Gold Rush Groom - By Jenna Kernan Page 0,1

looking?”

“I’m looking.”

The little pipsqueak actually had the audacity to laugh.

“Oh, now, I might just as well tie an anvil round my neck as try and haul a woman to Dawson.”

She scowled, until she noticed him shivering.

“Camp’s that way.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the dunes, beyond which a tent city grew in the mud like mushrooms on a rotting log.

Lily gathered her flagging confidence.

“Come on, Nala.”

She picked up several fares and collected her fees. Her purse had never been so large. But her adventure lay over the passes. A life worth living, her mother had said, but what had she meant? Lily wasn’t sure; death had taken her before she could ask.

Lily lifted her collar against the cold wind that blew off the water. If she made it to Dawson City, would she have enough stories to fill her up like a pitcher of milk, with warm memories and satisfaction?

Stories to tell her children and grandchildren. Lily smiled.

Did you know your old granny once climbed the Chilkoot Pass?

“Did you know she failed and had to go home with her tail between her legs?” Lily pressed her lips together and shook her head. No, she wouldn’t.

She lifted her chin and scanned the passengers in the next dinghy hoping, praying for a chance to do as she had promised.

The boat grounded and newcomers scrambled overboard trying vainly to avoid a soaking in icy water. Most had little in the way of property and scampered up the beach like crabs—all except one man. He remained in the punishing surf accepting box after box from the oarsman and tossing them, one after another, the eight-foot distance to the shore. The undertow should have taken him off his feet, but somehow he held his position.

Lily measured him with her gaze. His clothing looked new and expensive. She judged him to be one of the idle rich who came north out of boredom, unlike those who were driven here by desperate circumstances. He had more gear than any other passenger on the beach. A rich fool, then, with no notion of what to pack and what to leave. Probably had his bloody silver tea service in one of those crates. She hated him on sight, for hadn’t she worked sixteen-hour days for men just like this one? But no more. Now she answered only to herself. Her mother would like that.

She expected Pete to cut in front of her, offering his mule team to haul the dandy’s gear, but he was far down the beach attending the three launches that had arrived just before this one.

The dandy was all hers. Anticipation coiled in her belly, as she fixed her eyes on the dark-haired man like a hungry rat eyeing an apple core.

She stepped closer. He certainly was big, with none of the flab she associated with men who could afford to eat regularly. She glanced at his hands, noting their size and substance. His shoulders were more than just wide; they seemed to be hung with some quantity of useful muscle. Did he get them boxing in some men’s club?

He had secured the load on shore, but now the next waves shot over his boots to lap at the mountain of cargo, lifting two large crates and dragging them back into the water. He caught both and easily hauled them back to safety. She noted the bulging muscles beneath his fancy new coat as well as the power and agility with which he moved. She estimated the distance of the high-tide line and the speed of the current.

He’d never save it all—not alone anyway. What was in those boxes? Would he do anything to save them?

He looked strong enough, but stamina was needed as well and a drive born from the fear that rich men lacked. A man foolish enough to come here with this many boxes might be foolish enough to accept her offer.

She took a definitive step toward him and then pulled herself up short. What if he turned her down, too? Her cheeks burned with humiliation at the thought. It was one thing to be cast off by one of her own, quite another to be sent packing by this greenhorn dandy. She liked the term greenhorn, once someone had explained that it meant an inexperienced newcomer and compared the men to young animals with new, or green, horns.

He had not noticed her yet, intent as he was at singlehandedly bringing his belongings to high ground. He continued his frantic dance for