I do, I do, I do (39 page)

"I would dream of being with Bear whether or not you and Zoe were here." She'd been longing for that man from the day she bumped into him.

"And I would dream of being with Ben. But I don't know if I actually would have been brave enough to do it."

Clara took Juliette's hand. "I think you would. You're not the same person you were when we met. None of us are. This trip has changed all of us in ways we'll be discovering for years."

"Perhaps. But Clara, let me say one more thing." Juliette's gray eyes filled with sympathy. "You know that loving Bear can't end well."

"I didn't say I loved him."

"You don't have to."

Juliette was right. After all the weeks they had spent living together in a confined space, they knew each other's expressions, moods, emotions. Clara had known that Juliette and Zoe were in love probably before they had known it themselves. Now they were reading the signs in her.

The next day as she manhandled her sled down the treacherous frozen Linderman Rapids, she asked herself if she really did love Bear Barrett. She had, after all, been wrong before.

The answer came without hesitation. She loved him. She loved the big brawling size of him and his scarred beautiful face. The sound of his booming laughter made her smile. He would probably laugh now if she told him that he was chivalrous, but he was the type of man who turned gentle and protective toward women. She admired him for being a self-made man, appreciated that he wasn't too proud to talk business with her or take her advice. Best of all, he didn't see her as an asset sheet, he didn't want anything from her except her mind and body. Both of which, she decided, she was willing to give.

They would have to have a little talk about respectability when they had that fireside chat he'd mentioned.

Lake Bennett was the largest camp Clara had seen since leaving Dyea. Here the Skagway and the Chilkoot trails converged, spilling a tide of stampeders onto the shoreline. A layer of smoke overhung at least a thousand tents.

Some of the stampeders would push on to Dawson by sled, risking blizzards, frostbite, hungry wild animals, and getting lost. Most would rest on the frozen shore of the lake, using the time until spring to build rafts or boats. Many would drown in the Yukon River after the melt. It happened every year.

"We've been so fortunate that no one in our party has been killed," Clara said. Everyone had minor scrapes, bruises, and sprains, but no major injuries, thank heaven.

"Hold still," Juliette ordered, her mouth full of pins.

She was pinning Clara's dress at the waist and shoulders. It needed to be taken in. Clara had lost weight on the journey—they all had.

Both women looked at the tent flap as Zoe blew inside, bringing a swirl of snowflakes along with her. "I got it," she said triumphantly. She started to remove her scarf, hat, mittens, coat, and two sweaters. The temperature had sunk to twenty below zero and remained there. "But I think your friendship with Mrs. Eddington is forever compromised. It was bad enough that you bought one pessary from her. She can't think why you'd need two."

"Why didn't you tell her it was for you?"

"Me?" Zoe placed a hand on her breast and fluttered her eyelashes. "I'm a married woman. Maybe I already own what's required."

Clara rolled her eyes. "No one knows you're married, but everyone knows you and Tom are carrying on. All they have to do is look at the two of you. So don't tell me about being married."

Juliette shifted to reach another part of Clara's waist. "Why does Mrs. Eddington have a seemingly endless supply of… those things? It's not decent."

"Mrs. Eddington is very shrewd. She brought pessaries to sell because she figured there would be trailside romances. She's made a tidy sum already."

Zoe and Juliette looked at her, fascinated. "Really?" Zoe asked. "Did she name the names of her clients?"

"Mrs. Eddington promises discretion. Let me see the pessary, will you? Uh-huh. Just as I thought. It's a pink ribbon." She started picking at the knot.

"What are you doing?" Juliette frowned. "You need the ribbon." She looked dismayed that she would know such a thing.

"I know, but not this ribbon. If I'm going to have a ribbon hanging out of… well, you know… I don't want it to be pink. I want a first-prize blue ribbon that says this is the best there is."

They stared at her, and then all of them burst into wild laughter. When they caught their breath, they sat on the cots, wiping their eyes.

And it occurred to Clara that she would miss these women when their long journey ended. She would miss them badly.

