Книга - The Unlikely Groom

The Unlikely Groom
Wendy Douglas


His Dreams Had DiedAnd Lucas Templeton often wished he'd gone to the grave with them. Instead he went to Alaska, opened a saloon and closed off his heart. But Ashlynne MacKenzie, a newcomer full of pluck and passion, could very well hold the key to unlocking his secret sorrow….Her Brother Had Been MurderedAshlynne MacKenzie had nowhere to go–until the enigmatic Lucas Templeton offered her the rough-and-ready haven of his saloon–and the unexpected comfort of his arms. But could she trust a man who represented everything she wanted to escape?









“I knew you’d come,” she said with soft satisfaction.


“Were you waiting for me?” His voice cracked with a husky edge.

“No. But I knew you’d come.”

“Why?”

“You couldn’t resist the music.”

That haunting melody. “It…called to me.”

“I called to you.”

It remained dark all around them, but Lucas could see her eyes sparkle in the darkness. How was it that he could see her as clearly as though every chandelier in the room was lit, and yet shadow shrouded everything else?

Ashlynne—no, Ashe—smiled again, a sultry, knowing expression, and she scooted around to face him. “Why did you come down here, Lucas?” she asked, and he blinked. She looked—and sounded—so…patient.

“I heard you playing.”

“And that’s all?”

“No.” He reached for her, drew her upward. “Because of this.”

He hauled her tight against him and caught her mouth with his….




Praise for Wendy Douglas’s debut


Shades of Gray

“A heartwarming voice and a story

about the power of love.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Greene

“Secrets, lies and revenge rule the day in this graphic

western drama. Danger mounts, passion flares, and lies

unfold as this stirring historical plays out

and characters evolve.”

—Affaire de Coeur




The Unlikely Groom

Wendy Douglas







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With much love for my mom, Lenore Romey, who never

told me I should be outside playing instead of reading

a book, and in memory of my father, Wendell Romey,

the most patient man I’ve ever known.

And, as always, for Doug, who loves me despite

all the trouble I cause, who makes everything work—

somehow—and who has been known to offer that

special endearment only a writer can appreciate:

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” I couldn’t do it without you, darlin’.

I love you all.




Acknowledgments


Special thanks must go to Willie and Candy Seltenrich

for their willing participation in this book. Legs all

the way to heaven, Candy, and not one broken bone!

Also to Heather Mase for filling in as the

Paperwork Queen so I could finish this book and

to Kathy Hafer for last-minute proofreading.




Contents


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

Epilogue




Chapter One


Skagway, Alaska, February 1898

L ife was hell. It had been for longer than Lucas Templeton could remember, and there was no changing it. He’d gambled everything to learn that lesson—and he’d lost as completely as any man could. But that was old news and not particularly interesting any longer. Not to him, at least, and it was nobody else’s business.

It was part of the past and that’s exactly where he meant to see that it stayed.

Lucas lifted his shot glass and eyed the fine, clear whiskey with some appreciation. The glass was cool and smooth against his fingers and the alcohol shimmered with the taunt of a familiar amber color. The memory of its smooth, distinctive bite offered the lure of forgetfulness…if only he would give in to it.

He didn’t doubt the whiskey’s ability to make good on its promise; tonight he drank the expensive stuff, available to any man who could pay the price…and he could. He, in fact, owned the whole damned shebang—or at least this shebang. He sipped the whiskey with an appreciation for which few men in Alaska seemed to have the patience and turned to survey his domain.

The Star of the North. Lucas smiled and nodded, satisfied by what he saw. It wasn’t much, not by most standards anywhere else in the world. For him, it was everything.

One of the first saloons in Skagway, he had built it at precisely the right time. He’d had little competition at first and had unwittingly built the Star’s reputation by dealing fairly with his customers and offering a reasonable comfort not often found on the frontier. Now, less than a year later, he continued to enjoy a particular success that few of the others had matched.

He’d often thought that those who’d come later hadn’t wanted the triumph—or needed it—nearly as badly as he had. He’d even accepted that explanation for at least part of the difference.

But what about the rest of it?

He didn’t know for certain, nor had he ever wasted much time trying to figure it out. That kind of thinking could only lead him back to the reasons that this saloon mattered so very much in the first place, and all that was better left in the past. He needed no reminder of the life he’d once led.

It was enough that this life compared in no way to the one he’d left behind.

No. He corrected himself with an irritable scowl and tossed back the rest of the whiskey. Not left behind. He hadn’t left a damned thing behind. Everything he’d had had been stolen from him and he’d simply walked away from the devastation that had followed. There had been nothing left, no reason to stay.

And while it was true that he’d never planned a life such as this one for himself, it would do well enough. His success meant that he could do as he damn well pleased. He never could have done that in his other life. If it could be found in Skagway and he wanted it, he could have it.

Well, he might not go that far. An inherent trace of humility, the result of his Minnesota upbringing, stopped Lucas before he got too full of himself. He twisted his lips into a parody of a smile and dropped his glass to the well-used wooden table where he sat, then gestured to Willie, behind the bar, for a refill.

Undoubtedly, he reminded himself, he was in a much better position than most of the men who had poured into Alaska seeking gold over the past six months. And while he would have no trouble covering the expense of his choice of diversions, the reality of affording something and actually having it were two different things altogether.

He wasn’t exactly sure how much he really wanted the things he could afford. It was damn sure that he didn’t deserve them.

What do you think, you’ll be tempting God again if you aspire for too much? scoffed an inner voice that sounded entirely too mocking for his taste. And if the question came closer to the truth than Lucas found comfortable, he chose to pretend otherwise. He had other things with which to concern himself, things more important than this ridiculous tendency toward indulging his overdeveloped sense of self-pity.

Right now, he should be concentrating on the Star and its needs.

Business had been off tonight. Not necessarily bad, just…off. The atmosphere had been fractious and Lucas had broken up more than one argument that had run closer than usual to turning into a real fight. It might have been the cold that had set tempers on edge; the temperature had plummeted of late, typical enough for an Alaskan winter but trying for those unprepared for it. The brisk north wind in Skagway only made it seem worse.

Or it might be something else entirely, like the latest outbreak of killings—one a day, some said. Lucas hadn’t kept track, but he had no trouble believing the number. Ever since Soapy Smith and his band of troublemakers had taken over the town six months ago, lawlessness had soared and mayhem had become the rule of the streets.

“Here you go, sugar.”

A husky voice interrupted his wandering thoughts and Lucas glanced around. Sugar Candy, as she was known among the men, swept up next to him. She carried with her the cloying scent of roses that he would recognize without ever having to see her. Tonight, she’d fixed her red-tinted hair into a cascade of curls that looked far too formal and proper to suit her formfitting green gown. The dress displayed with astonishing blatancy her full, ample curves and long, slender legs.

Legs all the way to heaven. He remembered hearing one man describe her that way. Lucas allowed himself a small smile. He could appreciate the sentiment.

“Thanks, Candy.” He took the glass and did his best to ignore the way she preened under his attention. Such a response always made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t drink right away but instead set the glass on the table, next to the empty one. Candy didn’t move away.

“You want some company to go with that?”

He didn’t, not really. And yet he didn’t particularly want to sit here alone, either. He didn’t need the chance for his mind to wander back to those places and thoughts better left alone.

“All right.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

And so, he thought, he would pass the night—and his life—drinking expensive whiskey and wasting his time on a whore who meant nothing to him. It was exactly as he expected.

Exactly as he deserved.

And if he ever wished for something else?

Lucas blinked and shook his head. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He knew better. He was lucky to have this much.

He picked up the shot glass and drank.



Ashlynne Mackenzie stepped into the saloon with no more fanfare than was necessary. Just the thought of where she was and what she was doing caused her to shiver. She managed to suppress it by sheer strength of will. She couldn’t afford the weakness or even the appearance of it.

What was the name of this place? Ashlynne looked around but saw nothing in particular to distinguish this saloon from the others she’d been in tonight. It was loud and bright, cheerful in a frenetic sort of way, and a good deal warmer than the outdoors.

Even that couldn’t make her like it here. She didn’t.

A saloon?

A saloon. The truth repeated itself in a heavy, condemning voice.

Oh, God.

What was she doing here? But she knew. This was, after all, the fifth or sixth one she’d been in. Ashlynne couldn’t remember for certain—and maybe, she thought, she didn’t want to remember. It was bad enough that she found herself here at all. Worse, she didn’t see Ian anywhere in this place, either.

Ashlynne swallowed a disappointed sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. The night was bitterly cold and a terrible draft blew in beneath the poorly hung door, but the chill had nothing to do with the way she stood. That was due to other, far more important reasons. Such as, with her arms clutched around herself and her hands tucked away, no one could see that she trembled.

Take your time, she reminded herself with as much cheerful encouragement as she could muster. She took a breath and looked around once more. The room stretched as deep as it did wide, with tables scattered throughout in no apparent order. A bar graced the far wall, a surprisingly sturdy wooden arrangement compared with some of the others she’d seen. The wall behind it boasted shelves that held an array of bottles and glasses. A gilt-framed mirror hung as the area’s centerpiece. It was, by far, the most prosperous-looking place she’d seen in Skagway.

She didn’t doubt that Ian’s first choice would be a place very much like this.

Reminded of the urgency of her mission, Ashlynne turned to inspect the men who lounged at the various tables. They seemed contented enough, drinking the night away or staring dumbly at the capricious luck of the playing cards in their hands. But even looking again changed nothing.

Her heart sank. Ian wasn’t here.

She would have to keep looking.

“You lookin’ for someone, honey?”

“Come on over here, sweetheart, and give us a kiss for luck!”

The catcalls eliminated any errant sigh of disappointment. Her brief time in Skagway had already accustomed her to withholding her reactions. Ashlynne pressed her lips into a thin line rather than permit the scowl that would reveal more than she dared allow in a place such as this. Especially for a woman alone…

She turned to leave without ever having stepped more than a foot away from the entrance—and then she saw him.

It wasn’t Ian. Instead a stranger threaded his way through the scattered tables and chairs. Heading straight for her.

She should have been swamped with disappointment that it wasn’t Ian—or at least troubled by a new fear. Oddly enough, she was neither. She was, instead…captivated. By nothing more than the sight of this man. She’d never before been so taken by the mere sight of anyone.

He was big and muscular. Surprisingly so, she thought. He dressed in a fine broadcloth suit like those worn by the most elegant businessmen in San Francisco, and he was, she realized, even taller than Ian. That put him several inches over six feet and well above her own five foot five. And as he moved closer, his features became more distinct, appearing far less rugged than she would have expected for a man who seemed at home in the wilderness of Alaska.

