The
Fur Trader's
Daughter
Colleen French
Copyright © 1988, 2019 by Colleen French. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].
Version 1.0
This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York, under the title Snowfire and under the name Colleen Faulkner.
Cover by The Killion Group
For Joyce Flaherty,
who believed in me. . . .
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Prologue
Seattle, Washington Territory
Late Summer, 1885
Trembling, Gabrielle LeBeau pressed her body against the rough shingled wall of a warehouse and forced back the tears that welled up in her brown eyes. She was certain Taylor had seen her cross the street, and she knew he wasn't far behind. Slipping her gloved hand into the velvet drawstring purse, her fingers touched the hard, cold steel of a Colt 45.
Drawing in a deep breath of the tangy, salt air, the slim young woman stepped from the late afternoon shadows of the building and started down Water Street. Just four more blocks, she told herself, keeping her hand inside the purse. Four blocks to the dock and you're free. Ignoring the mud that splashed the hem of her elegant, black brocade gown and rose over her high-buttoned boots, she hurried, keeping to the middle of the street.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Taylor again, his hat pushed forward to shadow his leering face. As long as there were people on the street, men moving crates and hauling materials in wagons, she was certain she'd be safe. But if he caught her alone . . . Gabrielle bit down on her lower lip until she tasted her own blood. She'd not let him get the best of her! Just a little farther now. . . . She could hear the sound of steam being exhausted into the summer air as a ship prepared to get under way. She'd come this far; she couldn't lose her nerve now.
Crossing the next street, Gabrielle broke into a run. She hadn't counted on the warehouses being locked tight, the rutted street winding between the dirty buildings being empty. Yanking up the burdensome skirts to her knees, she raced down the middle of the paved street. Behind her, she could hear the sound of the murderer's feet hitting the brick. She was still ahead of him when she turned the corner, veering left, desperately searching for other people. She had to get back out in a crowd; he wouldn't dare harm her in front of witnesses.
Suddenly, she spotted a well-dressed, redheaded gentleman on the far side of the street. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before rushing up and throwing her arms around the stranger. "John," she cried impulsively. "I didn't think you'd make it before the steamer sailed." She stared into the honest face, her dark brown eyes pleading. "Just play along," she whispered beneath her breath, pressing a kiss to his lips. "You must believe me! My life's in danger. Please, help me. I need you to escort me to the Lady Yukon, pier three."
Jefferson Alexander the fourth stared at the young woman who'd thrown herself so enthusiastically into his arms, then glanced up to spot a man in a dark coat coming around the corner. The fear in the girl's haunting, raspy voice made him turn and start down the street, his arm wrapped possessively around her shoulders.
"Thank you," Gabrielle murmured. "I don't think the bastard'll lay a finger on me in front of anyone."
Alex blinked, looking down at her lovely face. Vulgarity was not something he expected from this bundle of femininity; she was obviously a lady. Dressed in the height of fashion in a heavy brocade, bustle and all, she wore a black straw, capote bonnet tied with a flourish of silk and velvet. Only the somber black of the gown seemed out of place on the young woman.
"Why is the gentleman following you?" Alex linked her gloved hand through his arm. Was he aiding and abetting a thief, a swindler? There were certainly enough of those in this town.
"I haven't done a thing." Gabrielle took a quick look over her shoulder. Taylor was still following her but had put some distance between them. "He's the guilty party." She raised her chin a notch, her brown eyes cold and aloof. "Just to the Lady Yukon, and then I can care for myself."
Alex raised a dark eyebrow, keeping up his pace. The wharfs were only another block down.
"What? Don't think I can? I could have out-run the weasel if I wasn't dressed in all of this fluff." She tugged at the brocade skirt of her gown, after seeing the look that crossed Alex's face.
Alex didn't know what to make of her. She certainly was like no Southern young lady he'd ever met. One of his sisters would never have spoken to a stranger in this manner. Of course, none of his sisters would have ever gotten themselves into a situation where they needed assistance from some man off the street. Alex was strangely intrigued. "Heading north are you?"
Gabrielle looked over her shoulder again, her arm still linked in Alex's. "Where else might the Lady Yukon be going, the tropics?" Her reply was curt, but no malice seemed to be intended. "Here we are. Out-fooled the fool, haven't I?" She released Alex's arm, hurrying up the ramp that led to the steamer. "Thank you!" she called, waving over her shoulder. "I won't forget it."
"Last aboard!" shouted a hand on the deck.
"Wait," Alex shouted, his voice drowning in a sea of sounds. "What's your name? Where are you going?"
Gabrielle stepped onto the deck, refusing the uniformed hand's assistance. "What difference does it make?" she shouted back over the railing. "You'll not see me again." She was smiling now, a smile that brightened her delicate oval face.
Alex pulled his round hat off his head, running down the dock as the steamer began to move. "Humor me!" he called, leaping over massive mooring lines.
