“You did.” Hope nodded, as she slipped from the burro’s back, sending her father her most charming smile. As always, it melted the frosty demeanor Bart constantly strove to maintain with what he’d grown to regard as his sinfully wayward daughter.
“But you came anyway. Now, why aren’t I surprised?” His sharp gaze scanned the crowd, noticing the men’s hungry reaction to his daughter’s presence.
Hope’s smile weakened. She wasn’t as oblivious to the stares as she pretended; however, they didn’t bother her nearly as much as they bothered Bart. “Where’s Luke?” she asked with forced cheerfulness. She watched, amused, as her father gauged the reactions of the men closest to them.
“Just sent Old Joe to fetch him.”
“And the twins?”
“Keeping an eye on the Swedes,” Bart snorted as he glared at a young, tow-headed fellow who had the nerve to stare longingly at the high-buttoned neckline of Hope’s dress.
The thick cord of hair, caught at her nape with a peach ribbon, swayed at her waist as she followed her father’s gaze. The young man in question was quick to turn his lecherous attention elsewhere. Hope anxiously scanned the crowd of eager, grubby faces. Her spirits dropped. Drake Frazier was not to be found.
Bart’s gaze also followed suit. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be here. Give him a chance.”
“Hmph! We’ll see about that, missy. We’ll just see.”
He will be here, she told herself, he promised. Even a rat like Drake Frazier wouldn’t go back on his word. Or would he?
Unfortunately, her conscience chose that moment to remind her that she, too, had made a promise she never intended to honor. The memory of the pact did nothing to ease her tension. What if Frazier suspected her deception and decided not to fight because of it? No, he couldn’t suspect. She’d given him no reason to think she wouldn’t keep her end of the deal. But what if he had—?
Hope had no time to finish the thought as a murmur of approval rushed through the men. She turned to see Old Joe escorting Luke toward them. A few men reached out to pat the large back. One or two voices raised to call out a word of encouragement. Luke looked at them all as if they’d lost their minds. The look he sent his sister was filled with even more confusion. Hadn’t Hope said he wouldn’t be fighting today? Hadn’t she said Frazier would be taking his place? Luke peered over the crowed with a scowl. The towering blond head was nowhere to be seen, and his sister looked more nervous than he’d ever seen her.
Old Joe opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut when Luke asked the very question he’d been about to voice.
“Where is he, Hope?” Luke asked as he joined them.
“How the hell should I know?” Puckering her lips, Hope turned her attention back to the crowd. For a split second, she saw a head whose coloring could rival that of the gunslinger’s. When the man came into full view, she recognized the narrow shoulders and scrawny chest as belonging to Mac Snidley, the man whose coyote hole bordered theirs.
“You are the one who hired him.” Bart’s voice drew her attention back. “Didn’t he say what time he’d be here?”
Her spirits dipped again as Hope nibbled her lower lip and frowned. “No, he didn’t say,” she lied, her throat constricting. Only now did she realize that, in her nervousness three nights ago, she had forgotten to tell Frazier what time the fight was. What if he thought it was to be in the afternoon? Worse still, what if he’d thought it was earlier this morning—and had already come and gone?
Bart’s jaw tightened. “Well, missy, didn’t you ask him?”
“Don’t matter if she did or didn’t.” Old Joe’s craggy voice saved her from answering. He nodded his fuzzy chin to a spot just beyond her shoulder. “He’s comin’ now.”
Drake Frazier walked down the narrow dirt path with a gait that bespoke a man ready to win. His determination was reflected in each long stride as his boot heels crunched over the bits of dirt and gravel cluttering the trail. One by one, his commanding presence captured the miners’ attention.
The gunslinger had come prepared to fight. Unlike the snug denims of three nights ago, the pants he wore now were loose-fitting, chocolate brown trousers. A cottony green plaid shirt billowed appealingly over the muscles in the broad shoulders and sinewy arms. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled to just below the elbows, exposing a good deal of bronze flesh and enticingly proportioned forearms. Since no hat graced his head, there was nothing to stop the light stirring of the breeze from blowing at the golden mane that framed the broad forehead and rugged cheekbones.
