Alaskan Bride

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  With a forced smile she greeted Malcolm Hansen and began the dickering.

  * * *

  Clara felt immeasurable relief as the yard came into sight. The trip home from Skagway had been fraught with worry. Every noise had startled her, no matter how unremarkable. Birdsong or insects hushed as she passed, the crackle of twigs and the rustle of underbrush all served to put her on edge. But she was home now. Everything was where she’d left it. The sledge wasn’t at the smokehouse and there was no smoke from the cabin, so she knew she’d arrived home before Callie. Another boon.

  She didn’t know what she would tell Callie, who had become quite adept at sensing Clara’s emotions. She’d smell a lie from a hundred paces. Prevarication wasn’t an option in any case—Clara didn’t believe in beginning a relationship in a way that would foster ill will in the future. Better to be truthful now than deal with hurt feelings later. She could easily imagine Callie’s expression when Clara told her about Billy Quinn.

  I won’t mention him, not by name. I’ll simply explain the altercation and how I de-escalated it. That would be the truth. Clara would simply omit a tiny bit of information that didn’t matter in the long run. Callie wouldn’t have a name to attach to the attacker and she would be unable to retaliate if she was of a mind, which would keep her safe.

  Feeling better, Clara tied the reins to the porch. The sooner she unloaded and put up the horse, the sooner she could get on with things. She’d purchased more eggs and wanted to get a cake in the oven before Callie returned. Besides, cooking always soothed her, and she definitely needed the comfort at the moment. She still felt dirty from Billy Quinn’s eyes.

  “Nice place! Got a good view and everything!”

  Heart in her throat, Clara whirled.

  Billy Quinn stood a few feet away, hands on his hips as he marveled at the homestead. “Sweet little garden going there too. Is that yours?”

  She was unable to form words as he strutted toward her, a sly grin on his unhandsome face.

  “I asked is that there garden yours?” He stopped just within arm’s reach. “Are you always this impolite to visitors? Didn’t your mama teach you civility?”

  Clara refused to show her fear. She straightened and put a scowl on her face, hoping to play off her earlier threatening demeanor. “Get off my property before I gut you.”

  Rather than cower in fear, Quinn laughed. “Oh, you are a feisty one, I’ll give you that!” His smile faded, his expression darkening as he grabbed for her. “But I like a good fight.”

  * * *

  Callie hauled the sledge up the slight incline toward the yard, pleased with the day’s kills. She’d spent the afternoon entertaining the notion of making another supply run soon. Clara had nattered on about going on her own, but Callie had talked her out of the idea. Skagway was dangerous enough for someone who knew what to look for; Clara was a babe in the woods. As much as Callie hated town and the people in it, she knew that both she and Clara needed to make the occasional trip—Clara for purely social reasons, and Callie to take care of business. Providing Perkins didn’t get in their way, a trip to Skagway would be beneficial to both of them.

  She paused with a frown, and the noise of the sledge faded as she perked her ears. What’s that?

  Sound carried well out here, and she’d distinctly heard something odd. Are those voices? Is that a man? Whoever it was, didn’t sound like Daryl McKenzie. And there was something else, something that could only be the violent slap of flesh on flesh followed by a grunt and a squeal of pain.

  Horror filled Callie as she dropped the sledge ropes. She raced up the remaining few feet, unslinging her hunting rifle as she burst into her yard. The packhorse stood in front of the cabin, tied to the porch rails. The sight of him confused her. Why is he wearing his tack? McKenzie’s horse wasn’t there, nor were there any others. Beneath the animal and partially hidden by its bulk, she saw movement. Boots kicked up dust on the porch and an unfamiliar hat dropped to the ground. She brought the rifle to bear, kept her distance, and swung around the stomping, snorting packhorse.

  Clara was pressed against the cabin door, hands pinned behind her by a dark-haired man. Unaware of Callie, he’d covered Clara’s mouth with his own, performing a parody of the kiss she and Callie had shared last week. His free hand was planted against Clara’s breast. Dirty fingers dug into the bodice of her dress.

