Debra Lee Brown - Gold Rush Bride

Landerfelt rolled his eyes. “It’s the law, like I said. The property passes to you, and your father’s business, too. But you can’t keep it. Not in this town.”

“What do you mean I can’t keep it? Mr. Vickery said that—”

“Single women, especially immigrants, don’t own property. Not in Tinderbox.” Landerfelt flashed a nasty look at a Chinese girl peering through the store’s front window. “And they don’t own businesses, neither. It’s better for the town.”

“Oh, is it now?” Better for a certain competing store owner, Kate suspected. Landerfelt’s and Dennington’s were the only two supply stores she’d seen since leaving Sacramento City.

“It’s a fairly new law.” Vickery offered her the disorganized sheaf of papers he’d retrieved from the floor. Kate just stared at them. “Enacted by the town council just a few days ago, in fact.” He flashed a look at Landerfelt, who stood there gloating.

“But my father’s business, the store…I’ll need to run it to—” The gravity of her situation dawned.

She would have to make not only a living in this godforsaken place, but enough to pay her passage home and still make good the small fortune she’d borrowed from her mother’s sister.

They had all assumed her father would pay them back. His letter…the wealth he described…Kate’s gaze was drawn to the sparsely stocked shelves of the store and a battered old cash box that stood empty on the counter.

She would have to make the money. There was no other way. If she didn’t, her aunt would make certain Michael wouldn’t see a penny of his hard-earned wages. And him with a wife and babe to feed, not to mention the other lads.

“Not all trade is forbidden.” Landerfelt cocked a blond brow at her. “Certain types of enterprises are allowed.”

“You mean I can’t run my father’s store, but I might be allowed some other commerce?” She’d never heard of any law so ridiculous. No matter. Whatever she had to do to raise the funds, she’d do it, and go back to Ireland as soon as she might.

Landerfelt grinned. “Hell, yes. A certain kind of commerce, as you put it, would be damned welcome in Tinderbox.” He raked his eyes over her body. They lingered for a moment on her bosom. “If you get my drift.”

She was suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, of the hungry-looking faces of the miners crowded into the store. She had the distinct impression that food was not what they craved. She got Landerfelt’s drift all right.

Her blood boiled.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Landerfelt.”

He chuckled—a slow, almost syrupy laugh in keeping with his Virginian drawl.

“Till tomorrow, is it? To dispose of the cabin and the land? I assume I may keep the horse and the mule?” She’d sell them, in fact, along with everything else that wasn’t nailed down, to raise the funds to pay the debt and buy her passage home. With her father gone, there was no reason to stay.

“Five o’clock.” Landerfelt reached into a pocket and withdrew a finely tooled money pouch. “Unless, of course, you’d like to sell it all—lock, stock and barrel—right now.”

“To you?”

“That’s right.” He reached for her hand and she stiffened. The charming smile that oozed across his face made her want to slap him. All the same, she allowed him to spill the contents of the pouch into her open palm. A half-dozen ten-dollar gold pieces winked up at her.

“Oh dear.” Vickery’s eyes widened.

She did the calculations in her head, allowing for the unbelievable inflation that had occurred overnight, since word had spread that the streets of California were paved in gold. She couldn’t read, but she was keen with figures. Years of stretching pennies to feed her wayward father and four brothers had perfected her skill for transactions.

“You’re crazy, Landerfelt.”

Her sentiments exactly. Why the horse alone had to be worth that much.

Through the crowd, Kate’s gaze lit on the rough-looking frontiersman who’d spoken. She’d not noticed him earlier, and wondered when he’d come in. He lounged against a timber near the store’s entrance, arms folded across his chest as if he owned the place.

Kate felt her face flush hot as the man’s cool gaze washed over her. He wasn’t dressed like the others in flannel shirts and wool trousers. Fur and buckskin clothed him from head to toe, but not any kind of fur Kate had ever seen. Lord, he was a sight! Wild black hair that was unfashionably long, and even blacker eyes.

She forced her gaze back to the coins in her hand. Landerfelt’s offer would barely pay for her return to San Francisco and a room for the night, let alone her debt and the clipper passage home. No, she’d need better than a thousand dollars. More perhaps. With prices what they were, she could only guess.

She watched as the frontiersman pushed his way through the throng and stood looming behind Eldridge Landerfelt. He flashed his dark eyes at her, and she felt a bit of a rush inside. He was taller than she’d first thought, and had a dangerous look about him. A wicked-looking scar cut across his left cheek. She wondered how he’d got it. A knife fight, perhaps, or a run-in with a bear? In this wild place there was no telling.

He stared at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She felt suddenly overwarm in the close quarters.

“It’s not enough and you know it,” he said.

Landerfelt faced him. “No? Then why don’t you give the little lady some of your money, Crockett. If you have any left, that is.”

A couple of miners snickered as a whispered buzz spread amongst them. Kate watched the cords on the frontiersman’s neck grow taut. His eyes grew even blacker, if that were possible, and his face was as hard as County Wicklow’s limestone cliffs.

“That’s my price,” Landerfelt said to her. He tapped his cigar ash on the counter next to them. “Take it or leave it.”

Kate glanced at the coins in her hand and at Landerfelt’s triumphant smirk. Aye, she was a woman alone in a foreign land, but no one played Kate Dennington for a fool. She knew nothing of prices or the value of land, but she was certain she could do better than the merchant’s paltry offering.

“Keep your coin,” she said, and slapped the golden eagles onto the counter.

Landerfelt’s jaw dropped, and he nearly lost his cigar.

“Ha!” The frontiersman, Crockett, smiled at her.

She noticed his teeth; they were white and straight. This close up, aside from his sun-bronzed skin and that wicked scar, he didn’t really look like the other transient men she’d seen on the last leg of her journey from Sutter’s Fort to Tinderbox. And she’d seen plenty. Hundreds of them, immigrants mostly, all flocking to the goldfields.

Crockett’s voice, his demeanor, they were…refined, almost. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that made him different, but would stake her last farthing he wasn’t born to this life.

All at once the store erupted into a cacophony of shouts and tussles. The miners crowded forward, nearly pinning Kate to the counter behind her. What on earth—?

“How ’bout sellin’ me that last jar a peaches?” A squat miner with doughy cheeks pointed at the shelf behind the counter.

“I’ll take all them tin pans ya’ve got left,” another cried out.

A dozen others called out their orders for goods. Kate’s head spun. What was she to do? Landerfelt and Vickery were all but pushed aside as the miners crowded closer. She looked to her father’s solicitor for help. Vickery merely shrugged, and fought to keep from losing his spectacles and his overstuffed portfolio in the ruckus.

One thing was clear to her. It was still her store, until five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Aye, she’d sell off the remaining goods and…She didn’t bother finishing the thought. In a flash she was behind the counter, reaching for that last jar of peaches.