PROLOGUE
alongtimeago,inacabintuckedfar,farawayintheAlaskan wilderness
RYKER
“Dad, tell us a story.”
I groan. Dad only has one story. My stupid little brother, River, knows that. And he knows Dad loves to tell it, even though we’ve heard it a million times.
River is probably just kissing up to our parents. They took his Game Boy away because he beamed me in the head with a brussels sprout during dinner.
Well, they didn’t take mine away. I pull it out and start to play Donkey Kong. River glares at me and I smirk. He’s just jealous. Checking quickly to make sure neither of our parents is looking, I stick my tongue out.
River gasps. His eyes narrow. “Dad! Ryker stuck his tongue out at me.”
“Ryker,” Dad warns from his seat next to the fire.
He’s carving a new caboose for our train set. One of the twins— Roman or Robin—left the old one outside. They didn’t get in trouble, because they’re four. Mom says they didn’t know better. That’s not fair. I had to do the dishes for a whole week when I left my bike out in the rain. It’s stupid.
Brothers are stupid.
I give an innocent shrug. “I was just licking my lips.”
It’s true. I did lick my lips when I stuck my tongue out.
Dad gives me a stern look but turns his attention back to the caboose. River scrunches up his face in a pout and crosses his arms over his chest. I fight a grin and go back to playing my game.
“So you want a story?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.” Though River doesn’t sound quite as pumped about it now.
Serves him right for kissing butt. What a dork.
“A long time ago,” Dad begins, like he always does, “your greatgreat-grandfather Remington Prince was a trolley operator in San Francisco.”
I roll my eyes and try to tune out the story.
“Trolleys were new and exciting back in those days,” Dad continues. “And Remington Prince was one of the best operators. His route took him from Union Square to a place called Fisherman’s Wharf.”
“What’s a wharf?” River asks.
I roll my eyes again. “It’s a place where boats come to shore.”
Seriously, we’ve heard this story a million times.
“That’s right,” Dad agrees. “Because he traveled to and from the wharf every day, Remington was always able to hear the latest news from people who had just arrived. That was how he became one of
the first people in all of California to hear about gold in the Yukon Territory.”
“Where’s the Yukon—”
“It’s Canada,” I interrupt River, before he can ask another dumb question.
“There had been plenty of gold rushes before,” Dad says. “That’s how the Princes ended up in San Francisco back in the first place. They’d come out in search of gold back in 1849.”
“The 49ers,” River says. “Like the football team.”
“Exactly.” Dad grins at him. “Even though the Princes didn’t hit it big, you could say gold prospecting was in our family’s blood. So when Remington heard about gold in the Klondike, he went home and told your great-great-grandmother, Helen, that he was going north to find their fortune. Now, Helen was an adventurous woman herself. And even though she’d just had a baby—”
“Great-Grandpa Royce,” River interjects.
“—She sold most of their belongings the next day and packed up their home while Remington booked them passage on the next boat out. They left that night and made their way to Dyea.” Dad pauses to roll his shoulders. “With most of their savings, they built a little home and bought supplies. Then Remington kissed Helen goodbye and headed north for the Yukon in search of gold.”
“Did he find any?” River asks.
Seriously. He’s such a kiss-up. I’d punch him in the shoulder, but I don’t want Dad to take my Game Boy too.
“So the story goes,” Dad replies. “He also found action and adventure. He rescued another miner who fell into the river. He set a record for most salmon caught in a day. They say he even fought a bear away from the camp.”
“Yeah, right,” I mumble under my breath.
“What’s that?” Dad asks.
River gives me a sly grin. Crap. He must have heard me.
Before he can rat me out, I say, “If Great-Great Grandpa Remington found gold, where did it go?”
If he’d found gold, I’m pretty sure we’d live in a mansion. That’s what Tony at school said when I told him the story one time at lunch.
“That’s the mystery,” Dad says. “Remington beat out the heaviest part of the rush and was one of the first to strike big. He spent months mining gold. But, because he wasn’t greedy, he called it quits before things got too crowded. Plus, he missed your greatgreat-grandma and your great-grandpa. He loaded up his mules and headed back to Dyea.”
Dad’s tone changes. “On his way, he was set upon by a pack of bandits. They were after his gold. He barely got away. But he knew he wouldn’t be safe for long. So he hid the gold in a cave. He made himself a map and hid a nugget of gold in his shoe until he could return to reclaim it.”