Gabrielle just tipped back her head, laughing as she slipped the black gloves from her hands. Tossing them over the rail, she turned and disappeared.
Alex watched the black gloves float through the air, one landing in the water, the other on the edge of the filthy dock. Leaning over, he picked up the bit of material and stood watching the Lady Yukon disappear into the channel. Then, raising the glove to his lips, he started back up the street.
Below decks on the Lady Yukon, Gabrielle yanked the black capote bonnet from her head and tossed it onto the narrow ship's bed. Twisting to unhook the long row of black buttons down her back, she let the heavy brocade dress slip to the floor. "
Didn't think I'd manage it, did you, Papa?" Her voice echoed in the small ship's cabin, shattering the lonely silence. Running her hand through her short, cropped chestnut hair, she shook her head letting out a deep breath. "It's okay, Papa," she whispered. "You never answered me when you were alive, either."
Chapter One
Somewhere on the Tanana River
Alaska Territory, October, 1885
Indian Jack settled himself on the step outside the cabin and relit a half-smoked cigar. Inhaling deeply, he leaned his back against the door and pursed his lips to try a smoke ring one last time. When he spotted two men with a sled and a handful of dogs coming over a hill to the south, he shook his head, a twitch of a smile crossing his windburned face. Too late to be headin' north, he thought to himself. Too late by a couple of days.
When the strangers reached the cabin, they had to speak twice to Indian Jack before he finally pushed his hat up off his forehead and gazed at them through pitch-black eyes. "What'cha want?" He didn't like strangers, especially foolish ones.
The man with greying temples spoke up. "We want to buy provisions. We were told we could buy food here." Simone Parsons slipped the pack off his back, letting it hit the snow-covered ground with a thump.
"That right?" Indian Jack gave a nod, glancing at the man's redheaded partner. "Who told you that?"
"Listen here, Indian." Parsons raised his voice impatiently. "Can we, or can't we buy food here?" He glanced up at the small, crude cabin doubtfully.
Without bothering to reply, Indian Jack slowly got to his feet and disappeared into the cabin, closing the door soundly behind him. "Gabe, got visitors." He gave a little chuckle. "Looking for provisions."
Gabrielle turned from the crate she was pushing across the floor and let out a sigh, shaking her head. "How much do they need? I hadn't figured on anyone else coming through for a while." She slapped the crate with a hand. "It's doubtful I'll be able to find anything in this mess. I think Papa was right; I'm going to have to build on next spring." She surveyed the crates and boxes piled ceiling high in the small log cabin.
Indian Jack just gave a shrug, chewing on the end of the cigar butt still in his mouth.
"Well—" Gabrielle wiped her hands on her heavy cotton breeches and reached for a wool sweater hanging on a wooden peg—"guess I'll go see what they want. The sooner they can load up, the sooner they can be on their way." She pulled a brimmed wool hat over her short, dark hair. "Awful late to just be getting supplies isn't it?"
Suddenly, the sound of snarling dogs filled Gabrielle's ears, and she flung the massive hand-hewn door open, stepping out into the bright sunshine. "What's going on out here?" she demanded with authority. Her glance shifted from the dog fight just outside the door to the two strangers standing a few feet away.
"Get him off my dog!" Parsons shouted, taking a step back. "He'll kill him."
Anger rose in her cheeks as Gabrielle tried to get her sled dog's attention. "Tristan! Back! No!" she shouted, coming down the step.
"Well, aren't you going to do something?" The younger stranger shouted to the boy that had just stepped from the cabin.
"Do something? What do you suggest?" Gabrielle snapped. Fur flew in great puffs through the air, and the sound of the growling, barking dogs sent a primeval chill down her spine.
When sled dogs got into a fight like this, they fought to the death like their ancestral wolves. The strange dog had invaded Tristan's territory, and he would die for it. Anyone who dared get between them, risked being maimed or killed by the huge canines.
Running to the side of the cabin, Gabrielle snatched a long piece of firewood from a pile and started to beat the dogs in the head, taking care to keep out of the way of their powerful snapping jaws. "Get back, Tristan!" she ordered, wincing as her lead dog sank his teeth into the other's hip. "No! Bad dog! Back!" she shouted vainly.
But it was of no use, by the time she got Tristan off the stranger's dog, the husky was lying on its side howling with pain.
The younger man moved forward, reaching his hand out to his dog.
"Get back!" Gabrielle shouted as the dog snapped at the man. "He'll take your arm off." Dragging Tristan around the cabin to a make-shift dog pen, she returned to confront the strangers. "Have you lost your minds?" she demanded through clenched teeth. "Look what you did to him." She gestured with one hand to the dog rolling and whimpering in the snow. "Why did you unhook him from his traces?"
"What we did to him!" The younger of the two men stepped forward, confronting Gabrielle angrily. "Listen, boy! It was your damned dog that attacked mine!"
