“You’ll be fine.” McKenzie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Though dancing is out for the next month or so.”
Callie snorted her derisive opinion of his sense of humor. With the care of an old woman, she turned to place her feet on the floor. Clara hastily returned to her side, and Callie waved her away. She’d be damned if she’d show any more weakness than she already had. “What happened?”
McKenzie and Clara shared a look, one that sparked irritation in Callie’s heart. Was that pity? She didn’t want pity, not from anybody and especially not from Clara Stapleton.
“What do you remember?” Clara asked, voice cautious. She cupped her elbows as if she were cold.
Callie thought back to the tumult of crimson anger. “I went after him. Punched him a few times. He weighs more than he used to though. Got the jump on me. Last thing I recollect is him whaling on me while I was on my back in the dirt.”
Clara sighed. She crossed to the room’s sole window and stared into the night.
Callie blinked. She hadn’t realized it was full dark already. How late was it?
“I tried to get others to help, but no one would.” Clara faced the window. “Finally, I…I knocked him off you.”
Callie stared. She wasn’t the strongest looking woman around, but Clara was even less physically imposing than her. Callie never would have thought Clara had the necessary fortitude to attack a man, especially one that had two others ready and able to defend him.
“That may have been when I came in.”
Callie’s head swiveled to McKenzie.
He nodded a chin toward Clara. “One of them had hold of her. Perkins was dusting himself off when we got there. The fight was all but over when we drove them off.”
“We?”
McKenzie shrugged. “I enlisted a couple of boys from the saloon when word came ’round.”
So the entire town knew that Perkins had bested her in a fight. Callie scowled. Perkins had been drinking and he was a townie. He didn’t have the requisite woodsman skills to reach her homestead tonight. It was possible that he’d make a try tomorrow though. She had to get there before him.
Looking up, she nodded at McKenzie. “Thanks for helping out. Much appreciated.”
“Any time, Callie. You’re like family to me.” McKenzie pushed to his feet. “It’s late and you need rest. The doc said he’d be by in the morning to check on you. Until then, get some sleep.”
“Will do.”
Clara spun around, and wiped at her eyes. With a false smile, she approached McKenzie and took his arm. “I’ll escort you out, sir.”
Callie watched them cross the room together and disappear into the entry alcove of the suite. They held a murmured conversation that did nothing for Callie’s peace of mind. Either they conspired against her, treating her as the weakling invalid she was, or there was something more between them than she’d first thought. Jealous of an old man and a friend? I’m ineffectual enough as it is. At least Daryl can give her the protection she needs to survive here. I certainly can’t.
The door opened and closed, and Clara paused to lean against the wall of the entry. “Can I get you anything?”
She seemed so unsettled, so closed off, unlike the gregarious Clara of Callie’s recent experience. Callie’s heart sank as she recognized the barrier being erected between them. Clara now understood the true dangers of Skagway, of being an unmarried woman in this town. She’d come to realize that Callie had little to offer her in the way of security, that perhaps she’d gotten more than she bargained for considering the feud between Callie and Perkins. The townsfolk had always looked down upon Callie for her mannish clothes and ways, though few actually denigrated her as thoroughly as Perkins and his ilk. She’d been secretly afraid that once Clara had opportunity to see things from the townies’ point of view, she’d feel the same.
Just as well. I knew it wasn’t a permanent arrangement anyway. Callie stamped the tears into her gut where they could fester with the rest of her sorrow and anger and self-contempt. The emotions kept her warm when nothing else did. She realized that somehow over the past two weeks she’d begun to consider a long life with Clara. She knew now that the whole scheme was a silly thought. Callie wasn’t proper material for any woman; she wasn’t the settling type.
With effort she pushed to her feet. “Where are my boots?”
“What?” Clara crossed the room, hands out to urge Callie back into bed. “You don’t need your boots. You need rest.”