Or in a saloon.

He looked to be in his prime, no more than thirty, and almost…aristocratic. His nose was straight, perhaps a little too big to be considered perfect, but it suited his high cheekbones and clean-shaven, square jaw. And while his dark blue eyes pierced her with the force of his stare, they did little enough to draw her attention away from his mouth. His lips were full in a classic bow shape, and the whole image gave him an improper, seductive air.

An air of wickedness. Something…irresistible. And something that enticed and repelled with equal fervor.

Or did that impression come from his overlong blond hair? It scraped well past his collar, almost to his shoulders, and tumbled into his eyes. The blunt cut looked tantalizingly tousled, as if he had done nothing more than run his fingers through it once he’d left his bed. Or perhaps someone else—one of the soiled doves who seemed to abound in Skagway?—had done it for him.

Ashlynne swallowed, astonished by the shamelessness of her thoughts. Her heart had found an extra, erratic beat that left her gasping. She tried to catch her breath but couldn’t seem to manage it. Her heart stumbled, her breathing continued with no apparent rhythm…and the man kept coming.

What was wrong with her? He was just a man, after all.

He stopped an arm’s length away and frowned. “Who are you?” he demanded without preamble.

“I…” His rudeness sent her thoughts tumbling with a new uncertainty and she couldn’t quite formulate the haughty answer she might have liked. “I’m Ashlynne Mackenzie. Who are you?”

He blinked, as though he hadn’t expected the question. But then, she hadn’t exactly planned to make such a request of him and certainly not in such a saucy tone. She regretted it the instant it was too late. She wanted these people—these strangers—to help her; insolence would hardly encourage them to do so.

“I’m Lucas Templeton.” The man surprised her when he answered, considering how very…detached he sounded. The fire in his eyes was gone, as well. Still, he didn’t look away and the aloof distance in his stare left her feeling nearly as uneasy as had his earlier vehemence. She refused to let him see it, however.

“I own the Star of the North,” he added after a moment.

“The Star—” She blinked and cast a cursory glance around her. It was an unthinking reaction; she hadn’t forgotten for a moment where she was or why she was here. “That’s the name of this place? The Star of the North?”

“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.

Things continued to go from bad to worse!



Left to his own devices, Lucas discovered with some disgust that he’d lost any real taste for whiskey or women. He frowned. He’d been content enough to relax and sip his whiskey, with or without Candy’s company. So why had that changed? He refused to believe it had been because of Ashlynne Mackenzie’s very temporary interruption.

But that thought did bring up another question. What the hell did she think she was doing, going from saloon to saloon looking for her wastrel husband? Lucas could hardly berate her for her choice of mates; he didn’t know enough about her situation to do so. But her reckless actions would be risky enough in most civilized parts of the world. To do so here, in Skagway? She must have been out of her mind—or as naive as she looked.

Recalling his first sight of Ashlynne, Lucas might have smiled if he hadn’t sensed such…trouble about her. She’d stood by the door, so clearly out of place and with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Her dark blue cloak had wrapped around her like a suit of armor. She was of average height, though the rest of her shape had been far less apparent. She’d peered around the room with obvious unease, as though she’d just stumbled into a nest of vipers.

That thought, finally, gave Lucas a crooked twist of a smile. Some might well say that she had—and she hardly looked the part for such a task.

She couldn’t have been older than twenty, or just past the age. Her hair was the color of mink and she’d scraped it back from her face in a severe hairstyle that should have done nothing to make her look attractive. It had, in fact, accented each of her features at their most elemental: high forehead, arched cheekbones, painfully straight nose and full, finely shaped lips. Her eyes had provided the most surprise; they’d flickered with a golden light that was nothing if not the color of whiskey.

Lucas settled back in his chair at the same table where he always sat and thought about Ashlynne Mackenzie’s eyes. He hadn’t seen anything quite like them, expressive and yet guarded at the same time. But then, that described nearly everything about her. She was nothing like the working girls who made their ways north. Aside from that, she was worlds different from Emily.

His stomach knotted and he signaled for another drink. Maybe he hadn’t been in the mood moments ago, but now, suddenly, he needed the alcohol. The last thing he could tolerate were comparisons between Emily and a woman he didn’t even know. There could be no comparison. Emily had been…special. Unique. A woman not quite of this earth. And Ashlynne Mackenzie was…not. She was simply one more woman who had most likely made a questionable match and now had to live with the consequences.

It was none of his concern.

“You thirsty, sugar?”

Candy sidled up from behind him, scattering his thoughts as she delivered whiskey in a fresh glass. She bent low, hesitating long enough to draw considerable attention to the thrust of her breasts. Balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder, she offered him a seductive smile and leaned close, running her fingers down his chest and toying with the buttons of his vest beneath the suit jacket. Instinct urged him to pull away, but something else—some latent sense of self-preservation—stopped him. He needed to put behind him these unnerving memories of Emily, these unwelcome thoughts of Ashlynne Mackenzie. There could be no better way to do it than with another—and most certainly available—woman.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile. “Where have you been, Candy? Looking for a better man?”

She gave him a wide smile of her own, made up of equal parts knowing seduction and wicked invitation. “There isn’t a better man in all of Skagway, sugar. I was just giving you some time to remember there’s no better woman than me.”

Lucas couldn’t help himself. He laughed at Candy’s audacity and took a moment to remind himself of just how much a man he was. Not only that, but Candy was most definitely a woman. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a man worth wanting—at least not in the traditional sense. Anything between Candy and him had nothing to do with that.

It was only sex and nothing permanent.

He reached up to tangle his fingers with hers. “Just what did you have in mind?” he asked in a voice pitched low enough to sound deliberately suggestive.

Candy smiled, a familiar expression that spoke of both seduction and attraction—and generated little response within Lucas. Uneasy, he searched for another smile, a real one this time, and parted his lips when she leaned farther down.

Her mouth settled over his with unerring precision and Lucas waited for his body to awaken. Of the few girls with whom he’d spent any time, Candy had always been one of his favorites. Tonight, though, when she sent her tongue forward to twine around his, he knew only a mild aversion for her kiss. Neither the taste of her nor the cloying scent of rosewater enticed him to want anything more. Certainly he had no urge to take her to his bed—or anything else. Rather, some deep, elemental part of him wanted to pull away, to rub his hand across his mouth and wipe away the taste of her.

Don’t be crazy, he told himself impatiently, and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. He’d let his emotions, his thoughts, become too stirred up tonight—and not in a good way. He needed to find a release for the tension that coursed through him.

Not just any release, but a sexual one. He made the point for himself deliberately.

Lucas reached up to shove his fingers into Candy’s carefully styled hair and anchored her mouth against his. She made a deep, guttural noise that he took to mean approval—or agreement, at the very least—and her tongue picked up the dance, swirling through the cavern of his mouth. It plunged deeper, darted away, then plunged again before she finally wrenched her mouth free.

“You want to go someplace, sugar?” Her whisper sounded like more of a pant and she arched her breasts toward him with brazen disregard for others in the room. “We can go in the back. Or we can go to my place. It’s—”

A sharp sound cut off her invitation. It came strange and unexpected and not immediately identifiable. The others in the Star fell silent, as well, all listening. Lucas paused to catch his breath, more labored than he might have expected after Candy’s kiss, and the sound echoed in his mind. Scuffling noises from outside gave him another clue, and then it hit him.

Gunfire.

The sound had been a pistol shot, and in Skagway, that could mean only one thing.

Trouble.




Chapter Two


T he Star of the North went abruptly silent and the air grew thick with tension. Lucas didn’t have to wonder why. Anyone who’d spent more than a day in Skagway would know that, chances were, Soapy Smith or one of his men was responsible for the gunfire.

But what, exactly, had they done now?

A woman’s scream tore through the eerie silence, which changed everything as far as Lucas was concerned. Soapy Smith or not, women had mostly been protected from Skagway’s troubles in the past. At least the kind of trouble that involved gunfire.

Lucas shoved Candy away and surged to his feet. Most of the others around him had begun to move, as well, and now they all headed for the door. The crowd bottled up at the entrance, but Lucas didn’t let that slow him down. Using his size and his shoulders to his advantage, he demanded, “Let me through,” in a voice of authority that guaranteed others would comply. He’d acquired that certain tone when he’d first opened the Star, and it worked as well now as whenever he’d used it in the past.

“Wait for me, sugar!” Candy cried from behind him.

Lucas ignored her and shoved his way through the door and out into the cold. He hadn’t stopped to grab his heavy coat and now held himself stiff against the first shiver produced by the bitter winter wind. He put the frigid temperatures from his mind.

Groups of men had begun to gather in the nighttime streets and Lucas elbowed his way through the milling throng, again using his size to his advantage. No one seemed of a mind to argue and a path cleared for him until he reached the front of the crowd.

A few men had brought lanterns and now held them high, illuminating various patches of the shrouded, darkened street. Lucas peered into the shadows, searching for any sign of the ruckus. A man, judging from the size and mode of dress, lay unmoving and crumpled in the street. The body was twisted at an odd, unnatural angle that warned the man was dead. A smaller figure knelt next to him.

The woman who had screamed?

An unwelcome, ancient urge—could it have been decency?—sent a frisson of unease chasing up his spine. Instinct prodded him to go to the woman and her dead companion. To do what he could?

He shook his head, nothing more than a sharp, single movement, but he would have liked to have kept even that much to himself. What was wrong with him that he would consider helping anyone? He knew better. He could do nothing. If there were things that needed doing, then he was not the one to attempt them.

Another Lucas Templeton might have felt differently, might have made another choice, but that Lucas no longer existed and hadn’t for years. This Lucas knew better. This Lucas had been created by a lifetime of mistakes, bad judgments and failures, and he’d learned every one of the lessons he’d been meant to. He knew when to up the ante and when to fold—and now was hardly the time to raise the stakes.

But where was Deputy Taylor to help that poor devil in the street? Or, for that matter, Reverend Dickey? Lucas peered into the shadows that surrounded the crowd but spied neither man. He knew how the law operated in Skagway, particularly if Soapy or one of his cohorts was involved in the fracas, and Lucas figured Taylor would show up in his own good time.

But what about the preacher? Where the hell was religion when a man needed it?

“What happened?” he asked no one in particular.

“One of Soapy’s men got him.”

