At the Rainbow's End (34 page)

“You're hurting me.” She searched his contorted face and tried to discover why her tender lover had vanished with the morning light. “Joel, please, let go of me.”

“No orders,” he hissed. He released her, and she fell back against the table.

“What's wrong?” she gasped.

Watching as she rubbed her sore arm, his mouth worked but he uttered no words. Spasms of conflicting emotions sped across his face. Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the cabin.

Samantha started in horror as the door slammed. Had she imagined last night, when he spoke of love and made every effort to bring her pleasure? If not, then there must be another explanation for this chameleon behavior.

What could it be?

Chapter Eighteen

When Samantha stepped from the cabin, she shivered. The wind did not cut quite as harshly as it had the month before, but she tightened her cloak over her coat. If anyone from home saw her, they would surely chortle at her odd assortment of clothes, but she had learned that many layers protected her best from the cold.

Kevin joined her, holding her arm as they went over slippery patches of ice on the hillside leading down to the river where Joel waited. Starting in the pre-dawn darkness, she and Joel hoped to be able to use the refrozen waterway for the first few miles. The brief warmth had vanished, thickening the layer of ice on top of the creek. Once the sun rose to warm the ice, they would have to travel the rough country along the Bonanza and Klondike.

The unexpected ice had halted their sluicing, and Joel had decided to take this opportunity to go into Dawson for special supplies.

“There are two extra loaves of bread in the meat storage, Kevin,” she said earnestly. “I left the remainder of last night's soup on the stove for you.”

He smiled. “I assure you, Samantha, I'll be fine. You're only going to be gone a short time. I don't intend to starve in that time.”

“Just take care of yourself. After that bout of pneumonia this winter, I don't want you to sicken again while I'm gone.”

“I promise if I think illness is coming on, I'll delay the symptoms until you return.” A shadowed form moved in the trees, against the ghostly paleness of the sky. “Here you are, Joel. All set?”

The dark-haired man nodded. “I've been ready and waiting for an hour.”

Samantha did not say anything. Too often in the last week, she had wanted to shout at Joel to stop being so petulant. She could not understand why he seemed to have lost his happiness, just when he had found his gold and won her heart. He constantly snapped at her. Perhaps he had second thoughts about marrying her. If he had, he should say so. She had thought Joel would be honest with her.

Kevin's smile broadened, and he bent to kiss her. He had not missed the coldness between her and Joel. He was sure she had decided she did not want Joel Gilchrist. That meant he would have a good chance, now. Less than sincere, he said, “Have a pleasant trip.”

She clamored into the seat in the dog sled and pulled her blankets around her, nodding, “Thank you. Take care of yourself.”

Still pointedly ignoring her, Joel added, “If all goes well, and the weather holds, we should be back before nightfall. I know Samantha wants to visit Mrs. Kellogg, but we'll leave early. I don't want to be traveling the rivers with only the light of the stars to guide us.”

A sharp order to the dogs started them along the ice covered creek. She waved to Kevin until he was no longer in sight, then crouched down in the seat. This would be a very long unpleasant trip. She had hoped whatever irritated Joel would be solved before they left for Dawson.

Cold ate into her bones as the dogs set a good pace. She could hear the clump of Joel's boots behind her, but he said nothing. Saddened, she recalled past travels with the dog sled, when he had chatted easily, excited by this exotic form of transportation and her presence.

She clutched the sled's sides as they bounced on a rippled patch of ice. Drawing her scarf up over her mouth, she gratefully breathed through the wool, which strained the most cutting iciness from the air.

The hours passed in grim silence. Occasionally they met a prospector Joel knew. He would greet his acquaintance cheerfully, but did not stop. Not once did he speak to Samantha. She wanted to scream out the questions plagueing her. If only he would explain why he was angry. What had created this wall which kept her far from him?

When the roofs of Dawson appeared in the distance, she sighed with relief. She had not known a journey could ever be as long as this one. Although the dogs had run well, and the sled did not break down, the silence had made the trip drag on at a painfully slow pace.

