“Sold? To whom?”
“Merchants.”
“You’re lying.” There weren’t any merchants in Sacramento City. At least none big enough to buy out half the goods traded at Sutter’s Fort.
“He’s right.” Kate’s hand lit on his shoulder. “I heard it this morn from the blacksmith.”
“Two men from back East,” Dunnett said. “Huntington and…Who the heck was the other one?”
“Hopkins.” Kate continued to glare at Will until he released his hold on the wagon driver.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Dunnett said. “Buying up everything. Waitin’ on their own shipment, too. Comin’ by clipper, folks say.”
Will grunted. He’d actually met Collis Huntington when he was a youth. The businessman had spoken at Will’s school, and afterward had been entertained by Will’s father in the parlor of their Philadelphia town house.
He bit off a silent curse and balled his fists at his sides, surveying the paltry contents of the wagon.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said, and pushed past him to continue with the unloading.
“It does matter.”
“Mr. Dunnett’s promised us another load straightaway. Only this time he’ll meet the river barge on the levee. Hang the fort—he’ll go straight to the source.” She shot him a haughty look. “It was my idea.”
“That’s not the point.” Will jerked the last sack of grain from the wagon and hauled it inside.
Kate dogged his steps. “It’s a good plan. If the weather holds, God willing, we’ll have new supplies next week.”
“Merchants.” He ripped his buck knife from its sheath and slashed open the grain sack. “Swindlers more like it.”
“You’re in a foul mood.” Kate nudged him aside and planted a measuring scoop into the dried barley.
“And you’re not?”
She shrugged.
“We’ll never get out of here at this rate.”
“Of course we will. We’ll just have to work harder.”
He watched as she arranged the rest of what Cheng brought in from the wagon into a surprisingly nice display. Nothing seemed to daunt her. She took it all in stride: the recent foul weather, competition for salable goods, even Landerfelt’s threats.
She was tenacious as hell, he’d grant her that.
His anger cooled.
“There.” She stood back and surveyed the neatly arranged shelves. “’Twill do for now.”
A wisp of auburn hair strayed across her freckled cheek, which was flushed ripe as an autumn apple from the cold. Without thinking, Will brushed it off her face.
“It’ll do,” he said.
For a moment their eyes met, and he found himself wondering what it would be like if she were really his wife. Not just in name, but in all the things he’d once thought possible between a man and a woman.
Her blue eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. He could swear she’d read his mind.
“Finished!”
They both jumped at the sound of Cheng’s voice, and the moment was lost.
“Aye, right.” Kate composed herself and turned quickly toward him. “My thanks, Mr. Cheng. Oh, and wait—” She retrieved one of the pheasants from the counter where Will had dropped them, and offered it to the old man. “To replace the hare.”
Cheng held the bird aloft and grunted satisfaction.
“Thank you, too, Mr. Crockett.” She glanced at the other pheasant lying on the counter. “And…you’ll show me a proper way to cook it, I trust.”
“Yeah, sure.” He paused. “Mrs. Crockett.”
Kate met his steady gaze. Letting his guard down, he smiled. She blushed, and this time he knew it wasn’t from the cold. Before he had time to think about what it meant, she had dashed outside again.
Will watched her through the storefront window as she thanked Dan Dunnett for the load. The wagon pulled away, horses snorting and livery clanking. Kate shaded her eyes against the brilliant sunset and watched it as it rumbled down the street.
“Your wife is an unusual woman,” Cheng said.
A thousand reasons why he should resaddle the horse and get the hell out of there pronto flashed across Will’s mind. All of them vanished as Kate Dennington Crockett turned toward the store and smiled at him through the glass.
They hadn’t had a customer all day. Until now.
Kate hopped off the stool behind the counter and smiled cautiously at the Indian woman staring through the window at an infant’s matinee jacket perched on one of the store’s half-empty shelves.
Kate pointed at the jacket and nodded her head.
“Uh-oh,” Mei Li said.
