Gold Rush Bride. Debra Lee Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ grindingly poor neighborhood she’d been raised in.

      “I’ve braved the streets of Dublin alone from an early age, Mr. Vickery. I’m quite capable of watching out for myself.”

      He studied her face for a moment, searching, perhaps, for signs of feigned confidence. She drew herself up and squarely met his gaze. Well, perhaps some of it was feigned.

      “Yes, I believe you are. And I’d have expected nothing less from Liam Dennington’s daughter.” He smiled, finally, then visibly relaxed.

      Kate was pleased. She needed allies, and suspected Mr. Vickery was a good one to have.

      “You’re nothing at all like the first Mrs. Crockett.”

      “The first Mrs. Crockett?” Kate’s eyes widened of their own accord. “You mean, Will was married before?” She’d never considered that possibility. He didn’t seem at all the kind of man who’d have a wife. Well, not a real wife.

      “What happened to her?”

      “Happened?”

      “I mean…she is dead, isn’t she?” The look on her face must have betrayed the split second of fear that shot through her mind.

      Mr. Vickery dismissed her concern with the wave of his hand. “Of course she’s dead. You don’t think he would have…” He shook his head as if she was supposed to understand. “…if she weren’t?”

      “Oh, no, of course not.” Kate shook her head, too, and looked properly shocked at the very thought. Though, judging from her brief experience with Will Crockett, his good deed to the Chinese family aside, she wouldn’t have put it past him to have had a wife in one place and have no qualms about marrying another he would never see again.

      She offered Vickery a seat on the wide window box and pulled up a stool beside him. She encouraged him to go on with his tale.

      “Right. Well, yes, she died of cholera. Not six months after Crockett brought her West.”

      “So he’s from the East then. New York?”

      “Philadelphia.”

      “Ah.” Kate hadn’t a clue where that was. The only place she knew of in the eastern part of America was New York.

      “Sherrilyn Rogers Browning was her name. They say she was a beauty.”

      “Really.” Absently Kate smoothed her well-worn dress and tucked a tendril of frazzled hair back into place.

      “With a taste for luxury and fine things.”

      “And yet she wed a fur trapper?” That was too farfetched to believe.

      “Well, yes, I guess she did.”

      “Just how do you know this, Mr. Vickery? Did Crockett tell you?”

      “Oh, my, no. He’s not the kind of man who talks about his family.”

      Kate hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to either agree or disagree.

      “Matt Robinson told me.”

      “Ah, the infamous Matt Robinson.” She smiled, recalling his swashbuckling behavior of the day before. “He’s quite the colorful character.”

      “Oh, quite.” Vickery leaned in close, as if he were about to tell her something of great import. “Rumor has it Crockett’s the son of a very wealthy man. Someone important—in politics or banking maybe—back East. No one really knows.”

      Six months at sea packed aboard a ship with immigrants of every imaginable background and social status, Kate had gotten quite good at picking up languages and at judging people’s circumstances from their speech.

      More than once she’d detected a sort of refinement in Crockett’s voice and manner, though he seemed to bend over backward to cover it up, obliterate it. He worked hard at being something he was not. Why?

      Kate rose from the stool and gazed out the window at the clear autumn sky. It didn’t really matter, did it? Will Crockett was gone for good, and so much the better. He was right, after all. She had what she wanted. Why, then, did she feel so despondent?

      After Mr. Vickery said goodbye and tottered off down the street, Kate turned back to the window and stared blankly after him, her thoughts consumed by what she’d learned of Will Crockett.

      Trailing a finger across her lips, she recalled their kiss. It had been her first. She was twenty-two and had never been kissed. Not until yesterday morn when Will Crockett made her his wife. He wasn’t really her husband, she reminded herself. It was purely a business arrangement. It’s not as if he’d left her. He’d planned to leave all along.

      She glanced up the street and, to her surprise, saw the portly priest turned miner who’d married them the day before. Father Flanagan, newly arrived in Tinderbox to make his fortune. A fortune he’d use to build a church, a parish, here on the frontier.

      Crossing herself, Kate offered up a silent plea for God to forgive her sin. Sweet Jesus, she’d actually married him! In the church. No matter that it was out in the open, under the clear blue sky. She’d said the vows before a priest, before God.

      It was a real marriage, despite the fact that Will Crockett was on his way to Alaska, and that soon she, too, would take to ship and sail for home.

      Will stood on the levee in Sacramento City in the shadow of the Golden Eagle and resisted the urge to draw the miniature out of his pocket. Why the hell he’d bought it, he didn’t know.

      The painted image of Kate Dennington surely hadn’t changed in the ten minutes since he’d last looked at it. All the same, the keepsake was in his hand before he knew it, her blue eyes and proud Irish features staring up at him.

      “You’re an idiot, Crockett.” He jammed it back into his pocket as the men huddled around him on the levee waiting to board the riverboat turned to stare. Shrugging, he swore silently under his breath.

      He’d been hard on Kate yesterday, and regretted his bad behavior. He’d been angry, not at her so much as himself. He was attracted to her, and that was the problem.

      The way she’d pushed through that crowd of men and come to Mei Li’s defense yesterday morning in town had surprised the hell out of him. The woman had grit. He admired that, along with those blue eyes of hers.

      Absently his hand moved to the pocket housing the miniature. At the last minute he fisted it at his side and mouthed a silent curse.

      Kate Dennington wasn’t his concern. So why did he have second thoughts about leaving her? She was a woman alone in a town full of ruffians and gold diggers. So what? From what he’d seen of her, she was damned capable of taking care of herself.

      Besides, he had plans. And those plans didn’t include a woman in them. Women were trouble. Sherrilyn had taught him that little lesson. Kate Dennington was trouble, too. That chaste kiss of hers proved it. How long had she practiced it, and with whom? She was good, all right. Very, very good.

      He would live the life he wanted, the life he’d imagined while shut up for days on end СКАЧАТЬ