Margaret Brownley Read online

  His mocking tone made her blood boil and she forgot her fear completely. Fists planted firmly at her waist, she glared at them. “This is private property. You have no right to force your way in here.”

  The man who seemed to be the leader looked momentarily taken aback. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to stand up to them. “Well, now, would you listen to that? The woman is a stranger to these parts and she’s telling us what our rights are.”

  A short man with a skinny mustache was the first to notice Libby’s ungainly shape. “Will you look at this? Logan’s going to have himself a family and he didn’t even think to tell his friends.”

  Another man spoke. “It seems to me that St. John’s been mighty unneighborly, wouldn’t you say, boys? Keeping such a pretty little thing to hisself.”

  A chorus of agreement rose and the men moved closer. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and unwashed bodies filled the room, seeming to take the very oxygen out of the air. Libby had trouble breathing and the faces began to blur.

  “I say we teach Logan a lesson,” someone slurred, taking a swallow from a flask.

  “I say it would serve him right!”

  An evil smile crossed the barrel’s face. “Maybe it would at that.”

  Libby’s brave façade suddenly deserted her. Backed up to the wall, she had no hope of escape. She grabbed a length of rawhide that hung from a nail. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, and when the men laughed at her, she flung out every unflattering name she could think of. “You bullying, no-good…” She whipped the rawhide through the air, catching one man on the cheek.

  “Ouch!” The injured man jumped back, hand on his face.

  Libby lashed the narrow strap back and forth and for a time the men stared at her incredulously.

  “Watch it!” yelled one grizzly man, ducking low to avoid a leathery blow.

  “Come on, men. We can’t let her get away with this!”

  Shouting out a warning, she sliced the air in one direction and back in the next.

  But there were too many of them to keep at bay for long. Soon, one man ducked beneath her swinging arm and reached out to grab her.

  “Don’t touch me, you…”

  An angry voice ripped through the room. It took a moment for Libby to recognize the voice as belonging to Mr. St. John.

  “I said release her at once!” he repeated. Not only was his voice impressive, but he towered over the tallest man by at least three inches. Clearly intimidated by him, the miners backed away from her.

  St. John’s face was as dark as a thundercloud, his voice twice as menacing. “What’s the matter with you men? Have you forgotten how to behave in front of a woman? Now suppose you apologize to Mrs. Summerfield. All of you.” He glanced at each of their faces before he settled his full attention on the barrel shaped man closest to Libby. “Let’s start with you, Choo-Choo.”

  Choo-Choo stared at his feet. “I apologize, ma’am.”

  “Big Sam?”

  The hands of the dark-skinned man played nervously with the felt hat. “Never meant you no harm, ma’am.”

  “Next.”

  Logan saw to it that every last man apologized. “Now, get out of here, all of you, and don’t let me catch you here again.”

  One by one, the men left, feet shuffling as they filed silently out the door.

  Shaken, Libby glared after them. “I’m not staying in this town another minute!” she shouted. “Not with those…Those barbarians!”

  Mr. St. John looked grim. “They wouldn’t have hurt you. They were just having fun.”

  “Fun!” Libby fumed. “They have a very strange idea what constitutes fun. And furthermore…”

  St. John patted her shoulder. “Don’t go getting yourself all riled up. They won’t bother you anymore. If you’re worried, keep the door locked when I’m gone. All you have to do is slip the bolt into the catch.”

  She gave him a thunderous look and pushed his hand away. “I tried to, but it wouldn’t budge.”

  He examined the bolt; poured bear grease on it, and worked it back and forth until it moved freely. “Try this.”

  He stepped away from the door so she could try the bolt herself. When it slipped into place at her touch, he nodded in satisfaction.

  Feeling suddenly weary, she laid her forehead against the cool hard wood. “How did you know to come back?”

  “Someone told me he saw a bunch of men stampeding my house. As soon as I finished playing the hand, I came home.”

  She spun around to face him. “You played your hand first?”

  He seemed confused by her reaction. “What did you expect me to do, Mrs. Summerfield? I was winning.”

  Libby could barely contain her anger. “I could have been killed!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Must you always think the worst? I told you, they meant you no harm.”

  May I remind you that one of them shot me the other night?”

  “And I told you it was an accident.”

  “Dead is dead whether by accident or otherwise!”

  “I don’t know what you’re all worked up about. You had everything under control with your whip.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I swear I don’t know why they call it a delicate condition.” He laughed louder until the cabin rang with the unexpected sound of his merriment. “We should all be as delicate.”

  Seeing nothing amusing about the situation, Libby folded her arms across her chest and glared at him in heaving silence.

  “You’d better get some rest,” he said, pointing to her middle. “We don’t want to stir things up.”

  She dropped her arms to her side. “You aren’t going to leave me alone, again, are you? I mean, now that they know I’m here….”

  “If you want me to stay and play nursemaid just say so.”

  “I don’t need a nursemaid,” she snapped.

  He looked relieved. “Good, because I’ve got a game to finish.” With that he walked out the door.

