Chapter Three

      He was the only man in Tinderbox who would have refused her. But refuse her he did, and sent Kate Dennington off to Vickery’s for the night.

      A few hours’ restless sleep under a dead oak in a driving rain hadn’t made Will feel any better about his decision. And now, in the light of day, it seemed damned stupid of him.

      He’d had the exact same idea, hadn’t he? To marry her for profit—his and hers. So when she’d proposed the deal, why hadn’t he just said yes? He knew why. Because her doing the asking had rubbed him the wrong way.

      The moment the offer had left her lips, she’d transformed herself in his mind from a hardworking Irishman’s daughter in need of help to one Sherrilyn Rogers Browning, conniving Philadelphia socialite. Kate had cast him an honest, hopeful smile, but all he’d seen was Sherrilyn’s mercenary little smirk.

      “Crockett, you’re an idiot.” He shook out his oiled buckskin and rolled it into a bundle.

      This wasn’t Philadelphia, and Dennington’s daughter wasn’t a compliant pawn in one of his father’s latest business deals. That chapter in his life was over. Finished.

      He plucked his beaver-skin cap from the wet ground, then caught himself looking for where he’d tethered his horse. “Son of a…” He’d forgotten the mare had spent the night in drier quarters, one of Landerfelt’s rented stalls down at the livery.

      He slammed the cap on his head, tucked the buckskin under his arm and started in that direction. If he was lucky he could hitch a ride on the mule train to Sutter’s Fort. They could always use an extra teamster or two.

      It was time to get the hell out of town before he changed his mind about giving Landerfelt his due and taking Kate Dennington up on that offer.

      She wasn’t, by a long shot, in the same league with Sherrilyn, but she wasn’t as innocent as she played at, either. He’d known that the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in Dennington’s store. When Vickery told her her father was dead, she hadn’t shed a tear. Not one.

      What kind of woman would react like that to her father’s death? A father, not like his, but one who loved a child as fiercely as Liam Dennington had loved his daughter. That little scene at the grave last night hadn’t fooled him one bit. Again, no tears. Just rain. Her eyes had been as clear and cool as a predator’s.

      So why had he been so put off by the marriage scheme she’d cooked up? He kicked up a stone as he turned into the wagon ruts on Main Street. She’d disappointed him, that’s why. He’d thought her a world apart from the one he’d come from. A world he was never going back to.

      Clearly she wasn’t.

      Dennington hadn’t talked much about Ireland or his family, except for waxing poetic about his daughter. Will had no idea if the Irishman had been well-to-do or just a common working man. Kate Dennington’s plain clothes and worn-out shoes led him to believe the latter.

      But a man couldn’t be too sure about anyone these days. The gold rush had done one thing for California that Will did like. It made nearly everyone an equal. A rough-looking miner passed him on the street, and he knew the man was just as likely to have been a lawyer or a landowner in his old life as he was a laborer working the railroad.

      No, Kate Dennington wasn’t the grieving, noble daughter he’d imagined her to be on first blush, but perhaps he’d been too hasty in refusing her offer. She was bound to marry someone if she intended to go through with her plan to keep the store.

      Why not him?

      He screwed up his face, remembering the one thing that didn’t make sense. She’d said that it must be him. Him and no other. Why? What did it matter to her? Any man would do for the scheme she’d hatched.

      He reached the livery just as the sun was full up. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn air fresh as any he’d ever breathed. It reminded him of why he loved the frontier. On impulse he turned and let his gaze wander up the hillside to John Vickery’s three-room cottage.

      An image of Kate Dennington’s trim waist and curved hips flashed in his mind. Will allowed himself a rare smile.

      “Why the hell not?”

      Perhaps he’d get the money for his passage, after all, and give Eldridge Landerfelt what was coming to him.

      Shading her eyes against the sunlight, Kate squinted at the charred, muddy evidence of Crockett’s campfire and thanked God the trapper had refused her preposterous offer.

      She must have been completely out of her mind last night. A hundred rosaries wouldn’t be enough to purge the sin of even proposing it. She’d remind herself to start on them that evening.

      Pulling her still damp shawl tight about her, she picked her way carefully up the ravine separating Vickery’s cottage from the rest of town. She hadn’t meant to oversleep. For hours last night she’d tossed and turned, and when she finally fell asleep, she’d dreamed the most sinful things…. Will Crockett carrying her across the threshold of her father’s store…sharing a slice of wedding cake with him on the porch in back. Then later, his dark eyes searing her as she turned down the sheets of their marriage bed.

      “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” She crossed herself and pushed the images from her mind.

      A gust of wind blasted a pile of wet autumn leaves across her path as she turned onto Main Street. The town was bustling with activity, and a dozen pairs of miner’s eyes fixed on her as she strode briskly toward Landerfelt’s Mercantile.

      She’d best get used to their stares. It had been no different in San Francisco, and that’s where she was likely to end up. For a time, at least. She’d just have to tough it out. There was no other option. Not now.

      She’d sell her father’s storefront and land for whatever Landerfelt would give her. Had her foolish pride not gotten in the way, she would have done so yesterday when he’d made her the offer. She could have bargained with him at least.

      Her mother would have been practical and sold. But oh, no, not Kate. She was clearly her father’s daughter. She shook her head at her stupidity, then stopped dead in her tracks as a litany of rapid-fire Chinese diffused by men’s shouts caught her off guard.

      She fixed her gaze on the chaotic scene unfolding in front of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply. An overloaded wagon sat in the middle of the muddy street. Mei Li stood precariously atop the pile of supplies and mining equipment, yelling and kicking at two men who tried, unsuccessfully, to unload it out from under her.

      Kate pushed her way to the front of the small crowd of miners and other townsfolk gathering to watch the skirmish.

      The Chinese girl saw her, and her round face lit up. “Miss Kate, hurry!”

      “Mei Li, what on earth—?”

      “Wagon here with goods! Landerfelt try steal.” She kicked at one of the men who’d hefted a sack of grain from off the pile. “No let him! Wagon ours.”

      Ours? Kate pushed closer. “What do you mean? I didn’t order any—”

      “Landerfelt offered me double what Dennington put down by way a deposit.”

      Kate frowned at the man who’d spoken: a rough-looking character sporting a long buckskin coat, well-worn gloves and chaps. She recognized him from Sutter’s Fort, where she’d overnighted three days ago. He was the wagon’s driver.

      “You mean my father paid money in advance for these goods?”

      Mei