Snowfire

by French, Colleen

  "After you leave me at the hotel, could you go back to the dock and find a warehouse to store my supplies until I can find passage on another steamer? That stuff can't sit out in the rain, it'll be ruined."

  He nodded, pulling into the alley that led to the barn behind the St. Lucy hotel. "Anything else, mademoiselle?"

  She leaped out of the wagon the moment it came to a stop. "Yes, could you get a schedule of the next vessels leaving here for St. Michaels?" She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I don't want to buy passage yet; I just want to know when they're going."

  Francis jumped out of the wagon and went around to unload the first dog crate. "Yes. For you I will do it."

  "Thank you," she whispered. "Here, take this." She offered him a bill of large denomination but he shook his head.

  "You have paid me more than enough already."

  She stuffed it into the front of his vest and turned to go. "Take it, Francis. The money, it doesn't matter to me."

  He smiled, calling after her. "It will be a good Christmas this year for my little ones."

  She waved good-bye over her head, disappearing around the building.

  First, Gabrielle went into the hotel. "Gerta, I'll be stayin' a little longer," she told the woman who took care of the front desk.

  "Problem, honey? Didn't that Francis take you to the dock like he was supposed to? Because if he didn't—" She hit her palm with her fist.

  Gabrielle laughed nervously. "No. Francis has been wonderful. There's just been a mix-up down at the docks." She tried to sound casual. "I'll be leaving in a couple of days."

  Gerta looked as if she didn't quite believe Gabrielle, but she nodded her assent. "All right, you got your room for as long as you need it." She leaned forward until her large breasts rested on the counter. "You in some kind of trouble? Runnin' from the law maybe?"

  Gabrielle heaved an exasperated sigh. "No. Not the law, but if anyone asks for me, say I've gone. Say I'm headed for—" she threw up her hands—"for the Kenai."

  Gerta nodded. "Don't you worry, honey. Nobody'll know you're here by these lips." She pressed her fingers to her mouth, painted a deep ruby.

  "Thank you," Gabrielle whispered.

  Taking a deep breath, Gabrielle rapped on the door of the townhouse where her mother and Lucas lived. She knew she was taking a chance, but she had to warn her mother. When no one answered, Gabrielle tapped lightly again.

  When the door swung open, a maid in starched white nodded her head. "Yes?"

  "Is my mother . . . is Alice in?"

  "May I ask who is calling?" She indicated with her hand that Gabrielle was to come, but Gabrielle balked.

  She suddenly felt as if she could trust no one. What if it was some sort of trap? What if Alice wasn't home? What if only Taylor was here?

  "No." Gabrielle took a step back. "If she's here, could you ask her to come outside?"

  The maid studied her masculine attire critically but bobbed her head. "Very well." She closed the door quietly.

  Gabrielle slipped her hands into her pockets, shivering. Snow was just beginning to fall over the city, blanketing its imperfections with a veil of pristine white. Smiling to herself, she lifted her chin to catch a single flake on the end of her tongue. It was good to see the snow again. When the door swung open, she jumped.

  "Gabrielle!" Alice tightened her fingers on the knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. "Why on earth didn't you come in?"

  "Is he here?"

  "Is who here? Come in this minute. I'll not have you standing on the stoop."

  "Taylor, Rosenwood, whatever the hell his name is!"

  Alice stiffened. "Malcolm?"

  "Yes. Is he here?"

  "No, but he'll be right back. What is this all about?"

  Gabrielle took a deep breath. "Mother," she blurted, "I have something to tell you about him, something you're not going to like."

  "What? That he killed Rouge?" Her voice had turned frosty.

  "You . . . you know?"

  "He told me everything the night you were here, after you'd gone."

  "Well, don't you. . . aren't you—"

  Alice cut her off. "He told me how you had made it out to be murder. Rouge was the one who pulled the gun, and you know it. The drunken ass, he was always doing stupid things. It was a wonder he lived as long as he did!"

  "No. You don't understand." Gabrielle shifted her weight from one foot to the next, frantic to make her mother understand. "It's lies—all lies!"

  Alice's hand slipped from the shawl to crack sharply against Gabrielle's cheek. "How dare you come to my home, proposition a man that belongs to me and then carry tales when he turns you down! A whore's whore, hmm?"