They slowed, merging into one of Dawson's outer streets, clogged with lines of traffic. She swiveled around several times, noting many changes in the city since her arrival almost a year before. Electric wires hung from poles along the edges of the road. More buildings constructed of planks instead of logs lined the street. Additional businesses had been established to take the gold from the prospectors.

Joel turned the sled behind the line of hotels on Front Street and headed for a barn labelled “Livery.” It had been used little, for few had the leisure to enjoy the luxury of a ride.

Slowly Samantha rose from the sled. Joel offered his hand in a cursory manner to assist her. Her muscles, cramped from the hours of riding, betrayed her. She swayed against him.

Gruffly, he said, “Are you ill?”

“I'm fine,” she answered, jerking her hand away from him. Watching him walk away without another comment, she wondered again where her Joel had disappeared. This was not the man who wooed her with luscious phrases and succulent kisses through the cold months of the winter. She listened as he negotiated with the stable owner to leave the dogs there for the day. The midday sun caught a flash of gold as the bargain was sealed:

Joel patted the dogs on the head and walked out of the stable. “They'll be fine here. Come on.”

“Joel?”

“What is it?”

She recoiled from the venom in his voice, sure she had done nothing to cause it. Although she loved him, she was not sure if he loved her any longer. That doubt sent a fierce pain through her center.

She almost touched him, but pulled back. Softly she asked, “Joel, what is bothering you?”

When he stamped off toward the street without answering, she hurried to follow, grabbing his arm. He tried to shake her off, his glare colder than the piles of snow around them, but she refused to be intimidated.

“Tell me what's wrong!”

“I told you never to order me about,” he snapped. Containing her frustration, she asked sweetly, “Then, please, tell me what's wrong.”

He started to answer, then paused. “Nothing's wrong, Samantha. Can we get on to business?”

Her voice caught in her throat.
Samantha
. He never called her “Sam” now, that pet name she treasured almost as much as his fiery caresses. Lowering her eyes from his cold, fearsome gaze, she walked by his side to the boardwalk, which had been kept clear of snow. Frequent cuts had been made in the banks to allow them to reach it.

Although the day was icy, nearly as many men walked along the thoroughfare as when she lived in Dawson for two weeks in the summer. They had the same aimless expressions on their faces. If she had not been so caught up in her anguish, she would have pitied them. She had no room for anyone else's sorrow.

Samantha could not avoid the truth any longer. Joel's sweet love for her had truly vanished in the last week. Perhaps now that he was wealthy, he had decided he did not want to enter society with a mail order bride at his side. If that was true, he should be honest with her—as honest as she had been when she told him she wanted to be his, forever.

Holding her hands in her muff, she walked by his side, longing to touch him and to have him tell her he loved her, just once more …

Joel kept his eyes straight ahead. He did not want to see the sorrow emblazoned on her expressive features. He had seen her angry. He had savored the warmth of her eyes glowing with love. He did not want to recall her looking like a bereft waif.

His hands itched to grab her and twirl her into his arms and kiss her. Hours of lying awake next to Kevin, aching for her, had created dark arcs beneath his eyes. If he did as he wished, though, it would be only more confusing for her. He knew that, but so close to realizing his secret plan, he could not deny himself that final satisfaction. He needed her for that. Concentrating on that, he fought the pain as he considered the future.

Going into the Alaska Commercial Company store, he greeted the clerk, who jumped from his high stool to help them. As coolly as he had spoken to Samantha, he gave the skinny lad his order.

“'Twill be ready by three,” the young man said, pushing his green tinted visor back from his forehead.

“I need it by two.” He ignored Samantha's gasp of shock at his disagreeable tone. Her reaction enraged him more. When the clerk started to protest, he grabbed the list of items back. “If you feel that way, I'll take my business elsewhere.”

“No, no, Mr. Gilchrist.” Nervous, the young man glanced over his shoulder. His boss was crossing the floor, to see what was causing a problem. “We can have it ready by two. That should be possible.”

He nodded tersely. “At two, then. Come, Samantha.”