The answer came as little surprise; it would hardly be the first time. Rumors of Soapy’s activities had been varied and persistent. Men complained frequently of being swindled by crooked card games, false business fronts, robberies—and even murder.

“What started it?” he asked.

“They was playin’ cards.” Lucas didn’t look to see who answered. “I weren’t there when the ruckus started, but the way I heard it, the dead feller lost all his money to one of the boys and then he called Soapy’s gang a bunch of cheaters. S’pose it went downhill from there.”

Downhill? Under other circumstances, Lucas might have smiled to himself, thinking about it. Alaskans and those who had survived the hardships of life in the north had a certain way of understating any given situation. But then, he supposed, men who lived with difficulties such as those faced every day in this part of the world saw life from an entirely different perspective.

Enough to accept without question the wish of one man to shoot down another?

A gust of wind whipped itself up and raced down the street. Lucas tensed to hold back a fresh shiver, but his own discomfort suddenly lost its significance when he realized the wind carried with it a soft cry that he might otherwise have missed.

“Oh, Ian.”

He jerked his head up to stare at the figures in the road. They hadn’t moved.

Ian, the voice had said.

Ian?

Aw, shit. Lucas narrowed his eyes and drew his brow down into a fierce grimace. He stared into the street, at the dead man and his companion, and knew he couldn’t be mistaken.

He wasn’t mistaken.

The cry, uttered so breathlessly on a choked sob and carried on the wind, had been a woman’s. She’d said Ian.

Son of a bitch. A growing list of other cusswords rolled around inside Lucas’s head and he took great satisfaction in listing every one of them. He deserved them. He needed them.

Ashlynne Mackenzie crouched next to the dead man in the road.

She had found her husband.

But why did she have to squat there, so alone and helpless? Irritation scored him suddenly, frustrating him that no one went to her aid. They—all of them—couldn’t just stand here and watch, leaving her to suffer alone that way.

Why don’t you help her?

Dammit. He frowned again, this time just because he wanted to. Why the hell had he ever come out to investigate this damned ruckus in the first place?

Shit.

The cusswords began a new parade through his mind but provided him with little satisfaction this time. He didn’t want to help Ashlynne Mackenzie; he didn’t even want to think about her. He had turned his back and walked away from helping people years ago.

You look out for yourself now, he reminded himself firmly. If that meant nothing more than offering a bit of entertainment, a place to go and a few hours of forgetfulness for an ever-changing group of lonely miners, then that was enough for him. All Lucas wanted was to make a decent living away from the demands of civilization.

He didn’t go out of his way for anybody—and he wouldn’t do it for Ashlynne.

No, the best thing he could do would be to turn and walk away from this debacle. And he would. Just as soon as someone else stepped forward to help her.

Lucas waited, but no one moved. He didn’t realize that he had, either, until he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Sugar, where’re you going?”

He ignored Candy’s question and kept walking.



The man came to her almost as if in a dream. Ashlynne hadn’t realized he was here at first; she seemed able to do nothing but kneel on the rutted, frozen ground and stare at Ian’s prone body. And cry. The tears, though, had begun to dry the moment she’d sensed another presence next to her.

Never cry in front of strangers.

Ashlynne could hear Grandmother Mackenzie’s admonishment as though the old woman remained of this earth and stood here, right next to her. She didn’t; the old woman had passed on years ago. Ashlynne was alone now, so how could she possibly take Grandmother’s advice? Everything was wrong—terribly, terribly wrong—and it would never be right again.

Ashlynne’s dilemma didn’t seem to matter to the man who crouched next to her. He refused to be denied, instead urging her to her feet and away from…here and Ian. She heard the words and even understood his meaning, and yet she couldn’t move.

She could do nothing.

He wanted her to leave, to go away with him. But she couldn’t! Not yet. That would mean leaving Ian lying in the road, alone and cold and…dead.

Ashlynne gasped and choked back a new sob that suddenly threatened. Dead? It couldn’t be so! There must be some mistake, she told herself frantically. She must have come out of that last saloon and stepped into the wrong place, like Alice through the looking glass.

“Ashlynne.” The man knew her name. How was that possible? But he touched her and her curiosity dissolved like a fleeting wisp of smoke. He took her arm and encouraged her to stand. “You can’t stay here like this. Come with me.”

“I can’t!” She jerked her arm from his grasp. “I can’t just leave Ian alone here. Not like this.”

Inexorably he took her arm again. “He won’t be alone. I promise you. Look, here’s Reverend Dickey now. He’ll take care of Ian. Won’t you, preacher?”

“Of course.”

A new voice entered the conversation, the tone gentle but no less firm. A hand patted her shoulder lightly with a touch that reassured, completely unlike the tempered steel of the other man’s grip. “You go with Mr. Templeton now and leave everything else to me.”

She heard the plea, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She didn’t look at either man, could only stare into the shadows that surrounded Ian’s body and hid the finer details of his face, his form. Could it be…what if he wasn’t really dead! He might be only asleep or wounded—badly, of course, but still alive. If they could find a doctor, he could heal any injury Ian had suffered and prove that this was all just some terrible mistake.

With new hope in place, Ashlynne reached anxiously for her brother. Her hand trembled as though palsied.

“Come on, Ashlynne,” urged the man, Templeton. His tone was as unyielding as she’d ever heard and it carried none of the underlying kindness of Reverend Dickey. It was Templeton who pulled her to her feet.

“We can’t do anything for Ian now,” he added, “but the preacher here can see that everything’s taken care of.”

Everything would be taken care of? The idea carried with it an odd giddiness and hope flickered to life as she snagged onto the reassurance of it. “You’re sure?” She hardly recognized the sound of her voice, thick with unshed tears and quivering with uncertainty. “Ian and…everything?”

“I’m sure.”

Everything would be taken care of.

The possibility drew her like a freezing man to the blaze of a fire. But could she truly leave Ian’s body in the hands of strangers? It didn’t seem right somehow. She would have never considered such a thing in San Francisco.

But in San Francisco, she wouldn’t have been surrounded by strangers. In San Francisco, this never would have happened.

Everything would be taken care of. The weak part of her, the weary soul scraped raw, urged her to say yes. She longed to have someone’s help, even if for just a little while. A little while in which she didn’t have to think, plan, decide. A little while for her to find the strength to regain her bearings. If she could do that, she would be all right again. She was certain of it.

She had to be.

But could she trust these men? Certainly if anyone could help Ian now, it would be a minister. And she remembered Templeton. He was the man from the Star of the North. That had been the only saloon where someone had spoken to her in a way other than to make a vulgar comment or crude invitation about how she might spend the rest of the night.

Lucas Templeton might not have been precisely a gentleman, but he hadn’t propositioned her, either.

Ashlynne found herself moving, as though prodded to it by her thoughts. She stepped back but then stopped at the last moment to stare down at Ian’s body. It was only a shell, she reminded herself halfheartedly as she recalled the lessons of other ministers when she had faced other deaths. It was empty now and no longer housed all that had made her brother the unique person he’d been.

“Goodbye, Ian,” she whispered, and the wind carried away the soft sound. “I’m sorry.” An arm encircled her shoulders loosely, and then Lucas Templeton led her away from Reverend Dickey and Ian and the remains of their shattered dreams.

She accompanied Templeton blindly, simply putting one foot in front of the other in a semblance of walking that seemed to satisfy him. And she found the movement worked to her advantage, as well. It gave her a new sense of purpose, an activity that she didn’t have to think about. As long as she continued to move, her mind and body remained occupied.

“Be careful.” Lucas spoke close to her ear and his arm tightened around her shoulders as he led her up onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

She followed without comment or hesitation. For the moment she could think of nothing more than holding herself together. Guarding herself until she could find a stoic facade to present to the outside world.

She was a Mackenzie, after all, and there were certain rules to be followed whenever trouble threatened: hide your tears, show only your strength, never retreat and, oddly enough, live life to the fullest. She’d never been particularly good at any of those things, but surely she could manage it this time. Somehow.

This time she needed at least the appearance of maintaining her composure as she never had before.

“Here.”

Lucas took hold of her elbow and steered her through an open doorway. A blazing chandelier bestowed a sudden shock of light all around her and Ashlynne blinked. The Star of the North. She recognized the place immediately. It had been no more than an hour since she’d been here and it looked exactly the same. Ridiculously normal. The only difference she could see was that most of the earlier patrons were gone. They had all gone outside to see—

No. Don’t remember it now. Put it from your mind. First, you must find your strength. The rest will be waiting when you’re ready for it.

The advice echoed in her mind and, for a moment, she could almost believe that it was Grandfather Mackenzie who stood next to her this time. He would have given her that guidance exactly so, had he been here.

He wasn’t, of course. Granddad had been gone for more than five years now, Grandmother even longer. They’d welcomed her parents to that celestial plane more than six months ago and now Ian would join them. They had all gone, left Ashlynne alone and—

Stop it! For God’s sake, just stop thinking!

She listened to her better judgment because she could do nothing else. If she didn’t, she’d fly apart into a thousand pieces that could never again be fitted together. Desperately she followed Lucas as he wound his way through the scattered maze of tables and chairs, until he stopped at one that looked just like all the others.

He pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”

It was simpler to follow his instruction than to argue, and she had no words in any case. She had decided not to think—and it was just as well. Her legs felt suddenly weak, her knees on the verge of collapse. She’d kept herself moving through the street by sheer force of will, but now, when presented with another choice, her physical strength deserted her without warning. She sat down hard on the plain wooden chair.

“Do you want to take off your cloak?”

Ashlynne looked down at herself. The heavy woolen cloak—one of her few purchases for this trip to Alaska—covered her from neck to ankle, and suddenly she’d never been so grateful for a garment. It felt…good, heavy. Its weight somehow gave her a sense of security that otherwise seemed missing. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, as though warning Lucas not to force the issue.

He didn’t. In fact, he walked away and left her sitting alone.

Seizing any distraction, Ashlynne watched Lucas as he approached the bar. He moved with a casual grace that came unexpected from a man of his size. She’d thought the same thing when she’d first seen him and the impact hardly lessened upon second notice.

How was it, she wondered, that he had been the one to come to her aid? No one else had. Peripherally she’d been aware of others who’d stood around her in the street, staring and whispering among themselves, but none of them had approached her. Then Lucas had been there, kneeling next to her, and he’d helped her away from there. He’d seen to it that the reverend would take care of Ian, and he’d provided a safe place for her in the warmth and comfort of the Star of the North.

A saloon, she reminded herself.

