Aurora's Gold

by K. J. Gillenwater

  Aurora’s Gold

  By K. J. Gillenwater

  First Kindle Edition, November 2019

  Copyright 2019 by K. J. Gillenwater

  Cover art design by The Cover Collection

  http://www.thecovercollection.com

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Aurora “Rory” Darling is the only female dredge owner in town. She’s got money problems, a disgruntled former employee, a complicated family, and an ex who won’t let go. After her father has a horrible accident, Rory must find a way to save the family dredging operation from financial disaster.

  Enter Benjamin Abel, a former Navy diver with a mysterious past. He may be just the ticket to pull her butt out of the fire. She finds herself falling for him, but then discovers the truth: he’s on the run from the law. With time running out to get the gold, however, she has no choice but to work with him.

  As competition on the water intensifies and the danger ratchets up, Rory realizes it’s hard to trust anyone in a town full of liars and cheats who will do anything to make their fortune. And those she trusts the most might just be the ones she should watch out for.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  A roomful of eyes turned my way.

  Ernie’s Pub filled up nightly with sweaty, grimy gold miners, divers and drunks. Monday through Sunday. Not a night went by that some soused lout didn’t wind up in jail for disorderly conduct, assault or just plain public drunkenness. Half the gold in the place probably went toward bail money or paying off fines for minor offenses. Worst part was, the best and most responsible divers (if you could call any of these lunkheads responsible) had already been snatched up well before the start of the summer gold season.

  A half-Inuit woman with bleached blonde hair and an inch of dark roots gave me the once over. I encroached on her territory.

  Men outnumbered women by a noticeable number in Nome, especially in the summer when dredge mining hit its peak. But that didn’t mean women weren’t competitive in this target-rich environment. Money came and went like the tide. A woman who lived off the crumbs of Nome had to flit from miner to miner to keep the free drinks and cheap bar food flowing.

  The woman unbuttoned another button on her blouse, picked up a shot glass and tossed back a drink. My muddied jean shorts and faded Seahawks t-shirt along with my ratty hair and plain face probably convinced her I wasn’t the competition. She turned back to a couple of shabby looking men with a wad of bills piled on the bar between them. Looked like it had been a good day for the pair of dredgers, and they seemed willing to share it with their new female companion.

  Once the patrons of Ernie’s Pub had recognized me and determined I wasn’t flush with cash to buy someone drinks, they returned to their carousing. Rory Darling, daughter of Buck Darling, didn’t slum around these parts. These guys knew I was off limits. A few curious stares followed me, but I ignored them and scanned the room. I had one goal in mind. Ernie’s was the last bar in town, and I was determined to find what I needed.

  “Hey, Rory, what can I get ya?” Bobby Sykes, former hockey goalie for the Nanooks at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks, tended bar most nights at Ernie’s. He’d torn a ligament or something back in college. Dropped out of school. Came back to his hometown a decade ago to muddle his way through life as a dredge tender, mechanic and whatever else made him some money. He’d aged poorly since his return to Nome— beer gut, mostly bald, red-rimmed eyes that reminded me of one of those guys who drank too much and had a diet of Cheetos and corndogs.

  I waved him off. “Not here for a drink.” I needed to be on my game. “But maybe you can help.”

  Bobby cocked his head. “Sure, whatcha need?” He popped the top off a beer and passed it to one of the old time miners sitting at the bar.

  “Got a line on any divers who might be looking for work?” I had a feeling it would be an impossible ask, but Bobby knew all the regulars and even the not-so-regulars. Plus, he knew, like most people, how dire my situation had become.

  “I wish I had a lead for you.” He chopped up a lime, avoiding eye contact.

  Nome lived or died on the gold business. People’s lives had been destroyed by one bad season, one bad decision, one bad piece of luck. I’m sure Bobby had had a dozen other dredgers ask him the same question in the last week. Trained divers were hard to come by. Although I could take a chance on a newbie, I didn’t want to risk someone’s life by hiring a desperate person with no experience under water.

  “What about Clint Junior? You think he’d be interested in coming out of retirement?” Clint had been a good friend of my father’s and had even worked for him twenty years ago when dredge mining had been less lucrative.

  “He’s back in the lower 48.” Bobby waved at a couple of regulars who walked in the door and took their orders.

  I don’t know why I’d asked. I knew Clint had left Alaska a while ago. My mind reached for something, someone, anyone who might be able to help. The number of divers we’d worked with over the years became a blur of wetsuits and arguments. The dredging business could be filled with stress, anger, fights, fatigue. Divers who demanded more than their fair share of the gold haul. Divers who would throw a punch before they’d talk things out. Diver who pushed themselves too hard and ended up with injuries they never recovered from.

  “How’s your dad doing? I heard the news.” Bobby had mixed up a couple of screwdrivers and handed them to the newly arrived patrons.

