Wendy Douglas - The Unlikely Groom

“You didn’t know?”

She shook her head, thinking instead that she would be safe to settle her gaze somewhere near Lucas Templeton’s shoulder. Unfortunately looking at him at all only made her more aware of his strength and size in an entirely new—and intimate—way.

She jerked her gaze up to his and held herself steady as she tried to regulate her breathing. “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping her apology might give her a reprieve from the bone-deep intensity of his glare. “I’ve been in so many of these places tonight I lost track.”

“So many?”

The question, low and incredulous, kept her eyes drawn to his, no matter that she knew better. In spite of the dim interior, she could see that his expression remained narrowed with distrust. In fact, he made no attempt to disguise it; he didn’t blink or look away, revealing exactly what he wanted her to see.

“I…yes.” She swallowed in an effort to free up an answer. Surely that would help with this breathlessness—wouldn’t it? “I’ve been in a number of—”

“How many?” he interrupted.

“I beg your pardon?” Her spine stiffened despite her very precarious situation. Perilous predicament or not, she didn’t tolerate anyone making such rude, autocratic demands of her.

“How many?” he repeated as he stepped forward.

He smelled of whiskey. Ashlynne caught the scent, a familiar one that made her want to back away. She resisted the impulse and the weakness it would reveal, reminding herself sternly that she had no excuse for it. She’d known exactly what to expect before she’d ever entered the first saloon. She’d grown up as a Mackenzie in San Francisco, after all. Her father had been very clear in his choice of vices and he’d trained his only son quite effectively to follow in his footsteps.

And if his daughter had proved to be an utter failure…well, fate had given her this unexpected chance to succeed.

“How many?” Templeton asked again. His voice came sharp with impatience this time.

Ashlynne stiffened and offered him a disapproving glare. “Five or six,” she said woodenly.

“And why would you do that?” He paused and angled his head as though suddenly looking at her from a different perspective. “Are you looking for work?”

“No!” She meant to resist the provocation of this man’s impolite questions, but the word came out too sharp all the same. “I am not looking for work. I’m looking for—someone.”

Just because she answered, she didn’t have to give him any more information than was strictly necessary. Even so, she couldn’t afford to dismiss him too quickly; Lucas Templeton left little doubt that he was not a man to be denied.

Besides, she didn’t yet know if he could help her.

She forced herself to ignore her inner uncertainties and looked at Templeton once more, straight-on this time. “His name is Ian Mackenzie. Have you seen him?”

Templeton shrugged with little apparent interest. “I don’t know. I don’t know every man who comes into the Star. I don’t even know most of them. What does he look like?”

Anxiously, Ashlynne began her recitation. “He’s tall, although not as tall as you are.” Her gaze skittered away when she heard how personal her observation sounded and she hurried on. “His hair is dark and he’s dressed…well—” she waved a hand toward the room in general “—I suppose like most of the men here.”

Realizing what she’d done, she retucked her not-quite-steady hand under the opposite arm before anyone—most especially Lucas Templeton—could notice.

He didn’t seem impressed with her words, nor did he show any interest in her movements. He lifted an eyebrow to disappear beneath the hair that had fallen over his forehead. “You just described half the men here.”

“Yes, it would seem so.” She couldn’t argue with the truth. “We’ve been in Skagway a few days and—”

“A cheechako?” The word sounded like the same accusation as whenever else Ashlynne had heard it. No one wanted to be a greenhorn, it seemed; they all wanted the knowledge and experience of a seasoned Alaskan.

A sourdough.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“What makes you think he’d be in here?”

Ashlynne swallowed a weary sigh. She had no intention of admitting to this man—or to anyone—that she had no idea where Ian might be.

He’d been so good on board the ship. Then they’d arrived and the frenzied excitement of Skagway had immediately taken hold of him, like the first taste of alcohol to a drunk. Ian had reverted to his old habits so quickly, Ashlynne still didn’t quite know how it had happened.

She did know her brother, however—and better than she might have liked at times. The only things he might require for an evening’s entertainment would be women, gambling and liquor. The Star of the North boasted all three.

Why wouldn’t he come here?

“Is something wrong, sugar?”

A new voice intruded and Ashlynne realized that she’d missed the approach of another woman. A woman who belonged in a place like this.

The newcomer sidled up behind Templeton and slipped her arm around his waist to stand next to him, hip to hip. Her red hair appeared quite shocking at first, but a second look gave it more of a hint of the…exotic. She was tall—nowhere near Templeton’s height but claiming several inches over Ashlynne—and she had the kind of figure that appealed to men. It was a perfect hourglass, accented most daringly by the snug fit of her emerald-green silk gown and its décolletage.

“Nothing’s wrong, Candy.” Templeton didn’t turn to look at the woman as he spoke but continued to stare in Ashlynne’s direction.

“What’s she doing here?” Candy narrowed her eyes a fraction to shoot Ashlynne a look undoubtedly more distrustful than welcoming.

“Looking for someone.” Finally, Templeton released Ashlynne from the grip of his glare and slanted a glance in Candy’s direction instead. “His name’s Ian Mackenzie. Have you seen him?”

The other woman shrugged in a seductive, graceful way that Ashlynne could never imitate—and why would she want to? She didn’t want to be anything like these women who worked in saloons, and she didn’t want to have anything to do with a man like Lucas Templeton.

“I don’t know,” Candy was saying. “I suppose I could have seen him.” She looked at Ashlynne and winked, her painted lips curving upward with a knowing smile. “You know I don’t always get their names, sugar. What’s he look like?”

“Like most of the men in Skagway,” Templeton snapped with clear impatience. “And he hasn’t been in here tonight.”

“Well, I’ll be gla-ad—” Candy extended the word to two syllables “—to keep an eye out for him. If I find him…”

“Go on back to the table,” said Templeton.

“But, sugar—”

“Go on.” He indicated the room behind him with a jerk of his head but otherwise didn’t move. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Candy cast a frown of pure frustration in Ashlynne’s direction, then flounced away with a sharp rustle of her skirts.

Could she ever achieve that same effect, both feminine and dramatic at the same time? The question stunned Ashlynne with its secret jealousy. She lowered her lashes in shame as the now familiar breathlessness began to fill her chest again. Oh, God, this night, this place…

“It doesn’t look like I can help you.” Templeton’s voice, low and rough, didn’t disguise his impatience. “Nobody named Ian Mackenzie has been in here tonight.”

She swallowed a tired sigh and nodded with the same weariness. “Yes, of course. It’s as I expected. Thank you.”

And then, before any other foolishness—or Lucas Templeton’s handsome face—got the better of her, she turned away. Gathering her determination—and whatever composure was left to her—Ashlynne stepped out into the cold night air and started for the next saloon.