  Time slowed to a crawl. It was fortunate for the man that Clara was too close. Any shot Callie considered in that brief instant would potentially hit her, the only thing saving the miserable cur’s life. Against her better judgment, Callie raised the rifle and shot into the air over the cabin roof. The horse reared at the thunder.

  The man pulled back, releasing Clara as he turned toward Callie.

  Billy Quinn?

  Clara bent over behind him, panting and spitting onto the ground. Her complexion was green as she scrabbled for the door.

  Quinn smiled and picked up his hat. He dusted it off and placed it on his head, walking toward Callie with his hands carefully in view. “Hey, Callie! Nice place you got here.”

  Callie set the rifle to her shoulder and put Quinn’s forehead in her sights. Behind him, Clara slipped into the cabin, slamming the door behind her. Relieved that her friend was out of immediate danger, Callie focused on Quinn. “Stop right there if you want to keep breathing.”

  He held his hands out at his side, palms forward as he halted. “Now why you gotta be so unwelcoming? You’ve always been that way. Ain’t you supposed to invite a visitor in? Offer him coffee? That’s the hospitable way to do things.”

  “I don’t offer coffee to trespassers.” Callie backed away, putting some distance between them.

  Quinn tsked at her as he stepped sideways. The two of them circled one another as he edged away from the porch. “I ain’t no trespasser. Your woman there brought me here. We were gonna have some fun in town, but she had bizness to attend to.”

  Callie refused to show the alarm she felt. Clara brought him here? That didn’t make any sense. Unless she’s decided to stop waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. She shoved the disquiet aside, and concentrated on the problem at hand. “I don’t know how you got here, but you’d better leave, lickety-split, or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

  “Have you ever killed a man before? It ain’t a pretty sight, you know. Any woman would feel horrible about taking a life, even one like you. I mean, women are the givers of life, right?”

  Callie refused to be drawn into this bizarre turn of discussion. “Get walking.”

  He backed away toward the main track. “Why don’t you ask your pretty little bride about how much fun we had in Skagway this afternoon, huh?”

  In Skagway? Now the packhorse in the yard made sense. Clara had gone to town against Callie’s wishes, and this bummer had followed her home. She vaguely wondered why she hadn’t caught his earlier insinuation.

  Her shock must have registered on her face because Quinn laughed aloud. “Oh, ho! You didn’t know she’d gone!” He slapped his hands against his thighs, and let out another guffaw. “Now that’s rich! You wanting to be a man and all, but you cain’t control your bitch worth nothing.”

  Callie’s finger tightened against the trigger. “Take that back.”

  When Quinn realized he was on the raggedy edge, his laughter subsided. “Which? The part about you wanting to be a man, or the other?”

  It would be so easy. Just a little more pressure…

  The cabin door flew open, and Clara emerged with her own rifle. “You heard her, Billy Quinn. Get off our property now.”

  Quinn raised his eyebrows at Callie, his mouth a begrudging moue. “‘Our property’, is it? Guess I was right about that Boston Wedding.” Something about Clara’s presence behind Callie galvanized him, because he waved his hands in surrender as he walked backward. “I’m going! I’m going!”

  Callie leaned toward him, feeling her lips draw back as her prey made his escape.

  He t
ripped on a rock and smirked, tipping his hat. “Now don’t be shooting an unarmed man in the back, girls.” He turned and strolled down the main track to Skagway, a jaunty whistle on his lips. As he drifted out of sight, he called, “I’ll be back for that dinner you promised, Miss Stapleton. I’d love me a fine bit of dessert after too. Mmmm mmmm.”

  Callie marched after him, just to make certain he left her property. It wasn’t because the desire to see him gutted like one of her kills was strong enough to make her tremble.

  “Callie?”

  She shot a glance at Clara. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Callie returned an hour later. She stopped at the tree line and observed the homestead.

  The horse had been put up and the sledge had been brought in from the trail. Clara sat near the smoke shed, up to her elbows in blood as she worked her way through the carcasses Callie had collected from the line. From where she stood, Callie could see that Clara had made a fine dent in the pile and stacked each hide neatly inside the open shed.