Callie spied her boots at the foot of the bed. She brushed past Clara and grunted as she bent to retrieve them, forced to hold the bedpost to keep from toppling over. When she straightened, dark spots flashed in her vision as she stumbled to the chair that McKenzie had vacated.
“Callie! Get back into bed this instant!”
“No.”
Clara glared at her, hands at her hips. “Callie Glass, you get back into bed right now! The doctor said you should rest until tomorrow.”
Callie stomped her foot into one boot, panting as she struggled to tie the laces. “I’m not waiting around here for the doc to decide to visit. Perkins wants me off my land. If I don’t beat him to the cabin, he’ll raze it to the ground.”
“He’d do that?” Clara’s voice became hesitant, the stern schoolmarm fading as her hands dropped to her sides.
“He’ll beat a woman on the streets. Why wouldn’t he do that too?” Callie refused to look at Clara, knowing that to do so would crumble her resolve. She finished with one boot and began the other. “He might not know the exact location of the cabin, but he’s been searching for it. It won’t be long before he finds my home. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him destroy it without a fight.”
Clara made some sort of decision. “Fine. I’m going with you.” She marched to the armoire, intent on packing her things.
“No!” Callie shot up, clutching at her broken ribs. “No, you’re not. You don’t belong there.”
“What?” Clara turned, hands full of clothes. “Of course I belong there. The cabin is my home too.”
Callie steeled herself against the darkening hazel eyes, the flash of fear and anger that sparked from them. “No, you don’t. You’re not a trapper, not a fisher or hunter. You’re a mail-order bride without a husband, and I don’t need a wife.”
Clara blinked and swallowed, her expressive eyes glassy. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I started the garden, put up the fence. Up until Mr. Perkins accosted us we’ve had a wonderful visit here in town. I helped with Mr. Hansen and the bargaining. I made you those clothes…”
Callie felt wretched. Clara had only just begun to see Callie for the abomination she was, she hadn’t had time to absorb the full import of a life with someone like Callie. Eventually she’d fully comprehend the situation and close the door between them. Knowing the heartbreak would come, knowing that Clara didn’t deserve this treatment, Callie sneered at her. Push her away now before it’s too late. “It takes more than deals and sewing to survive out here. You can’t defend yourself any better than I can in a fight. What good are you?” She stood, swaying briefly as the room spun, holding out a warning finger to keep Clara from rushing to her aid. Callie’s hat and coat were on the coat rack by the door. “You stay here. I’ll pack your things and bring them to town tomorrow or the day after.”
“Callie…”
“No!” She closed her eyes as Clara flinched away from her roar. With difficulty Callie forced herself to calm down. “Whether you go home to Boston or not is up to you, but you ain’t welcome in my home anymore. Goodbye.”
She collected her hat and coat and fled the suite, leaving the door standing open as she clattered down the stairs, clutching the railing to keep her unsteady feet. By the time she arrived at the base of the steps, she heard the door close above her. The finality of the sound echoed in her heart as she closed off the hope she’d allowed to grow there.
Pausing, she put on her hat and slowly eased into her j
acket. She wished she could see through the wooden planks above her and catch one last sight of Clara. The only thing Callie could offer her was sorrow and death. Silently, she wished Clara the best life, whatever it might be—a full life with a husband and children, property of her own.
A man cleared his throat, and she looked over at the lobby counter where a gaunt man with long blond hair eyed her. She gathered herself, tipped her hat at the clerk and exited the hotel. She had to get home before Perkins decided to make the trip. With heavy heart she marched into the darkness, intent on the stable.
Chapter Thirteen
Clara sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, hands primly in her lap as she waited. A clock ticked the seconds past, the only sound in the room save her breathing. The sun had come up some time ago, but dawn in Alaska was a good two hours before people rousted themselves from bed and businesses opened their doors. She waited, fully dressed and bags packed, waited for Daryl McKenzie or the town doctor to check on Callie’s welfare.
