Harper's Bride (2 page)

Finally, she looked up, and once again Dylan
was unsettled by her piercing gray gaze, as if she was measuring
his stature as a man. Then she cast a last glance at Coy Logan. "I
agree," she said softly, and touched her cheek to the sleeping
baby's head.

Dylan nodded. "The other condition," he
added, pointing at Logan, "is that you will never bother her
again."

"Well, now, you don't got any say-so
over—"

"Yes or no," he interrupted. "I forget the
debt, or you go chop wood. It's your choice."

Logan scowled. "All right, all right, she
won't see me again. Who needs her anyway?"

"Fine, then," Rafe said, slapping the
countertop. "If you'll all accompany me next door."

They trooped through the mud to the Yukon
Girl Saloon. Throngs of men wandered the street as they passed,
some with purpose, but many others with an oddly lethargic look in
their eyes. Melissa's sense of terror was so great, she felt as if
she were marching from one level of doom to another. Never had she
felt so friendless or so alone, or so without choices.

Inside the saloon Rafe Dubois took command of
a table in the back. The rest of them crowded around it as though
it were a judge's bench.

"Mr. McGinty, a bottle of whiskey here, if
you please," Rafe called to Seamus McGinty, the saloon's owner,
"and a pen and paper."

McGinty, a burly, loud-voiced man with a rich
brogue, brought the bottle and the other things Rafe had requested.
But when he saw Melissa and Jenny, he said, "Jaysus, Rafe, if the
Mounties find out I let a woman and her wean in here, they'll be
closin' me up for sartin!"

Rafe reassured McGinty, then poured a tumbler
of whiskey for himself and a shot for Dylan while he worked out the
details of their agreement. Melissa took note of her surroundings.
She was no stranger to saloons; her mother had sent her in search
of Pa often enough when she was young. This one was big, filled
with rough men just in from the gold fields, those on their way
out, and those who wished for nothing more than to return home. A
tinny player piano jangled in the corner, and on one side of the
room a crowd was gathered around what looked to be a roulette
table. From the walls several stuffed moose heads surveyed the
goings-on with staring glass eyes.

How she wished that she and Jenny were back
in Portland and had never come on this foolish journey. Dawson was
not a lawless place—the Mounties saw to that—but it was dirty and
crowded and filled with desperate men.

Two thousand five hundred miles she had
traveled to be abandoned by her husband and left to the keeping of
Dylan Harper. Life with Coy had been miserable and difficult, and
she would not miss him. She had little confidence that Dylan would
be a better man. Coy's irresponsibility had put her in this
position without choices. Melissa had learned to hide all of her
feelings, but fury bubbled up in her for a moment. It wasn't her
debt, and yet she was the one being punished.

She cast a sidelong glance at Dylan. He was
very tall, much bigger than Coy, broad at the shoulder and
hard-muscled. His square jaw and full mouth were not unpleasant to
look at, she supposed, but there was a savage edge to him that she
could not define. He had a temper like ice and fire, they said.
Slow to ignite, but merciless in its vengeance. And while it was
illegal to carry a gun in Dawson, she'd heard that he kept a big
meat cleaver behind the counter in his store. More than one man had
been threatened with it, they said. At least he seemed to be
generally sober, which Coy was not.

"Now, then, Coy Logan," Rafe began, pulling
Melissa's attention back to the moment. He read some lines that
he'd scribbled on a piece of foolscap. "For the debt of one
thousand two hundred dollars that you owe Dylan Harper of Harper's
Trading Company, you do offer in exchange Melissa Reed Logan and
the child, Jenny Abigail Logan. Is that correct?"

Coy eyed the whiskey bottle, which he had not
been invited to share, and scratched his chin. "I don't see why we
have to go through—"

"Is that correct, sir?" Rafe barked. He was
rather fearsome, too, Melissa noted. Thank heavens Jenny slept on
in her arms.

Coy jumped. "Yeah, that's right, yeah."

The proceedings came to a halt when Rafe
Dubois was overcome by a coughing fit that left him gasping into a
handkerchief. "Pardon me," he said finally, clearing his throat.
"Very well, then. Let's continue."