  A pang shot through Callie’s chest as she watched Clara. She’d told Clara not to go to town alone, yet Clara had done so anyway, bringing one of Perkins’s lackeys back with her. The remote danger that had bubbled beneath the surface since Jasper’s death had finally boiled over. Quinn would tell Perkins where the Glass cabin was located. In turn, Perkins would amass his malcontents and burn them out, but not before torturing Callie with the loss of everything she held dear.

  This mess was Clara’s fault. Her headstrong ways and lack of common sense had doomed them both. And I love her. The dichotomy of emotion made Callie nauseous. She was angry, absolutely furious at Clara’s ignorant disregard about the threat to both of them. Was it her well-to-do upbringing, her educated ways? Had Callie been ineffective in expressing the seriousness of the peril? Had Clara never been subject to strife or the illogical malice of others? How could she have gotten so far along in life without ever once having had to deal with the practical realities of hatred and bigotry? Her inexperience with the vagaries of life frustrated Callie to no end.

  At the same time, Callie’s fear for Clara’s safety was so strong that she wanted to weep and gnash her teeth. While she railed against Clara’s pragmatic ignorance, she also adored it. Clara’s idealism and intelligence were only two of a number of things that had drawn Callie from the start. Clara, with her book smarts and noble-minded thoughts, had unique perspectives that intrigued Callie. The last thing she wanted was for Clara’s mind to be stopped, her voice silenced forever, her beautiful hazel eyes glazed over in pain and death.

  Quinn would arrive in town within the hour. Callie doubted it would be long before he located Perkins and spilled his guts. She didn’t think Perkins would come out tomorrow. Always one for plans, he’d want to gather his resources and make schemes before attacking Callie’s homestead. No. She had two days, maybe three at most, before he showed up to burn her out. And I’ll be damned if Clara will be here.

  Callie remained on the edge of the trees until she obtained control of her riotous emotions. Since her arrival, Clara had always been able to wrest control from Callie; that couldn’t happen again. Callie couldn’t show any weakness, not the slightest chink in her armor. This time she’d have to do and say anything to drive Clara away. Come Hell or high water, Clara Stapleton is going to leave this place.

  Stoking the anger in her heart, she marched toward the homestead where Clara, knife out, whirled to confront whoever was there. Callie felt a measure of respectful satisfaction at Clara’s speed and apparent deadliness, then quashed it immediately.

  Clara examined Callie for injuries or evidence that she’d murdered Quinn. “He’s gone?”

  “Yeah, but not for long. Get up.”

  Wincing at Callie’s rough tone, Clara stood. Her hand shook as she returned the knife to its scabbard. “I’m sorry. I—”

  Callie cut her off as she impatiently sliced her hand to one side. “Doesn’t matter. You’re leaving.”

  Clara turned white as she stared. Her mouth worked, attempting to find words, but nothing emitted from her lips.

  Rather than allow Clara an opportunity to argue, Callie took her by the upper arm and marched her toward the cabin with brisk efficiency. “Pack up your things. I’ll get the horse ready. It’ll be dark soon, so we don’t have any time to waste.”

  “But—”

  Callie spun Clara around and dug her fingers into both of Clara’s upper arms. “You’re leaving and that’s final.” She mentally apologized for her next words. “I never wanted you here in the first place. I knew you’d be trouble, and I was right.”

  A hint of recrimination flickered behind Clara’s stunned expression. “Excuse me?”

  Before she could build up a head of steam, Callie yelled. “There is no excuse! Don’t you understand? You’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked for. Quinn is telling Jamie Perkins where I am right this minute. They’ll be here tomorrow to burn me out. You might as well have sent out invitations to every hooligan in the district.” She shook Clara with each word. “You. Aren’t. Welcome. Here.”

  Callie released Clara’s arms and dragged her toward the cabin. “You’re leaving now before you can do any more damage.”

  Clara’s voice was weak. “But I thought you and I were going to work together, to become partners.”

