Dawson City, Yukon, July 1898 “I now pronounce you man and wife.” The old judge coughed. “Sort of.” Genevieve Summerville felt like a fraud. She didn’t normally dress in such rich clothing. She clutched at her much-too-expensive bouquet of fresh-cut pink roses, white chrysanthemums and stag’s horn moss. Ribbons of organza streamed below the stems, lily of the valley perfumed the air, and she could barely breathe in a corset laced too tight for this heat. She glanced up from the banks of the rushing river to the judge. His black robes flicked in the breeze. Dots of sweat gave sheen to his forehead and caused his spectacles to slip down his nose. Behind him sprawled the tents and new plank buildings of Dawson City, center of the Klondike gold rush, at the juncture of the Yukon and Klondike Rivers. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the tall, intimidating man standing to her right, a position normally reserved for the groom. Dressed in the handsome red uniform of the North-West Mounted Police, he wasn’t hers. She’d only been in town for three days, but she’d already heard the rumors about him. A light breeze lifted her loose black hair and swirled around her bodice, around the see-through lace overlay, the twenty-four tiny buttons that plunged down her spine, the low-cut neckline she’d picked out because she’d thought she’d be wearing it for another man. Beneath the silk and chiffon and her lengthy tulle veil, she wore homemade bloomers and drab stockings she’d mended many times over. Thank goodness some things remained private. “You may now...umm...” Judge Donahue strained to be heard above squawking ducks. “...shake hands.” Genevieve turned to the Mountie Inspector. Luke Buxton Hunter didn’t smile when he took her hand, gloved in white satin. His grip was a bit too firm, like the man himself. The officer wore no hat and his shiny black hair sparkled in the sun. She bet his underclothes matched the state of his fine-looking uniform. She bet he was what he appeared to be. “Congratulations,” said the stand-in groom. “I hope you two will be very happy.” “Thank you.” “Whenever he makes it back to town.” “Hopefully Joshua will return...before the end of the month.” Sunshine caught the jagged scar beneath the officer’s left eye. She wondered how he’d got it. Is that why he never smiled? “Unless he strikes gold first.” The statement cheered her. It was the whole point of Joshua’s absence, and why he hadn’t been here to meet her three days ago when she’d arrived. Most of the lucrative gold claims in Dawson City had already been staked. Joshua was trying his hand panning further up river, working hard to support her and any future children. “Yes...well...well...thank you for filling in for Joshua.” “Least I can do for an old friend. I must admit, this is my first proxy wedding.” “Mine, too. Well, save for my parents back home, but I didn’t attend their wedding.” Anxious, she chattered on. “I wasn’t born for another two years.” When she stared into his dark and serious eyes, that pang of loneliness hit her again. What this man had done for his friend, Joshua McFadden, reminded her of the dear friendships she’d left behind in Montana. But she should count her blessings. She was getting a whole new start in a beautiful new country, with an upstanding man she’d briefly known in her childhood. He came highly recommended by her aunt and uncle here in Dawson. In his letter to her, Joshua had written that he was supportive of her new profession. She didn’t recall exactly what he looked like, but she remembered his kindness when once taking her to the country fair, and how ambitious he’d seemed telling her of his big dreams to see the world and make a fortune. His ambitions were what had attracted her as an adolescent. That’s why she understood his absence today. Her puppy yelped at her boots, biting at the buttons, breaking her spell. Genevieve smiled. She bent over in the intricate gown she’d hauled over the Chilkoot Mountain pass, careful to hide the scuffed boots that didn’t match her gown, and scooped up the frisky white pup. “Nugget, can’t you sit still for ten minutes?” The Inpsector leaned over, and with two broad fingers, stroked Nugget’s head. The gesture seemed too intimate, seeing how the puppy was pressed so close to her bosom. Genevieve flushed, but then recalled that the Inspector was a veterinary surgeon. A doctor of animals. He looked after the horses and livestock at the Mountie outpost. Hence his interest in puppies was genuine. “How’d you get her here?” he asked. “In my pocket, the whole climb up.” All three pounds of her. Now she was four. The tiny white lap dog had French heritage, Genevieve had been told by the steamship captain who’d donated her, like Genevieve herself. Her aunt was the first to bounce over from the handful of witnesses. “Congratulations, my dear.” Abigail Thornbottom, as wide as she was tall, cupped her niece’s face in her hands and kissed her cheek. “Your mother would be so proud. And your father, my goodness, may God rest their souls.” She lowered her head, and her magnificent felt hat in the process, to smell the bridal bouquet. “Worthy of a princess.” “Much too extravagant