“What’s wrong?” Kate cast the Chinese girl a quick look as she pulled open the front door. “Come in. Please.” She waved the Indian woman toward her.
“Miss Kate, you cannot!” Mei Li said.
“Why not?”
The Indian woman hesitated. It was then Kate noticed she wasn’t alone. A Miwok man moved up beside her and placed a protective hand on the woman’s shoulder. Her husband, if Kate had to venture a guess.
Both were dressed in soft-looking deerskin and moccasins, the woman’s double-fringed apron elaborately decorated with bits of seashell and colored rock.
She’d seen many Indians on her journey to Tinderbox, but had never had the chance to speak to any of them. She’d take that chance now. Besides, they might have something interesting to trade.
“Won’t you come in?” She gestured to the open door. “We’ve got grain and tinned goods and—”
“Hold it right there!”
Kate looked past the Miwok couple to see Eldridge Landerfelt jogging toward them from across the street, rifle in hand.
“I told you,” Mei Li whispered, inching closer. “You in big trouble now.”
A high-pitched squeal startled them all.
The Miwok woman’s hands flew to the shoulder straps of what Kate had thought was a rucksack. The woman turned her back to her husband so he could tend to—Lord, it was a babe!
The wee thing was wrapped in soft furs and strapped to the Miwok woman’s back. What a clever idea. The infant began to squall in earnest, his tiny arms flailing. On impulse Kate reached out to quiet him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Landerfelt skidded to a halt in the dust, his rifle leveled at all of them.
The Miwok man stepped quickly in front of his wife and child, into Landerfelt’s line of fire.
“Go on,” Landerfelt said, and gestured with his gun. “Git!”
The Miwok man glared at him for a long moment, then took his wife’s arm.
“Wait a minute,” Kate said. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t wish to.”
“The hell they don’t.”
The infant’s cries grew louder. Landerfelt winced. The Miwok woman looked frightened, her husband angry.
“Come inside, Miss Kate.” Mei Li tugged at her arm, but Kate ignored her.
“They’re my customers.” Kate looked pointedly at Eldridge Landerfelt, then smiled at the couple. “Please, you’re very welcome to come inside.”
Men gathered in the street—the blacksmith, some miners Kate recognized, and Jed and Leon Packett. Where the devil was Crockett when she needed him?
The Miwok man looked hard at her, and Kate gestured again to the open door. Finally he nodded.
Landerfelt flicked the hammer back on his rifle and glared at the Miwok man. “One step, boy, and—”
“And what?” Will appeared in the open doorway behind Kate, his revolver cocked and pointed directly at Landerfelt’s chest.
Kate sucked in a breath.
“Go back inside.” He flashed her an angry look.
“These people,” she said, ignoring his demand. “I think they’d like to trade for—”
Will grabbed her arm and jerked her backward, nearly off her feet. “I said go back inside.”
Mei Li shot past them into the store. Kate’s face grew hot with rage. Her arm burne
d from Will’s viselike grip. What, did he think her a child? That she couldn’t decide for herself whom she would serve and whom she would not?
She knew very well why Eldridge Landerfelt was standing in the street pointing a weapon at the unarmed Miwok family. Indians weren’t allowed to do business in Tinderbox. Nor were they allowed to bear arms anywhere in the territory.
They were stupid laws. As ridiculous as the one that prohibited Kate from owning her own business, which is what got her into this whole mess with Will Crockett to begin with.
“Fine,” she said, and wrenched out of his grasp. “I’d thought you were different from the likes of him.” She flashed her eyes at Landerfelt, then back to Will. “It’s clear you’re not.” She brushed past him into the store, then thought better of backing down. She whirled on him.
His face turned to stone. His eyes grew icy black, as menacing as she’d ever seen them. The Miwok couple stood frozen in the street, the husband’s gaze riveted to Will. Landerfelt hadn’t moved a muscle. His rifle was still cocked, his expression cool.