Astonished, she stared at him as he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. She had not ridden all the way into Dawson in discomfort to hurry through this rare, luxurious task of shopping. She wanted to look at the newest offerings brought by the last boats of the season. They had money now. She yearned to buy herself a new dress, and a present to take back to Kevin. Frowning, she recalled Joel promising to buy her an engagement ring on this trip, the night they discovered gold.

“I'm not through,” she said firmly.

“Yes, you are.” He reached out a long arm and grabbed her hand. Jerking her, he pulled her to stand next to him.

“Joel, you said—”

He interrupted her. “Later! I don't intend to argue in a public place, like common trash. Perhaps you were raised that way, Samantha, but I wasn't.”

Her face turned pale, then red. If she had believed in fantasy, she would have guessed an evil spirit possessed the body which once loved hers so sweetly. Her Joel Gilchrist never acted like this. He had been acidic, but never so calculatingly cruel.

Bowing her head to avoid the clerk's astounded and pitying expression, she wrenched her arm from his grip and walked out slamming the door in his face. Blindly she walked along the boardwalk, not knowing where she was going or whom she passed. All she wanted was to escape from her agony. Tears seared her eyes.

An involuntary moan escaped her lips as Joel's broad hand gripped her tightly. “You're hurting me!” she whispered. “If you want to show your fine, Southern breeding, you shouldn't be manhandling a lady on the streets.”

The vise loosened somewhat and he said, “You're going in the wrong direction. I need to go to the bank to make arrangements for the storage of our gold.”

“I don't think—”

“Come on.” He spun her about so quickly that her skirts flared out around her. “Don't act childish.” She wanted to spit insults back at him, but that would grant him more ammunition for his rage.

Suddenly she felt hopeless. She sighed. Joel made it clear he did not want her any longer. Why should he? With the gold he and Kevin were panning from the Bonanza, they could buy any woman they wanted. He did not need to settle for one who had already shared his bed.

She stood quietly to one side while Joel smiled without emotion at a spry banker behind an oak desk, unusually splendid for the rough city. Accepting congratulations as if they were long overdue, Joel silently paid off the last of their outstanding loans for grubstaking their claim. In the same terse voice he had used all day, he discussed how the accounting of their riches would be handled.

“Fine,” he said, offering the bank president his hand. “On my next trip in, I will bring what we've panned so far.”

“That shall be wonderful, Mr. Gilchrist. I can assure you that you shall be very pleased with the services we offer.”

“Service doesn't interest me. I just want my gold protected—and readily available when I leave this damnable wilderness behind me.”

The banker cleared his throat and looked from the stern man to the distressed, pretty woman. Other than a whispered greeting when he had spoken to her, she had said nothing. He wondered if she, too, was bothered by the sudden alteration in Joel Gilchrist.

“Good day,” he said quietly as Gilchrist took the woman's arm and led her to the door. Neither answered him.

On the street, Samantha remained mute, unable to think of anything which would not worsen the situation. Her eyes stayed on a spot directly in front of her toes. She did not want him to see her glittering tears.

“Miss Perry!”

She paused at the familiar voice, a weak smile on her face. Although she could not put a name to his bearded face, she recognized the man hurrying across the street. Noting Joel's hand on her elbow, he hesitated and doffed his hat, then gave a half bow in her direction.

“How are you, Miss?”

“Fine. Did you get a claim, Mr.—?”

“Bingham,” he supplied eagerly. “No, Miss, I didn't get my claim, but I signed on with several partners. As soon as Moose Hide Creek thaws, we should hit big. We have a pile of pay dirt ready to go. If we don't, we're thinking of investing in the bench claim on the hill behind us. We'll hit, Miss.” His enthusiasm dimmed as he saw Joel's grim expression. In a more sedate tone, he added, “It sure is nice to see you again, Miss. Good day.” He put his hat back over his reddened ears and tipped it to her.

“Good luck, Mr. Bingham, and good day,” she called over her shoulder as Joel tugged on her. arm, urging her away.