Debra Lee Brown - Gold Rush Bride

There were other dangers, too. All afternoon men had come down from the foothills where they worked their claims, just to get a look at her. It hadn’t taken long for Kate to realize she was one of the few white women here. In fact, since she’d left Sutter’s Fort two days ago, she hadn’t seen one other woman like herself—just Indians and a handful of Chinese.

It was clear she didn’t belong here. Her place was at home with her brothers. They needed her, had relied on her to care for them all the years since their mother died.

Kate had made enough just from the sale of the remaining goods in her father’s store to pay for the traveling expense back to San Francisco. Selling the horse and the mule would pay for lodging and food. What then?

She supposed she could work in a laundry or at some other decent employment until she raised enough to pay the debt owed her mother’s sister, and her ship passage home. But that could take months, and she’d experienced firsthand the tawdry San Francisco rooming houses built of green timbers and canvas walls. Walls that did nothing to muffle the sounds of what Kate could only imagine was going on in the next room between transient men and enterprising women.

No, she was better off in Tinderbox for now, where the memory of her father had garnered her one or two allies. She had a plan, and she’d stick to it.

A branch snapped behind her, yanking her out of her thoughts. Kate spun toward the sound.

“What are you doing out here in the rain? Christ, you’re soaked through.”

Will Crockett stood not two paces from her. How on earth had he crept up on her like that? Why, just a moment ago he’d been…

In the failing light, he took in her muddied garments and dripping hair. “Get back inside. It’s not safe out here.”

She ignored his command, wrapped her sopping shawl tight around her and started for his dying fire. She might as well get this over with.

“You should be at Vickery’s.” He offered her his oiled buckskin, as if it were a nuisance to do so. She took it and met his gaze.

“He gave you a bed for the night, didn’t he?”

“Aye, he did.”

Mr. Vickery had been more than gracious. He hadn’t felt it was safe for her to stay alone in her father’s cabin, and though his wife was away for a fortnight, he didn’t think it improper for Kate to stay under his roof for one night. After all, he was her father’s solicitor, a man Liam Dennington had trusted. Kate would trust him, too. What choice did she have?

“Go back to Ireland, Miss Dennington. Tinderbox is no place for a woman alone. A woman like you.”

Like her? Just what did he think she was like? She agreed with his advice, but for reasons she was certain were different from his. In any case, Will Crockett was in for a surprise.

“I intend to go back, as soon as I might.”

“Good.”

“But there is something you must do for me, first.”

“Me?” He looked at her, his dark eyes shining in the firelight. They were browner than she remembered. That afternoon in the store they’d seemed black as coal.

She made herself hold his gaze.

“Your father was my friend. I’ll do what I can, but I’m leaving town tomorrow and don’t plan on ever coming back.”

As if of their own accord, his eyes washed over her body. He looked away abruptly, embarrassed, it seemed. It was the third time that day she’d caught him looking at her that way.

She pulled the buckskin tighter, conscious of her wet dress clinging to her, outlining her hips and legs. “That’s exactly why it must be you, Mr. Crockett. You and no other.”

He turned toward her, then, and narrowed his eyes. They were black again. Black as a Dublin night in Liffey Quay. “What exactly is it you want, Miss Dennington?”

She’d likely burn in hell for what she was about to propose, but she mustered her courage and did it anyway.

“I want you to marry me.”

He was the only man in Tinderbox who would have refused her. But refuse her he did, and sent Kate Dennington off to Vickery’s for the night.

A few hours’ restless sleep under a dead oak in a driving rain hadn’t made Will feel any better about his decision. And now, in the light of day, it seemed damned stupid of him.

He’d had the exact same idea, hadn’t he? To marry her for profit—his and hers. So when she’d proposed the deal, why hadn’t he just said yes? He knew why. Because her doing the asking had rubbed him the wrong way.

The moment the offer had left her lips, she’d transformed herself in his mind from a hardworking Irishman’s daughter in need of help to one Sherrilyn Rogers Browning, conniving Philadelphia socialite. Kate had cast him an honest, hopeful smile, but all he’d seen was Sherrilyn’s mercenary little smirk.

“Crockett, you’re an idiot.” He shook out his oiled buckskin and rolled it into a bundle.

This wasn’t Philadelphia, and Dennington’s daughter wasn’t a compliant pawn in one of his father’s latest business deals. That chapter in his life was over. Finished.

He plucked his beaver-skin cap from the wet ground, then caught himself looking for where he’d tethered his horse. “Son of a…” He’d forgotten the mare had spent the night in drier quarters, one of Landerfelt’s rented stalls down at the livery.

He slammed the cap on his head, tucked the buckskin under his arm and started in that direction. If he was lucky he could hitch a ride on the mule train to Sutter’s Fort. They could always use an extra teamster or two.

It was time to get the hell out of town before he changed his mind about giving Landerfelt his due and taking Kate Dennington up on that offer.

She wasn’t, by a long shot, in the same league with Sherrilyn, but she wasn’t as innocent as she played at, either. He’d known that the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in Dennington’s store. When Vickery told her her father was dead, she hadn’t shed a tear. Not one.

What kind of woman would react like that to her father’s death? A father, not like his, but one who loved a child as fiercely as Liam Dennington had loved his daughter. That little scene at the grave last night hadn’t fooled him one bit. Again, no tears. Just rain. Her eyes had been as clear and cool as a predator’s.

So why had he been so put off by the marriage scheme she’d cooked up? He kicked up a stone as he turned into the wagon ruts on Main Street. She’d disappointed him, that’s why. He’d thought her a world apart from the one he’d come from. A world he was never going back to.

Clearly she wasn’t.

Dennington hadn’t talked much about Ireland or his family, except for waxing poetic about his daughter. Will had no idea if the Irishman had been well-to-do or just a common working man. Kate Dennington’s plain clothes and worn-out shoes led him to believe the latter.

But a man couldn’t be too sure about anyone these days. The gold rush had done one thing for California that Will did like. It made nearly everyone an equal. A rough-looking miner passed him on the street, and he knew the man was just as likely to have been a lawyer or a landowner in his old life as he was a laborer working the railroad.

No, Kate Dennington wasn’t the grieving, noble daughter he’d imagined her to be on first blush, but perhaps he’d been too hasty in refusing her offer. She was bound to marry someone if she intended to go through with her plan to keep the store.

Why not him?

He screwed up his face, remembering the one thing that didn’t make sense. She’d said that it must be him. Him and no other. Why? What did it matter to her? Any man would do for the scheme she’d hatched.

He reached the livery just as the sun was full up. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn air fresh as any he’d ever breathed. It reminded him of why he loved the frontier. On impulse he turned and let his gaze wander up the hillside to John Vickery’s three-room cottage.