Bear called for her the following evening. All Clara could see of him were his eyes peering at her between his hat brim and above a thick scarf that covered his mouth and nose. And that was all he could see of her. She was bundled against the cold like a bulky package.

He had equipped a dogsled for passenger use, padding the bed like a chaise longue. Once he had her settled and covered with wool blankets, he shouted at the tent flap that he would have her home before morning. Then he guided the sled through the camp, along the shore, and up an incline.

There was enough moonlight that Clara spotted his cabin the moment they rounded the last curve. The cabin appeared to float against a pine backdrop because the log structure sat on pilings that lifted the ground floor off the frozen ground. Light glowed at the windows, and chimney smoke curled gray against a black sky. He had shoveled a path to the steps and to the dog shelter.

"You go inside and get warm," Bear said after helping her out of the sled. "I'll see to the dogs and be there in a minute."

The door opened into a vaulted living room. A billiard table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by leather chairs. Animal heads hung on the walls: two grizzly bears, several elk and moose, caribou, a pair of wolves, and a wildcat depicted in full snarl. Almost as an afterthought, two or three photographs had been hung above small tables. One showed Bear standing outside the Bare Bear saloon with several men. To Bear's right was a snowdrift piled higher than his shoulders. Another showed him holding a rifle, his foot on the back of a bear. Presumably the fellow staring down from above the stone fireplace.

The place didn't have much of a kitchen. When Clara popped her head inside, she spotted the essentials, but no woman would have designed a kitchen with so little elbow room. In contrast, the bedroom was a comfortable size. From the doorway, she noticed shaving implements laid out atop the bureau, saw a row of boots neatly arranged beneath the hooks holding an array of clothing.

She liked it that he was tidy. She couldn't abide a slovenly man. Happily, she returned to the hall tree in the doorway just as Bear came inside.

"Allow me," he said, pulling down his scarf and smiling. He took her hat and scarf and mittens. Helped her out of her coat and heavy boots. Peeled her down to Juliette's black cape. Looking into her eyes, he drew a breath. "Shall I take your cape?"

Clara lifted her arms and fluffed the fountain of red curls exploding from the crown of her head. She wished he had a mirror near the hall tree so she could see how tousled she might be. Not that Bear would care. He stared at her as if she dazzled him.

She presented her back and let him lift the cape from her shoulders. Then she slowly turned.

"Oh, my Lord," he said softly, his eyes widening on her burgeoning cleavage. "I didn't dream you." He stood as still as a large rock, staring at her while melting snow ran off his coat into a puddle at his feet. "I never saw anything like you, honey girl," he said softly, gruffly. "You stop my heart."

Despite the ash and grease she wore on the trail, her cheeks were chapped and red, though recently softened with a liberal application of lard, so he probably didn't notice that she blushed with pleasure.

"And you smell like a beautiful woman ought to smell."

She was wearing her German cologne. And her bodice scooped so low that little was left to the imagination. Plus she wore Juliette's brilliants, Zoe's best purse, and the prizewinning blue ribbon.

"Can I help you out of those heavy wet things?" she asked, reaching to unwind his scarf. Laughing, he allowed her to hang his coat and hat on the hall tree before he sat on a bench and changed out of his snowshoes into a pair of dress shoes.

When he stood, she saw that he'd chosen a dark wool suit and waistcoat for tonight. His shaggy gold hair had been trimmed and somewhat tamed. He smelled of bay rum and sweet cigars and the outdoors. He was one fine-looking man. So handsome that she couldn't take her eyes off him and didn't want to.

"Well," Clara said, realizing they were standing near the draft leaking around the door. "Shall we—?"

"Where are my manners! Come in, come in. Welcome to my Lake Bennett place. It's small, and I don't imagine you think much of the decor," he said, smiling. "I built it just for me. You're the only woman who's been inside."

"Then I'm flattered," she said, moving to the billiard table and running her palm across the green felt. "How in the world did you get this over the pass?"

"I had it brought in by the overland route. My Lord, you look beautiful! You make me think of peaches and honey. Good enough to eat with a spoon!"

Blushing again, she wandered toward the fire and tilted her face to examine the animal heads. "I imagine there's a story behind each of these trophies."

