Gold Dust (11 page)

“In your case maybe an exception could be made.”

Katy grinned impishly. “I’ll tell you what exception you should make. I’m going to help you get to Dawson on time to write
your stories and get back before the winter freezes you in. And you’re going to help me, too.”

“Katy, even if I were willing to hire you on—something I’m not sure I would do—I don’t have money to buy our supplies. Have
you been listening, or have you just been spouting questions for the fun of it?” He glanced around him and surreptitiously
slipped his empty stew bowl under the table for Hunter to lick.

Katy couldn’t help liking a man who would do such a thing. She felt a surge of affection for her greenhorn. “I’m going to
get you the money,” she announced confidently.

“I’m not going to help you rob a bank,” he said, “if that’s what you’re planning.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not a bank robber.”

“God only knows what you are.”

“What I am is an absolutely great poker player.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment, as if waiting for her to laugh at some joke. When she didn’t, he did.

“I mean it,” Katy insisted, miffed by his laughter. “Give me the money you have left as a stake so I can ante into a game,
and I’ll win enough to buy outfits for both of us.”

“What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“I’ve already told you what kind of fool I think you are.”

“You also advised me not to let my money out of my sight.”

“I won’t be out of your sight. Besides, you can trust me. I was talking about other people, like your Mr. David Hayes.”

“Oh, I see. Unlike Mr. Hayes, Katy O’Connell is a solid rock of reliability.”

“I am.”

Katy finished the last of the delicious stew and set her bowl beneath the table for Hunter, along with one of the biscuits.
Those biscuits were better even than her sister Ellen’s. She’d really wanted to eat both that were on her plate, but Hunter
deserved some dessert along with his scraps.

Jonah’s sky blue eyes rested upon her with unnerving intensity. The man had an irksome way of looking at her that set her
on edge. He made her go woozy inside for no reason at all. She didn’t much like the feeling.

“This place must be making me crazy even to consider such a thing,” he finally grumbled.

Katy’s heart leapt.

“What makes you think you could even get into one of these games? How many of these gents do you think want to play poker
with a woman?”

“They won’t see past my money,” Katy assured him happily. “I’ve taken a look at some of the games going on around here—from
a distance,” she added when Jonah frowned. “A lot of them are run by pros out to make money off these ignorant prospectors.
They won’t hesitate to fleece a well-heeled woman.”

Jonah leaned back against the wall behind his bench, folded his arms across his broad chest, and swept his eyes over her in
critical assessment. His inspection made her uncharacteristically aware of her appearance—the damp, wrinkled skirt and jacket,
the soiled cuffs of her shirtwaist, the straggling wisps of hair that had escaped her coiled braids. “Katy, my girl,” he announced,
“even with a wad of money in your hand, you wouldn’t come close to looking well-heeled. They’ll know something’s up.”

She merely smiled. “I may not look like a gold-plated easy mark now, but I will.”

In two hours’ time, she did. For an outrageous amount of five dollars, they purchased from one of the town’s clothing shops
a used dress that fit Katy well enough that it could pass for tailor-made. The dress was silk, with a high neckline and a
row of interminable tiny pearl buttons running from the stiffly laced collar to snug vee waist. The skirt was narrow and very
effective
in emphasizing Katy’s slender figure and youthful grace. It even had a hint of a bustle in the rear. The dress would have
been modest enough if not for the color, which was a flamboyant red. The hue set off Katy’s coloring in a most spectacular
way. When she looked at herself in the clothing shop dressing room mirror, Katy scarcely knew herself.

She called Jonah into the dressing room. “What do you think?” she asked as she pirouetted before him.

His brows shot up, and his eyes widened momentarily. “I’d hardly recognize you.”

“Is that good?”

He chuckled. “In this case, I think it is. You look like a woman who might consider a poker game an evening’s entertainment.
You need to do something with your hair, though. Braids are definitely not the style a sophisticated gambling woman would
choose.”