When he reached the part that dissolved her
marriage to Coy, Rafe murmured so that only Melissa could hear, "I
doubt that the North West Mounted Police or anyone else with the
Canadian government would appreciate our little procedure here,
madam. However, I suspect that you won't mind the opportunity to
escape from this philistine?" He was a young man, but so thin and
cadaverous that when he smiled, he reminded Melissa of a pale,
grinning jack-o'-lantern. But his eyes were kind, and he had the
voice and manners of the finest of gentlemen.

She only glanced at Coy—she knew better than
to look him in the face. A blur of memories crowded upon her, of
pain and worry and indignity. Dylan gave her an even stare. She
shook her head. "No, I won't mind."

Rafe looked pleased. "As I supposed. Whatever
else he may be, Mr. Harper is a gentleman." He spoke a few more
words, and Melissa Logan became Melissa Harper. "You are free to
leave, Logan, and I'd advise you to do so now."

Coy gave them a mocking, smart-alecky salute
and headed toward the swinging doors with a bouncing step, as if he
did not have a care in the world.

"Court is adjourned," Rafe said, and lifted
his glass of whiskey in a toast. "Best wishes to both of you, Mr.
Harper and Mrs. Harper. Now you'd better escort her to the door,
Dylan, before poor old Seamus has an apoplectic fit."

"All right, let's get out of here," Dylan
grumbled and led Melissa through the crowd toward the open doors.
His broad shoulders blocked out most of the daylight, though, as
she passed among the men who eyed her with both curiosity and
something more.

Outside on the duckboards that were meant to
serve as sidewalks, Dylan steered her toward a sheltered recess
between his store and the saloon, and away from the rough, milling
crowds that wandered up and down Front Street. Backed into the
corner, she was forced to look into his set, chiseled face. Dylan
Harper was a frightening man. Danger and an iron will were plain in
his eyes. She dropped her gaze to his hands where they hung at his
sides. They were large—broad and long-fingered, and they looked as
if they would make sizable fists. Oh, dear God, she hoped that
agreeing to leave Coy would not prove to be an even bigger mistake
than marrying him had been.

Dread made her grip Jenny tighter than the
baby liked, and she issued a little squeal of protest in her sleep
before settling down again. Melissa felt her wet diaper seeping
through the blanket against her arm. Jenny was bound to wake up
soon, and even the best babies cried when they were wet and hungry.
Men hated crying babies. Dylan glanced at Jenny, and Melissa pulled
farther back into the corner. He looked impatient and cross as he
eyed them both, and a knot of fear swelled in her throat.

"Look, this is how it's going to be," he
said. "Since I let Rafe talk me into this damn-fool arrangement, I
plan to take advantage of it." The weight of dread settled more
heavily on Melissa. "I keep the store open long hours, and my days
are hard. I need someone to tidy up the place, do my washing and
cooking. My place upstairs isn't very big, so brooming it out now
and then shouldn't be too taxing. I'll pay you, and I'll look out
for you and the baby, here. But this is only a business deal, and a
lousy one at that since I'm still out my twelve hundred dollars.
You can call yourself Mrs. Harper if you want, so people won't
think you're just living with me, and I won't deny that we're
married to anyone who asks. But that's as far as things will go
between us. You're not going to be my wife, and I won't expect to
claim any rights as your husband. And I don't know much about
babies, so don't expect me to change diapers or any of that. I'm up
here to make money, and when I have enough for my plans, I'm going
back to Oregon. I'll give you some cash for a new start here or
wherever you want to go. That's all right with you, I hope." The
words all came out in a terse speech, as though he had rehearsed it
in his mind and didn't want to forget something.

She nodded and kept her voice low. "Yes, it's
fine." His proposal sounded fair, and though relieved that he would
not expect her to sleep in his bed, Melissa was very wary just the
same. He could be lying about everything. His handsome face could
be just a mask that hid a dark heart, and certainly, his well-known
reputation in Dawson made him a man to be feared. At any rate, both
her father and Coy had taught her that she could not take at face
value anything men told her. But she knew better than to show it.
She knew not to show anything, not hurt, not anger. If Dylan meant
what he said, she intended to earn enough money, to do whatever it
took, so that she would never have to depend on a man again. For
now, though, she knew she had to make the best of this.

"What do you want me to call you?" he asked.
"Lissy?"

