Harper's Bride (29 page)

It all belonged to someone else now.

She closed the door with a quiet click and
made her way downstairs where her belongings and Dylan's were
stacked on the newly built sidewalk. They weren't taking much.
Besides Jenny's cradle, Melissa hadn't owned more than what would
fit in a big carpetbag, including her gold dust, and Dylan had his
trunk. And of course, there was his gold. She didn't know its
monetary value, but it was packed in two long rifle boxes
reinforced with steel bands. And it was so heavy that Dylan had
borrowed one of McGinty's bar boys to help him carry down each
crate.

The early morning air had a decided nip in
it, and she cuddled Jenny closer. The baby had fully recovered,
thank heavens, with no discernable aftereffects. Dr. Garvin had
examined her one last time and found her to be sound. For one
lingering moment she stood in the side street and looked up at the
sign that hung there.

Mrs. M. Harper's Laundry

It surprised her now how much that sign had
meant to her, and what it represented. She'd cursed Coy over and
again for bringing her to this place, for mistreating her, for
selfishly abandoning her. He'd given no thought to what kind of man
he'd sold her and Jenny to. If possible, they might have been put
in even more dire circumstances than they'd left, and to this day
she didn't believe he'd have cared. Unintentionally, though, he'd
done her a favor.

Dylan had given her the freedom to do what
she wanted and to be herself. He'd encouraged her to express her
opinion, and she knew he loved Jenny. Though she begrudged her
child nothing, she wished he'd had enough left over for her, enough
to make him want to stay with them instead of going back to
Elizabeth.

Just then, she saw a wagon with low sides
pull up in front of the store. Dylan sat on the high seat next to
the driver, and she knew it was time to leave.

"Come on, Jenny," she murmured, lifting her
chin, "we're going home."

*~*~*

When they got to the river, Melissa was
stunned by the number of people, mostly men, swarming the dock, all
of them apparently crowding the gangways to board the
Arrow
,
the same steamer they had passage on.

"Are you sure we'll be able to get on?" she
asked as the wagon pulled up.

"I got the last two cabins, and I paid twice
the posted fare for them." His brow lowered ominously. "We'll get
on, or the captain will have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."
He left her and Jenny in the wagon to see to the loading of the
gold.

Hoisting his trunk to his shoulder, Dylan
took her arm and shepherded her through the crowd and up the
gangway. Although she'd dealt with lots of men when she operated
her laundry business, she felt overwhelmed by the jostling crush of
so many. They eyed her with curiosity, or frank appraisal, or
obvious respect.

At last Dylan hailed a harried-looking young
purser who led them down the deck to the cabins. "Is the steamship
company having a half-price sale?" Dylan asked, gesturing at the
crowd.

"No, sir. But we've got orders to sell
tickets to standing-room-only passengers. And believe me, some
people are so anxious to leave Dawson they're willing to put up
with almost any inconvenience." He stopped in front of a door and
unlocked it, handing her the key. "Ma'am, I'm sure you'll be
comfortable here."

Melissa opened the door and looked at a cabin
so tiny, there was just a two-foot-wide space to turn around in
between the wall and the single bunk. Comfortable, the purser had
said? Compared to what? A place on the open deck?

"Well, yes, I guess—"

"Sir, if you'll follow me, your cabin is on
the starboard side." The purser headed down the deck, obviously
assuming Dylan would follow.

Dylan gazed at her for a moment and then at
Jenny. It must have been a trick of the sunlight that fell in
narrow beams across the deck—for just an instant Melissa thought
she saw a trace of wistful longing in his eyes. Then it was gone,
and she supposed she'd imagined it. Maybe she was the only one who
felt it—after all, this was the first time they would sleep apart
in months.

But sleeping without him was what she had to
face for the rest of her life.

*~*~*

Dylan leaned on the steamer's railing and
watched endless miles of shore slip by. Snow had already dusted the
lower foothills, and he knew they were getting out just in time.
Another three or four weeks, and they'd have been stuck in Dawson
for the winter.