  Gabrielle's hand flew to her cheek. "Proposition him! Mother, he tried to kill me; he kidnapped me. He's trying to kill me now!"

  Alice laughed, tipping back her head with grim amusement. "He thinks you're a little mad, and you know, I wonder if he's right." Her eyes narrowed. "Actually, I think you're jealous."

  "Jealous?" Gabrielle wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, shivering with cold.

  "Jealous because you lost the only man you'll ever have, and I've had my choice." She smiled wickedly.

  "Mother, Alex is my husband. I left him because of the man you call Malcolm Rosenwood." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I was afraid for our lives!"

  "That's absurd!" Alice's eyes grew large with rage. "What could Malcolm possibly gain from your death?"

  "That son-of-a-bitch wanted Rouge's map, and now he wants to kill me for revenge. He lost that leg on the river when he was chasin' after me!"

  "You hold your tongue!" Alice stepped out onto the stoop, shaking a finger at her daughter. "I'll have you know that that man is my husband, and I'll not hear it from you!"

  "Your . . . your husband?" Gabrielle stammered in disbelief. "No . . . it can't be!" She stumbled backward off the step, nearly losing her balance. "I came here to warn you. He told me he would kill you."

  "Kill me?" She laughed. "Malcolm loves me. Now go, before he comes home and sees you. I won't have him disturbed."

  Gabrielle took another step back, staring at her mother's cold, uncaring face, and then she turned and ran down the street, the sound of her boots muffled by the new fallen snow.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gabrielle stretched out on the narrow bed in her hotel room, still fully clothed. She had meant to spend the night in the barn with the dogs, but it had grown too cold outside. She'd been forced by the driving wind and snow to come in out of the elements and spend another sleepless night worrying where Taylor would show up next.

  Reaching out to be certain her revolver was still on the night table, Gabrielle turned up the oil lamp until it cast bright light over her bed and against the wall of her room where the door was. Twice she had gotten up to be sure it was locked, but still she watched the knob. In her state of exhaustion, she kept thinking she saw the knob turn, but whenever she got up to investigate, the hall was empty.

  Groaning aloud, Gabrielle rolled onto her stomach. She was making herself crazy, and if she didn't get out of Seattle soon, she would be. She had gone over and over the events of the past year in her mind, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, what she could have done to prevent this. But nothing came to mind, except the fact that she supposed she should have kept Alex out of it all together. She should never have become involved with him; she should never have fallen in love with him.

  But how was she to have known then what she knew now? Was she supposed to have left him there in the snow to die? A smile played on her lips. "Oh, Alex," she murmured, remembering his smile. "You made me so happy." She remembered the feel of his hair twisted in her fingers, the taste of his mouth against hers. Her breasts tingled at the thought. How could life be so bitterly unfair? How could Lucas Taylor keep her from the only man she had ever loved . . . would ever love.

  Gabrielle had toyed with the idea of gunning Taylor down, just like she'd been told men did in the
West. But no matter how much she hated the man, no matter how much she thought he deserved to die, she knew it could never be at her hands—not at least until it came to the two of them, until it was his life or hers. She'd never be able to live with herself if she killed him when his back was turned.

  Sighing, Gabrielle propped herself up on one elbow. She was so tired; she would have liked to have taken a brief nap, just ten minutes or so, but she was afraid. Taylor had said he was coming for her; he said he would find her. She supposed she should have moved to another hotel, but what good would that do? Lucas Taylor seemed to know everyone in the town, or at least to have paid them off. She wondered absentmindedly what had happened to the old man she had spoken to in the shipping office the day before. Had he quit? Been fired? Would his body wash up on the shore somewhere? She prayed the man was all right.

  Resting her head on the pillow, Gabrielle stroked it with her palm. Images of her mother flashed through her mind. "Can you believe her, Papa?" she said aloud, trying to keep herself awake. "I tried to warn Alice. I tried to make her understand she was in danger, but she didn't believe me. She said terrible things." Gabrielle squeezed the pillow in frustration. "What did I ever do to deserve this? What made her hate me so? You loved me, Papa. I think Alex loved me . . . I know Alexis did, but why not my own mother?" She stared at the pulled drapes, dry-eyed. There were no tears left.

