I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  "I've heard you charge fifty-one cents a pound." She'd never been flirtatious, and she wasn't now. But she tilted her head and gazed at him from beneath her hat brim with a quizzical expression that he found wildly appealing. "I can't pay that much."

  He flicked his cigar toward a muddy puddle, then looked back at the jack mule. "I'm prepared to offer you and your companions a deep discount. My Chilkats will pack you into Dawson for thirty cents a pound."

  The quick breath she sucked between her teeth told him that she knew the price he named was unusual and outrageously low. "I understood the fifty-one-cent fee was for packing someone up Chilkoot Pass. I didn't realize it covered the trail to Dawson."

  "Ordinarily it doesn't." He'd lose money packing them an extra six hundred miles. But if Bear was willing to help them financially, he could do no less. "Old friends get a discount and special consideration."

  Pride stiffened her spine so abruptly that the edges of her cape fluttered. "I can't accept your offer," she said flatly. "Even if it wasn't improper to accept an expensive gift from a man, I don't want to be beholden to anyone." Circles of high color burned on her cheeks, and she turned to leave.

  "Wait a minute, Zoe." She stared up at him with eyes like blue glass, but she stopped to listen when he grabbed her elbow. "First, a discount isn't a gift. You still have to pay. And if you accept this offer, you're not beholden in any way. This is a business arrangement." Some of the hard glitter eased out of her gaze. "Second, I'm going to Dawson anyway, ramrodding a short load for another customer. It's no problem to add your goods to the roster. And finally, I'm not losing money by discounting my rate. Someone else is paying the additional twenty-one cents."

  "Oh?" She frowned as he released her elbow. "Who's paying the extra money?"

  "The person insisted on anonymity. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all." He hadn't handled this well.

  "It's Juliette, isn't it?" Anger snapped in her eyes, and she pressed her lips in a furious line. "Well, tell her no thank you. I don't want her charity!"

  At once he understood that he couldn't deny her guess. If he took that path, she'd start listing names until she reached one that he couldn't deny without lying.

  "I wouldn't jump to conclusions if I were you," he said lamely. Damn it.

  "Who else could it be?" she snapped. "You might discount your fee a few cents to help a family friend, and that's what I'd hoped for, but I don't think you'd cut your fee almost in half." Her gaze narrowed and swung to the sea of white tents surrounding the town. "So who's left? The heiress."

  "Zoe—may I call you Zoe?"

  "That's how you addressed me when you practically lived with us."

  "I guess I did spend a lot of time at your house, didn't I?" he said with a laugh. Then his expression sobered. "Don't turn your back on an offer that is going to make this journey a hell of a lot easier. Don't let pride do you an injury. Someone wants to offer you and your friends a little help. Take it."

  "You don't understand," she said, frowning at the ground.

  "I've been told I'm a good listener…"

  For a moment he thought she would talk to him, really talk to him, then her expression closed, and she gave her head a shake.

  "I just don't want to be in another person's debt. Especially not Juliette's."

  That was undoubtedly why Bear had chosen to remain anonymous. He didn't want them to feel obligated. "If your benefactor wanted you to be beholden, that person wouldn't have insisted on anonymity."

  "Juliette has to know that Clara and I will guess it's her. And I hate it," she said fiercely. Her grip on the Winchester tightened until her knuckles turned white. "I have half a mind to throw her offer back in her face!"

  Tom stared. If he hadn't known Zoe was traveling with Miss March, he would have taken her expression and her anger to mean that she and Miss March were mortal enemies.

  "Before you do something foolish, think about climbing Chilkoot pass ten or twelve times while Miss March and Miss Klaus climb it once," he said, his voice sharper than he'd intended. "Think about walking ten or twelve times as far to reach Dawson than they do. That's a high price to pay for pride."

  "I'm not stupid—in the end I'll accept her offer," she said angrily. Even the little feather on her hat brim quivered with indignation. "But I'd rather refuse her charity!"

  "Suppose your benefactor isn't Miss March," he said, giving it another try. "You should think about that."

  She gazed up at him as if he had disappointed her, then she sighed. "All right. What's the protocol? When do we leave, and do we have to do anything special with our goods?"

