I do, I do, I do (16 page)

"I heard about that." Zoe nodded. "Ma mentioned a dance the ladies gave to raise money for Mrs. McGraw and her children. So that was your sister?"

"Carrie's living in Seattle now, working at one of the hotels. She's a Newcastle girl—she'll make her way." The comment seemed to remind him that Zoe was sitting on a crate in the midst of chaos when she ought to be doing something. "Am I keeping you from—?"

"I felt a bit under the weather aboard ship," Zoe said lightly. "So my companions were kind enough to offer to move our outfits to our site. As soon as I find us one."

A fleeting frown shadowed his brow, and he moved his boot to the ground. "I heard you got married," he said slowly.

Zoe had known Tom Price most of her life. As recollections flooded her mind, she could picture him sitting at the Wilder supper table shouting as loudly as her pa and brothers, and coming by the house to join her brothers on the trek to the mine. She remembered that he'd lent her a book once, and once he had given her a handful of summer wildflowers.

Her instinct was to pour out her heart and tell him about Jean Jacques, her rotten husband. Tom would understand how a Newcastle girl could be dazzled by a Frenchman who glittered like the end of the rainbow.

But he would also wonder why a hardheaded Newcastle girl hadn't opened her eyes and asked more questions. He might not say it outright, but he'd know she had been foolish and stupid.

Worse, the next time he wrote home, he'd tell his ma that he'd run into Zoe Wilder, and the poor thing was married to a bigamist and she was traveling with the bigamist's other wives and wasn't
that
something. The gossip would be too titillating for Mrs. Price to keep to herself, so she'd head straight to the company store to ask if anyone else had heard the news, thereby spreading it around. In the end Zoe's ma would hear a smeared version of the gossipy details and be humiliated that she had to learn the truth from a neighbor instead of from Zoe.

Zoe drew a deep breath and tilted her head to look at the mountain peaks rimming the valley. "I was going to marry, but it didn't work out." God forgave lies that protected mothers.

Something moved in his eyes. "So you don't have a husband."

"No." That much was certainly true.

"Damn it, Zoe! You're still sitting right where we left you!" Clara rolled a wheelbarrow up beside them and gave Zoe a scowl and Tom a nod. "Excuse me for swearing, mister, I don't usually, but what's happening down there on the beach would try the patience of a wooden saint." She wiped her forehead. "No one knows what they're doing, they don't understand the concept of organization, and the outfits are getting mixed together."

"Where's Juliette?" Zoe didn't see her anywhere.

"You'd think pushing a wheelbarrow would be a simple thing, wouldn't you? It should be. I don't know what in heaven's name she's doing, but the wheelbarrow keeps tipping over and dumping out her load. After the third time of helping her repack, I left her to pick up the mess and repack it herself." Clara flopped down on the crate beside Zoe and fanned her face. "I'm Clara Klaus," she said to Tom, "the only healthy, sensible person among the three of us."

Laughing, Tom inclined his head. "I'm Tom Price, a friend of Miss Wilder's family."

"Where did you get the wheelbarrows?" Originally Zoe had wondered what had drawn her husband to Clara. Despite Clara's glowing skin and impressive curves, Clara just didn't seem the type of woman to attract a man of the world. But Zoe was beginning to see Clara as a fount of resourcefulness. It occurred to her that she could have done far worse in choosing a companion for a journey into a hard land.

"It was easy." Clara laughed. "I arm-wrestled one of the men off the ship. He wanted a rematch." Her eyes sparkled. "He got whupped again, and I got his wheelbarrows."

Zoe stared. "What did you wager?"

"You don't want to know."

"You're the arm-wrestling Amazon that I've been hearing about?" Tom asked, grinning.

Zoe groaned, picturing the indecent bodice and Clara's breasts burgeoning like peachy mountains. The story was going to follow them the entire time they were in Alaska.

Tom smiled with admiration. "Congratulations. I've met some men who became legends up here, but you've managed to do it before you got off the ship. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Help! Help me!"

Through the crisscrossing of hurrying men, Zoe spotted Juliette. As she watched, the stacked wheelbarrow began to lean and would have tipped over except that Juliette dropped the handles and darted to the side, catching the load on her back. For a moment Zoe thought Juliette would go down under the weight of the load now balanced on her small shoulders. But she clamped her teeth and dug her heels into the churned-up ground.

She wasn't strong enough to push the load upright. And she couldn't jump out from under fast enough to avoid the heavy load falling on her. She was stuck in place.

Tom strode forward, catching the toppling load as the weight began to push Juliette to her knees. She went down anyway. Her skirts pushed into the wet ground, and she covered her face with her hands as Tom shoved the load and the wheelbarrow upright.

