The Unlikely Groom. Wendy Douglas

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      “Come on, Ashlynne,” urged the man, Templeton. His tone was as unyielding as she’d ever heard and it carried none of the underlying kindness of Reverend Dickey. It was Templeton who pulled her to her feet.

      “We can’t do anything for Ian now,” he added, “but the preacher here can see that everything’s taken care of.”

      Everything would be taken care of? The idea carried with it an odd giddiness and hope flickered to life as she snagged onto the reassurance of it. “You’re sure?” She hardly recognized the sound of her voice, thick with unshed tears and quivering with uncertainty. “Ian and…everything?”

      “I’m sure.”

      Everything would be taken care of.

      The possibility drew her like a freezing man to the blaze of a fire. But could she truly leave Ian’s body in the hands of strangers? It didn’t seem right somehow. She would have never considered such a thing in San Francisco.

      But in San Francisco, she wouldn’t have been surrounded by strangers. In San Francisco, this never would have happened.

      Everything would be taken care of. The weak part of her, the weary soul scraped raw, urged her to say yes. She longed to have someone’s help, even if for just a little while. A little while in which she didn’t have to think, plan, decide. A little while for her to find the strength to regain her bearings. If she could do that, she would be all right again. She was certain of it.

      She had to be.

      But could she trust these men? Certainly if anyone could help Ian now, it would be a minister. And she remembered Templeton. He was the man from the Star of the North. That had been the only saloon where someone had spoken to her in a way other than to make a vulgar comment or crude invitation about how she might spend the rest of the night.

      Lucas Templeton might not have been precisely a gentleman, but he hadn’t propositioned her, either.

      Ashlynne found herself moving, as though prodded to it by her thoughts. She stepped back but then stopped at the last moment to stare down at Ian’s body. It was only a shell, she reminded herself halfheartedly as she recalled the lessons of other ministers when she had faced other deaths. It was empty now and no longer housed all that had made her brother the unique person he’d been.

      “Goodbye, Ian,” she whispered, and the wind carried away the soft sound. “I’m sorry.” An arm encircled her shoulders loosely, and then Lucas Templeton led her away from Reverend Dickey and Ian and the remains of their shattered dreams.

      She accompanied Templeton blindly, simply putting one foot in front of the other in a semblance of walking that seemed to satisfy him. And she found the movement worked to her advantage, as well. It gave her a new sense of purpose, an activity that she didn’t have to think about. As long as she continued to move, her mind and body remained occupied.

      “Be careful.” Lucas spoke close to her ear and his arm tightened around her shoulders as he led her up onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

      She followed without comment or hesitation. For the moment she could think of nothing more than holding herself together. Guarding herself until she could find a stoic facade to present to the outside world.

      She was a Mackenzie, after all, and there were certain rules to be followed whenever trouble threatened: hide your tears, show only your strength, never retreat and, oddly enough, live life to the fullest. She’d never been particularly good at any of those things, but surely she could manage it this time. Somehow.

      This time she needed at least the appearance of maintaining her composure as she never had before.

      “Here.”

      Lucas took hold of her elbow and steered her through an open doorway. A blazing chandelier bestowed a sudden shock of light all around her and Ashlynne blinked. The Star of the North. She recognized the place immediately. It had been no more than an hour since she’d been here and it looked exactly the same. Ridiculously normal. The only difference she could see was that most of the earlier patrons were gone. They had all gone outside to see—

      No. Don’t remember it now. Put it from your mind. First, you must find your strength. The rest will be waiting when you’re ready for it.

      The advice echoed in her mind and, for a moment, she could almost believe that it was Grandfather Mackenzie who stood next to her this time. He would have given her that guidance exactly so, had he been here.

      He wasn’t, of course. Granddad had been gone for more than five years now, Grandmother even longer. They’d welcomed her parents to that celestial plane more than six months ago and now Ian would join them. They had all gone, left Ashlynne alone and—

      Stop it! For God’s sake, just stop thinking!

      She listened to her better judgment because she could do nothing else. If she didn’t, she’d fly apart into a thousand pieces that could never again be fitted together. Desperately she followed Lucas as he wound his way through the scattered maze of tables and chairs, until he stopped at one that looked just like all the others.

      He pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”

      It was simpler to follow his instruction than to argue, and she had no words in any case. She had decided not to think—and it was just as well. Her legs felt suddenly weak, her knees on the verge of collapse. She’d kept herself moving through the street by sheer force of will, but now, when presented with another choice, her physical strength deserted her without warning. She sat down hard on the plain wooden chair.

      “Do you want to take off your cloak?”

      Ashlynne looked down at herself. The heavy woolen cloak—one of her few purchases for this trip to Alaska—covered her from neck to ankle, and suddenly she’d never been so grateful for a garment. It felt…good, heavy. Its weight somehow gave her a sense of security that otherwise seemed missing. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, as though warning Lucas not to force the issue.

      He didn’t. In fact, he walked away and left her sitting alone.

      Seizing any distraction, Ashlynne watched Lucas as he approached the bar. He moved with a casual grace that came unexpected from a man of his size. She’d thought the same thing when she’d first seen him and the impact hardly lessened upon second notice.

      How was it, she wondered, that he had been the one to come to her aid? No one else had. Peripherally she’d been aware of others who’d stood around her in the street, staring and whispering among themselves, but none of them had approached her. Then Lucas had been there, kneeling next to her, and he’d helped her away from there. He’d seen to it that the reverend would take care of Ian, and he’d provided a safe place for her in the warmth and comfort of the Star of the North.

      A saloon, she reminded herself.

      The truth—that she found herself in this place again—hovered just beyond her ability to do something about it. It was wrong; she knew it with a vague uneasiness. She should have been aware of other emotions to concern her, as well, but…there was nothing. Rather, an ephemeral discomfort merely taunted her with the elusive impression of her complete and utter failure.

      She had let Ian down and now she was a disappointment to herself, as well.

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