His confident, bordering on arrogant, stance set him apart from the rest of the men. Hope noted that, as he reached the outskirts of the crowd, there was something about his mannerisms that showed him at ease with the others. He didn’t openly greet the men surrounding him, yet he didn’t peer down his nose at the prospectors, either. Instead, he joined the circle as though he belonged there, and, even though he towered above most of the others, he appeared oddly at home.
“I told you he’d be here,” Hope informed her father with a proud smile. She watched, transfixed, as Frazier stopped to exchange greetings with a ragged miner.
“Hmph!” Bart snorted, then turned to old Joe, but not before Hope could spot a hint of relief shimmering in his steely eyes. “For one hundred dollars, I didn’t think he’d show.”
Old Joe plucked off his hat and scratched vigorously at the weathered bald spot crowning his scalp before setting the worn leather back atop his head. His angular shoulders rose in a lazy shrug. “Some men’ll do anythin’ for a buck. Specially a fella like that ‘un.”
Money? Ha! If they only knew the half of it. She hadn’t told them about the deal she’d struck with Frazier, and she didn’t intend to. She hadn’t even told Luke. There was no need, since she had no intention of honoring it.
Hope winced. Many times they had questioned Frazier’s reasons for accepting a mere pittance for risking his life in going up against the Swedes. Never once did they question Hope’s methods of getting him to do so. Their open trust ate at her conscience, such as it was. In securing her brother’s life, her pride had taken a mortal blow. Never before had she given her word then reneged, and to do so now disturbed her more than she cared to admit.
“Think he can do it?” Luke asked Old Joe, as Frazier shook one miner’s hand, then cheerfully clapped another on the back.
The old man jammed his fist in his pockets, cackling “He’d better. We already got a shaft dug. Hate like hell to leave it now.” He nodded to the men gathering on the other side of the crowd. “Especially knowin’ they’d be benefitin’ from all our hard work.”
Hope followed his gaze, her throat tightening. With the exception of one, all were tall, brawny men, almost equal to Luke in size and stature. Like the Bennetts, they’d traveled from camp to camp, looking to stake a rich claim. This time, they’d picked one already taken by the Bennetts. Things had turned nasty and then the Swedes came up with their idea. What could be simpler than having each group pick their biggest, strongest man to wage a fistfight, winner take claim? Hope, to her eternal regret, had somehow agreed. Since the idea didn’t go against the town’s bylaws, the agreement was considered settled.
Unfortunately, Hope had overlooked the most important aspect—who would fight. Old Joe was too old. So was her father. The Manchester twins weren’t big enough to stand half a chance at winning. That left Luke. With his size and strength, he was the obvious candidate, and yet, because of his mental impairment, he couldn’t be. The only flaw in an otherwise flawless plan, she belatedly mused.
“What if we lose?” Luke asked Old Joe. When he received no answer, he tapped his father’s shoulder. “Does that mean we still have to pay Frazier, Pa? Even if he loses?”
“Dead men don’t need money,” Bart grumbled.
Drake Frazier emerged through the men to Hope’s right and approached the group. A quick glance at the Swedes, who were eying them carefully, told her that this
new development hadn’t gone unnoticed. He didn’t break stride as he latched onto Hope’s arm and continued to move, with her in tow.
“A moment alone with your daughter, Bennett,” was all the greeting he gave as he dragged a protesting Hope in his wake.
The shade of the granite boulder two feet away was a welcome respite from the heat. Hope took no time to enjoy it. She swept a few chestnut wisps back from her brow and glared at him angrily. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded when they stopped short, out of the crowd’s hearing distance.
Although the hand was no longer pulling her, it was still painfully attached to her arm. She tried to shake it off, but like a pesky fly, it refused to leave.
“I’m upping the ante,” Drake replied with a wry twist of his lips. His eyes shimmering in the rays of the late morning sun.
“Upping the—? What!? You can’t do that!”
