Klondike Hero. Jillian Hart

      

      “Why don’t you like me, Gage?”

      She hitched her chin up a notch, studying him with blue eyes capable of bending unsuspecting men to her will.

      “As far as I can tell, Karenna, you ran out on your wedding. What you’re doing here in a wedding dress is anyone’s guess. Why didn’t you change on the way? Or did you think the men here would be rubes, easily tricked into marrying you, so you didn’t bother to change?”

      “Believe me, if you are anything like the rest of the men in this town, then I want to sue that magazine for false reporting. You are hardly hunky, marriage-minded or charming.” Okay, maybe she’d gotten carried away. Gage Parker was hunky, but that was about all the good she could say about him.

      Alaskan Bride Rush: Women are flocking to the Land of the Midnight Sun with marriage on their minds

      JILLIAN HART

      grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.

      Klondike Hero

      Jillian Hart

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The Lord is near to all who call upon Him.

      —Psalms 145:18

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Prologue

      Karenna Digby pulled her car in front of the diner in nowhere, Washington State—she had no idea where she was—and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. The lace cuff of her sleeve caught on the emergency brake. Stupid wedding dress. She was tired, heartbroken and starving. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a real meal, since she’d been dieting to fit into her gown for months.

      She shoved open the door, the tap of rain on her face felt like the tears she could not shed. She grabbed her purse and her dress’s train, planted her expensive white shoes on either side of a huge puddle. Yes, she would have to park in a puddle. That was the way her day—her would-be wedding day—was going. She slammed the door and spotted the “Just Married” sign on her back window.

      Stupid sign. She skirted the puddle, tossed her train over the crook of her arm and tore at it. It ripped in half, one piece sticking stubbornly to the window. What had her sisters used to adhere it to the glass? Superpowered glue? It wouldn’t come off.

      The heavens opened, and the rain turned to a torrential downpour. Leaving the tattered half of the sign for later, she wove around the puddles on the worn blacktop. She could only hope she didn’t look as bedraggled as she felt—then she caught her reflection in the diner’s windows and groaned at the lonely bride with wilting roses braided into her hair.

      “Table for two?” The gum-cracking waitress asked at the rickety podium that served as a hostess stand.

      “No. There’s just me.”

      “I see. Sorry to hear it. Once that happened to me, too, honey.” She led the way down the aisle in sensible rubber shoes that squeaked with her gait. “What you have to do is not let it get to you. Get back up, shake off the hurt and find you another man. Don’t let one bad seed ruin your attitude about love.”

      “Thanks.” She slipped into the booth patched with duct tape and let the train fall to the bench beside her. At least she wasn’t the only bride in history to have been left at the altar. It just felt that way.

      “Menus are on the table.” The waitress pulled a pad out of her pocket. “What you want to drink, hon?”

      “Coffee, please.” She would start with that. Her stomach might be growling, but she wasn’t sure she could keep down anything more than liquids. Devastation hung on her like a lead weight. She thought of her family’s fury at her, and her younger sisters, both married of course, patting her consolingly. “He’ll come to his senses,” Kim had said. “You just have to be patient with him,” Katie had advised.

      Patient? She wanted to be married. She had the dress. She’d had the groom. She had a future as Alan’s wife all mapped out. How could he do this to her? Her two-carat engagement ring sparkled as she reached for the worn, laminated menus tucked between the paper napkin dispenser and the wall. She didn’t know what to do. She’d dated Alan for seven years. They’d been high-school sweethearts and attended the University of Washington together, strolling hand in hand down the tree-lined avenues and along picturesque walkways, and studying in their favorite carrels in the undergraduate library.

      Now that was all gone. All the love and hope vanished as if they’d never been.

      Send me a sign, Lord. Please. Show me what to do. She yanked the menu free, and bold print caught her eye. There was a magazine tucked against the wall, its pages folded over to an article with a catchy headline. “Treasure Creek, Alaska, Seeks Brides for Hunky Habitants!” Rain dripped off her hair as she seized the magazine and spread it out on the table in front of her. Hunky men were looking for brides? Was this for real?

      Sure enough, the picture above the headline showed a small town, tucked into the gentle embrace of thick, lush forests and reaching, breathtaking mountains. Another picture, inset into the article, showed a long-angled shot of a cute old-fashioned town and a sign that read, Welcome to Treasure Creek.

      “A customer left that behind.” The waitress returned, overturned the cup and poured. “Interesting article. If I was single, I might hop in the car and go take a look. I mean, good, decent single men are hard to find.”

      “And even when you do, they have commitment issues.”

      “Amen, sister.” The waitress set the carafe down and hauled out her notepad. “Does anything on the menu look good?”

      Maybe she could eat. She ordered a cup of soup and a club sandwich and turned her attention back to the Now Woman magazine article.

      “Think all the good men are taken? Not so in tiny, charming Treasure Creek, Alaska, population 724. The hunky inhabitants are churchgoing, marriage-minded single men in a town with one woman for every five men! Many of them are tour guides for the town’s popular tour company, Alaska’s Treasures.”

      Churchgoing and marriage-minded sounded good. In fact, it sounded heaven-sent. She grabbed the sugar jar and upended it over the steaming cup, stirring it into the black, tarry brew as she kept reading….

      “Alaska’s Treasures is run by the founder’s widow, Amy James. They’re the best tour guides in the state, she says, proudly. And they’re the hottest, ladies. A handsome