CHAPTER TEN

 

Bits of snow stung her face, invisible assailants thrown up from the churning paws of the dog team as they raced through the night. All she'd saved for, hoped for, gone in minutes, now only black, charred remains. She had nothing save her son, now warmly tucked into her arms, and the tenuous friendship of the man at her back. Once again, her existence would have to be scratched from tomorrow’s opportunities.

She glanced at the woods racing past, tree trunks dark sentinels illuminated only by reflections from the snow. They’d been on the trail for two days and were now fast approaching Dawson City. Despair seemed her constant predator, coiled, waiting to strike. Could the fire have been an accident? Something within her said no and she thought of the bag of gold dust now tucked between her breasts. Did one of Frank’s victims know she’d salvaged the gold from their stormy relationship? And were they intent on regaining what Frank had stolen from them?

A dozen possibilities flew through her thoughts, all rejected as absurd. Her thoughts turned again to survival. What would an ex-whore do in a town teetering on the brink of hard-won respectability? Law and order had followed close on the heels of lawlessness. The Mounted Police now dispensed justice and punishment. Wives had followed their men to the gold fields and established homes and families along the banks of gold-bearing streams. Raucous Dawson City was becoming a gentled, if not tamed, town.

"We'll be at the McLeods soon," Finnegan yelled in her ear as the first lights of town twinkled into view.

The sled slid to a stop in front of a newly built cabin, the logs still yellow and fresh. Finnegan stepped off the runners and took the baby from her arms as Jenny clamored out of the sled and stumbled forward on half-asleep legs.

The door opened, spreading a carpet of welcome light down the snowy steps.

"What the hell happened to the two of you?"

Jenny squinted, blinded for a second by the light the realized that Duncan stood at the top of the steps, his pipe firmly clenched in his teeth.

"The cabin burned," Finnegan answered and took her elbow to guide her up the slippery steps.

"Come inside." Duncan held the door open with his back.

They struggled up the steps, each nearly too tired to make the final climb. Once inside, the odor of burnt wood swirled around them and they exchanged glances. They both reeked.

"What happened?" Duncan asked, taking Jenny's coat.

Finnegan shrugged. "I woke up and the cabin was on fire. Burned to the ground."

Jenny didn't miss the look that passed between the two men but at the moment, she was just too tired to care.

A pregnant young woman waddled into view, one hand cupping her burgeoning belly, the other waving in front of her nose. "Jesus, the two of you stink."

"Jenny Hanson, my wife Sam McLeod, the queen of hospitality," Duncan said with a raised eyebrow.

The petite blonde shot her husband a sassy look and Jenny liked her immediately. "I'm pleased to meet you."

Sam spied the baby and hurried closer. "You poor dear." She pulled aside the ragged, smoke-smudged blanket. "He's beautiful."

"Could Jenny stay with the two of you for a few days? Just until she figures out what to do?"

"Of course she can," Sam replied, Michael now securely in her grasp.

"I going down to the fort to file a report and see to the team." Finnegan moved toward the door and Duncan reached for his coat to follow.

"Duncan, would you pour water into the tub before you go with Finnegan?" Sam asked. "I'll bet Jenny would like a bath."

 

* * *

 

Jenny closed her eyes and inhaled the steamy, rose scented air. Warm water lapped around her shoulders, tempting her to drift off into luxurious sleep while immersed in the copper tub.

"Do you know what caused the fire?" Sam asked as she peeled aside Michael's blankets and dropped the first layer to the floor.

"No. Finnegan thinks it's suspicious, though," Jenny responded without opening her eyes, preferring to remain suspended in her world of darkness and comfort, if only for a few moments.

"Really?" Sam threw her a curious glance. "What makes him think it's suspicious?"

Caution worked its way into Jenny’s bath-lulled mind. She shouldn’t have confessed their suspicions. "I can't imagine." She laid her head against the edge of the tub and sighed with contentment. The water felt too good to worry. At least for now. “I suppose he wouldn’t be a good Mountie unless he always wonders if things are really the way they appear.”