  There hadn't been a woman in his life since he'd come to Alaska. He'd forgotten how frustrating females could be.

  "Since every minute of delay brings you closer to bad weather, I'd suggest you and your party leave tomorrow morning. Figure you'll carry on your backs whatever you might need immediately. My men will transport the rest. But they don't pack and unpack. So be sure your goods are organized in a way that you can easily get to your tent, stove, foodstuffs."

  She turned to leave, carrying the Winchester comfortably in a manner that confirmed she knew how to use it. Tom doubted anyone would get in her way.

  "Zoe?"

  She glared back at him over her shoulder.

  "You used to smile a lot. What happened in your life that you don't smile much anymore?"

  The chip flew off her shoulder, and her chin quivered. "Oh, Tom," she said softly. Then she rushed away from him, almost running toward the tent city.

  Puzzled, he watched her go. He was wrong to think she was the same girl he'd known when they were younger. She was a woman now, and she'd changed. Secrets and pain lay at the back of her gaze. He wished he knew why she was going to Dawson City.

  "Why are you staring at me? What have I done now?" Both Zoe and Clara had returned to the tent in bad moods. Well, Juliette wasn't in a good mood either.

  The Annasett had sailed this morning without her, and no one knew when another steamship might arrive. But she couldn't wait for another ship in any case, since she and Clara and Zoe owned the tent jointly. Clara and Zoe would take the tent on the trek to Dawson City, and then Juliette would have no place to live and sleep if she remained behind in Dyea. Fate was pushing her toward Dawson City, which was acceptable, she supposed, but getting there scared her to death.

  Low temperatures had intrigued her at first. She'd told herself the chill on her cheeks was invigorating. But she'd had enough of the cold now. It was no longer interesting to lie shivering in her camp cot. Even without the cold, it was hard to sleep on the narrow cot. But the worst was living in a tent. Two days of coping with the inconveniences of camping out had obliterated any allure roughing it might have originally held. If it ever had held any allure.

  These discomforts would only worsen as the journey progressed. It seemed that everyone in Dyea had told her a half dozen horror stories about incidents along the trail. It was enough to make a grown woman whimper.

  Clara ladled out three bowls of the thin soup Juliette had prepared, and she stared hard at the burned crust on Juliette's bread before she tore it into chunks.

  "I told you I don't know how to cook!" Tears of frustration floated near the surface. She hated the stove. First she had to build a fire on the ground, then place the camp oven over the fire, then fit the cooktop over the oven. But of course it wasn't that simple. The fire kept going out. Neither the oven nor the cooktop heated evenly. Consequently, the bread got scorched but the vegetables in the soup were crunchy and half-cooked and the soup hadn't thickened.

  "Tomorrow I'll cook," Clara announced.

  "I have some news to share." Zoe sat on one of the folding camp stools, balancing the soup bowl on her knees. "I spoke to Tom Price today. And you'll never guess. Someone is paying almost half of our packing fees. Tom's company will pack our goods over Chilkoot Pass for thirty cents a pound. And that includes packing us all the way to Dawson." She stared at Juliette
while she spoke.

  "Glory be!" Clara blinked hard. "I was getting a bit depressed thinking about how many times we were going to have to climb the pass to get our goods to the top. But I can afford thirty cents. And all the way to Dawson!"

  Zoe glared. "It's charity, Clara. Someone pities us. Someone who feels superior has condescended to make our journey easier."

  "I'd already decided to hire a packer," Juliette said. After the experience with the wheelbarrow on the beach, she'd decided it was simply impossible for her to transport her goods herself. "I think it's very nice that someone already made the arrangements and saved us a lot of money."

  "Really. And who do you suppose that nice someone might be?" Zoe asked in a furious tone.

  "I have no idea." Juliette didn't understand Zoe's tight expression and snippy attitude.

  "I think you do have an idea."

  Clara frowned. "Wait a minute. It almost sounds like you think Juliette is paying the extra."

