Читать книгу The Unlikely Groom - Wendy Douglas - Страница 12

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.”