"I suppose,” Sam mumbled, her attention now completely captured by the baby."

"When is your baby due?" Jenny changed the subject, not feeling up to the challenge of avoiding direct questions about her past.

"Any day. Can't be too soon for me." Sam picked up the naked, wriggling baby and rubbed her nose against his.

"Is this your first child?"

Sam nodded and eased Michael into a pan of water on the kitchen table. "My first, Duncan's third. He has two grown daughters. They live with us, but they're visiting their aunt in Edmonton for the winter. But you'd never know it the way he frets and worries." Sam glanced over her shoulder. "So how was it?"

"Childbirth?"

Sam nodded.

Should she tell her the truth or romanticize the experience? She opted for the romantic version. "It was amazing." And terrifying and humiliating when your best friend, at the moment, literally yanks your child from your body.

"Well, amazing or not, I can't wait to get this child out of my body and into my arms. I'm not sure Duncan will survive another day. He hovers and worries and asks me a dozen questions until I'm almost glad to see him leave on patrol."

"You don't mean that."

"No, I don't. I miss him awfully when he's gone for weeks at the time."

"He's just concerned. Enjoy the attention." Jenny trailed a hand in the cooling water and shoved away a tickle of jealousy.

"Did you deliver your baby yourself?"

Jenny sensed no purpose in Sam's questions other than simple curiosity, but years of avoidance dictated caution and she found herself carefully measuring her responses.

"No, Finnegan did."

Sam hooted with laughter. "Mike delivered your baby? Mike Finnegan?"

Jenny looked up, puzzled. "I probably would have died if he hadn't come along when he did." Instantly, she regretted the words when a shadow crossed Sam's face. "But once he was there, Michael was born just fine," she hurried to add.

"You like this warm water, don't you," Sam asked the baby and giggled when he cooed in response. "Somehow I can't see Mike delivering a baby. He usually steers clear of anything smacking of family life or intimacy, except my Sunday dinners, that is."

"I'm afraid I didn't give him much choice in the matter. He was there and Michael was on the way."

"You named him Michael? After Mike?"

Jenny nodded.

"Really?" Sam said with a raised eyebrow.

 

* * *

 

"It was arson. I'd bet money on it." Finnegan swished his straight razor in the pan of soapy water, wiped it on a towel and positioned the blade to shave his other cheek.

"What makes you so sure?" Duncan asked, one hip propped on a nearby table.

Finnegan leaned closer to the cracked oval mirror in the bathroom built into the Fort Herchner barracks and adjusted the lamp at his side for better light. He slid the sharp blade down his cheek, slicing away three days of stubbly growth. "Well, it burned too quickly, for one reason. And outside I smelled lamp oil and a lot of it."

"Could have been her lamps."

Finnegan shook his head and rinsed the razor again. "She only had one. No, this was in the air. Call it a gut feeling if you like."

"Can't begin an investigation based on gut feelings."

Finnegan slid his fingers down his shaved cheek. "I don't intend to, at least not officially."

Duncan slid off the table and tossed another stick of firewood into the fireplace. Small tables lined one wall of the room, mirrors over each, designed to offer sparse comfort to the men assigned there. A small hip tub sat in one corner, now filled with cold soapy water.

"Do you want to tell me what you're thinking?" Duncan asked.

"No, not yet."

"Has this got anything to do with Harriet Bentz?"

Finnegan's strokes slowed and he turned to face Duncan.

"I've had the same thoughts," Duncan said.

Finnegan took a towel and wiped the remaining soap from his face. "I haven't said anything to Jenny."

"And well you shouldn't until you're sure."

"I'm not sure. Not sure at all, but the suspicion won't leave me alone."

Duncan returned to his seat on the table. "If Jenny dispatched old Frank, she probably had good reason, from what I've heard."

Finnegan wiped the dribbles of water from his bare chest and pulled his knit undershirt over his head. "You've been looking into this?" He snapped his suspenders onto his shoulders and turned.