The truth—that she found herself in this place again—hovered just beyond her ability to do something about it. It was wrong; she knew it with a vague uneasiness. She should have been aware of other emotions to concern her, as well, but…there was nothing. Rather, an ephemeral discomfort merely taunted her with the elusive impression of her complete and utter failure.

She had let Ian down and now she was a disappointment to herself, as well.

And still, she couldn’t do anything to change what had happened.

“Here.”

Ashlynne blinked, grateful for the diversion. Lucas stood next to the table, pointing to a steaming mug waiting on the table directly in front of her. She stared at it as though not quite comprehending exactly what it meant.

“Drink it. It’ll help.”

She nodded, not certain that he was right but touched by the gesture all the same. She recalled other times, when friends and relatives had made the same kind of offer or she’d done something similar for them. Remembering it now, she doubted that it had been of any real help. Still, it had been kinder than nothing at all.

Slowly, Ashlynne reached for the cup and slipped her not-quite-steady finger through the handle. Coffee. She could smell it, see a sliver of steam waft upward. She curled her fingers around the warm mug and brought it close enough to peer inside.

It was black, as these past days had taught her to drink both her coffee and tea. Sugar and cream had long ago become luxuries, a part of any fond memories of better days gone by. Ian had teased her that she would come to like the taste of the strong, bitter coffee favored by these Alaskans, and she had denied it with a certain laugh. Distance and necessity might require it, but she would never like it.

Oh, Ian.

Ashlynne gasped at the memory, her breath deserting her as a shaft of pain arrowed through her. It seemed for a moment as though she couldn’t stand it and she gulped the coffee without thinking.

Heat scored her throat, and for reasons more than simply the temperature of the coffee. A different kind of fire scraped over her mouth, her tongue and down to the depths of her belly. It burned, stealing the last of her breath. Her eyes watered and her head swam with a crazy lightness.

“Wha…” The words wouldn’t come and she was left wheezing for air. She clutched her throat with one hand and swallowed, then tried again. “What is that?”

“Coffee.”

She blinked and shook her head. “No. That’s not like…any coffee…I’ve ever tasted.” The words came slowly as she struggled for breath.

Lucas tugged at the chair opposite hers. Wood scraped against wood as he dragged it across the plank floor and sat down. He leaned back and pointed to his own mug, waiting on the table in front of him.

“It’s Irish coffee, of a sort, I suppose.”

“Irish coffee?” Speech became easier as the breath rasped in and out of her lungs. She was Irish and she’d never heard of such a thing!

He shrugged. “Coffee with a dash of whiskey. Supposed to be Irish whiskey, but we use what we have in Alaska.”

“Whiskey!” She all but dropped the cup in her haste to return it to the table. “Whiskey?”

Lucas nodded. “We sell a lot of it here. In Skagway and especially the Star.”

“But…whiskey?” she repeated. The reminder of where she was and all that had just happened slammed into her with all the impact of a bullet. “I’m…well, ladies do not drink whiskey.”

“The ones who come in the Star do. That or champagne, and champagne doesn’t mix with coffee. I thought you needed the coffee more.”

He looked at her, but his expression told Ashlynne nothing. His blue eyes reflected the fathomlessness of a shimmering, shadowy pool. They drew her, tantalized her but promised nothing at all.

“I…” She stumbled, uncertain exactly what she wanted to say. “How could you have served me whiskey? Whiskey!” she added one last time.

Lucas straightened but only enough to reach for his cup. If she’d been a betting woman, which she was not and never would be, she’d wager that his coffee was laced with whiskey, as well. He took a long drink and then very deliberately placed the mug on the table.

“What’s wrong with whiskey?” he asked with a smooth laziness that she didn’t believe for a minute.

Ashlynne straightened, even gripped the wooden arms of her chair under the urge to explain the evils of liquor and places like the Star of the North. As if to punctuate the speech she would make, she jerked her head aside to indicate the bar itself…and then her equilibrium wavered for a moment. She took a breath and paused. Frowning, she waited for things to settle back to where they should.

“Yes?” said Lucas, sounding smug, as though he doubted that she could answer the question.

“If you don’t know, Mr. Templeton,” she said, adding a certain emphasis to his name, though her voice came out with none of the strength she meant it to, “I certainly can’t explain it to you. I can tell you, however, that I don’t drink spirits.”

Lucas nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting in a semblance of a smile. “I can’t say that comes as any great surprise.” He paused, slanting her a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “But it seems like now might be a good time to start.”

“Mr. Templeton!” Fortunately a good sense of her outrage underscored her tone this time.

“What?”

“That is a wicked thing for you to say.”

He stared at her for a moment, his face without expression. “It’s not what I say that should worry you, Ashlynne. With your low opinion of me and the Star, it’s your being here at all that should concern you.”




Chapter Three


T he words weren’t rough enough. Lucas had wanted to say something…else. Something that would shock Ashlynne and send her running from the Star. He’d known from the beginning that he didn’t need or want her here, and her prim insistence that she didn’t drink spirits had only confirmed his conviction.

She was a teetotaler—and trouble.

How did he think his weak, sorry excuse for an accusation would convince a woman like Ashlynne Mackenzie to retreat? She had accompanied her husband to the frontier of Alaska, for God’s sake. And, teetotaler or not, she’d found the will to go from saloon to saloon, looking for the drunken wastrel to whom she was married.

A woman who did those things was not a coward. A woman like that was beyond anything in his experience, but he could be certain that she wouldn’t run from a few provocative words—and the sorry dare he’d come up with couldn’t even be considered provocative.

She was also a woman whose husband had just been shot. Murdered. And for that reason alone, Lucas’s more cowardly self couldn’t find, let alone use, any harder, more ruthless words. No matter that it was a mistake and he knew it, he simply couldn’t force himself to be deliberately cruel to her. Not tonight.

It was too bad, too. A firmer declaration would have made life simpler for them both.

“Drink your coffee,” he said instead.

“I told you. I don’t drink spirits.”

“There isn’t enough liquor in there to make you a drunkard, Ashlynne. Drink the damned stuff. You need it. Hell, I need it. It was damn cold outside.” He took a healthy swig from his own cup.

“I beg your pardon!”

She drew herself up like an outraged little hen, an image that might have made Lucas smile under other circumstances. He didn’t consider it now, not even when she gave him a frown that he guessed was meant to put him in his place. He stared back impassively.

“Hades will freeze over before I am crippled by a need for alcohol in order to survive,” she said, her voice as frosty as the coldest Alaskan night. “I will endure whatever I have to, for however long I have to, and without the aid of a crutch like whiskey.”

“Aha.” He nodded as though understanding suddenly—and he did. “The ills of the world are laid at the feet of that demon liquor. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And is that because Ian had a little trouble holding his drink?”

The question sounded like more of a taunt than Lucas had meant, but he didn’t offer an apology. He might not have it in him to be deliberately cruel to Ashlynne, but that didn’t mean he could be kind and gentle, either.

He couldn’t. Nor did he care about finding such softheartedness within himself. That could only lead to more trouble, and he’d had enough of that already.

He had to admire Ashlynne’s composure, however. She blinked at him like a confused little owl and said, “I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice sounded prim, proper, much as he expected, but then she exposed a sudden desperation when she reached for her coffee and drank.

Did she realize what she’d done? Apparently not, he decided when she gasped and wheezed something that sounded like ack. Her eyes widened, grew watery and remained as clearly amber as the whiskey that laced her coffee.

She’d almost fooled him into believing she had more strength than she could possibly possess.

Lucas chose to ignore both her physical reaction and the reasons for it; she wouldn’t appreciate anything he said. Instead he watched as she sat there, trussed up in her heavy cloak and, once she rid herself of her cup, with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

What did she think she was guarding herself against? he wondered as a faint smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. There was nothing and no one in the Star—or all of Skagway—who could cause her any more harm than her husband already had.

The smile died and Lucas angled his head in her direction. “Why don’t you take that cloak off before you get overheated? You’ll get sick.”

She glanced down at herself. “I…” She shrugged, as though unable to make the decision whether or not to do as he suggested.

And that was odd, Lucas thought as he watched her. She’d been quick and decisive in her disapproval of him and the Star—and alcohol in general—but she couldn’t decide whether or not to remove her cloak? Had that second taste of alcohol undermined the strength of her reasoning? Or had the reality of her predicament finally struck her?

“Unless you have somewhere else to go?” he prompted when she didn’t move.

“I…no.” She dropped her gaze to the front fastenings that held her cloak secure, moving slowly to work each one free. Finally, when the last one had been unfastened, she shrugged the heavy garment from her shoulders and it fell away, draping down over the back of the chair. “There. Is that better?”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “You tell me. You’re the one who could have become sick.”

“I’m…fine.”

She was more than fine. He could see that in an entirely new way. She wore a plum-colored gown with a high collar and long sleeves. The only adornment was a bit of black piping and black buttons that decorated the front in an eminently proper style. But the respectable cut and fashion of Ashlynne’s clothing could not disguise the lush shape of her body.

Her cloak had done an admirable job of concealing her form, making Lucas more appreciative of what he now could see. Her breasts curved in generous proportion, and her waist dipped inward with an enticing flare. She had the kind of shape that any man would admire.

What the hell had Ian Mackenzie been thinking of to bring his wife to Skagway? Particularly a wife who looked like Ashlynne?

“What are you going to do now?” The question slipped out before Lucas could think better of it. He didn’t really want to know the answer, didn’t want to learn anything about her past or future. Certainly he didn’t want to understand the woman herself.

But then second, perhaps wiser, thoughts assailed him. Maybe such a question was for the best, after all. He wanted her gone from his life for good—and the sooner the better. A reminder of the reality of her situation might be the best way to accomplish that.

“Tonight?” she asked softly. “Or in the future?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, no. I don’t suppose there is.”

“And?”

She glanced away. When she looked back at him, it was for only a moment. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I have nowhere to go.”

“Tonight?” He repeated her question. “Or ever?”

“Ever.”

Damn. He narrowed his eyes and told himself not to respond to the look of forlorn confusion that paled her face. Ashlynne Mackenzie must have somewhere else to go. She had to. She couldn’t stay here, at the Star.

At least he could be certain that she’d have no desire to remain in a saloon.

I should have walked away and let Reverend Dickey take care of her.

“What about family, friends?” he asked.

“I don’t have a family. Not anymore. Ian was the last one.” Her voice grew thick with the words and she paused, blinking quickly, repeatedly, as she fought back tears. “I never had many friends. Certainly no one close enough I could turn to now.