flowers,” murmured Genevieve. They’d sent the money for her wedding gown as well, and she’d be forever grateful. “Nonsense. We bought them from the best Dutch florist in town—” “The only florist,” said thin Uncle Theodore, dressed in his tight wool suit. Aunt Abigail whispered with pride. “His gardens are full of imported seeds all the way from Rotterdam.” Genevieve knew they meant well, but she lowered her lashes. She wished they’d stop boasting. Especially in front of the officer. Two steps away, Judge Donahue moaned. When he coughed again, his face turned patchy red. Inspector Hunter put his hand on the frail man’s shoulder. “Are you all right, sir?” He rubbed his temple. “It’s this...heat...” “Come. Let’s get you a glass of water.” The Mountie led the gent to a table and chair, set up beneath a gnarled willow tree. The officer’s wide brown Stetson lay on the table. While he took care of the judge, some of the other witnesses stepped forward to congratulate Genevieve. They were all strangers to her, except for her smarty dressed seventeen-year-old cousin, Milly, and Uncle Theodore. A rugged man in his thirties, a casino owner and friend of her uncle’s, removed his gold pocket watch and looked at the time. He’d brought his two brothers to the wedding out of respect for her uncle, she’d been told. Uncle Theodore, a rope and broom salesman who’d only arrived weeks ago himself, seemed to know almost everyone in town. They were the Cliffton brothers, Genevieve recalled. Burt, Vince and Ripley Cliffton had been introduced to her as the saloonkeeper, casino owner, and gold prospector. In addition to their good looks, they had sandy brown hair in common, shaggy to their shoulders. One of the them, Burt the saloonkeeper, wore a mustache. “Miss, are you sure this is legal?” asked the casino owner. “A proxy ceremony without your groom?” She took her hand off her elegant bouquet and pressed it to her nervous stomach. “As legal as any country wedding.” Some of the weddings on the long journey here, Genevieve recalled, hadn’t bothered to use a preacher or a judge. There were simply none available. Her folks had told her that on the frontiers of Montana, too, on the trails riding West, couples solemnized their nuptials by themselves, using friends as witnesses. The couple would then register the marriage at the courthouse—when and if they could—otherwise, saying their sacred vows aloud and moving in under the same roof meant they were married. “You know, English Royalty have been using proxy weddings for centuries.” Aunt Abigail shook her head so hard that her plumed hat sprung forward on her head, like a chipmunk about to pounce. “You don’t say,” said another gentleman, a saloon owner and brother to the first. “And we mustn’t forget Napoleon to his Archduchess.” Beaming, Aunt Abigail pressed her gloved hand to her throat. A gold prospector, the third youthful brother, not nearly as finely dressed as the other two but just as handsome, strummed his fingers along his shabby wool overalls. “If it’s good enough for emperors, it’s good enough for your niece.” They laughed. “But to just to make sure,” Genevieve declared, “Joshua and I plan on a church ceremony as soon as he returns.” She smoothed her wedding gown and attempted to step forward, but her boot snagged the train. “Let me help you.” Cousin Milly, in an apricot dress and white picture hat, scooted to the grass and picked up the ballooning silk. Genevieve scanned the gathering to locate the sturdy Mountie. She glossed over the heads and shoulders of the other men—one older fellow who worked in the livery stables, as muscled as a horse himself and his scalp as shiny as a cabbage; one quiet jeweler she’d met only yesterday whose head was shielded by a bowler hat; and a tall blond constable who was the veterinarian’s apprentice. Her gaze found the officer. He was giving his apprentice direction, pointing to the horses hitched at the riverside. She tried to ease her jitters. Her new life with Joshua would work out fine. She’d just been married to a man who’d take good care of her. She’d do her best to make their home a center of comfort, and, hopefully sometime in the future, of love. “The proxy is only a formality,” Uncle Theodore explained to the guests. His long white ponytail ruffled in the wind. It hit the spine of his plaid wool jacket. “It was our idea. Genevieve, well-bred lady that she is, didn’t want to move into his cabin while he was gone, without the proper title of being his wife.” “Of course,” said the saloonkeeper. Aunt Abigail caressed the silk on Genevieve’s mutton sleeve. “And Joshua insisted she be looked after in fine style while he was away. He wasn’t quite sure when she would arrive in the Klondike. But he begged us to move in with her, in that gloriously large home he built last year.” “I can hardly wait,” whispered Milly. “We bought her a little bell,” said Aunt Abigail. “A bell?” asked the men. Aunt Abigail giggled. “To call the maid.” Genevieve blushed. “There’s no maid, Aunt Abigail. I’ve told you, there’s isn’t that type of money—” “There will be. There will be. Just you wait until Joshua comes back with sacks full of gold.” “But—” “I picked up