I do, I do, I do (13 page)

As if by magic, Alaska's coastline materialized during the chilly night. Thin cool sunlight glittered on the snow-caps of mountains that appeared to rise directly out of the sea.

Goose bumps thrilled up on Clara's skin. She was going to see and do things in Alaska that she'd previously never dreamed of seeing and doing. She just knew it. The majestic coastline represented the great adventure of her life, and she wanted to fling out her arms and embrace all that she saw.

After drinking in another long draft of Alaska's glorious coast, she cracked her knuckles, flexed her fingers, then raised her head and strode into the smoky overheated mess hall.

The first round of matches was well under way. Several names on the chalkboard had already been lined out, winners declared. Men battled arm to arm at nearly every corner of every mess table, critically observed by those whose matches were finished or hadn't yet begun.

Bear Barrett's craggy gold head rose above the other men, making it easy for Clara to spot him at once. Since yesterday he'd found time for a hair wash and trim, and none of the golden whiskers that had sparkled on his jaw yesterday remained today. He'd spiffed up his attire, too, wearing dark wool trousers and a dark gold-striped waistcoat beneath a black bow tie.

As no one else had chosen to set aside their denims,
Clara wondered if he'd gussied up for her sake, or if hosting a tournament called for a more formal image than he'd affected yesterday. No, if formality were an issue, he would have worn his jacket instead of standing about in his shirtsleeves.

She watched him remove a cigar from his lips, then kneel to critically study the distance between the table and the arm of a sweating, straining man.

"We have a winner!" he shouted, and the observers at that corner of the table cheered. A man at the chalkboard added another name to the list of second-round contenders.

Then Bear spotted her. His mouth fell open, and he did a double take. As well he might, because Clara didn't look like her usual plain and practical self. She didn't look like a woman should look at this hour of the morning.

For starters, she wore no hat over a coiffure suited for evening. Juliette and Zoe had dressed her hair in an updo that resembled a fountain spouting red curls. They had crimped her bangs and made curlicues in front of her ears. Then they topped off the arrangement with a black ostrich tip held in place by a fancy hairpin set with brilliants.

The black cape belonged to Juliette and fit too snugly, but the stiffened collar stood up to frame her face and set off dangling eardrops of flashing Ceylon brilliants that also belonged to Juliette.

What showed of her dress belonged to her, but the shoes beneath now sported clever cloth roses created by Zoe that matched the cloth rose pinned to Zoe's best handbag.

Blushing a little at Bear Barrett's intent scrutiny, Clara opened the handbag and removed a five-dollar gold piece. "Do I pay you my entry fee?" she asked as he strode up to her.

"There's a rule that waives the entry fee for ladies." A slow glance traveled over her hair, the flashing eardrops, and slid down her throat to the first ribbon holding the cape closed.

"That rule didn't exist yesterday. In fact—"

"It's a new rule," he interrupted, gazing down at her. "You sure do look fine this morning, Miss Klaus. Mighty, mighty fine."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Barrett." She dropped the five-dollar gold piece back into Zoe's best purse.

He continued to stare at her with a flattering warmth of admiration. "You might be wondering why I haven't spoken to you until yesterday."

"Not at all," she lied, hoping her tone conveyed surprise that he would think for an instant that she might welcome a word from someone to whom she had not been properly introduced. Well, they hadn't been introduced now either, but still.

"Until someone told me your name yesterday, I assumed you were a married woman."

"Really?" So that was the message he'd been giving her with the intense silent stares.
Yd like to talk to you, but you're married
. Immediately her spirits soared.

"What I mean is, you're obviously a respectable woman, and I didn't see you talking to any men. You seemed unapproachable."

Now she recognized the dilemma that Juliette had mentioned. She wasn't actually married, but she wasn't actually single either. She couldn't encourage Mr. Barrett, and shouldn't want to. If she did want to. She wasn't sure. But regardless of her wishes in the matter, he now looked at her as a single woman. It hadn't occurred to her or the others that placing a Miss before their names might create new difficulties.

"I don't mean to say that looking like a married woman is a criticism," Bear hastened to add. "I just mean that you didn't seem open to… Oh hell, I don't know what I mean." He grinned down at her. "Are you ready for our match?"