  "Oh, my. Now why would you imagine that?" Zoe asked, arching an eyebrow. "Could it be because Juliette has more money than anyone we know and can afford to give the little people a handout? Or is it because we don't really know anyone in Alaska except each other, so it must be one of us?"

  "Well?" Clara asked. "Are you paying Tom Price to pack us in for a ridiculously low price?"

  Dumbfounded, Juliette looked from one face to the other. "It isn't me. Admitting this makes me sound selfish and thoughtless, but it never entered my mind to pay a packing company to pack you two all the way to Dawson."

  They were traveling to the same destination at the same time, but they weren't companions and they weren't friends. The best that could be said was that they were related by marriage. And they loathed each other for that relationship.

  "If you didn't make the arrangements, then who did?" Zoe demanded.

  "Your friend, Mr. Price?" Juliette had no idea who would do such a generous thing.

  "I haven't seen Tom in years. And he wasn't my friend, he was my brother's friend. Tom's doing well up here, but I don't think he's rich enough or foolish enough to squander his money helping three greenhorn women."

  "The only other people we know are Bear Barrett and Ben Dare," Clara pointed out. "Is Mr. Dare rich?"

  "I doubt it." Juliette seriously considered the question. "Mr. Dare is going to the Yukon to prospect for gold. I don't think a rich man would do that."

  "And I don't think Bear Barrett would subsidize two women he doesn't know and one who humiliated him in public," Clara added. A frown pulled at her brows. "He's angry that I bested him in the arm-wrestling tournament. I ran into him today, and he didn't even say hello. He just leaned down and growled at me. He said, 'There will be a rematch. And the next time you aren't going to win.' "

  "So who does that leave us with?" Zoe asked in a hard voice, scowling at Juliette.

  She couldn't believe this. "I promise you, I'm not the mysterious benefactor. But if I were, why would that make you so angry?"

  "Because I know what you're doing! You want to tell Jean Jacques if it wasn't for you, we would have worn ourselves to a nub carrying goods back and forth. You want him to think it was your idea to find him and you made it possible. And, you want to feel superior to us! Like you're better than us!"

  Juliette gasped. "That isn't true! Until the Annasett sailed without me, I was planning to return to Seattle!"

  Zoe rolled her eyes. "You don't plan anything, Juliette. You just let yourself get carried along. I suspect you've known all along that you wouldn't be on the Annasett when it returned to Seattle. You want to find Jean Jacques as much as we do."

  To her dismay, most of what Zoe said was true. She did allow herself to be swept along by events and people. Moreover, she couldn't argue that she didn't feel superior to Zoe and Clara, because sometimes she did. Sometimes she thought that Jean Jacques had married beneath himself when he wed those two.

  "I'll accept your charity," Zoe continued, her eyes as glittery and hard as blue ice. "I'll accept because I'm worried about how long my money will last and because using a packer will make the journey a hundred times easier. But I'll never thank you for this handout. And I detest you for hiding behind anonymity and for putting me in a position where I have to accept your charity or feel stupid and suffer great hardship."

  After setting her soup bowl on the ground, Zoe strode into the tent and threw down the flap behind her.

  Juliette blinked at Clara. "Truly, I didn't pay Tom Price any part of our packing fees. It's someone else."

  Juliette couldn't eat either, she was too upset. Life with Aunt Kibble had not been a fraction as turbulent and draining as life with her husband's other wives. And no one had ever spoken to her as directly or as insultingly as Zoe and Clara did. Nor had she ever addressed anyone as directly and, yes, occasionally insultingly as she sometimes addressed Zoe and Clara. It was a terrible thing to be forced to endure the company of people one loathed. The circumstance brought out the very worst in her.

  "I don't know why Bear's so angry," Clara said, studying the chunk of black crust that she turned between her fingers. "Before the match, he said he could accept defeat gracefully." She frowned at Juliette. "Surely he knew it was possible that I'd beat him. Even if he believed it would take a miracle, he must have known it could happen."

  "So who could it be?" She scanned the closed flap of the tent, upset that Zoe was so angry at her, "Ben, that is Mr. Dare, speaks well and he has nice manners. But I just don't think a rich man would travel all this distance to dig around in frozen sand. He doesn't even believe he'll find gold."