They'd been traveling for three days, and for
the most part, he'd seen Melissa at meals—thanks to the captain's
hospitality they were invited to dine with him. Otherwise, she and
Jenny kept to their cabin. He supposed he couldn't blame her. As
one of the few women aboard, she was outnumbered by men on the
oversold ship, and every passageway and foot of decking was
occupied by people.

It was all over, and as much as he'd disliked
what Dawson eventually became, he didn't regret a minute of it. But
while he'd gained more than he'd lost, the losses had been hard to
bear. Sometimes when he was caught between wakefulness and sleep,
he'd wonder if Rafe was with Priscilla, somewhere in a place where
souls were finally reunited. And then his thoughts would drift to
Melissa, slender, softly curved, and loving. He'd seen her emerge
from a prison of fear and intimidation to reveal the woman she was
meant to be.

But apparently, that woman wasn't meant to be
with him, and the constant empty ache he felt was only a sample of
what he had to look forward to for a long time to come.

Twelve long days later, under clear blue
autumn skies and a mild temperature, the
Arrow
puffed up the
Willamette River into Portland.

Melissa could hardly believe her eyes when
she saw the familiar waterfront come into view through her cabin
porthole. "Jenny, button, we're here!" she said and laughed.
Plucking the baby from her bunk, she held her up to the window.
"See? That's Portland, that's where Mama is from. At last, we're
here."

The return trip had been faster and certainly
less punishing than her journey to the Yukon. And with each port
they stopped at, the ship's population thinned. But she and Jenny
had spent most of their time in this cubbyhole, and she was glad to
be leaving it. The bathing facilities had been less than adequate,
and she felt as if every garment she owned was crushed and
wrinkled.

She'd tried to avoid Dylan—even though every
fiber of her being cried out to be with him. The time spent without
him gave her a taste of the longing she would face. It would be
hard, she knew. Her mind kept returning to the small oval
photograph she'd found in his trunk that afternoon. If he still
burned for the woman in that picture, after she'd betrayed him and
jilted him, no matter how much Melissa loved him, there was nothing
she could do about it.

Gathering their belongings, she moved with
the remaining passengers down the gangway, intending to see about
Jenny's cradle stowed in the hold. The dockside smells of river
water and creosote struck her, and gulls squawked and hovered
overhead, gliding on drafts.

"Melissa!"

She turned and saw Dylan striding toward her,
wearing his slim black pants, a buckskin coat, and his knife tied
to his thigh. The wind caught in his long hair, and his full mouth
and firm jaw were highlighted in the afternoon sun. Oh, why did he
still look so handsome? she wondered miserably. She'd hoped to
somehow become immune to his good looks after being away from them.
But if anything, he only looked more handsome, and she had to
restrain herself from walking into his embrace.

"I'll hire a cab and take you to a hotel. You
can stay there until you find a place to live."

It felt so good to have him standing next to
her again, she wondered how in the world she'd get used to being
without him. "Thank you, but you really shouldn't trouble yourself.
At least I know my way around this town."

He took her elbow, turning her from the
disembarking passengers, and she was forced to look up into his
eyes. "Come on, Melissa," he murmured in that rich, low voice she
knew so well. "You've avoided me for most of this trip. I'll be
leaving soon enough—let me keep my end of our bargain."

That bargain, she thought morosely. It had
been her salvation and her curse. Maybe if the wedding Rafe
performed in the Yukon Girl had been legitimate, Dylan would need
to think twice about going back to Elizabeth. But, no—she didn't
want him to stay with her because he was legally bound to do so, or
felt obligated. She'd have him only if he wanted her and Jenny.

"Then you should let me keep my promise, too.
I wanted to pay you for Coy's debt."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I
never agreed to that. Melissa, I don't need the money. You might.
Just let me take you to a hotel. Then I'll say good-bye and be on
my way."

It would be for the last time—the last time
she'd see him. An ache knotted her heart. "But I have to see to
Jenny's cradle."

"I'm having it sent to the hotel."

She looked around him. "But where are your
things?"

"The captain has agreed to keep my gear in
his quarters until I get back. What do you say, Melissa?"