He followed, standing so close behind her that Clara felt his heat and massive size. "Not stories fit for the delicate ears of a lady."

Ja
, they would have to have a talk.

"So. Are you ready for our rematch?"

Turning, she gazed into his brown-bear eyes. "I concede. We don't have to arm-wrestle. You win. I'd like to have some of that ale and talk for a few minutes."

Alarm flared in his gaze. "You're changing the plan!"

My heavens, he looked good. A golden giant. Clara studied him and genuinely could not imagine why every woman he met didn't throw herself at him. She especially liked the small scars on his face. They gave him character and distinction, and before tonight ended she hoped to know the stories behind them.

"I'm not changing the plan, except to dispense with the match, just rearranging it a bit. We can talk again after dinner like you intended."

Suddenly she understood his plan for what it was, a schedule that relieved his endearing anxiety about entertaining a lady. That he was nervous made her smile. Lifting on tiptoe, Clara brazenly brushed her lips across his clean-shaven cheek. Instantly, he went rigid and stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"You fetch us some ale, and I'll wait for you by the fire."

After touching his cheek, he gazed at the hills of peachy breasts rising above her bodice. Then he nodded and hurried toward the kitchen without a word.

Clara considered the distance between the chairs he'd placed before the fire, then moved them closer together. Exercising a woman's prerogative, she chose one of the small tables scattered about the room and set it near the chairs. Stepping back, she studied the arrangement. Much better. More intimate and cozy.

Bear noticed immediately. He looked at the chairs, then slid a glance at her before he placed the bottles of ale, and a glass for her, on the table she'd chosen.

"I thought you'd want a glass tonight," he said. Gripping the back of a chair, he started to slide it back.

"Why are you moving the chairs apart?"

"Honey girl, I can hardly keep my hands off you as it is." He gave her an apologetic look. "I want tonight to be perfect. I don't want a big uncouth lummox forgetting himself and doing something to offend you."

Clara tossed the fountain of curls and drew herself up with a glare. She flung out a hand and pointed to the chair. "Sit!"

"What?"

"Right now."

He hesitated, then sat. He reached for the ale bottle and took a long swig, watching her while he swallowed.

Clara sat on the edge of the facing chair and folded her hands in her lap. She hadn't worn a corset in so long that she had forgotten how uncomfortable they were and how they restricted relaxed movement. If she had leaned back in the chair, the steel bones would have pinched her waist.

"It's true that I am a respectable woman," she said finally.

"Oh, hell. If you feel you have to point that out, then I've already done something to offend you. I'm sorry." Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees, the ale bottle dangling between two fingers.

"Bear, you haven't offended me. But we need to talk about this."

He didn't seem to hear. "There's something I planned to tell you later, after we'd enjoyed the evening. I should have told you long before now." Throwing his head back, he took another deep pull on the ale bottle and drained it before he placed it on the table and raised his head. "My mother was a whore, Clara. I don't know who my father was. I grew up in a Chicago brothel."

"Oh, Bear." Sympathy widened her eyes, but he waved it aside with a quick gesture. And suddenly she understood why she seemed to make him so uncomfortable at times.

"All in all I had a good childhood. My mother and her friends fussed over me, saw to it that I had everything I needed. When most children were tucked in bed, I was wandering the neighborhood, pitching pennies with other boys who were free to roam the night. I learned to fight, learned to take care of myself, learned a lot of things that aren't taught in books. It was a childhood most boys would envy."

"Bear—"

"Wait." He held up a big hand. "My mother and her friends were kind, generous, honest in their own way." His expression challenged her to disagree. When she said nothing, he continued. "But even as a boy I understood that most of the world didn't live like we did and didn't approve. I knew my mother and her friends were reviled, often by men who later came to the door. I won't say that I was ashamed of her. I wasn't. But I knew that she and I lived on the wrong side of life."

"Your mother—"

"My mother was everything you aren't. She perspired, swore, drank like a man, and made no apology for her pleasures. She wasn't a dainty person, cared little for proper manners. Her idea of culture was enjoying a bawdy melodrama at Basker's Lyceum."