the bell from a shop across the street from ours. The shopkeeper is the only Englishman in town who imports directly from London.” Inspector Hunter looked up from the judge’s side, straight at Genevieve. He’d removed an envelope from his uniform and was pointing to it as the judge took quill in hand, signing the marriage certificate. Had the Inpsector overheard? Genevieve prickled with discomfort right down to her toes. What did it matter what he thought of her or her family? She would enjoy this moment. She inhaled air as fresh as morning dew, sensed a breeze warming her throat, tasted the mint powder she’d brushed her teeth with only an hour ago. It occurred to her that the officer had taken extra care to dress, as well. His hair, dark above his temples, shone with freshness. His cheeks were smooth due to a morning shave, his uniform neatly pressed. A shoulder harness was strapped across his broad chest and fitted with a gun. He was well groomed, she thought, out of respect for his friend, Joshua. Still, she pondered the incongruous nature of the polished details set against the scarred face. There was no getting around the daunting presence of the officer looking her way. She was in her early twenties, but he was likely in his late thirties. More experienced in the world. She wondered about the rumors, the whispers she’d heard about him. It was said that Inspector Luke Hunter was a man who highly savored his bachelor days. Her breath quickened. And nights.
*** She was a lovely bride, thought Luke, and Joshua McFadden was a lucky man. If a man went for that sort of thing. Marriage. Watching her from beneath the willow tree while he stood over the judge, Luke straightened in his uniform. A warm summer breeze filtered through his dark hair. Amusement tugged at his lips as he watched the dark-haired beauty with her aunt and uncle. Only a few weeks ago, Luke had traveled with the Thornbottoms on their journey here, and he considered himself damn fortunate the journey was over. He had been traveling incognito with five other Mounties, disguised as brothers to infiltrate a crime ring. The Thornbottoms had been unsuspecting stampeders they kept bumping into. He’d never met a woman who talked so much as Abigail Thornbottom, usually utter nonsense. Her pretty niece, Genevieve, however, seemed to take after her Uncle Theodore. Quiet and watchful. And a little bit scared. But you never knew with women—sometimes the quiet ones turned into Abigail Thornbottoms when you least expected them. Luke’s gaze traveled over the bride. He took in the curves of her silky gown, the large bosom, the pinched waist, the long length of her hidden legs. But it was her face that drew him. Her sharp green eyes, the arched black eyebrows, straight nose, glowing skin, the eager lips. Hair a mile long. What a shame she would be spending her wedding eve alone. If she were his, he’d be keeping her up all night. Luckily, though, Luke wouldn’t be thus constrained. Sure, the wedding night would be easy. Spending a night with her would be more pleasure than any man could fathom. Especially in this harsh land where women were few and far between. It would be the other forty years that would be trying. He’d witnessed that with his own eyes. Good luck to Joshua McFadden and Miss Genevieve Summerville. This evening, Luke would be enjoying a get-together of his own, with an enchanting woman who worked at the casino. Luke’s apprentice, Weston Williams, approached him and the judge, swinging a canteen. “It’s empty,” said Weston. Luke frowned. “Judge Donahue could use a sip of cool water.” “It’s...it’s...all right.” The judge’s face dripped with sweat. “I’ll just finish with this paperwork and sit here a spell.” “It’s no trouble.” Luke gazed up the slope to the Mountie outpost. It was right on the edge of town, two blocks up from Front Street from where the banging and hammering on the new wharf echoed day and night. Beyond the boardwalk that ran past the outpost, several log cabins were perched on a grassy slope, along with stables and corral. The place was deserted because most of the Mounties were out on duty. A well stood in the center of the courtyard. “Let me go to the well,” said Luke. “I’ll be right back.” He took the empty canteen and strode up the hill. He twitched with discomfort, feeling as though he was being watched. He scanned the outpost, between the buildings, but there was no one around. Smoke puffed from the chimney of the commissioner’s cabin. The man was likely preparing himself coffee. Luke turned his head to the wedding crowd by the river. No one was looking back at him, so he trudged upward. The sooner this ceremony was finished, the sooner Luke could return to more vital tasks. There weren’t enough Mounties to deal with everything that needed attention. First off, the measles scare. Everyone in town was fearful and watching out for symptoms of the deadly disease. Two goldminers, found dead last week at their campsite, had caused near hysteria. Near as Luke could tell, the men hadn’t been in contact with any townspeople, so it had to be passersby who’d spread the disease. Then the usual bout of crimes and misdemeanors. The ongoing