Duncan shrugged. "I asked a few questions when I was in Eldorado last week. Seems Frank liked to knock women around. You won't get the women to complain, though. He paid his whores well."

Finnegan cringed at the word, but hid his reaction. "What else did you find out?"

"Word is he was suspected of stealing gold from sluice boxes. George Hastings thinks that's where he got his money. A little here, a little there. It all added up to a tidy sum after a while. Nobody could catch him at it, though."

Finnegan remembered Jenny's leather sack, the one she'd risked her life to retrieve, and wondered what was inside--or should he wonder how much.

"Long patrol, this, all the way to Whitehorse." Duncan said, more to himself than out loud.

Worry was evident on Duncan's usually tranquil face. He knew that in the days ahead, while he was miles and days away, his wife would give birth. She would do so without him at her side and he wouldn't know the outcome until he returned.

Finnegan buttoned his shirt while Duncan stared at the floor. Odd, Finnegan mused, that he would now be in the position to understand that concern. "I could take Harper. Leave you here with Sam." Finnegan leaned down and picked up his gunbelt.

Duncan shook his head. "She's forbidden me to change my duties. Says she'll prove 'em wrong yet about men in the Force marrying."

"Ah, well. Not many men marry the likes of Sam McLeod, do they?" Finnegan settled the belt on his hips and checked the chamber of his revolver.

"I wouldn’t imagine much would throw Sam Jenny. Together, heaven help the man that runs afoul of 'em." Duncan folded his arms over his chest.

Finnegan glanced up. "Meaning me."

"Meaning that you're in deep lad. I hope you've got your wading boots in good shape."

Finnegan shook his head. "She's just a friend."

"And how long before you stop believing that load of blarney?"

Finnegan jerked his head up, a sudden and unexplainable flush of anger flaming through him.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Duncan said with a smirk.

Finnegan took a deep breath. "She needed help and I was there."

"And you've been back again and again." Duncan slid off the table to stand in front of him.

"That's my concern and none of yours."

Duncan's expression softened. "I've only got your best interest at heart. I like the lass. She's a strong woman, but if she's mixed up in this-"

"She isn't."

"You're losing your objectivity."

"Don't tell me how to do my job."

Duncan studied him a moment. "All right, lad. I'll drop the subject."

As the sickening aftermath of anger poured through him, Finnegan grudgingly acknowledged Duncan's cautions. He was in too deep. In fact, he was caught and wrapped in Jenny's web as securely as any spider's supper.

"I care about her but I'm not in love with her." He looked up to meet Duncan's even expression. "She needed help and I had the means to offer it."

"You've no need to explain it to me. I said I'd drop it."

"I know you better than that. Dropping the subject isn't an option with you . . . or Sam." Snatching up his fur lined coat, Finnegan strode to the door and shoved it open. Breathtakingly cold air swept away the warm, moist heat.

"Sam only wants to see you happy. You know Sam. Since we've been married, she thinks the whole world should be."

"I'm happy the way I am. Alone." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode down the snowy path to the shelter where their dog teams were kept.

Duncan matched his strides. "I thought that myself once."

"You were meant to have a wife and a house full of children. Not me.”

Finnegan swung open the door to the shed. Wagging tails and lolling tongues met him at the door. "Are you lads ready to go?" he asked dispensing pats to wiggling gray and white dogs.

Duncan and Finnegan dropped their conversation and concentrated on hitching their teams. Their patrol would be long and hard and difficult with no room for an argument between them. Done, they swung their teams back toward Dawson City to pick up sacks of mail and to say good-byes.

Smoke curled from the chimney of Duncan’s cabin at the edge of town, a poignant reminder of what they were leaving behind, Finnegan mused. Worry and regret furrowed Duncan’s usually placid expression as they left their teams in front of the house and trudged up the steps to the porch.

Sam met them at the door and held out Duncan's pack. She looked miserable and tired, but summoned a smile. "No long good-byes," she said. "You'll be back in a week or two and the baby and I will be waiting for you."

