I do, I do, I do (20 page)

Zoe burst into laughter.

"You used us and threw us away, and I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!" Juliette's face was hot and her hands shook, but she had admitted her own truth. The words exploded up from deep inside, burning the back of her throat. And she didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry because she had finally conceded that Jean Jacques was an unscrupulous scoundrel just as Aunt Kibble had insisted he was. There were no excuses for what he had done, no justification. No explanation she could accept.

She turned to Zoe. "I don't think I've heard you laugh before. You're very pretty when you smile."

"Being pretty never did a thing for me," Zoe said, her smile curving down into a frown. She tapped the egg against the log and then peeled away bits of shell. "I used to think that being pretty would somehow save me from a life of work and babies. Instead it brought me a no-good bastard who ruined me for any other man. So yes. I'm really going to shoot him. And if they hang me for murder—so what? I have no plans beyond shooting Jean Jacques, so they might as well hang me. I don't care."

"I don't have any plans either." After they found Jean Jacques and Zoe shot him, what would she do? Spend the rest of her life listening to Aunt Kibble remind her what a fool she'd been?

"Are you all right?" Ben Dare pushed through a tight growth of thick spruce and scanned the clearing where they sat. His legs braced and his muscles tensed as if he were spoiling for a fight.

"Of course." Hastily Juliette patted her hair and brushed loose bark from her skirt. Strands of hair fell around her face, and she must have smelled of perspiration. There was nothing she could do about it.

"I thought I heard you screaming," he said, running a quick gaze over her body, checking for injury.

Circles of pink flared on her cheeks. Jean Jacques had given her a long slow look before they made love, just as Ben was doing. Jean Jacques's eyes had been a paler blue than Ben's, and Ben was taller. But the way Ben stared at her made her remember making love. The same fluttery, chaotic tingling raced around her body.

Zoe glanced up from the log. "Perhaps you heard Juliette shouting to me. Telling me where to find her."

"It didn't sound like that." He walked up to her. "But I'm glad you're all right."

"I'm fine," Juliette insisted. Except for being confused, exhausted, detested by her companions, and abandoned by her husband. "Perfectly fine."

Then she collapsed against his chest and burst into tears.

Clara had a stew bubbling and coffee perking by the time Zoe spotted the tent pole with the pink ribbon and made her way through a tent city set up in no particular order.

"We don't have our tent or camp stools yet," Clara announced cheerfully, "but there are tree stumps all over the place. Pick one and sit down. You look all tuckered out."

"I am." Zoe's feet ached, the backs of her legs were so sore that every step was a trial, and her backpack had rubbed a raw spot on one of her shoulders. "Has our medical kit arrived?"

"I don't know." Clara waved toward a tumbled mound of boxes and crates. "I thought I'd get the stew started before I began sorting things out."

Zoe had never been this tired in her life. "Where's our tent?" she asked when she'd summoned a small burst of energy. All she wanted to do was fall into her cot and try to relax her tight throbbing muscles.

"One of the pack mules went down," Tom Price said, walking up to the camp stove. Clara gave him the cup of coffee she'd been about to hand to Zoe. "My men are bringing that load up on their backs. They should be here soon."

"Did you know the Indian men can carry a hundred pounds and the women carry seventy-five pounds?" Clara spoke in the same cheerful tone that made Zoe want to hit her with a rock. "Look at this scenery," she said, waving at the narrow canyon's walls. "Isn't it spectacular? And smell the air!"

To Zoe the air smelled of wood smoke, tobacco, mule and dog droppings, and various cooking odors.

"Did you see the glaciers hanging in the high valleys to the west?" Clara's enthusiasm seemed boundless. "And wasn't it beautiful when the trail dipped down to the river?"

Tom smiled at Clara's high spirits and Zoe wanted to hit him, too. "Tomorrow you'll see the snowfields." He gazed at the clouds advancing across the sky. "It will be cold tonight. The Chilkats say it will snow before morning."