investigation of the armed robbery of the jewelry shop two days ago—belonging to the very man who stood as witness to the wedding today—plus suspected arson of one of the town’s livery stables. There was Luke’s personal overseeing of the construction of a new bridge over the Klondike River, two miles out of town. Then there were the gold disputes. Hell, those never seemed to go away on their own. So many folks, all claiming someone else infringed on their claim. Luke reached the well, hauled up a bucket of cool spring water and filled his canteen. When he returned to the judge’s side, Luke tingled with warning again. Someone was watching him. And something wasn’t quite right with the judge. His color was off; his eyes looked hollow. Bloody hell, did he have a fever? “Your Honor, have a sip of this.” The judge looked up from the marriage certificate. He clutched the letter removed from the envelope Luke had given him yesterday. In it, Joshua had asked Luke to take care of Genevieve if she arrived before he returned. Luke glared at the names on the certificate and froze. “What in God’s name?” he whispered, thunderstruck. The judge groped for the canteen, rose to his feet, and immediately fell over. Ducks quacked. Abigail Thornbottom screamed. Genevieve dashed to help. Luke dropped to his knees beside the old man. The marriage paper fluttered to the grass. With racing fingers and pounding heart, Luke clawed at the old man’s cravat. Eyes closed, the judge lay as still as a board. Luke ripped open his robe and then his shirt. Buttons flew. Although Luke struggled to shake life back into him, the poor man was dead. His chest was covered in tiny red dots. Measles. Luke took a moment to fathom it. Then he was suddenly aware of her. Genevieve, on her knees beside him in a cloud of creamy silk, trying to help the judge. It took her seconds to realize, looking up at Luke’s solemn face, that the judge had passed on. She sank back onto her heels, speechless. The marriage certificate blared up at them from the grass, as though it had a voice of its own. Dumbfounded, Luke stared at the white parchment riddled with drops of water. There, in the shaky penmanship of the judge’s hand were the names of the new bride and groom. Miss Genevieve Summerville and Dr. Luke Hunter. Genevieve gazed at it long and hard. She blinked and stared at it some more. Then with a trembling to her lips, she turned slowly, stiffly, to face Luke. Holy hell, thought Luke. What had just occurred? (To be continued....)
British Columbia, late May 1898 “All you have to do is pretend I’m your sister,” she said. Frustrated, Sergeant Colton Hunter of the North-West Mounted Police stared at the bold young woman sitting across from him in the first-class compartment of the train. Her posture stiffened. Colt pressed his shoulder to the velvet drapes of the rumbling window and assessed her money-bought looks. “Miss, I can no more pretend you’re my sister than I can pretend you’re my maid.” “Try harder. You can start with the name. It’s not Miss. It’s not Doctor. It’s Elizabeth. Just plain Elizabeth.”
There was nothing plain about her, yet there was no way on earth he wanted to be stuck with Dr. Elizabeth Langley. She might seem harmless, but Colt, as private bodyguard to her father, knew otherwise. He would never trust her again. What she’d done to him in his personal life had been reckless. Maybe accidental, but reckless nonetheless. And now this. The morning sun billowed over the Coast Mountains of British Columbia, through their window, and lit the red sleeve of his Mountie uniform. They’d only been riding east for fifteen minutes and were still making stops on the outskirts of Vancouver when Colt stood up and slid the aisle door closed to prevent anyone from overhearing. He had one last chance at trying to convince her. “Listen, miss, I don’t know why you think I’m supposed to be your savior. Take this train across the country like you planned. Take that ship to England. They’re expecting you.” He tossed his Mountie Stetson to the seat and eased in beside it. “I have no intention of doing that,” said the young doctor. “I’m getting out at the next stop with you and your men. Furthermore—” “Why do you always make things difficult?” “They don’t have to be. Just escort me to the Klondike. You’re going anyway—” “Shh.” Exasperated, he leaned forward on the cushion. His long legs, straining beneath dark breeches, penetrated the swirl of her gray satin skirts. “Miss, I beg of you, lower your voice. Or better yet, pinch your lips together. You’re jeopardizing my mission and the safety of my men. Surely even you can understand that.” Her face colored as ripe as a berry. Her dark blond hair, pulled tight above her ears, exposed flushed cheeks and searching brown eyes. Soft amber stones dangled off her ears. It was hard to believe she was a newly graduated doctor. Her youth—midtwenties—and her gender contrasted sharply with the gray-haired doctors most folks were accustomed to seeing. Dressed from head to toe in shiny gray satin, she looked untouchable. But then, she’d always been above his station. Lace and satin were buttoned up to her throat. They might rouse another man’s curiosity