He chuckled sarcastically, running a roughened palm over his stubbled jaw. “Why not?” he shrugged. “I thought your offer over and realized that what you’re offering is not worth risking my neck over. Now, either you make swallowing a few teeth worth my while, or your brother can do the fighting himself.” He grinned wickedly, knowing damn well she wasn’t in a position to refuse him. “Which will it be, sunshine?”
Hope’s eyes narrowed and her stomach felt as though it had been tied in a strong, hard knot. What, exactly, did he want more of? “Isn’t it a little late for this, Frazier?” she asked, her cheeks draining of color. “I told you before, one hundred dollars is all we have. Less now. What else is there?”
“What I want,” he replied, his words slowed to prolong her agony, “is a cut of the take. If I win, I want part of the mine.”
“Part of—but that’s ridic—!” She snapped her mouth shut and took a few quick breaths to calm her temper. It didn’t work. “What if you lose?” she asked tersely, as he dropped his hand from her arm. “What then?”
“I never lose.” Drake caught and held her gaze, his smile outrageously confident.
Hope tore her attention away, sparing a glance at the tall, robust, blond men. Which one would fight? It would have been tough to decide which of the four was the largest, the most foreboding. They all looked like they could easily tear the large boulder beside her out of the ground with their bare hands.
Frazier’s gaze followed her own, but Hope noticed that it was entirely lacking in fear. Instead, every fiber of his body seemed rigidly self assured. The man’s ego was truly amazing.
“Let’s suppose you do lose,” she continued tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whether you want to admit it or not, there is that chance. If we’re going to make a deal here, I want to know exactly what I get out of it.”
“Spoken like a true southern brat,” he quipped sarcastically. “If I lose, Miss Bennett, you’ll hardly win.”
“As it stands right now, Mr. Frazier, if you lose, we move our camp. Obviously, no one will profit if that happens.”
He smiled dryly. “Obviously. Any suggestions?”
“Yes, actually. On the off chance you do lose, I want all debts to be considered null and void.” She averted her gaze to a pebble near her foot. “I think that’s fair.”
“Fair? It’s fair only if you aren’t the one bleeding in the dirt.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his gaze focusing on the Swedes, then shook his head. “No. It was a good try, sunshine, but my original price stands. Even if I lose, I get the hundred dollars,” he paused for the length of a heartbeat, “and the pleasure of your company for one night. If I win I get the same, plus a healthy cut of what comes out of your claim.”
“But you won’t work it,” she sneered. “What’s the matter, gunslinger? Afraid a little good, honest work might get your hands dirty? Or is it your reputation you’re worried about?”
“The only thing I’m worried about right now is whether or not I can trust you,” he growled.
His answer, shockingly honest, took Hope by surprise. She blushed fiercely when she realized his mistrust was well-founded.
“Of course I can be trusted,” she lied, thrusting her chin up proudly as their gazes clashed. “No reason to think I can’t be.”
“Oh no? Look over there,” he said, nodding to a point past her shoulder. “I can’t believe all those men would let a woman—a supposedly decent one, mind you, not the ones at The Brass Button Tavern—roam the countryside unattached. Not when there are so many men and so few skirts. Logic says there’s got to be a reason for that.”
There was a reason, a good one. But Hope would be damned if she’d share it with the likes of this conniving rat! “Let’s leave my personal life out of this, gunslinger. What I do, and who I do it with, is none of your goddamn business.”
“It is if you’ll be carrying anything contagious to my bed, lady.” His attention returned to the men. “Miners aren’t the cleanest of men. And they aren’t known for being very particular about their women.”
Hope contained the urge to slap the arrogant smirk from his face by balling up her hands into tight fists. The tips of her fingernails dug painful crescents into the fleshy part of her palms. She was blushing, she could feel it, and she hated the instinctive reaction. “I am no man’s ‘woman,’ “ she hissed indignantly, flexing her fingers and willing them to refrain from doing what they itched most to do.
Frazier’s lazy smile made Hope’s urge to whack him all the stronger. Containing her anger wasn’t easy, but by using a healthy dose of Bennett determination, she managed.