Callie should have arrived at the cabin by now, providing she’d ridden the packhorse. If she’d limped along with her current injuries—and Clara could easily see the recalcitrant woman doing just that—it might be another hour or more before Callie reached the homestead to collapse in exhaustion and pain. How she could possibly expect to defend her cabin from Perkins’s anticipated invasion in her current weakened state was a wonder. She’d probably pass out on the cabin floor before she made it to her bed.
A surge of worry pushed at the edge of the knot in Clara’s throat, and she refused to allow her imagination free rein. She reached for her anger to combat the sorrow, a trick she’d recently learned during the long night past. It galled Clara that Callie could abandon her so easily. Clara had prided herself on her ability to acclimate to the rural homestead after life in a veritable metropolis. Now she realized that those tasks she’d completed—putting in the garden, protecting it from predators, cleaning the cabin and providing home-cooked meals—were the tip of the iceberg when it came to self-sufficiency here. In a world full of wild predators and unruly men, it took more than keeping a good house to survive.
The worst thing was that though daylight burned, Clara couldn’t follow Callie home. She didn’t know how to get there, having paid more mind to the birds and trees on both her trips to and from the cabin rather than the trail itself. She could find her way out of town easily enough and circle the end of the inlet, but there her memory failed her. Was it this trail or that one? There were a number of homesteads to the west of Skagway, and any one of the tracks she’d come across could lead her to them instead. I swear to God I’m going to purchase a boat. Had she the experience and knowledge of bushcraft, she’d have been right behind Callie last night, even in the dark. Instead she’d been forced to sit in this hotel room for hours, sleepless with worry for both her future and Callie’s well-being.
That’s going to change. As soon as McKenzie arrived, she’d march to the nearest general store and pick up a gun or two as well as ammunition. He could teach her to shoot if Callie wouldn’t. And if Perkins came anywhere within a mile of either of them, Clara would kill him herself.
Once she had purchased a weapon, Clara would ask McKenzie to take her home. Callie might have the misguided idea that she could throw her weight around and chase her off, but Clara had other plans. Callie was a pigheaded woman with deep insecurities. The fight with Perkins had brought all of those anxieties to the fore. Though shocked at the time of Callie’s departure, Clara’d had hours to consider the underlying content of Callie’s words. It wasn’t Clara she didn’t trust; it was herself. Callie didn’t believe she was capable of defending both herself and Clara. Her abandonment of Clara had little to do with rejection and everything to do with protecting her because of Callie’s own failings. Though Clara still felt rich fury at being cast aside in such a cavalier fashion, she at least understood more of Callie’s inner cognitions than Callie herself did. This mess wasn’t about Clara or her capabilities. Callie was running scared.
Clara took a deep breath, and slowly let it melt away from her. Outside she heard the sounds of increased activity as the townsfolk began to wake. She even smelled coffee and bacon from the hotel restaurant, and her stomach grumbled. As much as she didn’t want to waste the time, she knew she’d need to eat before she left. She couldn’t handle fifteen miles of travel without sustenance. Perhaps I can have them pack me travel food.
A soft tap at the door interrupted her thoughts. She leapt up, crossing the room to open it, and almost sagged against it as she saw McKenzie. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re here.”
The old man’s bushy white eyebrows wrinkled. “Why? What happened? Is she—?” His gaze flickered over Clara’s shoulder, but he couldn’t see the bed from the door.
“She’s gone.” Clara stood aside to allow him entry. She left the door open as was proper for a lone unmarried woman with a male visitor. “She left for home not long after you said goodnight.”
“What? In the dark?” He shook his head, confusion evident. “Why would she go and do a stupid thing like that?”
Clara glanced at the open door and lowered her voice. “She thinks Perkins will raze the cabin if he finds it. She didn’t want him to get there before her.”
McKenzie shook his head. “Well, she ain’t thinking right. He ain’t an idiot. If he showed up to do something like that so soon after their fight last night, everyone would know it was him what did it. That kind of thing has to be done on the sly, even if it is against a woman.”