She had never liked being called Lissy,
although everyone except her mother had done so. She gazed up into
his face again. "No, please . . . will you call me Melissa?"

"All right, then, Melissa. Let's go," Dylan
said, and turned to lead her back to the store.

Just then, Jenny began to stir, her wet
diaper getting the better of her good nature. "Mr. Harper," Melissa
murmured, clearing her tight throat, "I don't have my belongings
with me. No clothes for me or the baby. Not even an extra diaper.
Coy has them all."

He sighed, and his frown only served to
remind her that getting her and Jenny instead of his money was not
what he wanted at all. "Maybe it's none of my business, but how the
hell did you end up with a bum like Logan?"

She lifted her chin slightly and summoned all
the dignity she could muster, but her cheeks grew warm. "We all
make the wrong choice sometimes, Mr. Harper." She could see by his
expression that a whiff of the baby's urine-soaked pants had
reached his nose.

"Well, come on, then. My stock caters mostly
to miners, but maybe I can find something for you."

She had another view of his broad shoulders
as she followed him back into his store, where he managed to find
three flour sacks, and a blanket for Jenny. "These aren't the best,
but they'll work for now." He pulled out his huge knife and slit
the sacks into diapers with such wicked dexterity, Melissa
flinched. Then he cut the wool blanket into pieces that would fit a
baby. He started to hand them to her, but tucked them over his arm
instead.

"I'll take you down to the market on Wall
Street tomorrow. Since the spring thaw, steamships have made it
upriver with everything from ice-cream freezers to safety pins. I
expect we'll find something for you and the baby to wear. For now,
I'll show you the upstairs."

They had to go back outside to reach the side
stairway that led to his room, and the mud was nearly knee-deep.
Melissa struggled to keep her balance while the sucking mud pulled
at her thin shoes. She jumped when Dylan Harper grasped her elbow
to steady her. His hand felt big and rock hard, the firm grip of
his fingers burning through her sleeve.

A team of Angora goats slogged by close to
the duckboards and nearly brushed her elbow while it pulled a sled
laden with supplies. On these swampy streets, horses were useless
and wagons sank to their wheel hubs. During the journey to Dawson
she had seen all manner of animals pressed into the service of
hauling goods, including sheep, burros, dogs of every breed, even
dehorned reindeer.

Melissa hoped Dylan would release her when
they climbed the narrow stairs, but instead he fell back only one
step so he could continue to hold her arm. When they reached the
landing at the top of the stairs, he let go of her to push open the
door, allowing her to pass through first.

Inside, after Melissa's eyes adjusted to the
gloom, she saw a stove, a corner for washing, a table and chairs,
and one big bed. There was no extra space for another.

"Where will I sleep?" she asked, fearing she
already knew the answer.

He shrugged. "There's nothing we can do
except share the bed. I told you I won't touch you." Apparently,
her disbelief showed in her eyes because he added in a low, silken
voice, "My word is better than Coy Logan's."

Melissa had no reason to believe that.
Staring at him and then the bed, she clutched Jenny to her. "I
promise that somehow I'll earn enough money to repay every penny of
Coy's debt to you."

His gaze shifted away from hers for a moment.
"Well, settle in," he mumbled and pointed a thumb over his
shoulder. "I'm going back to work."

He gave her a lingering look and then turned
to leave.

Not only would Melissa pay him back, she'd
make enough to leave this wild, crowded place and the savage man
who had taken them in. She would return to Portland to make a life
for herself and her daughter.

No man would ever have power over them
again.

The door slammed, and Melissa stood on the
other side of it, listening to Dylan Harper's footfalls going down
the stairs. Left alone with Jenny to survey the log-walled room and
her circumstances, she struggled to grasp all that had happened to
her today.

That Coy had traded his wife and his own
child to a stranger to pay a debt— She did not feel hurt, exactly.
After all, how could someone who had worked so hard to earn her
loathing still hurt her? She had been his wife for just over a
year, and learned early on that he was much less of a man than she
had originally believed. But discovering the full extent of his
selfishness and disloyalty had still left her badly shaken. She
hadn't realized that he did not care for her and Jenny at all. Or
maybe she simply hadn't been able to admit it to herself until this
moment.