I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  The hot thrill of his lips shot through her body, and she forgot that they stood in the shade of an ice wall. The heat of his mouth and body enveloped her, set her skin aflame. And an unexpected jolt of yearning brought her arms up around his neck.

  What began as a gentle, tender kiss deepened into something Zoe could not have predicted. Sudden, overwhelming desire rocked her body. Tom's hands tightened on her waist, then he cupped the back of her head in his palm, kissed her hard, and moved against her as if he needed to be closer, closer. And heaven help her, that's what she wanted, too.

  When they pulled back to look at each other, their breathing was quick and ragged.

  "My God," Tom said softly.

  Zoe couldn't speak. She sagged in his arms and lowered her forehead to his shoulder. Tears choked her.

  Everything about this moment was wrong. Tom was a Newcastle boy who prided himself that he would always be a Newcastle boy. Zoe was a married woman. She had lied to him about her status, could not confide the truth about coming to the Yukon to find and kill the man she had married.

  "Please," she whispered, stepping out of his arms. "Please don't do that again."

  It seemed that a lifetime passed during the time he stared at her. Then his expression stiffened, and he apologized.

  Quickly, she placed a finger across his lips. "No, don't. I'm as much to blame as you. I could have stepped away. I could have said no. I should have."

  "Why?"

  Right now it didn't matter that she had agreed with the others not to tell anyone they were all married to the same man. Right now, pride stopped her tongue. Her battered self-esteem wanted Tom to believe she was desirable. She didn't want him to know how blind or deluded she had been, or that her husband had abandoned her without a backward glance.

  "I'd like us to remain friends," she said, turning from him.

  "We'll always be friends."

  "Friends don't kiss like that. It's better to pretend it didn't happen."

  For a full minute he remained silent. Then he touched her shoulder. "Something happened, Zoe. I didn't imagine it, and neither did you. Pretending isn't going to change what I felt."

  "I think we should leave now," she insisted, blinking hard as she walked toward the gelding. He wanted her to admit that she'd felt something, too. But she couldn't.

  Maybe she still felt a minuscule dollop of loyalty toward the man she had married. Maybe it felt indecent to press her body and her lips to one man while she wore another man's wedding ring. Maybe she simply did not want to admit she could desire a man from Newcastle.

  Silently Tom mounted the gelding, then extended his hand to swing her up behind him. After a tiny hesitation, Zoe wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his back.

  Tears burned her eyes. If Jean Jacques Villette had appeared right now, she could have killed the bastard without a pang of remorse.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  The trail bent sharply upward from Sheep Camp toward an area known as the scales. Clara made the three-mile ascent in a thick snowfall that didn't thin out until she reached the scales, where she had agreed to meet Juliette and Zoe.

  Once she caught her breath, she raised her eyes to Chilkoot Pass and her heart sank. A single file of men struggled up one thousand feet at a forty-five-degree angle. The barren treeless snow-covered slope looked a straight perpendicular from Clara's vantage point.

  Here and there a spent form dropped out of the line, and the man giving up came tumbling down the snowy incline in a dangerous uncontrolled fall. The controlled descent lay on the far right of the climbing men. A trough called the grease trail had been worn into the snow by those who had reached the summit and were now sliding down on the seat of their pants to fetch another load of goods before they made the nearly impossible climb again.

  "It takes from three to six hours to reach the top," a growly voice said at her side. "Unfortunately, the pace is set by the slowest climber."

  Clara pulled a heavy scarf away from her mouth and nose and refused to notice that her pulse accelerated when she heard his voice. "How do the men keep their footing?" she asked, holding her gaze on the climbers. They made her think of a line of dark ants steadily advancing up a steep and snowy anthill.

  "See those sourdoughs standing at the bottom? They cut steps in the ice. Fifteen hundred steps. If you want to use their staircase—and everyone does—you have to pay atoll."

