Gold Rush Bride. Debra Brown Lee

you give the little lady some of your money, Crockett. If you have any left, that is.”

      A couple of miners snickered as a whispered buzz spread amongst them. Kate watched the cords on the frontiersman’s neck grow taut. His eyes grew even blacker, if that were possible, and his face was as hard as County Wicklow’s limestone cliffs.

      “That’s my price,” Landerfelt said to her. He tapped his cigar ash on the counter next to them. “Take it or leave it.”

      Kate glanced at the coins in her hand and at Landerfelt’s triumphant smirk. Aye, she was a woman alone in a foreign land, but no one played Kate Dennington for a fool. She knew nothing of prices or the value of land, but she was certain she could do better than the merchant’s paltry offering.

      “Keep your coin,” she said, and slapped the golden eagles onto the counter.

      Landerfelt’s jaw dropped, and he nearly lost his cigar.

      “Ha!” The frontiersman, Crockett, smiled at her.

      She noticed his teeth; they were white and straight. This close up, aside from his sun-bronzed skin and that wicked scar, he didn’t really look like the other transient men she’d seen on the last leg of her journey from Sutter’s Fort to Tinderbox. And she’d seen plenty. Hundreds of them, immigrants mostly, all flocking to the goldfields.

      Crockett’s voice, his demeanor, they were…refined, almost. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that made him different, but would stake her last farthing he wasn’t born to this life.

      All at once the store erupted into a cacophony of shouts and tussles. The miners crowded forward, nearly pinning Kate to the counter behind her. What on earth—?

      “How ’bout sellin’ me that last jar a peaches?” A squat miner with doughy cheeks pointed at the shelf behind the counter.

      “I’ll take all them tin pans ya’ve got left,” another cried out.

      A dozen others called out their orders for goods. Kate’s head spun. What was she to do? Landerfelt and Vickery were all but pushed aside as the miners crowded closer. She looked to her father’s solicitor for help. Vickery merely shrugged, and fought to keep from losing his spectacles and his overstuffed portfolio in the ruckus.

      One thing was clear to her. It was still her store, until five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Aye, she’d sell off the remaining goods and…She didn’t bother finishing the thought. In a flash she was behind the counter, reaching for that last jar of peaches.

      “How much?” the miner said.

      “How…much?” Lord, she had no idea. She’d only been in California a handful of days. The currency and coin were strange to her to begin with, and the prices of things seemed to increase by the hour.

      The miner plunked a small leather bag onto the counter, and gestured to an odd-looking set of scales Kate had noticed when she’d first arrived. “I’ll take that sack of flour, too.” He opened the leather bag and sprinkled some glittering dust onto the scales. “How’s that?”

      “How’s…what?” Apparently this ritual was supposed to mean something to her. Kate looked hard at the glittering pile and with a start realized what it was. “Oh. The gold, you mean?”

      Of course! The man meant to pay her in gold dust. But how much should she charge? And how was she to value what he offered? Her hands grew sweaty and, without thinking, she wiped them on the skirt of her one good dress.

      In a panic she looked up, directly into the black eyes of the only man in the room who’d had the nerve to question the dealings of her father’s competitor. The frontiersman, Crockett. She wondered why he’d come to her defense at all. What was she to him?

      “Stand aside, miss.”

      Before she could protest, he was across the counter, his hand on the scales. From a drawer hidden beneath the counter, he pulled a beat-up wooden box. Inside was a collection of a dozen or so metal cylinders, increasing in size from one tinier than her little fingertip, to one nearly as big as her palm. They looked heavy—brass, perhaps.

      She watched, fascinated, as Crockett tried a couple of the smallest ones on the scale. She marveled at how quickly he got the side with the brass cylinder to balance perfectly with the side on which the miner had piled his gold.

      “More,” Crockett said.

      The dough-cheeked miner carefully tapped more dust out of his bag onto the scale.

      “Enough.” Crockett pushed the peaches across the counter and gestured to the enormous bag of flour sitting next to him on the floor. “Three dollars for the peaches, and ten for the flour.”

      “Thirteen dollars?” Kate was stunned. She calculated the exchange rate in her head. Why, that amount of money would have fed her and her brothers for a month!

      “That’s right.” The edge of Crockett’s mouth twitched in a half grimace. “But don’t get excited. Dennington likely paid five in Sacramento City for the flour alone, and another five for delivery. God knows what he paid for those peaches.”

      Kate realized Crockett was studying her. And he was standing far too close. Close enough for the fur trim of his jacket to brush her hand. She tried to step back but was hemmed in by more miners, clamoring to buy what remained of the store’s goods.

      “But, the prices…how did you know what to—”

      “Mei Li!” Crockett waved at the Chinese girl Kate had seen earlier standing in the doorway of the store.

      The sprite ducked into the crowd, and Kate didn’t see her again until her head popped up on the other side of the counter. She wore a dazzling smile, and garments the likes of which Kate had never seen. “You wish me help?”

      “Yes.” Crockett yanked a list out from under the counter and handed it to the girl. A price list, Kate surmised, though she couldn’t read it.

      Both the girl and Crockett seemed to know more than Kate would have suspected about the operation of her father’s store. She’d remember to ask Mr. Vickery about it later.

      “Miss Dennington could use some help.” Crockett looked at her again with those probing eyes.

      She nodded, still wondering at the frontiersman’s motives but grateful for the assistance he’d provided her. In seconds, the Chinese girl filled the order of another miner and waved forward the next in line.

      Landerfelt scowled from the corner where he and Mr. Vickery had been shoved. He cast the stub of his cigar to the floor and pushed his way out of the crowd onto the muddy wagon trail the locals called Main Street.

      Crockett’s smile faded. His dark gaze followed Landerfelt out the door. Before Kate could thank him for his kindness, he pushed his way after him and was gone.

      “Who on earth was that man?”

      “That Will Crockett,” Mei Li said, and proceeded with the next transaction.

      Kate watched him out the window. He stood rigid, hands fisted at his sides, outside Landerfelt’s storefront, as if he were waiting for something, for Landerfelt, perhaps. She’d felt the tension between them. “A frontiersman, is he?”

      “Fur trader. Trapper.”

      Kate could well believe it from his garments. Still, there was an air about him that smacked of drawing rooms and Sunday teas. Not that she knew anything about such things. The two-room tenement in Dublin she’d shared with her father and four brothers was a far cry from such a life.

      “He lives here in Tinderbox?”

      “No. Will Crockett go north. To Alaska. For beaver. Fox. Good fur there. His boat leave few days.”

      “Really?” Perhaps he was a true frontiersman, after all.

      “You keep store, yes?”

      “W-what?” She