“I’m…alone,” she added after a moment.

Alone.

Lucas was alone, too. Well, he had the Star. A place to call his own. It had started out as nothing more than a way to earn a living, but now it had become his home, and friends like Sugar Candy and his bartender, Willie, had become his family.

Ashlynne said she had no one. Lucas could believe it was true, at least in Skagway. But at home, wherever that was? There must be someone.

Lucas leveled her a deliberate look but used the guise of reaching for his cup to mask his intent. He needn’t have bothered; she had dropped her gaze once more, seeming fascinated by her hands, her lap—or something else entirely that he couldn’t see.

She had paled, even, from earlier, and her mouth seemed slack. Lucas drank from his mug and looked closer. Her expression appeared all too shocked, confused. Had her admission surprised even her then?

“Go back where you came from, Ashlynne.” Lucas spoke suddenly, using words he could say flatly and without hesitation. “Family or not, you have friends there. You don’t want to stay in Alaska.”

She shook her head as she looked up at him. “You don’t understand.” She sounded almost desperate, as though she needed to convince herself, as well. “There is no one there for me. There is no one at all. And even if there were…”

She paused for so long he gave up expecting that she would continue. When he would have spoken, prodded her, she finished, “Even if there were, I couldn’t get there. I don’t have a return ticket…and I don’t have the fare for one.”

“You don’t have—” Lucas cut himself off, suddenly recalling pieces of what he’d learned on the street.

“Are you telling me,” he began again, “that Ian lost everything? All your money?”

“Yes.” The word was barely audible. “And that isn’t even the worst of it.”

Lucas’s heart sank. Good God, there was more?

“What else?”

“It’s my fault.”

Ashlynne made the admission before she could give in to the cowardice that made her want to pretend otherwise. But she couldn’t claim an innocence she didn’t deserve. In truth, she was to blame for everything that had happened.

“What’s your fault?”

“All of it.”

“All of it,” Lucas repeated, but nothing in his tone made the words sound like a question. “Do you have more to tell me?”

“I…” She paused as she tried to think carefully about what to say and how to say it. Lucas made it more difficult than it should have been, staring at her with those sharp blue eyes that seemed to look right through her to the very depths of her soul.

Apprehension stalked her, as it had for days now. It made her angry and irritable and reckless, which explained why she’d gone looking for Ian in the first place. Now it annoyed her into reaching for her coffee and she swallowed a mouthful before she could think better of it.

She realized her mistake the moment it was too late. She might have allowed petulance to get the better of her, but her pride permitted her to do nothing less than swallow the coffee…and the whiskey. The liquor tasted stronger than she remembered—or was it only that the coffee had cooled considerably since she’d tasted it before? She uttered a soft, decidedly unfeminine grunt as she shuddered.

“Think of it this way. Irish coffee is medicinal,” suggested Lucas with unmistakable humor glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gasped more than she spoke. “There is nothing medicinal about whiskey.”

“You might be surprised at how many tonics you can buy from any druggist that are mostly alcohol.”

She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t have the interest or energy to argue with him. Not now. Maybe tomorrow or another day, when she could think again with some semblance of intelligence. At the moment she seemed only able to feel—and her emotions didn’t seem all that dependable. They had careened up and down and around all night, urging her in one direction and then another without pause or logic, and she didn’t trust a one of them.

“Now,” said Lucas after he’d taken a drink from his own cup and settled back in his chair. “Do you want to tell me why this is all your fault?”

“No.” She bit off the word, taking satisfaction in the sharp, disagreeable sound. “I can’t say that I want to tell you anything at all.”

He leveled an impatient frown of disapproval in her direction. “You’ve got someone else who wants to listen? Someone who’s interested?

“And who’ll help you?” he added after a significant pause.



Ashlynne tried to swallow a sigh, but she couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s no one,” she stated, because it gave her at least the illusion of certainty. “I told you that. But can’t this wait?” She brushed an unsteady hand over her forehead. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“When would be better for you? When you’re all settled into this new life that you’ve got waiting, now that you’re all alone?” She couldn’t mistake his sarcastic tone.

Ashlynne swallowed and dredged up the will to answer from somewhere, though she doubted seriously that she had the strength for it. “You’re right, of course.” She refused the tears that prickled behind her eyelids and forced back the fear and grief that waited just beyond the ironclad grip she held over her composure.

Lucas stared at her silently.

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “It’s my fault because it was my idea to come here.”

Lucas angled his head to one side and seemed to watch her with more than a trace of curiosity. There seemed to be something else in his expression, as well, though she couldn’t tell just what.

“What do you mean by here?” he asked. “It was your idea to come to the Star? Or to Skagway?”

“Alaska. The Klondike. I’m the one who wanted to prospect for gold.”

He didn’t believe her. She could tell by his narrowed eyes and the skeptical twist of his lips. He shook his head, shoving the hair out of his eyes when it tumbled over his forehead. “Women never choose adventure or places like Alaska.”

“What…” Ashlynne shook her head in startled astonishment. The movement gave her a bit of a light-headed feeling, but she did her best to ignore it. “What a narrow-minded thing for you to say.” She answered Lucas’s ridiculous claim instead. “What about your girl Candy over there? How did she get here?”

Ashlynne pointed to where Candy circulated among the men on the other side of the room. The other woman touched one man with a familiar hand on his shoulder, bent low to whisper in another’s ear. She chatted and laughed with them all, her manner casual and friendly and even intimate.

A startling regret washed over Ashlynne as she watched Candy’s relaxed camaraderie with the men. An equal sense of shock followed almost immediately. How could she, Ashlynne, experience such a sense of disappointment? It was completely inappropriate! But…she had never felt that kind of easiness with another. No one. Granddad and Grandmother had always held themselves stiffly aloof from most emotion, and Ashlynne had been so very different from her immediate family—her parents and Ian—that they’d never been close.

She hadn’t even felt that kind of familiarity with Elliott and he had been—

She cut off her thoughts with a ruthlessness she hadn’t needed in a long time, perhaps not since Elliott himself had taught her the necessity for it. But she needed the ability with a real desperation tonight. She simply couldn’t afford for her thoughts to divert in that particular direction. Not along with everything else that had happened.

And particularly not when facing a man of Lucas Templeton’s considerable will.

She ignored the distant warning in her head and drank more coffee. It didn’t burn with quite the same fire as earlier, although she wouldn’t say that the taste had much improved. Still, it gave her something to do with her hands and worked as an effective distraction from the conversation she didn’t want to have in the first place.

“Are you telling me that you’re a woman like Candy?” asked Lucas, sounding both curious and dubious—and distinctly amused.

“I—” She flushed. “No.” She shook her head emphatically and tried to ignore that same dizzy feeling that had overcome her earlier. “I have no intention of working in a saloon. But that doesn’t change the fact that coming to Alaska was my idea.”

“The lure of the gold?” Lucas’s smile didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “You and Ian planned to be rich, like the Carmacks and the Berrys?”

“You see?” Ashlynne pointed at Lucas, making her argument with fingers that had long ago ceased to tremble, but then she turned to fanning her face with her hand. The room had begun to seem overly warm.

“George Carmack and Clarence Berry had their wives with them when they struck gold,” she added. “You can’t tell me that Kate Carmack and Ethel Berry were dance hall girls—or anything else. I know better.”

“I see you’ve learned about your predecessors to the Klondike.”

“Yes.” Ashlynne nodded, but briefly. “It seemed important to learn all we could. To be prepared.” But her heart fell upon hearing the words. Despite whatever they might have thought, she and Ian had been sadly unprepared before arriving in Skagway.

“It’s different here,” she confessed in a soft voice, because the truth had always been the one thing on which she could depend. “Nothing like I expected.”

“You aren’t the first to say that.”

“I didn’t want to come this way.” She shrugged. “I wanted to go to St. Michael and take a ship from there down the Yukon River to Dawson City.”

“The all-water route.” Lucas nodded with apparent approval. “It’s a less arduous trip that way, that much is certain. Better for a woman.”

“It’s also more expensive. Ian said we couldn’t afford it. Besides, the Yukon River is frozen this time of year and Ian wanted to travel now. He said we were better off coming early, through Skagway, and purchasing our outfit here, rather than paying to ship it from San Francisco. We could be ready as soon as the snow melted.”

“And did he tell you how difficult it would be to cross either of the passes to get from here as far as Bennett? The Chilkoot is brutal enough, and the White Pass is no better. And that’s only the beginning of the trail.”

Ashlynne started to shake her head, then remembered her earlier dizziness and thought better of it. What if she was catching a cold? Or, worse, some strange Alaskan malady with which she had no experience.

She answered simply instead. “I don’t know how much Ian knew before we left, but I began to suspect the truth of what we faced on the Aurora Borealis. The other passengers told me what they knew, and it did sound…daunting.”

In truth, Ashlynne had been appalled to hear of the hardships that stampeders faced when climbing either the Chilkoot or White passes. But, as she’d quickly learned, those who wanted to go to the Klondike had no choice. There was no other route from Skagway to Dawson City, and the Canadian Mounties required those entering the Yukon to possess nearly a thousand pounds of goods and supplies. The only way a man—or woman—could comply was by carrying his outfit up and over the pass, trip after trip after trip.

“I thought we could do it.” She tried to sound more confident than she actually felt. “Ian did, too. He told me so—but then, he didn’t fear anything.”

A boisterous shout from a noisy card game drew her attention and Ashlynne glanced to the back of the room. If Ian had been alive, he would have been there with the others, betting his last dime—or anything else with which he’d had to gamble. She didn’t doubt it.

She frowned and turned back to Lucas. “The atmosphere of Skagway—the excitement and gambling and drinking—all took hold of him. It was like a…sickness. It didn’t take even a day before he fell in with a bad influence and…well, you know the rest of it.”

“And you consider yourself responsible for that?”

“It was my idea to come,” she repeated tightly.

“You aren’t responsible for anyone’s actions but your own.”

She smiled but with neither amusement nor understanding. “That sounds very nice, but it’s not true. Not in this case. I knew we were taking a chance in coming here, but I thought we took a bigger chance by staying in San Francisco. Ian had too many acquaintances who were a bad influence, and we’d already lost nearly everything we had. This seemed like the right thing to do. I’m not so sure anymore, but at the time, it felt as though we were fulfilling the family prophecy.”

“The…what?”