Katy stared at her reflection in the mirror. The red dress made her look older. Her eyes looked larger, her hair blacker,
her skin smoother. She felt every inch a woman—feminine, powerful in a way she didn’t understand. The feeling was disconcerting.
“What would rich gambling woman choose?”

“Do you have a comb in that valise?”

“A brush.”

“Then I’ll show you.”

For the next twenty minutes, Katy struggled to tame the heavy waves of her hair into one of the current fashions. Katy had
no idea what current fashion was, but Jonah had a sister, he told her, whose primary task in life was to not let the fashion
world move an inch without her following. So Jonah assumed the mantle of supervisor to Katy’s efforts. The result was less
than haute couture, for, unlike Jonah’s sister, Katy did not have the advantage of a dressing table full of curling irons
and hairpins. They made do with a brush, the few pins she had used to anchor the coils of her braids, and ingenuity. Katy
did the work herself, and only permitted Jonah the job of critic. She didn’t want him to touch her hair—or, perhaps, Katy
admitted to her
self, she did want him to touch her hair—for no good reason she could understand. When she had loosed her braids and he’d
drawn her brush through the kinked mass that fell to her waist, a vibrant shock had run through her. She didn’t like it. Jonah
Armstrong could keep his shocks to himself, fashionable sister and all, and she would do her own hair.

Katy managed finally to concoct a style that left a gentle fullness around her face and gathered the rest of her hair into
a large, heavy coil at the back of her head. If she relaxed her neck for a single instant, her head would tip back from the
weight of her hair and she would spend the rest of the evening staring at the sky, Katy was sure. As soon as this charade
was over, her hair was going into braids again.

“Am I presentable?” she asked irritably.

A slow, disconcerting smile crinkled Jonah’s eyes. “More than presentable. You’re beautiful, Katy O’Connell.”

His compliment gave her back some of her confidence, and she forced herself to be nonchalant. “Sure I am.”

“A man would have to be blind to pay attention to his cards with you sitting at the same table.”

Katy grinned. “If he were blind, he wouldn’t be paying much attention to the cards, either, then, would he?”

Jonah smiled in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

“You just remember, Armstrong—once I’ve won the money, you’re going to live up to our bargain. We split fifty-fifty. And we
go to Dawson together.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I remember the fifty-fifty part. I don’t remember anything about going to Dawson together.”

“It’s safer to go with a partner. Besides, without me to keep you out of trouble, you’ll never get there. Like I said before,
I’m doing you a favor.”

“Or you want to continue to annoy me.”

She arched a brow. “It could be that, too.”

Jonah threw up his hands and laughed. “What do I care? This scheme is impossible in any case. Just don’t cheat some cardsharp
and get
us
both shot.”

“I never cheat. I just win.”

“Someone should write a book about you. Fiction. No one would believe you’re real.” He leaned forward and pecked her on the
cheek. The chaste brush of his lips set fire to her skin. “For luck,” he said.

On raw impulse Katy pulled him to her and landed a kiss full upon his mouth, grinding her lips against his in unpracticed
enthusiasm. A moment’s stiffness instantly melted to heated cooperation as Jonah pulled her more tightly against him. His
arms folded around her, gentling her. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and instinctively she opened to him. He thrust
inside, and a bolt of raw sensation shot to the very pit of her belly, just as though Old Bruno the grizzly had opened her
up with a claw of raw fire—and the fire felt so good! Jonah’s hard, warm body conformed to hers in a disturbingly natural
manner. His heart beat against her breasts, and something hard and very male rose to prod her belly.

In sudden panic, Katy peeled herself off of him and pushed back. Unwilling to let him see how profoundly he had affected her,
she forced a careless tilt to her chin and a cocky smile to her face. “For luck,” she told him.

Jonah looked a bit dazed. “For luck,” he repeated.

