  "No. I've got dogs to transport. Can I take 'em on that steamer?" She shifted nervously, looking out the window again. She hadn't slept at all last night for fear of Taylor, and this morning she had almost been too frightened to go out on the street.

  "Yup. That can be arranged. Name please."

  "Ummm . . ." Gabrielle hesitated. "Alexander, Alexis Alexander."

  The man scribbled her name. "Don't make no difference to me, hon." He looked up at her. "Done. They'll be loadin' live stuff at daybreak. The ship's leavin' on the outgoing tide, around eleven."

  Gabrielle nodded, pushing a hand deep into her pocket. "Good. Now how much you want?"

  He stated his price, half now, half when she left port tomorrow, and she complied, slipping the bills over the wooden counter. Though passage had gone up considerably since last year, she said nothing. All she wanted to do right now was get out of Seattle alive.

  "You come in here in the mornin' after you're loaded and pay up the rest," the old man instructed.

  Thanking him, Gabrielle slipped out the door and moved inconspicuously up the street. Returning to the St. Lucy Hotel, she asked the desk clerk, Gerta, to have the supplies she'd ordered delivered to the docks in the morning. Then she met the Frenchman she had hired to take her out of the city to pick up her dogs. The rail-thin man was a brother-in-law to Gerta, and she had promised he would be both discreet and trusting.

  Locating the gentleman who was selling the sled dogs just outside the city, Gabrielle chose four strong husky mixes and loaded them into the Frenchman's wagon. She also purchased a wooden crate to transport each dog on the steamer. Ordinarily she wouldn't have paid the extraordinary price the dog seller quoted for the boxes; she would rather have built her own. Unfortunately she didn't have the time, so she handed him a wad of bills and was off in the wagon headed back to Seattle with new dogs.

  Reaching the St. Lucy after dark, the Frenchman, Francis, helped her unload the crates and dogs and tie them in a barn behind the hotel. Thanking him and paying him generously, she said good-bye and then settled on a blanket beside her new dogs to spend the night with them. Well before dawn she was up and gathering her things from her hotel room. Francis returned with his wagon and took her and her dogs to the docks. They arrived just as the sun was rising in the eastern sky.

  Nervously, Gabrielle approached the crewman on the Mary Bella who was directing the loading of the vessel. "Excuse me. My name is Gabr— Alexis Alexander. I've got dogs to ship. My other supplies should already be here." She glanced uneasily behind her.

  There were men everywhere with horses and wagons, moving crates and shouting orders. The gulls overhead wailed mournfully, and the water lapped rhythmically at the sides of the moored steamers. It would have been an exciting morning filled with sights and sounds and anticipation of a journey, but instead, Gabrielle was apprehensive. Her nerves were raw from the sleepless nights and her fear of Lucas Taylor. And worse yet, her imagination was getting the best of her. She kept thinking she heard Taylor's voice, or saw his shadow behind her.

  The crewman leaned to study his list of passengers and their supplies. "Nope. Don't see no Alexis Alexander and no freight for her, either. Don't see no women." He pushed back his knit cap and called an order to another crewman on deck. "Sorry, ma'am."

  "But . . . but I paid half of my passage." She looked at him in disbelief.

  "Look lady, if you paid, your name would be on this list."

  "But it must be there. You just didn't see it." She grabbed the lapel of his wool coat. "I've got to get on this steamer. I've got to get to St. Michaels," she told him desperately.

  The burly crewman looked down at her hand on his lapel, and she released it. "All I can tell you is there ain't no ladies travelin' on this vessel. Check the office. It must be a different day, different boat."

  "No. No I'm certain it was today, the Mary Bella."

  He shrugged, backing up to make way for a large wooden crate being swung on a crane. "Check the office." He pointed to the building she'd been in the day before and turned away.

  Gabrielle hurried to the office and swung open the door. To her surprise, the old man wasn't there. Instead, a seedy-looking character with a long scraggly beard and mustache was seated in the old man's chair.

  Swallowing hard, Gabrielle stepped up to the counter. "Excuse me."

  The man didn't look up so she repeated herself a little louder. "Excuse me but there seems to have been a mix-up."

  The man got slowly to his feet and came to lean on the counter. "Yea?"

  His breath nearly knocked her over. "There's a mix-up," she insisted. "I was in this office yesterday and paid half of my passage for the Mary Bella. For this morning. I've got my supplies stacked up outside on the dock."

  He looked at her, only one blue eye focusing on her face, while the other rolled lazily. "You didn't pay me nothin'. Pretty little female thing like you, I'd've remembered."

  "No." She shook her head, taking half a step back. "I didn't pay you. It was an old man. Here yesterday morning."

  He spat on the floor. "Don't nobody work here but me. You see anybody else?"

  "No. No, I'm sure it was here . . ." Gabrielle let her voice trail off into silence. My God, she thought. Has Taylor been here?

  "Look here, female. You ain't on this list, and you ain't gettin' on it. You understand?" He pulled a long knife from his belt and began to carve at his di
rty fingernails.

  "What . . . what do you mean? I paid good money. Who said I'm not?"

  "That was the message I was to give you. You're supposed to know who it's from."

  Gabrielle's heart skipped a beat. "The old man who was in here . . . where is he? What did you do with him?"

  "You just better get out of here and quit asking questions," he threatened, pointing at her with the knife. "Because sometimes people who ask questions get hurt. If you know what I mean."

  Gabrielle took a step back, then turned and ran out of the office, leaving the door swung wide open. Racing to the open wagon where Francis had her dogs, she leaped in beside him. "Back to the hotel."

  "But, mademoiselle—"

  "Please, now!" she insisted.

  The Frenchman slapped the reins, and the horses lunged forward. As they hurried down the street, Gabrielle looked over her shoulder just in time to see the shadow of a man with a cane limp into the shipping office she'd just come from. Covering her hand with her mouth, she gasped.

  "Mademoiselle, what is it?" Francis reined in the horses and headed down the warehouse-lined Water Street.

  "I can't tell you," she murmured.

  "You can't tell me? What does this mean? I see you are in trouble."

  She shook her head emphatically. "No. Anyone I tell might be in danger, too. Just take me to the hotel . . . please. And unload my dogs. I've got to go somewhere, to see someone." She had to get to Alice to warn her—without Taylor knowing.

  Francis studied the young woman whose face was ashen with fear. "Perhaps I could help you. . . ."

  She laid her hand on his arm. "Yes. You could."

  "Tell me."