“Grandfather Mackenzie had found his first success in the California gold rush. He was shrewd and frugal and earned a great fortune—which my parents promptly spent. Wasted. When they were killed in a carriage accident months ago, they left nothing of Granddad’s fortune. But I thought that Ian and I could have a new chance in the Klondike. A fresh start. Just when the time came that we had nothing left, George Carmack struck gold at Dawson City. It seemed like destiny—a sign from God.”

Would He find it sacrilegious that she said such a thing? Ashlynne didn’t know. Her family hadn’t been religious and so she hadn’t grown up in the church. But surely God would forgive her for her lapses in judgment, both tonight and in the recent past. Wouldn’t He? She’d done her best.

Aware of how pitiful her best truly was, Ashlynne snatched up her coffee cup and drained it. If only she could find her bearings again…

“What did your parents have to do with your husband’s family fortune?” Lucas’s question came unexpectedly.

“My husband?” Ashlynne frowned. “Who are you talking about?”

“Ian.” Lucas returned her frown. “Or…” He paused and the silence began to seem somehow exaggerated. “Were the two of you just…lovers?”

“Lovers! Who?”

“You and Ian.”

“What about Ian?” Ashlynne shot Lucas another glare of confusion. Either he made no sense at all or she had become completely overwrought and hadn’t realized it until this moment.

“You said that Grandfather Mackenzie found his success in the California gold rush.” Lucas spoke slowly enough, but his tone smacked of more frustration than patience.

“Yes.”

“And that was Ian’s grandfather.”

“Yes.” She nodded briefly, careful of that highly unsettling dizziness. “Ian’s and my grandfather.”

“You and Ian shared the same grandfather?”

“Yes. Of course we did. Why wouldn’t we? Most brothers and sisters share the same family.”

Lucas blinked and for a moment his expression seemed to close down. Then his eyes widened and, remarkably, he laughed. “Son of a bitch,” he said softly as he shook his head. “Ian wasn’t your husband. He was your brother!”




Chapter Four


L ucas had been a fool.

A small part of Lucas exulted at the discovery; the rest of him recognized the difference for all the danger it posed. Ashlynne Mackenzie hadn’t the protection, dubious though it might have been, of being a grieving widow; she’d never been a wife. She was, instead, a single woman. A woman stranded in Skagway without family or money.

A woman completely alone, not only in Alaska but in the world.

And wasn’t he a man who had once fancied himself as saving the world?

No! His sense of self-preservation reared up to demand that he listen. You don’t save the world or people or anything else. Not anymore. You might have done that sort of thing once, but that was a long time ago. And you weren’t very good at it, now were you? So don’t think about making any noble gestures now.

“Wherever did you get the idea that Ian and I were…married?” Ashlynne asked, sounding more confused than amused. But then Lucas’s own amusement had disappeared the moment he’d understood the complications of this new truth.

He avoided looking at her as he reached for his coffee. Draining the last of it, he signaled Willie for another. For only himself, of course. Miss Ashlynne Mackenzie didn’t drink spirits, after all.

He shrugged as though Ashlynne’s question had been insignificant. “You must have said something.”

“I’m sure I didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“Well, I didn’t just pluck the idea out of thin air.”

“I think you did.” She straightened and frowned in a most argumentative way, aiming a dark, disgruntled look at him. “I think you made an assumption based on nothing more than your own antiquated ideas.”

“Antiquated ideas?” Lucas’s sense of humor returned and he laughed. “A man who owns a place like the Star of the North doesn’t have antiquated ideas.”

“You do,” she insisted, her brow drawn in obvious disapproval. “You’re the one who said, ‘Women never choose adventure or places like Alaska.’ That’s an antiquated idea if I ever heard one. You think that only married women would want to travel, and then it would be because their husbands made them.”

“Ashlynne, I do not—”

“You do so. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have assumed Ian and I were husband and wife.”

Lucas stared, wondering at this sudden quarrelsome side to Ashlynne’s nature, when she’d been polite, even distant before. Had her grief finally overcome her other emotions? Or could she be this angry because he’d misunderstood her relationship with Ian?

Worse, could the whiskey have begun to affect her mood?

“Here you go, sugar.”

Candy’s words and the scent of roses preceded her arrival by mere seconds. She swept up from behind him, carrying two steaming mugs that she placed on the table with a feminine flourish. She set one in front of Ashlynne and the other within Lucas’s reach.

“I didn’t want two,” he said, his voice sharper than it should have been. But…dammit! He wanted to end these moments with Ashlynne; he didn’t want her in the Star and he didn’t want to help her. He wanted her out of his life and gone from his memory, and plying her with whiskey or coffee would hardly accomplish that.

“I might have wanted something else,” put in Ashlynne, her voice decidedly grumpy. “But you wouldn’t know that—would you?—since you hadn’t the courtesy to ask.”

Who was she to chastise him? “You said you didn’t drink spirits.”

Ashlynne opened her mouth as though to argue the matter further, but Candy spoke first.

“You two can argue your differences on your own. One-Eyed Pete’s waiting for me.” She started to leave but then stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. She shot a pointed smile in Lucas’s direction. “Don’t forget, sugar. Just call me if you want…anything.”

Candy flounced away with a laugh, swinging her hips and tossing her head like a filly in heat. Lucas wanted to appreciate the sight, but he couldn’t seem to find his usual sense of admiration for her tonight.

“That woman is shameless.”

He glanced at Ashlynne and found her staring after Candy. Her brow was wrinkled with disapproval. He swallowed a weary sigh. “She’s a dance hall girl, Ashlynne.”

She transferred her gaze to him. “And a…”

“A what?”

“A…” She hesitated again. “A…prostitute.”

Lucas couldn’t help himself; he laughed again. “Well, yes, I suppose she’s that, too.”

Ashlynne snatched up her fresh cup and took a healthy drink. “I don’t know how you men can make light of such things. Prostitution is immoral—wicked! Why, this place—this whole town!—is immoral and wicked.”

“Then why don’t you go back where you came from and leave us to wallow in our immorality and wickedness?”

She took another, sizable drink, stared for a moment at the cup, then replaced it on the table with a new frown. “I told you. I don’t have a ticket or the money to purchase one.”

“I’ll give you the money.” The offer was out before Lucas could think better of it. But as the words echoed between them, he realized just how much sense it made. Ashlynne couldn’t afford to leave—and he couldn’t afford to allow her to stay. The piddling price of the fare back to Seattle or San Francisco would be a fair enough exchange for his peace of mind.

She, on the other hand, reared back as though he’d just suggested that she shed her clothes and dance naked on the tabletop. “Absolutely not!”

Lucas frowned, annoyed as much by himself as Ashlynne’s reaction. His offer had been honorable, and she had no business behaving as though it wasn’t. Worse, her current position drew every bit of his attention to her lush, completely feminine curves. His body noticed immediately, straining awake and reminding him, in fact, that he hadn’t put her attractiveness from his mind at all.

“What do you plan to do instead?” he snapped without a hint of sympathy.

“Well…I don’t know. But I have no intention of taking money from strange men.”

“I’m not a stranger. You know my name, after all.”

“That isn’t enough,” she insisted. Firmly.

“You should be relieved I made the offer. I didn’t ask for any…favors in return.”

“Mr. Templeton!” Her complexion paled and her eyes widened with apparent shock. When she spoke again, however, it was with a cool certainty that came as a surprise. “There is no chance that you would have gotten such favors from me,” she said stiffly, all but draining her cup.

Ashlynne sat back decisively, but then peered into the depths of her empty mug. She sighed and glanced up at him. “Why don’t you people have cream or sugar?” she asked with plaintive frustration.

Lucas blinked. Ashlynne’s mood seemed to be changing with nothing more than the ticking of the clock and it had gotten worse as the night had passed. He understood that her emotions might be unstable after the traumatic turn of events, but it seemed that the whiskey had only heightened her reactions.

“Cream and sugar are too expensive,” he answered carefully. “A person can probably find some sugar in Skagway if you’ve got the coin, but never cream.”

Ashlynne sighed again. “I think I hate this place.”

“So why not let me send you back Outside?”

“Outside where?”

“San Francisco or wherever you came from. Outside of Alaska.”

“Why didn’t you say that, then?”

“I did. Anyplace away from Alaska is Outside.”

“What do you call the beauty and grandeur of nature beyond these walls?” she demanded smartly as she waved to the room in general. Her spark, however, and her gaze seemed to be fading. “You can’t escape the wilderness in this place. I’ve seen that for myself.”

“That’s simply the great outdoors.”

“Cheechakos, Outside—you Alaskans have your own vocabulary.”

Lucas nodded, not that Ashlynne paid enough attention to notice. What she said was true, however. Most things about Alaska and Alaskans were different from elsewhere in the world. The disparities repelled as many people as they attracted.

Now, of course, the gold drew them, as well. Just as it had drawn Ashlynne and her brother. But the land, the elements and the hardy breed of both pioneers and Indians who had already settled this frontier were unforgiving. The wrong step could cost a man his life.

It had cost Ian Mackenzie his.

And what about his sister? What would she do now?



The world was a terrible place and the heavy thudding inside Ashlynne’s head was God’s way of proving it to her. She didn’t know enough about God to be certain, but she suspected what He wanted of her. It was what He’d always wanted of her—and what she’d always failed to accomplish. He meant for her to give up her headstrong ways, to learn to think before she acted, to trust others and to forgive them for their shortcomings.

She had never even come close to managing it. Now she couldn’t even consider it.

She couldn’t seem to think at all.

Instinct demanded that she hold her arms, her legs—everything—stiff and steady. Better yet, that she give up movement entirely. She tried, but the blood continued to pound through her veins and her head drummed with a heavy, relentless beat that left her hardly able to think. In fact, the drumming and pounding produced a steady rhythm that paced her heart and seemed to aim specifically for the most sensitive spots in her forehead and behind her eyes.

Ashlynne caught and held her breath, but that only seemed to make things worse. She gave in with a weary sigh and allowed her breath to trickle out, bit by bit. At the same time she relaxed her muscles and tested her extremities: fingers and toes, hands and feet, arms and legs. They all worked, though she couldn’t imagine quite how. Her body’s natural reaction must have been responsible, for she couldn’t seem to manage much else.

She shifted with a trifle more bravery and discovered a new ache, this one low in her back. Ashlynne pried open one eye and gradually realized at what an unnatural, crooked angle that she lay. Just as bad, her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her mouth carried a dry, awful taste, as though she’d eaten dirt and ash—or worse.