  She rubbed her cheek against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut for an instant before she forced them open. Think of Alex, she told herself. That will keep you awake. Mentally she began to count the times they had made love, the times they had cut wood together or checked trap lines in the snow. The memories were so good, better memories than anyone deserved. In the back of her mind she could see Alex laughing, wrestling with the dogs outside the cabin. She could see him sinking into her old copper bath tub, grinning. She could see the firelight playing off his rich, auburn hair and smell his freshly bathed body pressed close to hers. Slowly, against her will, without her realizing it, Gabrielle's eyes drifted shut.

  The next thing Gabrielle knew, she was startled awake by something. Her eyes flew open, and she suppressed the urge to leap out of the bed. She was lying facedown, her head resting on the pillow. She could dimly make out the outline of the drapes on the window. Suddenly every nerve in her body was on edge; something wasn't right. The lamp had blown out on the night table, and the air in the dark room had somehow changed. She breathed shallowly, listening. . . .

  Was that someone else's breath she heard, or was it her own? Sweat beaded on her forehead as a board creaked near the other side of the bed. The gun! She needed the gun! With one swift motion she rolled over, slamming her hand on the night table. A shock of cold, stifling terror washed over her. The gun was gone. . . . She heard the match strike, and light filled the room.

  Taylor sat on the chair near the bed, leaning forward to light the lamp. Slowly, methodically, he lit the cigar that protruded from his mouth. "Good evening." He smiled wolfishly.

  "Where is my mother? What have you done with her?" Gabrielle swung her feet over to leap from the bed, but Taylor raised her own Colt 45 pistol, aiming it at her head.

  "You mean my wife? Home, sleeping where good wives should be."

  "Why did you marry her?" Gabrielle demanded.

  He smiled, tapping his temple with a well-manicured fingernail. "Can't you figure it out? She is your only heir."

  "Alice? She can't be. If something happened to me, my husband Alex would inherit whatever I had."

  Taylor chuckled deep in his throat. "Come, come, little girl. We all know this husband is a figment of your imagination. Your mother said so herself."

  "My mother—"

  "Hold your tongue," he threatened, lowering his hand until his wrist rested on the arm of the chair. He kept the pistol aimed at her. "Now, as I was saying, your mother is your only heir. So when you kill yourself with your own weapon," he lifted it menacingly, "your dear bereaved mother will inherit your fortune."

  "But she can't! What do I have to do to make you believe I was married to Alex. The records . . ." She put out a hand in desperation.

  Taylor shrugged, removing his own pistol from beneath his coat to lay it on the table, gleaming in front of her. "Even if you were married, which is highly unlikely, who would know? Who would believe it?" He puffed on his cigar. "Records can be destroyed as easily as they can be made. Besides, it's not just the money." He beared even white teeth, his eyes narrowing. "I owe you. I lost my leg in that God damned wilderness because of you."

  Gabrielle flung herself from the bed in blind anger, screaming as she swung a fist at Taylor, catching him in the jaw before he tripped her and shoved her to the floor. Lifting his peg leg, he pressed the carved wooden stub into her stomach until she squirmed with pain. Then, he stepped on her hand with his good foot, forcing her fingers open. "Take the gun!"

  "No," she moaned, shaking her head. Tears blinded her vision. "If you're going to kill me, do it!" she demanded. "But be a man about it!"

  Shoving Gabrielle's gun into her hand, Taylor laughed, and Gabrielle screamed as loud as she could. Suddenly the sound of splintering wood followed by an enraged masculine voice filled the room. Someone lifted Taylor up over her and threw him against the wall. As Gabrielle tried to force her limbs to move, she heard the thud of fists meeting flesh and the clatter of steel hitting the floor.

  "You God damned son-of-a-bitch," Alex shouted, slamming his fist into Taylor's face. "I'm going to kill you, you hear me, you greedy bastard!"

  Gabrielle lifted her head from the floor. Alex! Alex! her mind screamed. Willing her limbs to obey, she pushed off the floor, spinning around to face the battling men.