  She nodded. Opportunists abounded in this wild inhospitable land, most of them seeking to profit from the prospectors' desperate push to reach the gold fields. Governments profited, too. At the top of Chilkoot, Canadian Mounties would collect customs duty on all supplies before the cheechakos were permitted to enter Canada. One needed a fat purse to survive this journey.

  The ragged mountain peaks that surrounded them were as craggy and intimidating as Bear Barrett's face, Clara decided without looking up at him. She edged away, but he stepped forward, moving closer this time.

  "All right," he said after a minute. A long breath expelled vapor from his lips. "I apologize for saying aloud that it would be easier if you were a woman of loose virtue, or whatever it was I said. I didn't intend to offend you, and that's the truth."

  She stood in unmoving silence so long that her feet started to chill despite thick stockings and heavy boots. "I accept your apology," she said finally, as they had both known she would.

  "Just once I would like to get through a single damned conversation without one of us getting mad."

  She shifted to look at him through the diminishing fall of snowflakes and sucked in a breath. "What in heaven's name have you rubbed all over your face?"

  "Bacon grease and wood ash. I recommend it to you and your companions to protect against wind and cold."

  Immediately Clara felt the raw fire in her cheeks raised by altitude-frigid temperatures and the steady wind blowing off the glaciers. But she couldn't quite imagine herself smearing that mess on her own face.

  A twinkle appeared in the brown-bear eyes peering out of ashy gray holes, and she noticed the defined contours of his lips since they, too, were outlined in grease and ash. Feeling her own mouth go dry, she swung her gaze back to the line of men struggling up the ice steps.

  "Have you thought about our rematch?"

  "I don't recall agreeing to any rematch," she said, feeling the bulk of him immediately behind her.

  "I think we should go for the best two out of three."

  The vapor from his breath puffed above and to the side of her hat, trailing away while she watched. "Maybe," she said, smiling. "I'll consider it."

  "Excellent!" His pleasure made her wonder if he'd been in more fights, defending himself from snickers or snide comments. "So. Are you ready to make the ascent? I'll follow behind you."

  If he did, she would feel his gaze on her bottom for the next three to six hours and agitate herself wondering what he was thinking—and thinking unseemly thoughts herself. Now a stream of vapor sighed from her lips. This huge shaggy man was driving her crazy. An example of her craziness was her embarrassing desire to shove him down in the snow and then jump on top of him. And it was shameful how Bear's presence obliterated all remembrance of Jean Jacques, her thieving no-good stinkbug of a husband.

  Suddenly her gaze sharpened, and she peered hard through the diminishing snow. "Is that Juliette standing in the ascent line?"

  Bear narrowed his eyes and nodded. "It looks like her."

  "We agreed to meet at the scales and make the climb together."

  She and Bear reached Juliette in fifteen minutes, ignoring shouts of "get in line," and "wait your turn."

  "What are you doing?" Clara demanded. "You were supposed to wait for Zoe and me." Juliette continued to astonish her. Clara would have wagered all she owned that she and Zoe would have to drag Juliette up Chilkoot Pass. But here she was. The first among them to join the climb line.

  Juliette raised liquid eyes and an ashen face. She tugged at a frost
-white scarf wrapped around her throat and mouth. "If I stop to think about this, I'll never do it. I need to keep going." She gripped her gloved hands together. "Oh, Lord. I'm just… I'm so… Oh, Lord. This is going to be…"

  The line inched forward, pushing Juliette closer to the men collecting the toll. Clara considered Juliette's petite form and delicately boned face. Already her hem was caked with heavy ice, and her cheeks burned red with cold. The shoulder pack containing a bite to eat and a canteen of hot tea looked too big, like the pack would topple Juliette at the next step. It seemed inconceivable that such a small fragile creature could make a climb that was defeating men twice her size.

  As if to underscore Clara's thoughts, a yell caught her attention, and she turned just as one of the men who had stepped out of line hurtled down the slope, bouncing from snow-covered rock to snow-covered rock. He landed at the bottom near the line waiting to ascend. When someone rushed to help, it became apparent that his fall had broken several bones.