Katy felt giddy, panicked, and elated at the same time. She felt alarm, wonder, and a touch of guilt wrapped into one soaring
excitement. And yes, she did feel very, very lucky.

Finding a poker game was not difficult. Every other tent housed a saloon, and every saloon had at least two or three games
going. Katy and Jonah chose the highest class establishment they could find—if such a temporary, canvas-walled business could
be called high-class. Unlike some of the other saloons they had looked into, this one had a plank floor covering the dirt.
The bar was a magnificent oak counter which, along with the fancy mirror that was its backpiece, must have been shipped up
from the States at very great cost. The bartender wore a silk vest and tie. His hands were clean, as well as his clothes,
and compared to the average inhabitant of Skaguay, most of the customers were clean as well.

Katy sailed into the saloon on Jonah’s arm as if she had every right to be walking into such an establishment. Jonah had spiffed
up in a fancy Back East suit and looked every inch the dapper gent who might be expected to accompany such a magnificent specimen
of womanhood as herself. They received a few curious looks from the customers and a swift, knowing scrutiny from the bartender,
but no one made any objection to Katy’s presence.

When they sat down at a table, a man in a clean white apron over an even cleaner white shirt appeared beside their table to
ask what they would drink.

“Whiskey,” Katy said with an arch voice. “And make sure it’s good-quality whiskey.”

“We serve only the best, madam.”

“Good.”

“And you, sir?”

“The same,” Jonah said. His face was bland, but when the waiter left, he scowled. “Whiskey, Katy? This isn’t a lark, you know.”

“Don’t worry. I can drink you under the table, then shoot out a knothole at fifty yards.”

“I’m not concerned about your aim,” he growled. “It’s your judgment I’m worried about.”

“Believe me, no one in here is going to think some tea-sipping miss is worth playing poker with.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of anyone in his right mind mistaking you for a tea-sipping miss,” Jonah noted under his
breath.

“Good.” The smoldering look Katy sent Jonah’s way was merely practice for the role she was about to play, but the answering
snap of his eyes was gratifying just the same.

“Let’s get this over with,” Jonah urged.

Katy looked around the smoky, canvas-walled room. Poker rivaled drinking for the main activity in the place. Four different
games were going on. One table she dismissed immediately. She recognized the cut of the man who sat there with three others.
He studied his cards with the eye of a professional. A good professional. There was no sense in stacking the odds against
herself.

Another table was occupied by five men who were drinking more than they were playing, and having a very fine time of it. Drunks
got riled much too easily, and Katy wanted a nice sober table with men who weren’t going to blow up when she taught them how
the game was played.

In a far corner was the table she was looking for. The four gentlemen there were prosperous-looking. They seemed more serious
about their cards than their drinks, but none had the
cool intensity of a sharp. What’s more, one of them was picking up his winnings and preparing to leave.

“There it is,” Katy said to Jonah.

He closed his eyes and looked as if he were muttering a prayer.

Katy’s heart thudded as she threaded her way through the tables and the curious eyes and presented herself to her intended
victims. She was more nervous about the role she played than the poker game. She’d never in her life been so aware of male
scrutiny. Actually, she’d never in her life felt so female, and thus so vulnerable. It had to be the dress that was making
her feel so strange. Or the kiss. That damned stupid kiss.

“You gentlemen have an empty seat,” she said smoothly to the men seated around the table. She had rehearsed the words enough
that they came out sounding confident and casual.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto her. A few brows lifted. One mouth quirked upward in a tolerant smile.

“It seems we do, ma’am,” said the smiler. He was a pleasant-faced man with a middle-aged paunch and a closely trimmed beard.
The player to his left had white hair, a beard down to the middle of his chest, and watery blue eyes that regarded her disapprovingly.
The other man at the table was young and slender—frail-looking, almost. Sparse brown hair was combed meticulously over the
bald spot on top of his head. His face wore a dazzled expression, as though he’d never seen a woman before this moment.