  Now that she thought about it, Ben's trip to the Yukon didn't make much sense. Unless he didn't want her to know that he was as desperate as the other stampeders.

  Clara dropped the bread crust into her bowl. "I never meant to humiliate or embarrass him. I didn't think about that. I just wanted to win the prize."

  Last night Juliette had dreamed about Benjamin Dare. They had been walking along the shore, except in her dream, the shore had been white sand instead of pebbles.

  Overhead was the twilight sky of an Alaskan spring, but she could see stars anyway. There was no tent city in her dream, no town, no mountains. Just the shore and the sky and Benjamin. He had turned her in his arms, kissed her, then they had sunk to their knees on the sand, and she had swooned as he began to open her shirtwaist.

  Lowering her head, she swallowed and blinked at the cooling surface of her soup. For months she had wanted to dream about Jean Jacques, but she never had. She didn't want to dream about Ben Dare, but this was the second time he had made love to her in her dreams. It didn't feel decent or right.

  After a while, she looked at the closed tent flap and wondered what Zoe was doing inside. "Do you think Zoe will really kill Jean Jacques?" she asked Clara.

  "What? Oh, ja. I think she will."

  For a moment Juliette felt disoriented. Surely she was not in Alaska, for heaven's sake, dreaming about a handsome man she had not known five weeks ago and sharing a tent with a would-be murderess and an arm wrestler. How on earth had such an improbable thing happened?

  Tilting her head back, she stared up at the pale night sky and wished she could go home to California, where the nights were warm, the days boringly tranquil, and where she had never heard of a disturbing man named Ben Dare.

  In her dreams there was no Jean Jacques, there was only Ben, his intent blue eyes filling her vision before he crushed her in his arms.

  Guilt made her touch her wedding ring. How could her dreams be filled with such longing for one man when she was married to another? What kind of person was she?

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  The Chilkoot trail, or the Poor Man's Trail as it was also called, twisted through twenty-five miles of steep, tangled terrain. But the first five miles hadn't been too difficult, Clara decided, stopping to swing the pack off her back.

  The day was bright and crisply cold, a grand day for new beginnings,
a day to absorb nature. The ragged beauty of abruptly rising mountains awed her, and the flow of humanity ascending toward the pass made her feel part of something momentous.

  Choosing a rock beside the trail, she sat down and rummaged in her backpack until she found the sandwiches she'd made early this morning out of canned ham. She also had an apple, a piece of hard cheese, and a bottle of her carefully hoarded German ale, but she would save those items for her lunch.

  While she unwrapped a sandwich to eat now, she watched the steady stream of men trudging past her. Some pushed wheelbarrows piled high with boxes and crates, most carried huge loads on their backs, and others led pack animals even though the actual pass was too steep for horses or mules to climb. Clara wondered what happened to the animals when the prospectors reached Sheep Camp at the bottom of the pass.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Miss Klaus."

  Bear Barrett stepped out of the stream of foot traffic and approached the rock where she sat. His shaggy golden hair hung below a well-worn hat with a brim large enough to keep the sun off his face. He wore a heavy green sweater over loose trousers and sturdy walking boots.

  "Mind if I join you?" he asked, already sliding his pack to the ground beside her. "What have you got there? Ham? I've got fried egg and bacon. Would you like to trade one of your sandwiches for one of mine?"

  Clara accepted his offer and then pulled her corduroy skirt to the side to make room for him on her rock.

  "How many of those cheechakos do you think will make it all the way to Dawson?" Bear asked before he bit into one of Clara's ham sandwiches. His sharp gaze studied the men hiking past them.

  "I keep hearing that word, cheechako. What does it mean?"

  "It's the Chinook word for newcomer."

  "I suspect it means a bit more than that. Like stupid greenhorn. Or, idiots. Something not too complimentary."

  When Bear grinned, his craggy almost-menacing face relaxed into near handsomeness. Looking at him, Clara tried to imagine him without the broken nose and minus the scar through his eyebrow, but she couldn't. His crooked nose and dented face were part of who he was, and part of the reason her skin flushed when she gazed at him too long.