"I believe so,
ja
," she said, dropping her eyelashes and drawing off her gloves one finger at a time. The wedding ring she had once been so proud of didn't impress her as unique anymore. Besides, wedding rings should be gold, not silver. This one was as much of a sham as her marriage.

Proving her thought, Bear noted the ring without a ripple crossing his brow. To his eye it was decorative, not evidence that she had a husband lurking somewhere in the background.

"Are you right-handed?" he asked, leading the way to a table where a crowd of men waited, eyes fixed on her approach.

"
Ja
, I am right-handed."

Lordy, lordy. Walking beside him actually made her feel small. Even wearing dress shoes with an elevated heel brought the top of her fountain curls only a little above his shoulder. Never in her life had she met a man who made her feel almost little.

The audience for their match stared as Bear made a point of introducing her to Ben Dare, who would judge their contest.

"Miss Klaus and I have met," Mr. Dare said, smiling beneath eyebrows that soared when he looked at her hairdo and the flash of brilliants in her curls and at her ears.

Juliette was going to be appalled when she heard that Ben Dare had been the judge for this match. Well, that wasn't Clara's fault. He held out a chair and she sat down, facing Bear across the corner edges of the table.

"Hey, Bear. You ain't never going to live this down if she beats you," someone said to a burst of laughter.

Bear grinned and winked at Clara. "I'm big enough to accept defeat with grace."

His tone and the wink informed her that he didn't believe for one minute that he could lose this match. Such a possibility had not entered his mind. And now she saw the concessions he was making for her. No one else's entry fee had been waived. None of the other contestants were being introduced to their judge. No one explained any rules at the other table corners; the contestants just sat down and went at it.

"What rules?" she asked Benjamin Dare. "There aren't any rules for arm wrestling."

"You can place your elbow on that book," he said, nodding to a thick dictionary. "That will raise your hand to the height of Bear's. But you can't lift or move your elbow once it's set."

Anyone who didn't know that had never arm wrestled, Clara thought with disgust. But she said nothing. She crossed her legs, something else that would have appalled Juliette, and she let the movement hike up her skirt enough to expose a black-stockinged ankle. A very nice, comparatively slim ankle, if she did say so herself. That ankle and the shoe with the cloth rose looked positively dainty next to Bear's massive leg.

He cast an involuntary glance at her ankle as she had known he would. Then he quickly raised his eyes to hers and she saw
that
look.
That
look was the look men got when they had glimpsed a woman-part they were not supposed to see and the woman knew they had looked and knew they wanted to look again. It was a look of surprise and guilt and pleasure and discomfort overlaid by a flash of happy triumph that they had ogled a seldom-seen item of feminine pulchritude.

"All right, back up," Benjamin Dare ordered the onlookers. "Give the contestants room to concentrate and breathe." It was all for show. No one took this match seriously enough even to wager on it. Mr. Dare nodded at Bear and Clara. "Get set."

She raised her arm up under the cape, leaned forward, and planted her elbow atop the dictionary. She'd feared her hand would disappear within Bear's massive paw, but she had big hands, too, and the disparity wasn't as great as she had imagined it might be. But her reaction to his touch was electric.

His hand was warm and solid, and she felt his quick pulse where their wrists touched. His sleeves were rolled up and the overhead light turned the mat of thick hair on his arms to a fascinating sheen of burnished gold. And she could smell him. The starchy scent of his shirt, a tweedy soap smell, a whiff of cigar smoke, and the pleasant fragrance of brilliantine, which she would have sworn he wasn't wearing because his hair looked naturally shiny.

His eyes weren't six inches from hers. "What is that perfume you're wearing?" he asked in a growly voice.

"Hoyt's Genuine German Cologne." Her own, not borrowed. Jean Jacques had claimed the scent drove him mad with desire. Now, as she analyzed the heat in Bear Barrett's stare, she decided the cologne affected other men as it had Jean Jacques. Excellent.

