Gold Rush Bride. Debra Brown Lee

months getting to Ireland, and by then Michael was newly wed with a babe on the way.

      She’d had no choice but to come herself. The twins, Patrick and Francis, at age twelve were too young, and Sean at fifteen too reckless. So she’d left the boys in the care of Michael and his bride, boarded the clipper to America and hadn’t looked back. The money for the passage she’d borrowed from disapproving relatives in County Kildare. What a waste.

      Landerfelt frowned. “The question is, does Miss Dennington know the law?”

      “What law?” She hadn’t been listening.”

      Yes, well I was just getting to that.” Vickery handed her a creased parchment, its edges smudged with inky fingerprints. “Your father’s will. I wrote it for him not two days before he passed. He signed it at the bottom—just there.”

      Kate swept her gaze across the spidery lettering. It might as well have been Greek. There’d been little time for reading growing up. She did recognize her father’s flamboyant signature, though it seemed not as bold as she remembered it. “Aye, that’s his hand.”

      “He leaves it all to Michael, your brother.” Vickery shrugged. “That’s who he was expecting, you see, who we were all expecting.”

      Landerfelt stepped closer, and Kate fought a natural instinct to back away. “But Mike Dennington’s not who’s come, and that changes everything.”

      “Mr. Landerfelt’s right,” Vickery said. “The land, the store, the horse and the mule—it’s all in the will. By law it passes to the next of kin, should the primary beneficiary be…well, in this case, wholly unavailable.”

      “So it’s all mine, then? The storefront, the goods, everything?” Kate scanned the rough-hewn timbers of the two-room cabin her father had built on land he’d won in a poker game. It certainly wasn’t much. A fortune, indeed. What on earth had he been thinking? She offered up a silent prayer for his foolish but well-meaning soul.

      “Yours until tomorrow.” Landerfelt pulled a cigar stub out of his breast pocket and lit it.

      Kate wrinkled her nose at the stench. “What do you mean, tomorrow?”

      “You’re the lawyer,” Landerfelt said to Vickery. “Explain it to her.”

      “Um, yes, well…” Vickery pulled a sheaf of papers out of his portfolio and promptly dropped them. They scattered across the floor. “Oh, sorry. I’ll just be a moment.”

      Landerfelt rolled his eyes. “It’s the law, like I said. The property passes to you, and your father’s business, too. But you can’t keep it. Not in this town.”

      “What do you mean I can’t keep it? Mr. Vickery said that—”

      “Single women, especially immigrants, don’t own property. Not in Tinderbox.” Landerfelt flashed a nasty look at a Chinese girl peering through the store’s front window. “And they don’t own businesses, neither. It’s better for the town.”

      “Oh, is it now?” Better for a certain competing store owner, Kate suspected. Landerfelt’s and Dennington’s were the only two supply stores she’d seen since leaving Sacramento City.

      “It’s a fairly new law.” Vickery offered her the disorganized sheaf of papers he’d retrieved from the floor. Kate just stared at them. “Enacted by the town council just a few days ago, in fact.” He flashed a look at Landerfelt, who stood there gloating.

      “But my father’s business, the store…I’ll need to run it to—” The gravity of her situation dawned.

      She would have to make not only a living in this godforsaken place, but enough to pay her passage home and still make good the small fortune she’d borrowed from her mother’s sister.

      They had all assumed her father would pay them back. His letter…the wealth he described…Kate’s gaze was drawn to the sparsely stocked shelves of the store and a battered old cash box that stood empty on the counter.

      She would have to make the money. There was no other way. If she didn’t, her aunt would make certain Michael wouldn’t see a penny of his hard-earned wages. And him with a wife and babe to feed, not to mention the other lads.

      “Not all trade is forbidden.” Landerfelt cocked a blond brow at her. “Certain types of enterprises are allowed.”

      “You mean I can’t run my father’s store, but I might be allowed some other commerce?” She’d never heard of any law so ridiculous. No matter. Whatever she had to do to raise the funds, she’d do it, and go back to Ireland as soon as she might.

      Landerfelt grinned. “Hell, yes. A certain kind of commerce, as you put it, would be damned welcome in Tinderbox.” He raked his eyes over her body. They lingered for a moment on her bosom. “If you get my drift.”

      She was suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, of the hungry-looking faces of the miners crowded into the store. She had the distinct impression that food was not what they craved. She got Landerfelt’s drift all right.

      Her blood boiled.

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Landerfelt.”

      He chuckled—a slow, almost syrupy laugh in keeping with his Virginian drawl.

      “Till tomorrow, is it? To dispose of the cabin and the land? I assume I may keep the horse and the mule?” She’d sell them, in fact, along with everything else that wasn’t nailed down, to raise the funds to pay the debt and buy her passage home. With her father gone, there was no reason to stay.

      “Five o’clock.” Landerfelt reached into a pocket and withdrew a finely tooled money pouch. “Unless, of course, you’d like to sell it all—lock, stock and barrel—right now.”

      “To you?”

      “That’s right.” He reached for her hand and she stiffened. The charming smile that oozed across his face made her want to slap him. All the same, she allowed him to spill the contents of the pouch into her open palm. A half-dozen ten-dollar gold pieces winked up at her.

      “Oh dear.” Vickery’s eyes widened.

      She did the calculations in her head, allowing for the unbelievable inflation that had occurred overnight, since word had spread that the streets of California were paved in gold. She couldn’t read, but she was keen with figures. Years of stretching pennies to feed her wayward father and four brothers had perfected her skill for transactions.

      “You’re crazy, Landerfelt.”

      Her sentiments exactly. Why the horse alone had to be worth that much.

      Through the crowd, Kate’s gaze lit on the rough-looking frontiersman who’d spoken. She’d not noticed him earlier, and wondered when he’d come in. He lounged against a timber near the store’s entrance, arms folded across his chest as if he owned the place.

      Kate felt her face flush hot as the man’s cool gaze washed over her. He wasn’t dressed like the others in flannel shirts and wool trousers. Fur and buckskin clothed him from head to toe, but not any kind of fur Kate had ever seen. Lord, he was a sight! Wild black hair that was unfashionably long, and even blacker eyes.

      She forced her gaze back to the coins in her hand. Landerfelt’s offer would barely pay for her return to San Francisco and a room for the night, let alone her debt and the clipper passage home. No, she’d need better than a thousand dollars. More perhaps. With prices what they were, she could only guess.

      She watched as the frontiersman pushed his way through the throng and stood looming behind Eldridge Landerfelt. He flashed his dark eyes at her, and she felt a bit of a rush inside. He was taller than she’d first thought, and had a dangerous look about him. A wicked-looking scar cut across his left cheek. She wondered how he’d got it. A knife fight, perhaps, or a run-in with a bear? In this wild place there was no telling.

      He stared at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.