as to the spoils that lay beneath, but Colt would be damned if he’d give in to those thoughts. Nonetheless, he tugged at his hot collar. A small gray hat, adorned with a burgundy feather that plucked the air as she spoke, topped the blond curls pinned on her head. A highly ridiculous outfit for traveling. “My father doesn’t think I’m jeopardizing your mission.” Elizabeth straightened her spine again on the red velvet seat. “When you get to the Yukon border where the crimes are occurring, you’re to escort me to my grandfather’s door while the rest of your men finish the investigation.” “Perfect,” he said with sarcasm. “Just what every officer wants to hear. To be on the brink of adventure and freedom. To head the team directly into the heart of danger, only to be cut short and forced to escort a...” His gaze swept over her. Her lips pressed together. Her cheeks grew taut. “A what?” “A coddled young woman to Dawson City.” She gasped. “I’m a doctor.” “Of what?” The light in her eyes flared. “I beg your pardon?” “You’re a doctor of rashes and fevers...or whatever else ails the female population of high society Vancouver.” He wondered what else she spent her time on, when privately summoned by a lady’s maid. Childbirth? The menstrual cycle? “You’ve no business interfering in the lives of working men. Hardworking men you don’t understand.” “I’m not here for your insults. I know all about the differences between men and women.” Elizabeth reeled to the window, but not before he saw the dewy sheen that sprang to her eyes. He fought the urge to feel sorry for her. She would have to come to terms with her father’s limitations on what she could and couldn’t practice in medicine. Her father, the Finance Minister of Canada, liked to call himself a champion for women’s education, but there were natural limits to his generosity. Folks weren’t comfortable with female doctors. It was said they took business away from men, that women didn’t have the constitution needed to handle gruesome illness or surgery. Being the Minister’s daughter put her in an awkward social situation, as well. She couldn’t very well work beneath her. And her father had forbidden her to practice medicine on men. She was forbidden to touch male strangers, and forbidden to have a man “drop his drawers” in front of her. It was indecent, Colt agreed. “I know what your anger stems from.” She turned stiffly toward him, the ruffles on her bosom fluttering. “And I can’t seem to apologize enough for the heartache I caused you at Christmas—” “Perhaps you did me a favor.” “I did you no favor. Please, let’s not pretend. And you’re doing me no favor in taking me north. You’re doing your duty.” Who the hell was she, telling him what his duties were? Perhaps this quality of hers was why her own engagement had fallen apart. His muscles flexed beneath his uniform. It was no use fighting her. Her father was too powerful. “I shall do my duty, miss, as promised.” The train screeched around a curve. Sunlight slanted across her cheekbones. “Why do you insist on calling me miss?One would think that after eight years’ time—” “It’s my duty.” She groaned. “I’ll escort you to the Klondike.” He shifted his legs in the tight space between them. “But first we’ve got to go over the rules.” She leaned back. “All right. I’ll listen to your rules. Colt.” He hated when she used his first name. He hated her ability to weave in and out of his private life. For the next five weeks, she’d be doing exactly that. His plan had been simple until two days ago, when she’d confided to her father that she wanted to join her grandfather in the Klondike for the summer. Apparently, she preferred to practice medicine on the hundreds of migrating women instead of touring England. Gold had recently been discovered in Dawson City, Yukon. The gold rush was creating a frantic pitch heard around the world. Most stampeders were American, but the Klondike belonged to Canada and was policed by the Mounties. With a population that’d swelled overnight to thirty-five thousand, the area had an overabundance of gold but few resources to feed, clothe and house the miners. Food items that sold for pennies in Vancouver sold for one hundred times their value in gold dust in Dawson City. Criminals infested the trails. A Klondike crime ring was targeting incoming food supplies. Since the Finance Minister was responsible for some of those supply lines getting through, he was sending Colt as part of a team of six Mounties to infiltrate the ring. They would travel in disguise as a group of brothers. They’d be hauling a ton of sausages to exchange for a fortune. What better way to attract thieves than with a cache of goods literally worth its weight in gold? But she wanted to be their sister. Colt pressed his hand to his thigh. “You’re not a doctor.” She smiled in disbelief. “Pardon me?” “Rule number one on this journey, forget you’re a doctor.” Her smile faded. “What on earth for?” “We’re supposed to be a modest family of ranchers seeking a great fortune. We don’t want anyone thinking you’re educated. Or wealthy.” An artery at the base of her throat pulsed. “But the whole purpose of my going is to treat women when I get there.” “I