Gingerly, hoping for some relief, she tested her lips with her tongue. They felt dry and cracked, too, but she’d come to expect that from Alaskan winter weather.

Alaska.

With just the word, everything came tumbling back into her mind in one great rush. She sat up with a gasp, at the same time clasping one hand to her throat as though that would stifle any other noise. It might have done the job, but the relentless pounding in her head only increased.

Moving carefully, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and gingerly massaged her forehead. She dared no other movement as she peered about her…and then she discovered herself in a small room, dark and gloomy. An odd assortment of crates, barrels and boxes surrounded her, all stacked in haphazard disarray. A mop and bucket, broom and dustpan and other assorted cleaning supplies filled one corner.

Daring a braver look, she turned by slow degrees to investigate the rest of the room. A line of pegs, used as clothes hangers, marched across the wall and a small chest of drawers squatted next to them. A cracked piece of mirror hung crookedly on the wall above it.

Her heart stumbled as did her breathing and Ashlynne lost any chance to ignore the reality of her situation. She had never before seen this room and she had no earthly idea where she was. She was in someone’s bed—but whose? She tried to scramble to her feet but found herself virtually wrapped in a cocoon made up of her heavy woolen cloak. It tangled around her legs and kept her imprisoned on a bed that was actually more of a cot, she realized as she struggled to free herself.

“Be careful.”

The voice, low and husky, was also male. She recognized it immediately and absolutely.

Lucas Templeton.

Ashlynne gave a sharp little grunt of surprise. The noise sounded most unlady-like, but she didn’t care. She forced herself to settle back on the bed as she wriggled around to free her legs as best she could, and at the same time, she scanned the room to find him.

In the far corner, disguised by shadows and her ignorance that he was there, she finally spotted him. He slouched in a chair with enough lazy grace that suggested he was a man who would be comfortable wherever he went.

She’d gotten the same impression of him last night.

He stared back at her, his gaze somehow unexpected. He looked unsurprised to see her or her reaction, as though he had been lounging there and watching her for some time now. Most certainly as she slept. Had he reached some obscure conclusions? And about what?

Aside from that, had he slept? And if so, where? Dull shadows clung to the far corners of the room and gave his eyes a sleepy, heavy-lidded appearance that suggested so. Perhaps she’d awoken him.

Other than that, he looked much the same as he had last night: tousled and wicked and all too male. She didn’t want to notice—hated that she did. She had so much else at stake, so much else with which to concern herself, and yet she couldn’t deny that she was aware of Lucas in a way that went clear through to her soul.

What should she say to him? Especially now, after everything that had happened.

“Where am I?”

It was all that occurred to her. Worse, her voice croaked with an embarrassing thinness. Ashlynne swallowed and forced herself to maintain a steady gaze in Lucas’s direction.

“In my bed.” He shot her a heavy glare that seemed pointed at the same time and told her nothing.

She frowned. It made her feel better and she hoped it would put Lucas in his place. Her unseemly awareness of him or not, the man remained a scoundrel. He very deliberately wanted to make things sound as bad as he could, and that wasn’t fair.

He was the one who’d given her the whiskey, after all.

Oh, dear Lord. Ashlynne dropped her gaze to her lap and her hands went icy cold. Whiskey, she remembered, and a new wrinkle in her memory smoothed itself out. She’d had several cups of coffee laced with whiskey and swallowed them down without so much as a second thought. In a saloon. On the night of her brother’s murder.

How could she? She’d never done anything that dreadful! Worse, that disrespectful. What kind of woman had she become?

But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—take the time to answer the questions now. Self-reproach could—and would—come later, once she was alone. She wanted no witness for the emotional storm that waited just beneath her ability to control it.

For the moment she forced herself to look at Lucas once more. She leveled a steady gaze in his direction and spoke in a clear voice. “So this is your bed.” She paused. “Or your cot, as it were.”

“Complaining about the accommodations?”

“Not at all. I’m more interested in knowing exactly where your bed is.”

Lucas shrugged. “Where else? In the back room at the Star.”

The back room of a saloon. Ashlynne’s heart dropped. Humiliation urged her to hide her face in her hands, but she resisted with stiffened shoulders and clenched fists. She wouldn’t give Lucas Templeton the satisfaction of seeing her like that—and she couldn’t afford to give her weaker side the victory.

She forced herself to maintain direct eye contact with Lucas and to ignore the sour churning that had roiled up in her stomach. “How did I get here?”

“I brought you,” he said as he pushed himself straight and unfolded his body from the chair. He moved in one grand, sweeping motion that seemed completely unsuitable for a man his size.

He should have been more awkward, clumsier, she thought with a spurt of irritation. It would be only fair. Handsome men shouldn’t have every other ability at their beck and call, as well.

And she shouldn’t be noticing the man or how he moved.

“I didn’t know what else to do with you,” he added after a moment. “You couldn’t seem to tell me where you were staying.” He gave his lips a brief twist that she suspected was supposed to have been a smile. Even so, he didn’t appear at all amused.

He started across the room, taking a lazy detour that skirted a crooked stack of crates. The path brought him perilously close to the bed and Ashlynne’s instincts screamed at her to scoot back. Stubbornly she held herself still.

He passed by to stop at a window that Ashlynne hadn’t noticed before. A bit of light seeped from beneath a dark piece of brocade fabric that had been tacked over it in an odd-looking curtain.

Lucas tugged the makeshift drapery away from the window and hooked it around a nail to stay back. Light flooded the room, a pale, thin brightness that she recognized already as a winter day this far north. In summer, she’d been told, the midnight sun could be blinding. At the moment this was enough to force Ashlynne’s eyelids to snap closed and she jerked her hand up to shield her face.

Each movement pained her and she struggled against myriad physical ailments, refusing to acknowledge them. She dared not, not now that she’d remembered her drunken revelry was to blame. She was not like her father or brother. Demon alcohol would never get the better of her.

“What time is it?” she asked as she blinked to clear her vision.

She heard a soft rustle and then Lucas said, “Going on noon.”

“Noon!”

Her eyelids popped open and she stared between Lucas and the window. He didn’t seem to notice; he’d glanced down to replace his watch in the small pocket of his vest. When he looked up again, his smile appeared all too smug and he leaned his shoulder against the wall.

How could he appear casual and relaxed and dangerous all at once?

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he asked. “Are you feeling a bit worse for the wear?”

Dear Lord. Noon. She had never slept so late.

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze, and stared down at the woolen cape in her lap. Somehow she’d managed to wad it into a wrinkled ball that seemed to represent the shambles of her entire life. Shame sent the blood racing up her neck to her face and her cheeks burned with fire.

“I—I have to go!”

Ashlynne tore at her cloak, shoved it from her legs and onto the floor. She stood, stumbling in her haste, and only then did she slow down. Careful, she reminded herself sharply. Now wasn’t the time to show Lucas how flustered she really was.

She took a deep breath and did her best to ignore the renewed pounding in her head. Gingerly she controlled her movements as she brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and adjusted her waistband. Her blouse would simply have to remain somewhat untucked, her bodice wrinkled, but she smoothed loose wisps of hair away from her face.

Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she leveled a steady glare at Lucas. He stared back, just as she’d known he would.

“Thank you for…” She paused, struggling with how best to phrase her appreciation and yet conceal the confusion and fear that wrangled for dominance within her. “Helping me last night,” she finished, knowing the words were inadequate but without anything better. “I don’t know how I would have managed otherwise.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find the sheriff and Reverend Dickey.” She didn’t mind when her tone came out a bit sulky. Lucas needn’t make such autocratic demands; it was none of his business where she went and what she did.

But…he had been good enough to help her last night and she would always appreciate that. “Can you tell me where the sheriff’s office is located?” she asked in a more conciliatory tone.

“We don’t have a sheriff.”

“Well, there must be some law enforcement here.”

“Deputy Marshal Taylor. But you don’t want to go to him.”

“Of course I do!” Ashlynne pulled herself up to stand as tall and imposing as she could. Even at that, she was hardly a match for Lucas’s size and she knew it. She conjured up a deep scowl to help with the illusion of strength. “I didn’t see him last night and I have a number of questions—not the least of which is if he has any idea who murdered my brother!”

“You won’t get answers from Taylor.”

“Surely he must have begun to investigate the—” she paused, swallowing the sudden lump at the back of her throat “—shooting by now. He must know something, and he won’t know where to find me.”

“You don’t want to see Taylor,” said Lucas again, his tone growing more insistent. He straightened from his casual pose and offered an answering scowl. “He won’t tell you anything. If you know what’s good for you, Ashlynne, you’ll just forget it.”

“Forget it?” Ashlynne’s voice rose in octave and strength. “How can you suggest such a thing? I would never do something like that! Ian was my only brother, the last family I had left. I have no intention of forgetting what happened to him. I mean to make certain that justice is served, and I’m sure that Deputy Taylor feels the same way.”

“Don’t be naive.”

“Naive? I only expect the law to do its job.”

“Listen, Ashlynne.” Lucas started in her direction, then he stopped and shook his head. “Deputy Taylor doesn’t give one good goddamn about the law. Or you. He’s Soapy’s man, and if you don’t want to end up like your brother, you’ll leave it alone.”

“Soapy’s man? What are you talking about?”

“Rumor has it that your brother got himself involved in a card game with one of Soapy Smith’s henchmen. It might have been crooked—hell, it probably was crooked. Doesn’t matter. Ian accused the man of cheating and you know what happened after that. Whichever of Soapy’s men it was, he’s long gone. And even if the shooter comes back to town, it won’t matter. Soapy’s word is law around here, and nobody’s going to take up for a cheechako they can’t remember.”

Undisguised fury fired her blood. “I remember him.”

“Fine.” He answered in a tone angry enough to match hers. “Remember him. Build a shrine to him. Do anything else you want. But for God’s sake, leave the law out of it. You’ll only draw Taylor’s—and Soapy’s—attention to yourself. And that’s the last thing you want to do.”




Chapter Five


S he hadn’t listened to him.

Lucas stalked down the boardwalk that fronted Broadway, ignoring the whispers and sidelong glances. He had neither the patience nor the time for polite chitchat and he wanted everyone to know it. He’d been careful to build his reputation as a man who kept his distance from others, but today that didn’t seem to matter to anyone besides himself.

He’d broken his own rule last night, and that, it seemed, had changed everything. At least as far as his fellow Alaskans were concerned. He’d taken Ashlynne back to the Star after the shooting—rescued her, people were saying. Now they wanted to know why…and what else might have happened after that.