The idea that being a woman meant being a second-class citizen riled Clara on the best of days; it didn’t help today. “Will you take me home, please? I’m unfortunately unable to find my way there without a guide.”
“Of course!”
“We’ll need to make some stops along the way. We didn’t pick up many supplies yesterday. Will that be a problem?”
“No. No problem. Would you like me to rent a cart like last time?” McKenzie asked.
Clara nodded. “I believe so. Not so big a one, and I’ll cover the cost of its rental.”
McKenzie took a step back. “I’ll take care of it, Miss Clara. You’ve enough to worry about.”
With a reluctant dip of her head, Clara consented. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Like I told Callie last night, she’s family. That means you’re family too.” He gave a tiny bow and backed away. “I’ll go get that cart. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can check on Callie.”
Clara returned his smile. “And I’ll go downstairs to purchase breakfast for our trip.” She closed and locked her door as they left her room, relieved to finally be doing something. The hours of inactivity had taken a larger toll on her nerves than last night’s altercation had. Soon she’d be home where she could convince Callie of her folly.
* * *
Callie woke with a gasp. She attempted to roll over, and her ribs bitterly complained when she twisted. With a grunt, she struggled to sit up. The cabin was dark, shafts of light penetrating past the closed shutters to illuminate brilliant dust motes. Puddles of sunlight had gathered in strange spots along the wall; it was far later in the day than she was used to seeing upon rising.
She grumbled, and scrubbed weary eyes with the palms of her hands. Leaving town in the middle of the night had been foolhardy. It had taken her far longer than normal to return home and made her veritably worthless upon her arrival. By the time she’d gotten to the cabin, she’d reeled with exhaustion, barely able to make it to her bed. Did I even put up the horse and sledge?
Fear shot enough adrenaline through her to get her up. She’d been so tired…had she left the horse outside? Her booted feet hit the floor, a brief shock that she quickly set aside. If she’d been too tired to take care of her obligations toward the packhorse, why would leaving her boots on in bed surprise her?
She stumbled across the cabin, and threw the front door open. Brutal l
ate morning sunlight blinded her one good eye, and did nothing for the ache in her head as she squinted to see through the agony. She expected to see her horse’s half-eaten carcass on the ground in a sea of blood, a bear or a pack of wolves snarling at her. Instead she noted the sledge parked in front of the cabin and no horse in sight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the shed had been secured. Maybe I put him up when I got home?
Of course, she’d closed up the shed before she’d left the homestead yesterday. Maybe Perkins was already here and he’d taken her horse. He could be out there, waiting for her to show herself.
She slammed the door closed, light-blind as she searched the inner shadows for her Winchester. It lay across the dining room table where she’d apparently dropped it last night. She picked it up, checked its load and returned to the door to reinvestigate the yard. Cracking open the door, she peered outside. Nothing seemed untoward—there’d been no damage done to the outbuildings or Clara’s garden and fence. The sledge sat in silent reproach for having been left out. Movement flickered in the trees as birds and rodents flitted about their business, oblivious to the dramas of humanity.
Callie hissed as one of her cuts on her face tugged at its stitches when she frowned. Maybe he ain’t here yet. Cautious, she eased the door open and stepped outside, rifle clutched in both hands. Still nothing. She would have chewed her lip in uncertainty if it hadn’t been split in two places. Instead her nerves jangled as she scanned the homestead. “I can’t stand here forever.” Resolved, blood pounding in her ears, she ventured away from the porch and across the yard.
Nothing happened.
She reached the shed and leaned her back against it, eyeing the yard from a different angle. Still nothing out of place and no indication of unwanted visitors. The horse snorted from inside the shed, having caught her scent.
Callie felt all manner of foolish. She sagged against the shed. In her fatigued state she’d put the horse up for the night before stumbling into the cabin to collapse on her bed. Perkins wasn’t here. No one was here. Not even Clara.
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