understand that, but I’ll need to get you there without compromising my duties.” He glanced at the suede bag by her feet. “Since you’re not a doctor, you’ve got to leave your medical bag behind.” “But the patients when I get there—” “You can borrow supplies. From the two or three doctors already at the hospital—” “That hospital is nothing more than two log huts. They don’t have enough—” “If you can’t abide the first rule, then you can’t—” “What if someone falls ills on the journey? Someone in distress—” “You’ll ignore them.” Elizabeth stared at him in dismay. The train careened around a corner and they braced themselves. She looked, quite simply, as though she wanted to throttle him. “We’ll be traveling in the wilderness. No help, no towns, no shops to buy supplies. Nothing but the wind and sun around us. What about wild animals and accidents that might befall us? What if someone on the team gets ill? One of your men? Maybe you.” “We can take care of our own bruises.” “Bruises? Is that what you think I do?” “Look, we can’t risk you taking the bag. Some folks might have heard of your father. Or maybe his unusual daughter.” “But I’ve got a whole trunk of badly needed gauze and tonics—” “Sorry. Not on this trip.” She snapped to the window and stared at the passing shanties. The woods were getting thicker. They were leaving Vancouver behind. Her cap and feather shifted on her head. “What if I take some essential supplies and tuck them into my clothing bag, but leave the medical bag behind?” Colt leaned back into the plush upholstery. “That might work. But you can only lend us the supplies. No strangers. You can’t let on you’re a doctor.” She pressed her mouth closed and yanked off her hat. “Rule number two,” he continued. “We’re changing our names.” “Yes, of course. But how am I to—” “I’ll make it as simple as possible. Our surname will be Blade. Your first name will be Liza. It’s close enough to Elizabeth so if your real name slips out, no one will blink. I’ll keep mine as Colt, Tommy will remain Tommy. As for the other four men you haven’t met yet, I’ll introduce you by their new names so it won’t confuse you. You think you can heed that?” She nodded. “The Blade family. From where?” “Ottawa. We sold our ten acres of farmland to buy supplies for the trip and payment on a gold claim. You know the Ottawa area from your travels with your father almost as well as we do, so picture it in your mind if someone asks.” “And our parents? Where are they?” “They died in a terrible fire.” “How awful.” She sniffed. “How old were we?” “No one’s going to ask that.” She surveyed him. “They might.” “You were the youngest at six, okay?” He watched her lashes flicker. “That’s so tragic.” Colt sighed. “I’m the oldest. Ten years older than you. I’m bossy, okay? I boss everyone around and you all listen.” He was the commanding officer on the team, so this would make sense. “I bet you’re the least liked.” Colt scowled. “The final rule. Number three. You’ve got to look and act the part of my obedient sister. You’re not above my station. You’re not an eyelash better than me. Got that?” “Huh,” she moaned softly. She wove her satin-gloved fingers together, looked down at her lap and fingered her cap. Sunlight streaked the blond hair amassed on top of her head. With a swoop of his broad Stetson, Colt rose. He glanced through the window at the jagged mountains. “We’re almost there. Twenty more minutes.” She had bought tickets to London months ago to visit friends. Colt was supposed to escort her partway by train, so they were still using the story as a cover to hide their new trip to the Klondike. Everyone in Vancouver would think she was spending the summer in London. When she didn’t arrive in London, everyone there would think she’d changed her mind and was remaining back home. But her real journey was about to start. He opened the door that led to a private bath and sleeping quarters. “It’s time for you to change. I’ll change out here and then flag Tommy back in.” She rose, and by the color in her cheeks, was finally catching on that he was boss here. She brushed by him in a womanly sway, a bundle of satin and feathers. Colt inhaled her fresh scent and observed how the delicate fabric fell against her ample curves. She had a hell of a walk—a way of penetrating into a man’s private thoughts, making him imagine all sorts of things and lingering in his imagination when she wasn’t welcome. Abruptly, he turned away. He’d never confess it aloud, but rule number three would be the most difficult one for him. He swallowed hard. Sister. Elizabeth was his devoted sister. *** Why did he provoke her at every opportunity? Alone and half-naked in the private quarters of the train, Elizabeth tugged a chemise over her corset, shoved her bare arms into a simple white blouse, then fastened the multitude of buttons, silently criticizing Colt. What could be wrong with a woman wanting adventure and freedom, the very things he’d mentioned? Men and women were similar in many regards. Weren’t they equally cheered at seeing the sun rise on a warm spring day? Didn’t they both enjoy the taste of a strong cup of coffee? Weren’t they equally touched by the sad tales of the weary traveler? Her enthusiasm for adventure didn’t mean she didn’t want home and family, too. When Elizabeth had ventured to tell someone—her dear Gerard—about her bigger dreams, he had been dismayed. Gerard. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him in the Klondike. A twinge of guilt followed, at how he must have felt reading her goodbye letter. How sad that in six months’ time, he hadn’t written back. Was he that angry with her? It seemed anger was the only sentiment she was able to evoke in men. First her father. Then Gerard. Now Colt. With a sigh, Elizabeth stepped into a brown muslin skirt. Cool mountain air whisked up her bare thighs. She pulled the skirt over her hips and clasped the buttons. She’d prove that her abilities as a doctor were equal to any man’s. That no one could bar her from treating male patients. If she could ease someone’s discomfort in sickness or injury, no matter what their sex, then why should it matter to a bunch of other healthy men who ran the country? And there was her other personal dilemma, her uncle’s secret whispered on his deathbed...she’d see to that in the Klondike, too. Gerard would have to answer directly to her. She thought she knew Gerard, yet if he was involved in the theft with her uncle... Elizabeth rummaged through her bags and repacked necessities. After changing into more sensible boots, she burst out of the private quarters and back into Colt’s so quickly that he hadn’t finished changing. He was buttoning a fresh blue shirt and tucking it into faded denim jeans, the rugged ones miners and drovers usually wore. He had a forceful stance, and it contrasted with the intimate nature of his buttoning. The muscles of his chest rippled beneath his undershirt, and slivers of smooth tanned skin, bronzed by the sun and hammered by the wind, slid in and out of view. She was frozen by the sight. Eyes as gray as gunmetal held hers. Her heart seemed to beat at a hummingbird’s pace. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize...” She glanced away. “It’s okay. I’m almost done.” She looked back to see him buttoning his sleeves. “You seem accustomed to women watching you dress.” He raised his eyebrows, smiling gently, and she blushed. She always managed to blurt the most inappropriate comments to this man. A brown cowboy hat, black leather belt and silver buckle completed the striking picture. His cowboy boots were well worn in the toe and heels, the creases along the tan leather softened from years of wear. When he gave her a slow gaze up the length of her body, she shifted with discomfort. Gerard had never looked at her like this. Even when...even when she’d been with him...in their most intimate time, he’d been a gentleman. She reminded herself Colt was a Mountie, sworn to uphold the law, and one of her father’s most trusted guards. Rubbing her face to mask her unease, Elizabeth stepped to her medical bag. She brought out the few items she needed most—stethoscope, scissors, sutures and gauze—and tucked them into her two other bags. She plopped her gray satin skirt and blouse onto a discarded pile. Next to the red leather trunk she was forced to leave behind. “Two bags?” Colt declared. “You’ve whittled your things to two bags already?” Elizabeth hid a satisfied smile. “You wanted me to pack lightly.” “But I didn’t think...well...good.” Colt tucked his uniform into a leather bag of his own. “This will stay behind.” For some inexplicable reason, she regretted that she wouldn’t be able to see him in uniform on this journey. She’d never seen him out of uniform before, not once in eight years, and this casual look held a new fascination. But not for her. She tore her gaze away from his denim-clad figure. Colt, a block of muscle, tugged on the door and leaned into the aisle. “Tommy, we’re ready.” Tommy St. James—now Tommy Blade—a slightly younger and shorter Mountie with similar brown hair to Colt’s, sometimes served as her father’s replacement bodyguard. He, too, was dressed in rancher’s clothes. She didn’t know him well, but his build and the agile way he moved reminded Elizabeth of a boxer. Behind him came another Mountie, a skinnier man dressed in full uniform. “Miss,” said Tommy, “this constable will tend to your extra luggage. He’ll make sure your bags arrive safely at their secret location for the summer. He’ll also pretend you’re still on board and going all the way to Montreal.” “Thank you.” She reached into her skirt pocket and handed him a parchment envelope. “When you get to Montreal, could you please deliver this letter to the ship bound for England?” “Yes, miss.” Her hosts, Lord and Lady Abercrombie in London, wouldn’t receive the letter for another month. It stated that with much regret, Elizabeth had decided to stay in Canada for the summer. By the time she and her brothers reached the Klondike, the secrecy of their mission would no longer have to be guarded. “Get ready,” said Colt, causing her pulse to jump. “Wait for my command. We’ll disembark after everyone else.” The train hissed through the forest, causing blackbirds in the cedars to flee for their lives. Timber shacks appeared in clusters. Their chimneys spewed smoke, laden with the