Gabrielle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You should have had him under control." She gave him a shove on the chest with the palm of her hand. "This is my dog's territory; he was protecting it, protecting me!"
The man twisted around at the sound of the husky howling in pain. His belly was slit, and his entrails rolled in the snow. "Can't you do anything for him?"
"Yea, I can do something for him," she answered bitterly. Stepping in the cabin, she returned in a second, a rifle in her hand.
The young man, Alex, stood frozen in horror as Gabrielle slid back the bolt on the rifle and pulled the trigger. His eyes drifted shut at the sound of the shot, and he struggled to control the bile rising in his throat. "You killed my dog," he accused through tight lips.
"No," Gabrielle spat. "You killed him." Turning on her heels, she took four long strides to the cabin steps and disappeared inside, slamming the door behind her.
Uninvited tears rolled down Gabrielle's cheeks as she hung the rifle on its peg and yanked her hat off her head. Damn him! Damn the tenderfoot and his stupidity! Why did these men keep coming? They came, they killed and they died hunting for gold that didn't exist.
Brushing the tears from her face with the back of her hand, she went back to the crate she'd been moving from one side of the cabin to the other. She wanted to get her supplies in order before winter really settled in. Between the trading she did with the Tanana Indians and scattered gold seekers, and the money from the sale of the sled dogs she raised, she could keep herself well fed and add to her growing savings. If all continued to go well, another two years and she'd have enough cash to hire loggers to clear land and build her road. It had been her father's dream, and now it was hers.
When Indian Jack came through the door, she kept her head lowered over the crate of packaged flour, continuing to count. She wouldn't want her friend to know she was crying over one stupid dead dog. She didn't want him to think she was just another weak white woman. She had earned Indian Jack's respect, and she wanted to keep it.
Jack cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout the dog, Gabe." It wasn't like him to express his feelings, but he felt bad for his friend. He knew what her dogs meant to her and what a waste of life he'd just seen.
"What do they want?" She didn't look up.
"What do they always want? Flour, sugar, coffee." He laughed, scratching his stubbly chin. "Sulfur matches."
Gabrielle looked at him. "Matches? They didn't bring matches?" She got to her feet. "How far did they think they were going to get without matches?"
Jack shrugged his stocky shoulders. "Guess they didn't know it was cold here."
She shook her head sadly. "Never make it, will they?"
He started to pick through the wooden crates, counting bags of flour and packets of salt. "Too late to be moving north, I say. My grandfather saw a fox chasing his tail just two days ago. He says that means the snow will fly heavy within the week."
"Did they say where they were headed?" She ran a hand through her short curly hair. "Guess it doesn't matter, does it? Someone will find them frozen on a path, or their bones'll wash up on a river bank in the spring." Taking the flour from Jack, she slid it into a clean feed sack. "Life must not mean much to them, to risk it on a few specks of shiny rock. If you ask me, they'll not find it. No one will."
He tossed a bundle of jerky into the feed sack. "Oh, it's there. Don't know that they'll find i
t, but it's there. My people talk of the river running gold someday. It is a legend we tell our children."
"You'll never see me digging in the dirt; I promise you that!" Tying the feed sack shut with a bit of string, she grabbed her hat off a crate. "Let's get this over with. I want them out of here."
Out in the sunshine, Gabrielle dropped the bag of provisions in the snow. When the younger man turned around, she was startled to see that without his hat on she recognized him. It was the redhead, the man who had escorted her to the Lady Yukon!
"Everything in there we asked for?" Alex's face was hard, his cloudy, blue eyes steely. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, a ruggedly handsome man with brawny shoulders and a head of dark auburn hair.
"Yes." She tore her eyes from his. "And the price is not negotiable. Take it or leave it." She hooked a thumb in the pocket of her wool pants.
"Hard as nails, are you, kid?" Alex searched the young boy's floured face for some sign of remorse.
It was obvious to Gabrielle that her rescuer didn't realize who she was beneath the man's bulky clothing and big hat, and that suited her just fine. Originally, she had begun dressing in men's clothing because it was warmer and more comfortable. Then, when she began to grow into a young woman, she and her father had agreed that with all of these lonely men passing through, she'd be better off if they didn't know she was a woman. There was no telling what some of these drifters might do. The icy solitude played with their minds turning honest men into thieves, rapists, even murderers sometimes.
Through the years she had grown used to the charade. She was Gabe, Rouge LeBeau's son. She saw so few people that she was able to get away with it; only a few friends here on the Tanana knew her true identity. Gabrielle turned her back on Alex. "Pay Jack and be on your way," she called over her shoulder. "And good luck, fellows, you're going to need it."
Late in the evening, Gabrielle sat in front of the fireplace, a cup of steaming coffee cradled in her hands. Breathing deeply of the heady scent that rose from the china cup, she stared at the flames that licked at and consumed a log she'd just tossed in.
The Fur Trader's Daughter: Rendezvous (Destiny's Daughters Book 3) Page 1