This close, she spotted gold flecks in his brown-bear eyes and admired a thick curve of gold lashes. Saw a light dew of perspiration collecting at his temples as he stared into her eyes and thought his thoughts and felt his impressions, which she hoped were concentrated on trim ankles, the pulse at her wrist, the flashing eardrops swinging toward her cheeks, and the scent of a cologne guaranteed by the maker to drive men wild.

"Ready?" Mr. Dare inquired.

"Actually, no," Clara said, releasing Bear's hand and leaning back in her chair. "It's very warm in here, and this cape feels restrictive." Pulling open the ribbons that tied the cape in front, she smiled up at Ben Dare. "Would you—?"

"It would be my pleasure." Stepping behind her, Ben lifted the cape from her shoulders.

The audience released a hissing noise like the sound of escaping steam, followed by stunned silence. Bear's eyes widened and his jaw dropped and he didn't even try to disguise the direction of his gaze.

The bodice that she and Juliette and Zoe had all taken a hand in altering now scooped so indecently low that it skimmed the tops of her nipples. Even to her it seemed that acres of full creamy skin lay thrust up by her corset and exposed to view. And she knew she had skin as smooth and inviting as a peach. Big beautiful breasts that begged to be stroked and kissed. Jean Jacques had said so a hundred times.

Leaning forward, giving Mr. Barrett a full heart-stopping view, she planted her elbow on the book again, and clasped his limp hand. His bones appeared to have dissolved.

"Oh—my—God," he whispered hoarsely, staring down into her cleavage. It was impressive cleavage indeed. The good Lord hadn't given her big hips without balancing her out with big glorious breasts.

"We're ready," Clara said pleasantly, nodding to Ben Dare.

With great effort, Ben wrenched his gaze up from her bosom, checked their elbows, then swallowed hard. "On your mark."

Looking dazed, Bear blinked and stiffened his wrist. "The match is starting?"

"Almost," Clara murmured, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Get set."

"That perfume is making me… and those…"

"Go!"

Clara gripped his hand hard, putting her strength behind the clasp. They leaned into each other over the corner of the table, gazing deeply into each other's eyes. Then Clara slowly and deliberately licked the tip of her tongue around the edges of her parted lips.

Bear sucked in a sharp breath, stared hard, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temples. But Clara wasn't finished with him. She inhaled, letting her breasts swell and swell until he couldn't resist, and he dropped his gaze down the front of her dress for a direct look.

And bang, she had him. Seizing the exact moment, she slammed his forearm down on the table and held it there until he looked up into her eyes with a hot brown gaze that set all her exposed skin aflame. A searing gaze that made her tingle where decent women weren't supposed to tingle. Nose to nose, eye to eye, neither of them made a move to unclasp their hands.

Later, when she thought about every little detail, Clara supposed there must have been an uproar from the audience. But she didn't hear a thing except her pulse roaring in her ears as she and Bear leaned toward each other, hands locked, faces close enough to feel the warmth of each other's rapid breath. It was like they were utterly alone in a bubble of scents and gazes and heat and pulses racing where their wrists met. He ravaged her with a smoldering stare and she ravaged him right back.

Heaven help her, but if Jean Jacques had walked into the mess hall, she wouldn't have given that Frenchman a second look.

"For heaven's sake, get out of that dress. You're practically naked!" Juliette snapped, while Clara counted eighty dollars into her outstretched hand. According to Clara's triumphant account, the extra money came from the wagers Clara had placed on her succeeding matches. "I still can't believe you exposed yourself to a roomful of men. It's indecent."

"It was practical. A person does what she has to do, and I won the tournament, didn't I?" She started to relate the story again, how she had pinned five other male arms after beating Bear and had won each match in under thirty seconds.

"It's disgraceful what you did," Zoe interrupted, thrusting her arm past the edge of the bottom bunk to receive her share of the win. She managed a wan smile. "And very clever."

Juliette tucked the money into her wrist bag. Clara had left her all morning with Zoe, and she was desperate for some fresh air and an escape from the fetid atmosphere of their cubicle. After glancing into the mirror at the tired dark circles under her eyes, she pinned on her hat and took the cape Clara returned.

"Her majesty is in particularly bad humor today," she warned, marveling that she could refer to Zoe so rudely. But after living in cramped quarters for three seemingly endless weeks, they were no longer strangers and no longer polite.