In a move that stunned her, Will grabbed the matinee jacket from the shelf behind her and thrust it toward the Miwok man. He said something to him in his own tongue. After a moment, the man accepted it, nodding. He handed the tiny garment to his wife, who clutched it to her chest as if it were made of gold.
Landerfelt’s scowl deepened. Will held his pistol steady, trained on the merchant’s chest. He said something else in Miwok that Kate couldn’t understand, but from the tone of it, it sounded like a farewell.
The Miwok nodded again, responding in an even tone. He shot Landerfelt a steely glance then turned away, pulling his wife with him.
Kate breathed.
The couple moved down the street toward the edge of town, and the blacksmith and miners who’d paused to watch went about their business as if nothing had happened. Only Jed and Leon Packett remained in the street, edging up behind their employer.
“Best keep that little wife of yours in line, Crockett.” With a gentle click, Landerfelt released the firing mechanism on his rifle.
Will said nothing, but Kate could feel his wrath. She wasn’t certain who it was directed at. He holstered his revolver, turned on his heel and leveled an angry look at her as he brushed past her into the store. He was gone out the back before she had the presence of mind to react.
This was not how she’d expected her day to go.
Landerfelt smiled at her, slung his rifle over his shoulder and sauntered back across the street, Jed and Leon Packett in his wake. The brothers looked around at her as she closed the door, and a premonition of something evil coiled inside her.
“You crazy, you know that?” Mei Li shook her head, muttering something in Chinese.
Kate plopped down on the stool behind the counter. “Aye,” she said. “I must be.”
Another day gone, and only a handful of miners had made purchases in the store. Landerfelt’s business had fallen off, too, despite the fact that he had more to sell.
The weather was turning again. Will swore as he glanced at the white sky and turned the fur-trimmed collar of his buckskin jacket up against the wind. It would be at least a week before Dunnett returned from Sacramento City.
Kate joined him outside on the street, a wicker basket in hand. “Can you mind the store for a bit? I won’t be gone but an hour.”
He eyed her cloak and well-worn gloves. “Where are you going?” It wasn’t like her to leave the store in the middle of the day.
“Up the hill.” She nodded at the forested hillside above the town, where Vickery’s cottage peeked out from thick stands of pine and madrone. “For berries. Mei Li says there are lots of them, just on the other side, in a sunny spot where the trees thin out.”
He knew the place. It was nearly a mile from town, and the hill was steep. “It’s too far. Besides, the weather’s turning.”
“Looks as good as any day in Ireland to me.” She pulled her cloak tight and buttoned it at the neck. “And a good stretch of the legs will do me good.”
“It’s too late for berries. They’ll all be gone by now.”
“I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?” She shrugged and started up the street.
Damn her! Just once, he wished she’d listen to him. Yesterday when Landerfelt had threatened her and the Miwok couple, Will practically had to drag her back into the store to keep her from getting her head shot off. She had no idea just how dangerous that situation had been. Had she persisted, and had he not been there…
Christ, he couldn’t watch her every minute, could he?
She shot him a backward glance from up the street, not missing a step. So, she expected him to stop her, did she? Well, he wasn’t about to. Let her slog up that hill alone and see how she liked it when she got to the top and found nothing but dried brambles picked over by birds. It might even rain. It would serve her right if she got soaked.
He kicked wide the half-open door to the store and marched inside, slamming it behind him. The brass bell flew off its hook and clanged to the floor.
What was wrong with him?
She wasn’t really his wife. It was a simple business arrangement, nothing more. He wasn’t responsible for her. Or for anyone. That’s how he liked it. That’s how it had to be.
His gaze flicked across the shelves, over rows of gold pans, bags of flour and rice, across to the carefully folded stacks of women’s and children’s clothes.
Will couldn’t look at them.
He swore under his breath, grabbed Dennington’s rifle and locked the storefront door. Thirty seconds later he was out the back and saddling the gelding that grazed in the small enclosure he’d constructed for it just beyond the cabin.