Looking away for a diversion, she noticed the group behind her. The men shuffled restlessly, mumbling amongst themselves. Her father had stepped into what was now a circle of men, and was talking to one of the Swedes. The wild gestures of the burly blond suggested that whatever Bart Bennett was saying, it wasn’t welcome news.
Her palms went suddenly moist and a surge of fear rushed through her veins. “It’s time. Are you going to fight?”
“Depends. Do we have a deal?”
Hope sighed. There was no way out. He’d cornered her someplace between saving her pride and saving Luke’s life. The latter easily won out. She forced the air from her lungs and drew in another ragged breath. “Yeah,” she said weakly, “we have a deal. I—I’ll talk to my father and see what can be done about the mine.”
“And tonight?” His voice was soft, husky whisper as the tip of a calloused finger traced the smooth line of her jaw. “Don’t tell me you forgot about tonight, sunshine?”
She swatted his hands away. “As if you’d let me!”
Frazier’s deep, rumbling laughter was her only answer as he cupped her cheek, then dropped his hands to his side. His voice was still thick with humor as he said, “You know, I once read in a book—yes, I can read, don’t look so surprised—that in medieval times, a lady fair would give her lover a token to take into battle. It was supposed to bring the fighter luck.” All laughter was suddenly gone as his voice lowered to a throaty pitch. “Are you going to give me a token, Hope?”
“This isn’t the Middle Ages,” she replied tightly, hiding her surprise that a man like Drake Frazier would even know about such things. “And I am definitely not your lover.”
“Yet,” he dared to remind her. The single word coiled around Hope’s spine. “A technicality that will be remedied. But I’d still like a token.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense,” she scoffed, gasping when he reached down and pulled a glistening, curved blade bowie knife from the top of his boot.
Before Hope could stop him, the sun-bronzed hands had reached out and sliced free a thick chestnut curl. His other hand returned the knife to its hidden sheath.
“A token,” he stated, much too lightly for Hope’s liking as her fingers automatically groped the place where the curl had been. She gasped, her mouth open wide in silent protest, as Frazier wound the thick lock of hair around his hand.
“Ready?” he asked, as he slipped the chestnut strand from his knuckles a
nd tucked in into his pants pocket.
He didn’t wait for an answer as he strode by her, leaving nothing for Hope to do but follow in his wake. Not a pleasant prospect, that, she soon realized as she forced herself to face that broad back and the swaggering stride of his lean hips.
Bart Bennett’s gaze drifted from the brooding Swede to his daughter. Hope nodded tightly and took her place between Luke and Old Joe. Frazier stood a small distance from Luke. Although his gaze seemed to be drifting lazily about his surroundings, Hope doubted the sea-green eyes missed a thing.
“What’s going on?” she asked Old Joe when her father and the Swede launched into another angry bout of conversation.
“Garth’s madder’n a polecat in heat cuz Luke won’t be fightin’.” Coughing in the back of his throat, he turned his head and spit in the dirt near his feet.
Luke puffed his chest proudly. “He’s gonna be even madder when he finds out who’s taking my place.”
Watching Bart and Garth split apart, Hope had a feeling the Swede had just found out. Garth glared over his shoulder as Bart rejoined his group.
“Well?” Old Joe asked. “What’d he say?”
“What could he say?" Bart shrugged. “It wasn’t in the rules that we couldn’t get outside help. Nobody said outright that you were fighting, they just assumed it. Isn’t our fault they jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“A conclusion we goaded them into,” Hope chirped in.
“Maybe.” Bart shrugged. “Maybe not. The point is, Luke’s not fighting.” He turned his attention to Drake, although his words were aimed at his daughter. “Your friend here is.”
A flicker of unease washed over her as she watched the Swede Frazier would be fighting approach the other side of the circle.
Of course, Oren Larzdon turned out to be the biggest, brawniest of the lot. His snowy blond head easily towered over the other men around him. His shoulders were wide, his arms muscular. There was a hardness in the bony face, and a flash of shrewdness in the pale blue eyes. Gut instinct told Hope that this man had no intention of fighting fair.
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