  There was nothing to say except good luck. And, "I'll meet you at the summit." She gazed up at Bear. "That goes for you, too," she said, before leaving to search for Zoe.

  "I'll buy you that cup of coffee at the top," Bear called, giving her a jaunty wave. He focused a doubtful scowl on Juliette before he, too, strode away.

  Clara found Zoe at the scales staring up toward the summit with shock and dread. "I'd rather sail around the world than make that climb," she whispered when Clara asked if she was ready.

  Clara knew how to get her moving. "Juliette is already in line."

  "What?" Zoe swung around, squeezing her eyes into a glare. She swore for a full minute and then sighed heavily. "Damn it. Is she with Ben Dare? Is she attempting this to impress him?"

  "I didn't see Mr. Dare."

  "Damn," Zoe said again, infusing a volume of feeling into the word. She stamped her boot in the snow and ground her teeth together. "I cannot tell you how much I detest Jean Jacques! I hope he goes straight to hell after I shoot his butt."

  "Before you can shoot him, we have to find him. That means we have to climb Chilkoot Pass."

  Clara fixed her gaze on the antlike line toiling upward, and her heart fluttered. A word of encouragement from Bear would have been welcome. But like Juliette and Zoe, he appeared to assume that Clara had no fear. Sturdy ole Clara, that apple-cheeked workhorse, she would make the climb, don't worry. Well she was scared to death that her legs would give out midway, or that she'd lose heart, or slip and slide to the bottom in a pile of broken bones. Heights had never been her forte.

  Silently, she watched a man walk toward the line with a dog draped around his neck and shoulders. The incline was too steep for animals, the sled dogs had to be carried over the pass. Most of the men would make that horrible climb seven or eight times with at least a hundred pounds on their back.

  "All right," Zoe said, her teeth and fists clenched in determination. "Let's climb that bastard."

  "Go ahead. I'll be along in a minute," Clara promised, as Zoe stomped away from her toward the toll line.

  She would have run naked through the snow in front of everyone before she would have admitted that right now she had less courage than Juliette and Zoe. Reaching deep, she searched for the willpower to make herself join the line.

  Climbing Chilkoot Pass was the worst experience of Juliette's life. The absolute worst. Altitude thinned the air she fought to suck into her lungs. Her feet and hands were so cold they tingled. All she could see was the seventy-five-pound pack carried by the Indian woman directly in front of her. She couldn't see ahead and didn't know why the line stopped moving every now and then. Like everyone else, she seized those moments to rest and try to regain her breath. But then she became aware of her calf muscles knotting and twitching in violent protest against the grueling climb. When the line moved forward again, her legs were shaking and her back ached. Her throat hurt, her chest heaved, she couldn't breathe.

  She couldn't do this.

  Staggering, she stepped out of the line and sat in the snow, digging her heels in to prevent an undignified slide to the bottom. Lowering her head over her knees, she gasped for breath, trembling in every limb.

  She had no idea how long she'd been sitting, guiltily aware of the line struggling past her, before Zoe dropped into the snow at her side. But it was long enough to get thoroughly chilled even though she had drunk all of her hot tea.

  "I'm dying," Zoe gasped between gulps for air. "I ache all over. This pack weighs a million pounds. I swore I wouldn't thank you for paying Tom the major share of our packing fees, but I thank you. If I had to climb this again, I'd shoot myself."

  "I tell you, I didn't—"

  "Just remember I said I'm grateful."

  It was hopeless to argue. "At least it's stopped snowing."

  She didn't know why she said that. Whether it snowed or not wouldn't make the ice stairs shorter or less steep. She didn't say anything more for five minutes, silently praying that Zoe would say, "Let's slide to the bottom and go home. Let's forget about Jean Jacques Villette."

  What Zoe said instead was, "Look. There's Tom, carrying a dog on each shoulder."

  When Tom spotted them resting, he stopped, halting the men behind, and wordlessly beckoned them back into line in front of him. Zoe muttered under her breath and then stepped onto the ice stairs. Tom looked at Juliette and waited.