  I took a deep breath. “He’s still in the ICU.” The question could bring tears to my eyes if I didn’t stay focused. “Look, if you don’t have any suggestions for me, I guess I’ll ask around for myself.” I scanned the dark bar once again. Maybe I could lure away a diver from another dredge with an offer of a higher percentage. Tonight I had to go home with someone ready to work in the morning. I had to figure out how to dig my butt out of a financial meltdown of epic proportions.

  “You need a diver?” One of the regular pilots who flew between Nome and Kotzebue had been sitting on a barstool next to me.

  I thought I recognized him. Nome was small enough that you felt that way most days. His name might’ve been Dave. But that could just be the fact that I knew three pilots named Dave, so the choice seemed like a good guess.

  Bobby moved off to tend his customers, and I sat down to find out what information Dave the Pi
lot might have for me. “You know someone?”

  “Guy flew in today from Anchorage looking for work.” The man-who-was-probably-named-Dave tilted his brown baseball cap off his brow and nursed his beer. “I met him at the airport. I told him they always need divers this time of year. Seemed like he had some experience.”

  “Do you know where I could find him?” An experienced diver randomly showing up in Nome in the middle of the summer dredging season? This might be my lucky day. Unless someone else had snatched him up.

  “He’s over there.” The pilot pointed to the back of the narrow bar.

  In a dark, smoky corner sat a beast of a man. Scraggly beard, shaggy hair under a wool cap, broad shouldered, hooded eyes. My first thought was: how much of a rap sheet does this guy have? He looked like the type who had once been part of a biker gang. The only thing missing was a massive neck tattoo.

  The Beast scratched his chin, which exposed an upper arm tattoo of an American flag and an eagle.

  I smiled.

  The Beast’s gaze locked with mine.

  I shivered at the black intensity and looked away. A pit formed in my stomach. The guy looked dangerous. I turned back to Dave. “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. Just that he said he was looking for work and was a diver. Thought he might make a few bucks.”

  “Got a name?” I imagined myself out on the water on the dredge with the Beast. Surrounded by 40-degree water, too far from shore to make a swim for it. Working a dredge was all about trust. I took a quick peek over my shoulder to get one more look. What would keep him from challenging me on his take of the gold for the day? The sluice box clean up could be fraught with opportunities to pick out any sizable nuggets while I was underwater running the suction hose.

  “Ben something, I think.”

  “Thanks.” I pushed back from the bar. It was now or never. I had no other choice. Either I convinced this Ben person to work for me, or I’d have to sell the dredge, and all the plans my dad had for our family business ended. My luck had run out. This was the last stop. Period.

  The jukebox spooled up another AC/DC tune. The harsh guitar riff drowned out the din of human voices. I turned sideways to slither through a couple of beefy men in dirty t-shirts and faded jeans who were about to come to blows. Probably over a girl, or maybe over a not-so-great day on the Bering.

  The tail of my jersey caught on the post of a chair. I turned, tugged it off and smacked right into a solid wall of muscle.

  The Beast.

  *

  I don’t have the best control over my mouth sometimes. Especially when I’m embarrassed or stressed. Words pour out with a speed not seen since Usain Bolt ran the 100 meter dash in the 2016 Olympics. When I hit the Beast’s chest, my brain stopped. For a full-fledged 10 seconds, I couldn’t say anything at all. I’m not sure why. Maybe because he was my last chance. My only chance in this godforsaken place to find some redemption. To make up for the mistakes I’d made. To fix the whole messy pile that had become my life.

  I looked up into the dark gaze of the one man in Nome who could quite possibly make everything right again. Up close, his eyes weren’t black like I’d supposed. His heavy brow had masked the clear blue. Blue like the winter sky after a long snow.

  His mouth stretched into a hard line. He smelled like gasoline and spearmint gum. A strange combination, but not unpleasant.

  The Beast and I were stuck between two tables. We could only move forward or backward. No sideways. The AC/DC tune built to a crescendo making conversation difficult.

  He narrowed his eyes, grabbed me by the elbows and spun me around to get past me. Empty chairs toppled over.

  I opened my mouth and wanted words to come out. They weren’t there.

  The minute he’d swiveled me out of the way, he continued toward the door.

  Goddamn it, he could not leave before he heard my offer.

  I trailed after him and stumbled over work boots and empty chairs. I made a fool of myself. I probably looked like a lovesick school girl chasing after him. With the reputation I had in Nome that might actually be believed. I set that out of my mind. I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about rumors any more. Life got complicated. Time to grow up and figure a way out of it.

  “Hey!” I called after the Beast’s hulking figure headed across the muddy main street.

  Even though it was late, the sun still hovered in the sky. The long Alaska summer nights might make it easier to dredge long hours under the water, but it also made it harder to get a good night’s sleep.