  “That’s what you get for thinking, ain’t it?” Callie threw open the cabin door and hauled Clara to her trunk. “Let’s be honest. Just because you might be a tom doesn’t mean we can be anything together. I mean, really? Why should I settle for you just because you’re the only tom I know?”

  “What?” Clara sank onto the bed, her countenance one of hurt amazement.

  Callie’s bitter laugh belied the sharp pain that pierced Callie’s heart. “You ain’t what I want, okay? You and your highfalutin ways, your Boston accent. You can cook and bake like a dream, I’ll give you that, but you’re about worthless in everything else.”

  “I most certainly am not worthless!”

  “Yeah? Did I mention that you can’t kiss worth a damn? Besides, how the hell did Billy Quinn end up on my doorstep if you’re so wise?” Clara’s crestfallen look was too much to bear. Callie spun away and threw open Clara’s trunk. She began to gather Clara’s personal belongings from the shelf by the bed, shoving them into the trunk. “Now get your other bags out from under the bed. Daylight’s wasting.”

  She continued to pack in silence, unwilling to see the damage she’d wrought on their friendship. Callie headed into the kitchen and rummaged around for the household items Clara had brought with her. Several minutes later, she heard the creak of the bed and the shuffle of items moving across the floor as Clara did as she was told.

  Callie pushed back the tears that burned in her throat. In the back of her head, she had hoped that Clara would see through her ruse and take her to task for her insults. Callie risked a look when she brought a stack of plates to the trunk.

  Clara’s face was stone, her actions lacking their usual grace as she stiffly packed her things. She refused to look at or touch Callie as she inched past to collect a mixing bowl that had once been her mother’s.

  Again, tears threatened to expose Callie’s true feelings. “I’ll go get the sledge and horse ready.” Callie stomped out of the cabin and slammed the door behind her.

  * * *

  The agonizing trip to town forced Clara to retrace the steps she’d taken earlier that morning. That time seemed like a million miles and a million years away, a time of adventure and happiness, of satisfaction and power. Now it was a horrible drudgery as she made her way in the early evening light.

  They hadn’t spoken since Callie had forced her to start packing. Clara had no defense against Callie’s painful, biting words. Was it because they were true? Was she as worthless as Callie had so baldly stated? Am I? Up until her second altercation with Billy Quinn at the cabin, Clara would have argued the point until she was blue in
the face. She’d done a fine job of defending herself in town, though the initial fracas had terrified her. Regardless, the truth was that Quinn had followed her from Skagway, something Callie would never have let happen. Clara’s inexperience in woodcraft had allowed this danger to come to pass.

  I shouldn’t have gone to town. Of course, that contrition was of little value now. Callie was right; Clara had endangered both of them by her rash action. How many less-dangerous scrapes had she and her friend Emma gotten into in Boston? There, at least, Clara’d had the benefit of her father’s social standing and finances to protect her from the repercussions of her shenanigans. Nothing protected her here in the wilderness, though, no one to step in and gloss over her indiscretions. Hardly a New Woman if I must depend on a man—any man—to defend me from the backlash of my own actions.

  Smells and sound loomed ahead, the flower of a typical Skagway evening in full bloom. Callie’s face was set as they entered town. The northern sun was still out and the streets still busy. If anyone recognized them or realized that the same packhorse and sledge had passed this way earlier today, no one gave indication. People were more interested in their business or hedonistic pursuits. Even the catcalls from the prostitutes on the balcony didn’t invade the grave shell surrounding the two travelers.

  As they neared the first hotel, Callie finally broke the silence. “Which hotel?” she asked coldly.

  Clara’s heart ached at the utter lack of emotion. “Not that one.” She refused to even look at the establishment where she’d spent one of the longest nights of her life. Had it only been a fortnight since Callie had fled, leaving Clara to sit alone in the darkness until it was safe to return home? Home. I have no home now.

  If Callie noted the ache in Clara’s voice and face, she didn’t show it as she clucked at the packhorse. Three blocks later, they arrived at Skagway’s second-best hotel. “Go see if they have a room. I’ll unload the sledge.”