On his way down the street he saw Landerfelt chatting outside the livery with a slick Hangtown moneylender, Brett Zundel, who leaned casually against the building whittling big curls of pine off a piece of scrap wood with his knife. It was no secret Landerfelt owed him money. Big money, to hear Matt tell it. Zundel flashed him a disinterested look as Will trotted past.
It didn’t take him long to catch up to Kate.
Will maneuvered the gelding up the ravine on the opposite side of town and reined him to a halt beyond a fat pine, about fifty feet from where Kate had stopped to chat with John Vickery. Their conversation didn’t last long. After a few minutes the lawyer tipped his hat to her, and Kate continued up the hill.
“Afternoon, Mr. Crockett,” Vickery said, as Will guided the horse up the slope in Kate’s wake a minute later.
Will nodded.
“I had wondered where Miss—er, Mrs. Crockett—was going all alone, and so close to dark. There’s been talk of a grizzly out near Spanish Camp giving folks trouble.”
Will had heard the rumors, but Spanish Camp was miles from Tinderbox. “Berries,” he said, and kept moving.
“Oh, right. Berries.” Vickery cast him one of his annoyingly nervous little smiles. “Well, uh…very good, then. I’ll, uh, just be…”
Will didn’t wait for the lawyer to finish his sentence. He clicked his tongue and the gelding picked up speed. Kate proceeded up the hill at a brisk pace, not looking back. A moment later Will lost her in the trees.
Didn’t matter. He’d cut right, across the slope, and meet her at the top. He didn’t want her to see him. Not yet. He was curious as to how she’d do on this little—what had she called it?—stretch of the legs.
It was sure to be that. The slope was so steep even the horse was having trouble. Will leaned forward in the saddle and urged him up the hill.
Kate Dennington might have come halfway across the world on her own, but that had been different. She’d traveled with an older couple as escort for most of the journey—so Mei Li had told him. True, she’d braved San Francisco on her own, and had made her way to Tinderbox unharmed. But traveling by riverboat and buckboard manned by seasoned guides and crowded with other passengers was one thing. Traipsing off alone in the California foothills was another.
“What the—?” To his astonishment, she was already there.
Quickly he tethered the gelding where he stood and crept forward. Kate hadn’t seen him. She set the berry basket on the ground and clutched a spindly madrone as she caught her breath.
The sky overhead grew dark, and it wasn’t because the sun had gone done. Another storm was on its way. Will could smell it on the wind whipping at the fringed hem of his buckskin jacket.
He moved silently along the ridgeline below Kate, just inside the cover of the trees. Twenty feet. Ten. Wind rustling the last of the crisped autumn leaves clinging to oaks and madrones covered the crunch of his footfalls.
When he could almost reach out and touch her, he stopped. She stood an arm’s length in front of him, still as a statue, her arm looped lazily around the madrone, her cheek pressed up against its smooth, dappled surface.
She was looking at something. Or someone.
He followed her gaze across the clearing spread out below them on the other side of the ridge. Just as Mei Li had promised, a tangle of elderberry bushes choked the hillside.
Will did a double take.
The Chinese girl, her skullcap missing and her waist-length, jet hair free, stood in the clearing twisted in Matt Robinson’s awkward embrace.
Kate clutched the madrone tighter, her gaze riveted to the lovers. When the two kissed, her knuckles went white. Will allowed his own gaze to travel slowly over Kate’s features. That wild auburn hair, which he knew was soft. Her trim waist and lush hips.
He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if she was a virgin. Remembering their one kiss, the ripe blush of her freckled cheeks, the fusion of shock and interest he’d read in her eyes when she’d seen him naked.
Kate Dennington was untouched. He was sure of it. The day they’d married he’d thought her unschooled kiss was feigned. Looking at her now, he knew it wasn’t.
Will inched closer.
A heady blend of lavender water and soap invaded his senses. Wisps of loose hair danced in the wind on the nape of her neck. He wondered what she’d taste like if he kissed her there.
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