  *****

  The following morning Logan announced his plans over breakfast. That morning he returned from fishing to find breakfast waiting for him. The coffee was strong, just the way he liked it, and the flapjacks surprisingly light. “I’m going up to the diggings to try out my new rocker.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  He almost choked on a piece of bacon.”The diggings is no place for a woman.” He took a gulp of coffee.

  She gave him a determined look. “This town is no place for a woman.”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe here. Now that the rain has stopped everyone will take off for the diggings.”

  “I’m not staying here by myself.”

  He scratched his head. “All that exercise might stir things up.”

  “Some fresh air will do me good,” she insisted. “I mean it, Mr. St. John. I’m not staying in this cabin alone.”

  He weighed his options. The rain had stopped for the time being. But this was only the start of the rainy season. Besides, it was almost cold enough to snow. Already the upper peaks of the Sierras were covered in ten feet of it.

  He needed gold and he needed it now. It cost him dearly to miss the winter trapping season. If his leg improved, he could make back some but not all of the money this coming spring. Beaver still had their prime coats in early spring, but as soon as the weather warmed and animals lost their thick fur, the colors began to fade and the pelts lost their market value.

  Not wanting to argue he stood and tossed her a fur coat that was far too big for her. “You can come with me on the condition that you speak only when you have something important to say. And…” he added with emphasis. “You do exactly as you’re told.”

  He allowed her no opportunity to argue as he grabbed his saddle and lugged it outside

  While she made one last trip to the outhouse he attached a travois to the back of his horse. He then tied his gold rocker and picnic basket to the wooden frame.

  She waddled toward him and he frowned. This wa
s a bad idea but he said nothing as he helped her onto his saddle.

  “It’s a lovely horse,” she said, patting the animal’s neck. “Does it have a name?”

  “I call him Jim Bridger. Named him after the best mountain man that’s ever walked the face of the earth.”

  “Well, Jim Bridger, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He studied her thoughtfully. “Are you sure this isn’t going to stir things up?”

  Sighing, she shook her head in exasperation. “Not unless you intend to race the horse.”

  “Let me know if you feel anything.” He slipped his foot into the stirrup and heaved himself onto the saddle behind her.

  *****

  Libby felt plenty, but nothing that she wished to share with him. She felt his hard chest against her quivering back, his warm moist breath sending tremors along her nape.

  But when he wrapped his arms around her to gather the reins, she felt more than anything safe and secure.

  Hoping he didn’t hear her thumping heart she forced herself to concentrate on the scenery.

  She had never been to the gold-mining field. Jeffrey had insisted he go alone.

  She was totally amazed at the crowds that dotted the mining area. Men were lined up along both banks of the swift-running river. Most had metal pans, but some used Indian baskets, old hats, skillets, and even blankets to pan for gold.

  The air reverberated with the rattling sounds of rock against metal and the grating rhythm of gold-mining cradles.

  Farther up, men were waist deep in water. “They’re constructing a dam,” Mr. St. John explained, his voice soft in her ear.

  “What are those men over there doing?” Libby asked, pointing to the men entrenched in a hole, their heads barely above ground. If it weren’t for the picks moving up and down, she might not have noticed them.

  “They’re working their way down to the bedrock,” he explained.

  The miners stopped to stare as they passed by. The men rubbed their eyes and craned their necks as if they didn’t believe what they saw.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me or was that a woman?” one male voice called out. Another cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “I think I died and went to heaven.”

  Libby had learned from her experience at the miners’ boardinghouse that the best defense against unwanted attention was to ignore it. She kept her head lowered and her gaze firmly planted on the back of the horse’s head. She didn’t look up until Mr. St. John veered away from the river and urged his gelding across a narrow channel to a more secluded area.

  “Drat, wouldn’t you know?”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The trail is under water. We’ll have to go around.” He surveyed the rocky incline and dismounted. “We’ll have to go the rest of the way by foot. You’d better stay here.”

  She watched him rub his leg. “If you can make it I can.” And to prove her point, she dismounted without his assistance.

  He frowned but didn’t debate the point. “If we go slowly we should be all right.” He held out his hand.

  She laid her hand in his and felt a slight tug deep inside as his fingers wrapped around hers. He led her up a narrow trail that cut through the chaparral. It was an easy climb, with rocks and half-buried roots providing convenient footholds.

  Halfway up, he released her hand and glanced around. His hand was posed, ready to grab his gun or knife should the need arise. Eyes sharp as a wolf’s he searched out each bush and rock before grabbing her hand again. “Let’s go.”

  He pulled her along a deer path and they soon reached the top of the incline. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  He returned moments later carrying his gold rocker, his Hawken rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Do you want to rest some more before we continue?” he asked.

  She shook her head, but she did need to relieve herself. “How much farther do we have to go?”

  “Not far. My claim is just beyond that bend.”

  She turned to look in the direction he indicated. “I have to…” She nodded in the way that they had both come to understand. It struck her as strange that already they had devised an unspoken code by which to communicate.

  “Don’t go beyond that oak.” He pointed to a tree a short distance away. “I’ll head toward my claim.”