In her life she'd had no dealings with a man
who didn't laze around and wait for someone else to do work that
rightly belonged to him. Dylan simply took charge of a situation
and waited for no one. She would miss that, too.

"All right. Let's go."

He smiled at her, a sweet, tender smile, and
she saw that trace of wistfulness again that baffled her. Then he
led her to one of the cabs waiting along the docks. The driver
jumped down to help her in while Dylan held Jenny. Handing the baby
to her, he climbed in. "Take us to the Portland Hotel."

"Dylan! The Portland Hotel? It's too
expensive." It was an elegant, luxurious, and extravagant
establishment, or so she'd heard. She'd never been inside it
herself.

"It's a good hotel, and I want you and Jenny
to be safe."

Melissa could think of no argument for this.
The horses lurched to a start, and as she gazed at the skyline of
the city rolling past, she noted the changes that had taken place
in the short year she'd been gone. She, too, was forever changed
from the browbeaten woman who'd gone North with her loafing bully
of a husband. That woman had never offered an opinion or spoken up
to defend anyone but her child. She was no lionheart now—a lifetime
of trying to remain in the shadows couldn't be unlearned in only a
few months. But at least she'd begun to realize that what she
thought and felt had value. And she had the man sitting next to her
to thank for that.

They arrived at the Portland Hotel, a dark,
imposing edifice, and Dylan told the cab to wait while he escorted
her and Jenny inside. Men in fine suits and women wearing the
latest fashions strolled the opulent, carpeted lobby, and Dylan,
with his long hair, buckskin, and wicked-looking knife turned more
than a few heads. It occurred to Melissa that she'd never gotten
the chance to see him dressed up—their dinner at the Fairview Hotel
had been canceled the day Rafe died.

Walking to the front desk, Dylan rang the
bell to get the attention of the stuffy-looking clerk who let his
disapproving gaze take in Dylan's appearance. His nostrils were cut
so high, he had the look of someone sniffing a disagreeable odor.
"May I help you—sir?"

"I need a room for my wife and daughter."

Melissa's head came up at this, but of
course, how else could Dylan refer to them without raising eyebrows
and suspicions?

Apparently, though, the clerk wasn't
impressed. He stared down his long nose at Melissa and Jenny with
that same condescending expression. Oh, she knew they were out of
place, but she resisted the nervous urge to adjust her jacket and
brush at the lap of her skirt.

"I'm sorry, but we've none available," the
clerk replied.

A threatening frown drew Dylan's brows
together, and he leaned over the counter. "What are all those keys
on that board behind you?"

"I can tell you what they are not—keys to
vacant rooms. Perhaps you should try one of the other hotels. They
might be more suitable to your needs." Icy and undaunted, the clerk
looked Dylan up and down again.

Dylan leaned closer still, and she recognized
his flinty tone. She'd first heard it when he talked to Coy, and
even now it brought back that awful day. "I'm Dylan Harper, and
I've just come back from three years in the Yukon. I made enough
money up there to buy a thousand pinched-ass prigs like you. I want
rooms and an adjoining bath for my wife and daughter, and not some
damned broom closet, either." He nodded at the rows of keys on the
walls. "Now I suggest you look again."

He never raised his voice above a deadly
quiet murmur, so not even the most curious eavesdropper heard him.
But it was enough. The clerk's pasty complexion bloomed with a ripe
shade of crimson, and he looked as if he'd inhaled ammonia vapors
through his high-cut nose.

"Mr. Harper, my most humble apologies. I
didn't recognize you." He turned and hurriedly fumbled with the
keys, his pale hands trembling slightly. "I am so sorry for the
error. We were all very distressed to hear of the recent tragedy in
your family. Of course, madam," he added, speaking to Melissa,
"I'll have a boy take your things to a corner suite with a lovely
view of the west hills." He rang the counter bell sharply, and a
uniformed youth appeared to take her carpetbag.

Melissa watched the proceedings with raised
brows. She wasn't sure what had happened, but obviously it went
beyond Dylan's threatening demeanor. Once in the elevator car, she
whispered, "How did that come about?"