Duncan's hand trembled almost imperceivably as he took the battered pack from her. "You'll take care?"

"You found me buried in an avalanche, Duncan McLeod. I can handle a simple birth."

He leaned forward and kissed her. When they separated, her eyes were misty, but her smile was still firmly in place.

"You'll see to her?" Duncan said to Jenny, standing close behind Sam.

Jenny nodded solemnly.

Duncan turned and walked down the steps without looking back. Her smiled fading, Sam ducked back into the house leaving Jenny and Finnegan on the snowy porch.

"We'll be back in two or three weeks."

She nodded her answer.

"You'll be here?" Unasked, the question would have haunted him every snowy mile.

She smiled slowly. "That sounded hopeful, Constable."

"Maybe it was."

She studied his face and seemed to see a little too much. "I'll be here. Sam's already convinced me we should throw our lots in together until Duncan and you return."

"What about the birth?"

"Nothing to it," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "You should know."

They laughed together, but he felt no humor at the parting he was about to make. "Good bye." He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She watched him withdraw with large, soft eyes. "Keep safe, Mike Finnegan. And come back to me."

Shaken by the sincerity of her words, Finnegan turned and walked down the steps. He looked back once and regretted it before he stepped onto the runners of his sled. "Hike!"

The team surged forward, made a wide arc in the street and headed toward the outskirts of the settlement.

"Whatever splinter you've got stuck in your soul, Finnegan lad, one day it's going to fester up and slip out, bringing the corruption with it," Duncan said to Finnegan's back as the last buildings of Dawson City sped by in a snowy blur.

 

* * *

 

A soft noise woke Jenny. She rolled to her back and stared at the quivering shadows on the ceiling, trying to remember where she was and how she’d gotten here.

She pushed her hair out of her face and sat up.

The noise was out of place. She rolled to her side and looked over the edge of the mattress. Tucked in his dresser drawer bed, little Michael slept peacefully. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, gathered up her too-long gown and walked toward the soft light coming from the other room.

Sam rocked back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked, moving around in front of her.

Sam looked up, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m in labor. Duncan missed it by a few hours.”

Jenny squatted by her side and smoothed the hair off her forehead. “How far along are you?”

“Pretty far. The pains are getting closer together.”

“We should get you into bed.” Jenny stood and reached down to help Sam, but she ignored the outstretched hand and shook her head.

“I’ve already tried that. I want to stay on my feet.”

While Jenny readied water and cloths, Sam walked the floor, pausing often by the wide front window that looked out on sleeping Dawson City hoping, Jenny knew, to see Duncan and his dog team come around the curve at the end of the street.

A tingle of jealousy ran through her for the love Sam and Duncan shared. They were united across the distance, each one’s hopes centered on the child now struggling to be born. She followed Sam’s gaze to the quiet dawn just lightening the sky beyond their wavy reflections and wished, for a dangerous moment, that her own path had been different, that Michael had been born into a home filled with love and commitment. That Frank had been more of a man and less of a bastard. Quickly, she shook off the thought. She’d promised herself she’d never think of Frank again, never think of what she’d done and why she’d done it.

“I wonder where Duncan is,” Sam murmured.

“They’re safe wherever they are,” Jenny reassured.

Sam turned to her, her face pale and damp with perspiration. “Were you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Did you think you might die?”

“Yes. But I knew I couldn’t. But Michael would have no one except me once he was born. I had to survive for him.”

“I can’t imagine doing this alone. What did you do in all those hours of labor?”

Jenny looked back out the window. “Waited. Made preparations. Prayed I’d have the courage and the wisdom to do what had to be done.”

Jenny felt Sam tense beside her. When she looked, Sam’s face had blanched as another contraction gripped her.

“It’s time,” she announced, trembling.

Jenny helped Sam to her generous four poster bed and before the sun was full up, Skye McLeod slid into the world.

 

***~~~***