  She walked dutifully toward the tree, but not wanting to be seen from the river, she decided to move farther away from the main path. Spotting a grove of trees in the distance, she followed a muddied channel down a gentle slope.

  A squirrel eyed her momentarily before scampering up a tree. A single ouzel was busily turning over tiny pebbles and decaying leaves along the bottom of a narrow gully, looking for insects.

  Libby inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and scented with pine. She reached a knoll where the trees parted, allowing a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountains beyond. She was so engrossed with the lovely scenery, she wandered farther away from the trail than she meant to. It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of the now distant river through the trees did she realize how far away she’d roamed. The baby gave a firm kick, and she was all at once reminded of the reason she’d wandered from the trail. After a quick glance around, she ducked behind a clump of wild berry bushes.

  She had just started back when a low menacing growl startled her. A snarling bear stood no more than ten feet away.

  Falling back on her posterior, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  She was still screaming when Mr. St. John came bounding through the trees, his face deathly white. “Mrs. Summerfield!”

  She pointed to the bear, which, strangely enough, hadn’t moved. He took one quick glance at the animal before rushing to her side.

  “The bear can’t hurt you. It’s caught in a trap.” He knelt by her side and placed a steady hand on her trembling shoulder. “Calm down before you go stirring things up inside.”

  “Would you stop worrying about what I’m stirring up?” Although she fought for control, her voice sounded high and strained. “I could have been mauled.”

  “I told you the bear is trapped. You’re lucky. Maybe next time I tell you to stay close at hand, you’ll listen to me.”

  “If you knew the bear was here, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know. By right grizzlies should be in hibernation by now.” His expression grew tight. “It’s the miners. It’s got to be. They’re making bears too nervous to hibernate.”

  “I don’t care whose fault it is, the bear pretty near scared the life out of me.”

  He arched an eyebrow as he looked pointedly at her waist. “Let’s be glad that it didn’t. From now on, you will do exactly as I say. Is that clear?”

  She folded her arm across her chest and glared at him.

  The bear let out a deafening roar. With a cry of alarm, she accepted Mr. St. John’s outstretched hand and scrambled to her feet. Clutching his arm she eyed the bear with a wary look. “Are you sure it’s secure?”

  “That trap is strong enough for a full-grown grizzly.”

  She withdrew her hand and glanced around. Do bears travel singularly or in pairs?

  “It’s just a cub,” he said. “Probably born in early summer.”

  At this declaration, Libby’s fear immediately melted into compassion. “Oh, no. Poor thing.”

  “Save your sympathy,” he said. “It probably weighs close to five hundred pounds. Come on, we’d better leave before company arrives.”

  “You’re not going to leave it to die, are you?” Libby was scandalized by the thought.

  “One thing you learn pretty fast in this neck of the woods is not to go messing around with another man’s trap.”

  “But you said it’s a young one.”

  He made a quick check of the surrounding area. “Which means there could be a big one somewhere nearby.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Let’s go before we both live to regret it.”

  No sooner h
ad he spoken than a sound unlike anything she’d ever heard rose from the nearby woods.

  “Drat!” Mr. St. John pulled his rifle from his shoulder holster, spun around, and took aim.

  Eyes wide with fear, Libby glanced back. A full-grown bear was less than a hundred yards away and closing in fast.

  Chapter 9

  Without warning, the bear stopped in its tracks, rose on its hind legs, and clawed the air with its powerful paws. The massive beast stood twelve feet tall.

  Logan prepared to fire, but he knew he had little chance of doing much damage.

  The convex-shaped head of the grizzly made it a difficult animal to kill. The beast had only three vulnerable parts: the ears, the spine, and the heart. A bear could live a long time with a bullet in the heart. Logan knew the names of more than a half dozen dead men to prove it. One of them his father.

  Keeping his finger firmly on the trigger, Logan weighed his options. His chances of bringing the animal down were slim, but there were few alternatives.

  They could try running, but between Mrs. Summerfield’s awkward bulk and his own stiff leg, the odds were undeniably in the bear’s favor. Also, in the bear’s favor was the fact that Mrs. Summerfield was clinging to his arm in such a way, it was all but impossible for him to take aim. He tried pulling away from her clutches to no avail.

  “We could climb a tree,” she cried.

  “There’s only one tree that’s grizzly-proof, and it doesn’t grow around here.” He measured the distance behind him. “Head toward the river and yell for help. Don’t make any fast movements. Once you’re out of sight you should be safe.”

  “What about you?”

  He gave her a rough shove. “Go!”

  The bear dropped on all fours and advanced. Logan aimed for the ear, fired, and missed.

  “Mr. St. John!” Libby yelled behind him.

  “Go!”

  “I can’t! My foot’s caught.”

  Logan fired. Again he missed, but he came close enough that the bear stopped. With a mighty growl the massive animal rose and tottered on its thick hind legs.

  In an effort to divert the bear away from Mrs. Summerfield, Logan circled slowly. As predicted, the bear followed his progress until its back was turned to her. Logan then lifted his gun and aimed, waiting for the precise moment to fire. He waited too long.