Zoe groaned, and Tom and Clara laughed at her.

Then a silence opened, but Tom showed no signs of leaving. Abruptly Clara straightened and looked back and forth between them. "Well," she said, stepping backward. "I guess I'll go see if I can spot Juliette or find out where our tent is." She straightened her cape and smoothed the brim of her hat. "Don't forget to give the stew a stir every now and then."

"How did the first day go?" Tom asked after Clara had bustled off. He smiled at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

Zoe couldn't believe this was only the first day. "I didn't think it would be this difficult." When his eyebrow rose, she lifted a hand. "I know, I know. Everyone talks about how hard the trail is. But I expected to take it in stride as Clara apparently has." She glanced up, noting the easy way he stood, with his legs apart and braced for whatever might come. He didn't look like a man who had just kicked and coaxed a pack of mules over god-awful terrain, most of which was steeply angled, heavily treed, and littered with boulders.

"It won't get easier. A person has to be truly motivated to endure this journey."

The way his voice invited her to talk about motivation told her that he was curious about her reasons for going to Dawson City. And for one crazy moment, she considered confessing the truth. But then he'd feel obligated to try to talk her out of shooting Jean Jacques. Or maybe, as a long-standing family friend, Tom would insist on killing Jean Jacques for her. She didn't want to talk about it. Nothing he said would change her mind about killing Jean Jacques, and she didn't want someone else to pay the price for doing her job.

When Tom noticed that she didn't have coffee, he poured her a cup. Jean Jacques had been thoughtful, too, but in the end his thoughtfulness hadn't mattered for squat. She would a lot rather that he'd been truthful. In that case she would never have married him. Would never have ruined herself. Wouldn't be here in Alaska eager to make a murderess of herself.

"Why are you going to Dawson?" she asked, gazing up at him. She liked the way he wore his hat tilted at a rakish angle. "Is it really worth your while to pack anyone all the way to Dawson?"

Sipping his coffee, he gazed out at the stovepipes sticking through hundreds of tents. "My primary competitor is a man named Nose O'Malley. He and I have gotten into it enough times that it seems prudent to put some distance between us. So I've decided to winter over in Dawson City."

The news pleased Zoe, who was beginning to realize she would be stuck in Dawson for the winter. It would be nice to have a friendly face nearby. She glanced at him and then looked down at her cup. "It's funny how things work out. I never thought you'd leave Newcastle. I figured you'd stay in the mines like your pa."

"I always knew you'd leave," he said in a soft voice, keeping his gaze on the tent city. "I knew fate had something special in mind for Zoe Wilder."

His comment flattered and saddened her. "It didn't work out that way."

"You're being too modest. One day you're going to tell your grandchildren that you were part of the great Klondike gold rush." Green eyes sparkled down at her. "Not many women will be able to say that."

The comment made her feel a little better. "Tom? I'm glad we ran into each other again."

"So am I."

For a long moment they studied each other, acquainting themselves with the man and woman they had grown into. Zoe saw a confident man with an inner stillness that she didn't recall him possessing as a boy. Stubbornness defined his jawline, and she saw determination in his brow. She liked what she saw. And part of her hoped that Tom liked whatever he saw in her.

Then she spotted Juliette and Ben Dare winding a path through the tents toward the pink ribbon that identified their site. Zoe blinked; she could not believe her eyes. They were walking arm in arm as if enjoying a leisurely Sunday stroll.

Immediately her confidence plummeted, and so did her mood. She rubbed her eyes, and looked again. There was no mistake.

Something had to be very wrong with her. Every inch of her body ached and was beginning to stiffen in the cold air. She was so exhausted she felt like weeping over the prospect of setting up their tent. She didn't have an ounce of energy left.

Yet Clara was bouncing around as if she could hike another five miles, like she wished they didn't have to stop and wait for their goods to catch up. And here came
Juliette, chatting and smiling and strolling along as if she hadn't just fought her way through clutching trees and roots and nine miles of steep rocky ground that left even the pack animals heaving for breath.