  Pride brought her to her feet and reluctantly back into line. It cheered her somewhat to climb past men who had fallen out to catch their breath. She wasn't the only one experiencing grave difficulty. But she began to doubt that she could reach the summit. Her lungs couldn't pull in enough air, her leg muscles burned, and her feet steadily became too heavy to lift to the next step.

  She went as far as she could, then she fell out of line again, giving Tom an apologetic look as she dropped down in the snow, sweaty and gasping hard for breath, half believing that she was having a heart attack. Now it was a long way to the bottom and the possibility of sliding down frightened her, but she decided she could do it. She had to do it because she simply wasn't strong enough to make it to the summit.

  "On your feet, woman," a voice boomed. "You'll catch your death if you let yourself get too cold after sweating."

  For a minute she thought she was looking at a monster. Then she recognized Bear's eyes peering out of a gray greasy mask.

  "I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. Exhausted tears of defeat glistened in her eyes.

  "I'll help." Catching her hand, he jerked her to her feet and back into line. Then she felt his huge hands on her buttocks, pushing her up to the next step.

  Embarrassment scalded a face already red from the wind and cold. She was too frozen to feel his hands through her petticoats, her skirt, her coat, and his gloves. Still, it was indecent. But she didn't say anything, she just let him help her up one step and then another and another. But eventually, even Bear's assistance wasn't enough to keep her going. She was simply tuckered out, done in from exhaustion and strenuous effort.

  "I'm sorry," she muttered, stumbling out of the line.

  He frowned through the monster mask, then shrugged and moved on. And she felt like crying. The slide down terrified her. But she could not go another step farther, her feet were chunks of lead, her lungs burned, she shook all over. And now she was stuck two-thirds of the way up Chilkoot Pass, unable to go on up and too frightened to slide down. She no longer believed she could slide to the bottom without enduring severe injury.

  Weeping, she ate her sandwich and the last of her apples, not because she was hungry but in an effort to lighten her pack.

  "You miserable weakling."

  Choking on hopelessness, she opened her eyes and discovered Clara standing on the ice steps glaring at her.

  "Get up and get back in this line," Clara hissed. "Every man who passes you is feeling vindicated. Women don't belong in the Yukon. We're the weaker vessel. We aren't tough enough." She gasped between the words, sucking air into her chest. "Get in t
his line before you totally disgrace your sex. Be a man."

  "I'm not a man," Juliette protested weakly, blinking hard. Teardrops had frozen on her lashes. "And I admit I'm not tough enough. They're right."

  "If I can do this, so can you. Get the hell back in this line! And I mean right now!"

  Ice caked her scarf and coated her skirts almost to the waist. She hardly had enough strength to get up and step back into line, let alone climb more steps. But Clara's scorn got her moving again. For one bitter moment, she couldn't endure the thought that Zoe and Clara would succeed where she could not; that notion gave her a tiny motivating burst of energy. Anger pumped her muscles and stiffened her determination, and she scraped together enough willpower to fight upward. This time she labored behind Clara, listening to ragged breathing, watching Clara's legs tremble with fatigue when the wind caught her skirt. The line moved forward at an excruciating and inexorable pace.

  But the moment came when she could not lift her foot up one more step. She simply could not. Over the hours, the muscles she needed to climb had played out. Her throat was dry and burned from the effort to draw in enough icy air to fuel her lungs. The weight of her pack threatened to pull her over backward.

  Like a dumb animal seeking relief, she turned out of line and sat hard on a rock buried beneath inches of snow. And she cursed herself for not sliding to the bottom when the bottom was a short distance away. Now she stared down nine hundred feet and knew the fall would break every bone in her body if not kill her. But she could not make it to the summit. Fresh tears of fear and panic froze on her cheeks.

  "Resting a minute is an excellent idea," Ben said, dropping down beside her.

  She hadn't seen him step out of the line, it was as if he magically appeared. And she was so glad to see him. Turning blindly, she dropped her head and pressed her forehead against his chest.

  "I can't go farther," she gasped between shuddering sobs.