He wasn’t telling anyone a damn thing.

Frowning, he added a steely glare of disapproval to keep the curiosity seekers and gossipmongers from approaching him. There wasn’t anything to tell, except that Ashlynne Mackenzie didn’t drink spirits…and she didn’t listen to advice any better than she held her liquor.

The damn woman had ignored everything he’d said. She hadn’t even pretended to listen. She’d simply settled her cloak around her shoulders, turned her back on him and walked out of the Star without a backward glance.

He hadn’t wondered where she was going. He’d known. She was on her way to see Taylor, no matter what Lucas had said…and he’d meant to let her go. She needed to learn the truth about Soapy Smith’s hold over Skagway. If she had to do it the hard way, then that was a choice she made on her own. Lucas had given her the chance to do things the easy way, and she hadn’t believed him.

He refused to follow her in this folly.

He’d had second thoughts almost immediately—and he’d squashed them down just as quickly. He’d gone about his morning routine, changed his shirt and splashed cold water over his face. Surely that would clear the cobwebs from his cluttered mind.

It had done precisely that…though not in the way he’d meant it to. Thirty minutes later he’d headed out after her—and the second thoughts had returned twofold. This time for far different reasons.

He hadn’t listened to any of them.

Second thoughts weakened a man, crippled him…even killed him. They’d done their best to kill the old Lucas Templeton. In his place, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, another man had come to life. A man who followed his instincts.

Even when he knew he was making probably the biggest mistake of his life?

The biggest mistake of this life, he clarified for himself. He’d made far bigger mistakes in his former life, but they didn’t count for anything anymore. He couldn’t let them.

The life he’d made in Alaska was the only life that counted for anything.

Blinking, Lucas walked away from his maudlin thoughts by stepping down to the icy, half frozen and half muddy, rutted street. He crossed at the intersection and then stepped up onto another section of boardwalk. The walks weren’t particularly well built, but they kept a man’s feet free from the muck and mud and manure created by the steady stream of horses and wagons that churned up the roads, even in the middle of winter.

No matter how far he went, he couldn’t escape himself. And no matter how hard he worked to force it away, there was one question that refused to leave him in peace: why had he listened to the part of him that insisted on going after Ashlynne after she’d walked out?

But he knew. It was that damned sense of decency that he’d thought he’d left behind him eons ago. It had reared its ugly head last night and gotten him into this mess to begin with. Couldn’t a good night’s sleep—or at least a few hours of dozing in a chair—have cleared up that bit of nonsense once and for all?

Apparently not. Lucas couldn’t seem to forget that Ian’s murder changed everything for Ashlynne. She might not understand—or want to acknowledge—the significance of her altered circumstances, but that didn’t change the truth of it any. Her brother’s death put everything at stake for her and in an entirely different way.

If she had grasped that one unchangeable fact, she wouldn’t have marched off to find Deputy Taylor.

Lucas shook his head. Ashlynne had no idea what kind of trouble she would be inviting if she asked the deputy to find Ian’s killer. Justice, vengeance—her reasons didn’t matter. Taylor wouldn’t hear of it, Soapy wouldn’t stand for it…and Lucas couldn’t seem to force himself to let her fend for herself against the others.

The marshal’s office wasn’t far now, but Lucas found he had to look to find it. New structures seemed to spring up in town every day. Some were constructed of lumber, while others were nothing more than canvas tents. Still others were a combination of both. Skagway boasted hotels, restaurants, outfitters, a hardware store and a druggist. There was even a hospital and Reverend Dickey’s Union Church, built last fall.

The sound of voices, one raised in anger, echoed from up ahead of him and a moment later Ashlynne backed out onto the boardwalk. “The proper authorities will hear of my treatment here today, sir. You can be certain of it.” She slammed the door shut behind her.

So he’d been right, Lucas thought as he approached her from behind. Surprisingly, perhaps, he didn’t notice any particular satisfaction within himself at the knowledge.

“You found Deputy Taylor,” he murmured carefully.

Ashlynne went still. Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck, revealed by the loose upsweep of her hair. Even beneath the protection of her cloak, he could see the way in which she stiffened her shoulders and straightened her spine. Second after second ticked by, until slowly, finally, she turned to face him.

She nodded, though her controlled expression revealed nothing. “Yes, I found him.”

“And?”

She blinked, a slow, calculated movement that recalled nothing of the earlier confused owlishness of a woman who wasn’t quite centered. “And you were right, of course.” She made the admission with some defiance. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He ignored the question. “What did he say?”

“What did you expect he’d say?”

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“He refused to investigate Ian’s death. No one witnessed the shooting itself, according to the deputy, which means that I have nothing but gossip and innuendo to support my claim.”

She shook her head and uttered a brittle laugh that held more pain than amusement. Lucas did his best to ignore both.

“That isn’t all,” she added before he found an appropriate reply. “The deputy is…unhappy that Soapy Smith is so often blamed when things happen in Skagway. He warned me against speaking publicly about Ian’s death. Soapy is an up-standing, law-abiding citizen—” her emphasis on the words seemed to indicate that she quoted Taylor directly “—and he’s been unfairly targeted by jealous, careless stampeders.”

The lawman’s claims sounded no more convincing to Lucas than they had to Ashlynne—but that could have been Lucas’s own fault. He could have easily prejudiced her against Soapy before she’d ever set foot in Taylor’s office. Still, Lucas hadn’t anticipated the deputy’s threat—and he had no illusions about the way in which Taylor had meant his words. And yet, having heard them now, he couldn’t say that he found himself particularly surprised, either.

But what did that mean for Ashlynne?

“I tried to warn you,” he said, feeling no particular satisfaction in reminding her of the fact.

“So you did.” She raised her eyes to meet his. The amber color had darkened to a bruised ebony that couldn’t disguise either her pain or her confusion. “But I just don’t understand, Lucas. Why wouldn’t a man of the law want justice? Didn’t he take an oath to uphold the law?”

The sound of his name on her lips—his given name and not that formal, disapproving Mr. Templeton—took hold of something within Lucas that made his blood run cold. His nerves awakened as though he’d just received an electrical shock, and his body tightened with an overwhelming physical awareness for Ashlynne.

And for the man he had become.

Forget it—and the way you feel. He uttered the chastisement harshly, only just managing to keep it to himself. And forget the oath that you took at one time in your life.

“An oath doesn’t mean a damn thing if you don’t believe in it,” he said ruthlessly.

“You think Deputy Taylor doesn’t believe in the law?”

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t give a damn. What I do know is that he believes in Soapy Smith and himself more than anything else.”

“But how can he ignore the truth?”

“You can be sure that Soapy didn’t pull the trigger himself, Ashlynne.” Neither of them could afford to forget that truth. “He’s very careful about things like that.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t the man who’s responsible,” she insisted stubbornly. “You know it as well as I do. You told me so.”

“I—” Lucas cut off his reply when a man stepped out onto the boardwalk from a nearby saloon, one of Lucas’s competitors. He didn’t know the man by name, but he recognized the face.

One of Soapy’s men…and Lucas and Ashlynne remained standing outside the deputy marshal’s office. Worse, if anyone cared to overhear, they were talking about the very things that Taylor had commanded her to keep private.

“Come on.” Lucas grabbed her arm and tugged it through his, keeping hold of her forearm as he pulled her down the boardwalk. He steered them back the way he’d come—and away from Soapy’s man.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“Wait!” Ashlynne tried to resist, but Lucas would have no part of it and hurried her along.

“Tell me where you’re staying. When you’re not sleeping in my bed, of course.” He added the last deliberately, meaning it to upset her enough that she’d quit fighting him and follow his lead with a bit more cooperation.

His words had the opposite effect. She stopped more suddenly than he could have imagined and dug in her heels, refusing to move another inch.

Dammit! You should have expected it, he told himself with no small irritation. Ashlynne had done nothing the way in which he’d anticipated that she would.

“Why?” She jerked her arm from his.

“Ashlynne, come along.” He shot her a glare as hard as stone and said in a voice that was no softer, “You don’t want to openly defy Deputy Taylor. Not now, when he just warned you away.”

“How do you know what I want to do?” She planted her hands on her hips and glared back at him.

He would have had an excellent view of her figure if she hadn’t been wearing that ridiculously bulky cloak, now cinched at the waist by her hands. As it was, he found it far too easy to recall exactly the curve of her hips, her waist, her breasts. Until he looked into her eyes.

She was doing her best to appear angry and purposeful—and she probably even felt that way. At least in part. But a flicker of uneasiness—even fear—lurked in the depths of her gaze. That, and a certain weariness, as well. And if she looked a bit worse for the wear today, well, he could hardly blame her.

She hadn’t scraped her hair back with the same painful neatness as she’d worn it the night before; rather, she’d secured it in something of a loose bun. The softer look appealed to Lucas on a very basic, masculine level and his blood warmed despite the chill of the afternoon.

Stop noticing her as a woman! he snapped to himself.

Aloud, it took little effort to roughen the tone of his voice enough to get her attention. “You don’t strike me as a stupid woman, Ashlynne. We both know what you should want to do—and that is not to act on a rash impulse. You tried that once already today. You might want to think carefully about just what you want to do next.”

She stared at him with some apparent curiosity, as though she actually considered his words. A part of him breathed a sigh of relief at the unexpected cooperation, but the truth was he doubted that he’d done all that much to encourage it. It seemed unlikely that any woman in her position would forget a confrontation with a man like Taylor all that easily. After that, Ashlynne could hardly deny that Lucas only spoke the truth now.

She blinked and turned in the direction they’d been heading. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m staying at the Clifford House.” They walked in silence until she asked, “Why didn’t you take me there last night?”

Lucas shrugged, wishing not for the first time that it had been possible. “I told you, I didn’t know what else to do with you. I didn’t know where you were staying and you couldn’t seem to tell me.”

Her breath caught with a sharp hiss and she slanted him a glare of clear frustration. “I told you I don’t drink spirits.”

“Last night wasn’t a typical situation. The little bit of whiskey you had won’t ruin you.”

“It wasn’t a good thing for me, either.”

Lucas disagreed, but the finality of her tone told him there was no point in arguing with her. Frankly he didn’t care enough to quarrel with her over it. He owned and operated a saloon; she disapproved—highly—of such places.

What did it matter if they disagreed? Now that she’d seen the truth of what to expect from Taylor and his brand of law enforcement, she would be on her way back Outside on the next available ship. Lucas would remain here, where he belonged, and they would both be the better for it.





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