Maybe Zoe should rethink this journey.

She had supposed herself to be best suited for an arduous journey, but she was proving to be the weakest of the three, a fact that utterly astonished and humiliated her.

"Good evening, Mr. Price." Juliette nodded to Zoe, then released Ben's arm, lifted the pot lid, and glanced at the stew bubbling atop the camp stove. "Where is our tent?"

Zoe decided if Juliette invited Tom and Benjamin to share supper with them, if Juliette had the energy to set up a social evening, then Zoe would take it as a sign from above. She would hand Clara her Winchester and show her how to kill Jean Jacques. Then she would return to Dyea and forget about Dawson City.

But Juliette didn't mention supper. She waved to Clara, who appeared leading two of Tom's Chilkat Indians. "The tent has arrived," Clara called.

Juliette made a fluttery movement with her hands and gave Tom and Ben Dare a roll of her eyes. "I guess we'll get better at putting up our tent… It just takes so long."

To Zoe, Juliette's blatant manipulation appeared obvious, but neither of the men seemed to notice. They knelt beside the boxes the Indians unloaded and assured Juliette they would have the tent up in no time.

Now Juliette would gush, thank them, and invite them to supper. Then Zoe would find the Winchester and give it to Clara. But Juliette didn't gush a single word. She glided around the boxes, finding and setting up the camp cots, pulling blankets out and shaking them open. She moved slowly, gracefully. If Zoe hadn't known better, she might have guessed that Juliette had spent the day in idle repose.

Clara caught Juliette's eye, nodded to the stew pot and then to the men before she raised a questioning eyebrow. Like Zoe, Clara looked to Juliette to lead them in the social graces, such as extending invitations.

Juliette returned Clara's long look, but she said nothing to the men about supper even after they had the tent erected and secured and both of them glanced expectantly at the stew pot. Tom even mentioned how good the steam smelled.

Zoe couldn't wait another minute. Now that the tent was up and the cots unfolded, she was going to collapse. Groaning, she stood, wincing in pain and hating that she was the only one of them with sore muscles. She said good night to Tom and Ben, and limped toward the tent, leaving Clara and Juliette to properly thank them. Somewhere in the boxes of goods was a medical pack and some liniment, but she was too whipped to look for it.

Falling into her cot, she stared at the ceiling of the tent and decided she really and truly detested Clara and Juliette.

Then the flap flew backward and Juliette staggered inside. "Lordy, lordy, I thought they would never leave!" She dropped on her cot like a rock. "I'm dying. My back hurts, my legs hurt, I hurt everywhere." A long moan blew against her pillow. "I won't be able to walk tomorrow, or move. I'm so sore, I could just cry, except I don't have the energy for tears. If you want to shoot someone, shoot me. You'd be doing me a favor."

Zoe heaved up on one elbow and stared. "You weren't even wincing when you came strolling in here! You set up the cots like you weren't even tired!"

Juliette lay facedown, her arms dangling off the sides of the cot. She looked like she was paralyzed. "I didn't want Ben to think I was weak or unfit," she said, speaking into her pillow. "You can't imagine how hard it was."

The remark told Zoe that Juliette cared a lot about what Ben Dare thought of her. More to the point, Juliette had demonstrated an astonishing iron will and steely discipline that Zoe suspected she could not have replicated. She eased back on her cot, struggling against a grudging flash of admiration. She didn't want to admire anything about Juliette.

Clara threw back the tent flap and stepped inside. "All right. You're not going to sleep in your hats and shoes. Get yourselves undressed and I'll rub liniment on your shoulders and legs."

"I can't move," Juliette groaned.

"Why aren't you sore and aching?" The prospect of standing and stretching to get undressed made Zoe feel like weeping.

"I am. But it isn't as bad for me as for you two." Clara shrugged. "I guess running up the inn's staircase a dozen times a day strengthened my legs. Who knows? Before you get undressed, you should come outside and see the snow. It started a few minutes ago."

Chapter 10