  The Beast didn’t even give me a glance.

  I took off at a jog to catch up to him. “Hey, Ben, I’m talking to you.” I’d almost called him Beast instead of Ben.

  He stopped. “Do I know you?” His words were dark and accusatory.

  I questioned, once again, the logic of partnering up with an unknown entity. So many things could go wrong. “I’m Rory Darling. I own the Alaska Darling, a dredge. I need a diver. Heard you might be looking for work.” Maybe an offer of employment would take the dour expression off his face. I had a hard time imagining him with anything but a scowl.

  “Maybe.” He stood apart from me. His body language told me not to get any closer. “Where’d you hear that?”

  I nodded toward Ernie’s. “Pilot. He met you at the airport.” I shivered in the cooling air. My shorts were still damp from a day spent tuning up the dredge. “I can offer you twenty percent. That’s a better deal than most out here would give you.” I hoped Dave the Pilot hadn’t made it clear how desperately divers were wanted. The Beast probably could’ve found someone eager enough to give him thirty percent.

  “Twenty-five.”

  The low light from the summer’s midnight sun created a shadow across his face. My expression would be in plain view with the light shining in my eyes. I knew I didn’t have a very good poker face. He must’ve sensed weakness or the pilot had given him a good indication of the scarcity of divers.

  “You got your own gear?” I sized him up. Probably six-foot-three or so. “My wetsuit probably won’t fit you.” My dad and I were about the same height and shared a suit, and Kyle had taken his stuff with him yesterday.

  Kyle.

  I really didn’t want to think about Kyle at that moment. I bit my lip.

  “Yeah, I brought some gear.”

  “Dredged before?”

  “No.”

  “But you’ve dived before, Ben…?” Teaching someone to dredge wasn’t really what I wanted, but I didn’t have much choice.

  “Ben Abel.” He gave a nod. “And yes, I’ve dived before.”

  “I can do twenty-five.” I calculated my breakeven point for a day’s work. Probably 1 or 2 ounces of gold. “But the first couple of days, until you figure out how to handle the equipment, I’ll give you twenty.” A new dredger generally didn’t know what to look for under water—the right kind of cobble, what was worked ground and what was virgin ground. If he was sloppy at the beginning, he might put me in the red.

  He laughed. “Never heard of a lady gold miner before. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  I bristled. He was the newbie, not me. “Do you want the job or not? I can find someone else…”

  “No, you can’t.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. What an arrogant, horrible, beastly jerk. I wanted to use every swear word I knew. Lay it out for him I was the one in charge here. It was my dredge, my business, my deal. But the worst part about it? He was right. I had no other alternatives. I could try working with one of the notorious drunks who roamed the pier occasionally hoping to find a boat willing to let them work to buy their next fifth. Or I could scavenge a decent diver from another dredge, but he’d likely ask for more of a cut. Something I couldn’t afford with my responsibilities.

  “You are a bastard.” I gritted my teeth, holding back the word I really wanted to call him.

  “Yep.”

  “Fine. Twenty-five percent.” Not the best way to
start a working relationship—with a loss. “Meet me at the docks tomorrow at 5. The Alaska Darling. Blue hull with white trim, gold lettering on the side. You can’t miss it.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.” He saluted me.

  I headed to my truck parked outside Ernie’s as my new diver made his way down the street. Who knew where the hell he was staying. One of the flea bag motels probably. As long as he showed up tomorrow on time with gear in hand, I’d be fine.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Five a.m. in the middle of July in Nome sure looked a lot like noon in most of the world. My brain wanted me to be back in bed, but the bright light told me the day had only just begun. Although I needed to keep my attention fixed on the dredge equipment to prepare it for a day on the water, my peripheral vision distracted me. Every movement on the docks caused me to shift my focus from the sluice or the air compressor or the radio.

  Not good. The condition of the equipment meant life or death. If any of the systems failed, a diver could die. Carbon dioxide could get sucked into the air pump, the comms could conk out and leave a diver in a world of cold and silence, motors could fail, fuel could leak. The worries were endless. Although I’d dredged with my father for years with these possibilities, today they were all my responsibility.

  If I made a mistake, I could kill someone.

  Dredge mining out on the Bering Sea required at least two people: a tender and a diver. The tender worked all of the controls above water—communications, air pump, hot water line, fuel levels, and sluice—all the while keeping an eye on the location of the dredge to ensure it remained centered over the gold and didn’t stray off the public claims into someone’s private domain. A diver had to brave the murky, cold depths of the arctic waters off Nome to locate the gold amidst the sand and rock while handling a heavy-duty suction hose that could rip off an arm if he wasn’t paying attention.

  A diver had to trust his tender with his life. Without trust, the whole operation could fall apart.