  "Oh, my God," she murmured, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Enraged, her husband sank his fist into the soft flesh of Taylor's stomach, and the man groaned, doubling over. Caught off balance, the two fell to the floor, and the back of Alex's head hit the corner of the night table, sending Taylor's pistol skittering across the floor.

  "No!" Gabrielle screamed as Taylor rose up from Alex's motionless body. Grabbing the china water pitcher off the table, Gabrielle swung it as hard as she could, shattering it over Taylor's head. Cold water sprayed, and white and blue pieces of china flew in every direction as she hurled herself into Taylor kicking him beneath the chin with her booted foot.

  Taylor fell back against the hardwood floor, stunned for a moment, then began to crawl toward the door. Alex groaned, and Gabrielle fell to her knees. "Alex? Alex?" she cried out, grasping his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

  His eyes flickered open then closed, and she shook him vigorously. "Alex wake up! You've got to stay awake," she begged. She wiped the blood from his cheek with her palm, groaning aloud. "Oh, God! Alex, don't leave me now." Then she spotted Taylor's pistol on the floor beneath the bed, and she lunged for it, vivid with rage. Scrambling to her feet, she swung around to face Taylor retreating through the door.

  "Turn around!" she shouted. "Turn around so I can see your face when I shoot you, you sorry son-of-a-bitch!" She rested her finger on the trigger, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Taylor continued to walk, leaning heavily on his cane.

  "I said stop and turn around!" she ordered.

  Taylor tipped back his head, filling the hall with laughter. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs reached Gabrielle, and she dashed after Taylor. Going through the doorway of the room into the hallway, she leveled the heavy pistol, poised to shoot. To her horror, she spotted Alexis and Gerta coming up the steps.

  Gabrielle froze. "Get back!" she shouted, waving the pistol. "Get out of his way, Gerta!"

  Gerta screamed, shrinking against the wall, Alexis clutched against her as Taylor passed them, taking the steps two at a time. Gabrielle ran down the steps, firing the pistol at him from the bottom of the landing, but it was too late. She caught a glimpse of Taylor's head as he slipped out the front door.

  For a moment, Gabr
ielle just stood there, the smoking pistol hanging from her fingers. "I would have killed you, Lucas Taylor," she swore. "I would of done it!"

  "You all right, honey?" Gerta came down the steps, her dressing gown flying open, as she dragged Alexis after her.

  "Gabrielle!" Alexis shouted, throwing herself against her.

  Gabrielle let the gun slip from her fingers and fall to the floor with a loud clatter. "Alexis." She threw her arms around the child, lifting her. "You came. Your papa came for me."

  Alexis clung to Gabrielle, resting her head on her shoulder. "Where's my papa?" She smiled. "Me and him, we're good friends. He let me bring my puppy you gave me, Mister Ballentine."

  Gabrielle gave the child another squeeze and then set her feet on the floor. "Your papa's upstairs, but he's got a little bonk on the head; so I want you to stay here with Miss Gerta while I tend to him. Okay?"

  Alexis looked apprehensively at Gerta, then back at Gabrielle. "But I want to see my papa."

  Gerta took the little girl's hand. "Come on, sweety. You come on around the back with me, and we'll see if we can't find some cookies and a bit of hot chocolate for you."

  Alexis brightened. "You got chocolate? I like hot chocolate."

  Gabrielle gave Alex's daughter a small push. "Go ahead and I'll be down to get you after a while." Then she turned and ran up the steps, practically colliding with Alex as she came around the corner to her room. "Alex!" She threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over.

  "Gabrielle," he whispered in her ear. "I thought you were gone. I thought I'd lost you," he told her, his voice thick with emotion.

  "You came for me; you came back. Why did you come?" She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar masculine scent. She brushed at the nape of his neck with her fingers, trying to make herself believe he was truly there.

  "Of course I came for you. But you should never have left. I'm your husband; I love you. I thought you loved me."

  She sighed, looking up at him. "I left because I loved you, because I loved Alexis. There were these men . . . Taylor sent them . . . they tried to drown me . . ." A jumble of words tumbled from her mouth as she clung to Alex, afraid to let go. "I was so scared, but I was more scared for you—"