heavy scent of peat moss. Then their train left the houses behind as it chugged and bellowed into the iron-vaulted ceiling of Whippoorwill Station, like a man chugging on his last breath. “Gracious,” whispered Elizabeth, peering at the packed platforms. “I’ve never seen so many people.” “They’re heading to the coast,” said Colt. “To board the ships for the Klondike.” In the same direction they should be headed, except they were still pretending to be going to England. Soon they’d be traveling incognito and turn west again. “I’ve read about gold rush fever in the papers, but this is incredible,” she said. Their train rolled past lineups a quarter-mile long and six people deep. Some travelers were dressed in rags. Others in expensive suits. Some were accompanied by women. There wouldn’t be enough trains to seat them. And when they reached the coast, Elizabeth knew there wouldn’t be enough ships to carry them. Goats, donkeys and horses lined the far platforms, waiting to board the boxcars. The smell of animals cloistered with their sweaty owners drifted through her window. A toothless man, wearing a potato sack as a shirt, sold lettuce and peas in one corner. Beside him, a fishmonger weighed salmon on a scale. The earthy smells of vegetables and fish drifted into the car as the train came to its final stop. “Stay put,” Colt said to Elizabeth. “But you go, Tommy. Find the others and we’ll meet you someplace outside the north entry.” Tommy scooted down the aisle and with duffel bag in hand, jumped to the platform. He got lost in the crowd. Colt nudged Elizabeth to the side door. They waited in the aisle, watching for the perfect moment to disappear into an ocean of bodies. Her dear brother, she reminded herself, aware of Colt’s shirtsleeve brushing her own, his solid stance and the breadth of his shoulders as he tried to fit into the cramped space. “Now,” he said. Elizabeth gripped her handbag, shawl and umbrella and bounded down the steps onto the stone platform. Colt lugged her two carpetbags as well as his own duffel. The dark brown hair at his temples glistened beneath his cowboy hat, moist from the heat. They headed toward the merchant stalls and ticket vendors. Panic quelled in her throat. What if she couldn’t get their story straight? She leaned in toward his tall frame and kept her voice low so others couldn’t overhear. Her lips were an inch away from his shaven cheek. “Do any of us have family of our own? Wives or husbands?” He turned his smooth dark face toward her and she realized she was standing much too close. His eyes flickered and her stomach tugged in response. “I suppose some of us should. Let’s say you and Tommy have never been married. Let’s say I was married once.” Her voice strained. “What happened to her?” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “She ran off with the head butler from the mayor’s house.” Elizabeth didn’t miss the slight. “Are you trying to make me feel terrible about your fiancée again? Rosalyn was the best kitchen maid we ever had and I truly enjoyed her company. She was the one who came to me for advice.” His gaze riveted on her face. “Why exactly do you suppose that was?” he asked with the same disgust as when he’d first confronted Elizabeth, two days after Christmas when she was home for the holidays. Why couldn’t the man lighten up? “I don’t know. Maybe Rosalyn trusted me because I’m a doctor. A female one, as you and my father insist on reminding me. The only advice I ever gave Rosalyn was to follow her heart. To choose love over what others expected of her.” “Love?” His voice was tempered restraint. “Then you might be happy to know she married that butler. He’s a lot older, but he’s the man she wanted, with money in the pot and required love in his heart. I hear their first child is on the way.” Elizabeth groaned, feeling sympathetic and wishing he’d accept her explanation. “When I advised her on how to choose between two men, I had no idea you were one of them. How could I know you were courting, let alone engaged? You kept it to yourselves.” His cowboy hat drew hard shadows on his cheeks. “It’s called being discreet. A skill you are sorely lacking, otherwise you never would have put your nose where it didn’t belong.” The man’s arrogance was too much. He’d never accept her apology, no matter how hard she tried. She snapped. “I think I did Rosalyn a favor.” His gray eyes narrowed. He lowered his bags to the platform. “How’s that?” “You’re driven by your duties and inflexible when it comes to women. Good qualities in a bodyguard. Poor in a husband.” His voice came as low as a growl, as if he were uttering a threat. “What makes you think you know what drives me? Don’t you have enough romantic woes of your own?” She detected pity, and flung her bags to the ground. “I did her a favor...because now she won’t be saddled with you for life.” “The same might be said for your poor Gerard. He’ll no longer be saddled with a mouthy wench. Congratulations. You’ve managed to ruin two engagements in one winter.” Elizabeth gasped. “You...I...ahh...” “Do you finally understand what you’re getting yourself into?” And suddenly his dark and dangerous face was a blink away from hers.