"I can't do this! Women aren't supposed to do this!"

"Well, you did do it, ma'am." Tom helped her up, then clasped the handles of the wheelbarrow. "You brought this load where you wanted to bring it."

"Well, my heavens." She stared up at him. "It took me a while and a few mishaps, but I did get it here, didn't I?" A thunderstruck expression dazed her eyes.

Grudgingly, Zoe granted her a thimble's worth of credit. But she also took an inordinate amount of pleasure in Juliette's disheveled appearance. Her Ladyship's hat hung over one ear, she'd lost a glove, muddy knee prints soiled the front of her skirt. She didn't look like the trim, crisp Juliette that Zoe had come to know and wanted to kill.

Adding to Zoe's guilty pleasure was the surprised look Ren Dare fixed on Juliette as he wheeled a handcart up next to them. And Zoe found it interesting that Juliette blushed bright and instantly set about fixing her hat and slapping at the mud drying on her skirts. So, Clara was correct, and Miss Propriety had spent rather a lot of time with Mr. Dare on board ship. But the confirmation wasn't too interesting.

The conversation going on above her head was. Clara had made introductions in her perfunctory way; it had been discovered that the crate Zoe sat on belonged to Ben Dare, and now the men were taking the ladies in hand.

While Tom and Mr. Dare discussed the logistics of how and where to move the ladies' outfits, Zoe closed her eyes and breathed the good scents of the sea and wood smoke. She listened to male shouts and curses and a faint tinkle of saloon music floating from the distant town of Dyea.

She wanted to manage this journey without depending on others, and tomorrow she would hate it that she was beholden to Tom and Mr. Dare. But right now, she was too exhausted to care. If the men wanted to move their outfits and set up the tent, God bless them for it. All she wanted to do was fall into her collapsible cot, rest, and regain her strength.

When she opened her eyes again, Clara had dug some dried fruit out of the pack, and Juliette was asking if she should make tea on Mr. Dare's camp stove. In the middle of the off-loading process, Zoe's companions were having a social occasion.

Well, why not? The men had offered to assist them, after all, and there was odd comfort in discovering they weren't entirely alone in a strange new place. They knew people here.

Her gaze traveled to Tom. The folks in Newcastle talked about leaving, talked about going to Seattle or somewhere else where life wasn't as stark and hard. But few actually left, and those who did were likely to return having discovered that cities could be harsh and uncaring.

She knew why Tom Price had left Newscastle and the mine, that was a given. But she wondered why he had fetched up in Alaska instead of someplace closer to home. And owning a packing company, too. Whatever that was.

When she noticed him watching her as he talked to Mr. Dare, she turned her head toward the haze of wood and coal smoke overhanging the town. Nothing had changed. She didn't want an involvement with a Newcastle man even in a small way. Besides, she was still married to The Bastard.

But oh, my, it was good to see someone from home.

Sliding a sidelong look toward the men, she noted dark curls lying against the collar of Tom's heavy coat. Faded denims snugged around his thighs, and he wore lace-up work boots. Mr. Dare was clad similarly, but Mr. Dare's clothing looked new, whereas Tom's garments were comfortably worn and familiar.

After Tom and Mr. Dare strode off to do whatever they intended to do, Zoe wondered if she would see Tom Price again. There was no reason to do so. On the other hand, Ma would have her hide if she wrote home and mentioned that she'd run into him but had no news to report. She would have to make a point of meeting him again and asking a few questions. For Ma's sake.

She chose not to examine why that decision improved her spirits so greatly.

Chapter 8

Bear leaned against a post inside Tom Price's stable, watching Tom load the panniers draped across a big jack mule. It was a pleasure to watch a man who was good at his job. When Tom finished, there wouldn't be half an inch of wasted space, and the well-padded liquor would arrive in Dawson City without a single broken bottle, having gone from Dyea to Skagway, over Dead Horse Pass, then another six hundred miles by boat or sled.

"Fifty-one cents a pound is highway robbery."

Tom shrugged. "Nose Malley's Indians will pack you in cheaper." He buckled down the pannier straps. "Your liquor's leaving for Skagway in about two hours, so if you want to hire Nose Malley, say so now. I'll have to charge you a loading fee."

Nose Malley was notorious for dumping one man's load beside the trail and continuing on with someone else's if the newcomer offered a higher price. Most of the packers played that game, except Tom Price. After Tom Price shook your hand, the deal was set in stone. Your goods arrived, intact, and for the cost originally agreed on. And Price didn't shy from big jobs. He'd taken a piano over the pass for Bear and gotten it to Dawson without busting the cabinet all to hell or dunking it in a river.