“Did he go back?”
Okay. That’s it. Turning off Donkey Kong, I elbow River. Hard. He yelps. Before Dad can say anything, I mumble an apology, walk across the room, and hand my Game Boy to Dad.
He sighs and tucks the Game Boy away. I can already tell he’s going to send me to bed. Just as soon as he finishes his story.
“Remington planned to go back for his gold the next winter,” Dad says. “But before he could, he was struck with Scarlet Fever and died. Great-Great Grandma Helen was broken-hearted. But she was also stubborn and strong. Her family wanted her to come back to San Francisco. Instead, she decided to stay. Over time, people left Dyea, and she and Royce moved to Skagway. She ran a cafe and
they helped establish our little town to make it the slice of heaven it is today.”
Dad leans forward and lowers his voice. “Legend has it the gold is still hidden in a cave. The map to find it is in Remington’s diary. Unfortunately, the diary went missing. And so the gold remains hidden to this day.”
Setting down his knife and the woodblock, Dad motions for River and me to come to him. With a sigh, I do. He gives us both a hug.
“You boys had better go to bed. And maybe tomorrow you two will be nicer to each other.”
River whines, but I take my punishment in stride. Besides, I don’t want to hear any more of the story.
Because it’s just a story. And I’m too big to believe in stories about hidden treasure.
ONE presentday
RYKER
“We have another passenger flying with us today.”
I glance curiously at my brother, Roman, pausing before I close the luggage hatch.
“That wasn’t on the manifest,” I say.
“It’s a last-minute addition.” He lifts a shoulder. “Dad called to let me know.”
That’s interesting. “Is he a new customer?”
“She”—Roman gives me a shit-eating grin—“wasn’t able to get a seat on one of the commercial flights. So they asked us to help out so she wouldn’t have to sleep in the airport overnight.”
“Got it.”
That’s not totally unheard of, I suppose. While several airlines fly in and out of Juneau every day, there are fewer that go to Skagway.
It’s the reason my family’s outdoor excursion company invested in our own plane. Heck, for a lot of us in Alaska, having a plane is as
common as having a car.
While we can all take the wheel—so to speak—Roman has become our default pilot. It’s not just because he’s the youngest of the four Prince brothers. (Only by two minutes, he likes to let people know.) He’s the best, and he enjoys it.
Robin, his twin, keeps our finances in order in between giving tours.
River, the second oldest, is the town sheriff, but he helps out in his off-hours when he cans.
Dad lives and breathes for mingling with the day tours that come in on the cruise ships.
As for me, the oldest Prince boy, I prefer to lead multi-day tour groups out into the wilderness. The more rugged they want it, the better.
The irony of that isn’t lost on me. There was a time when I dreamed of living anywhere but Alaska—Seattle, Vancouver, San Francisco, you name it. Now, even Skagway feels too big sometimes, what with all of the cruises that come into port day after day. That’s why I’ve built my cabin a few miles out of town. It’s a perfect place for a man to think and unwind after a few days in the bush, hiking and fishing.
It’s not a bad life. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. All that’s missing is a woman and a family of my own. It would have to be the right kind of woman. This part of the world isn’t for everyone. She’d have to have a head on her shoulders and a keen sense of adventure. So far, I haven’t found her. Now that I’m well into my thirties, I wonder if such a woman exists.
“Excuse me,” a sweet voice calls out.
Roman and I turn in unison. There, wrapped in an oversized turtleneck sweater, a tan peacoat, and a pair of jeans that hug her
full hips so tight they should be illegal is the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. With rich brown hair, the color of a mahogany tree, she has a pair of dark eyes that sparkle, even in the heavy cloud coverage.
I can’t be sure, but my mouth may have dropped open. And my pants are definitely feeling more snug. I shift my stance to hide the tent I’m in real danger of pitching down there.
“Can we help you?” I ask, my voice is a little more strained than I’d like.
Roman lifts an eyebrow in amusement but has the decency not to call me out. Good. I’ve grown to like my brothers over the years. I’d hate to have to kill one of them now.
“I’m looking for Roman,” she says, her voice sounding like music to my ears. “I was told I could get a ride to Skagway.”
“I’m Roman,” my brother steps forward. “You must be our extra passenger.”
She flashes him a tentative grin. What they say next, I can’t hear. I’m too stunned and dazzled by the woman. With every second, she becomes more stunning. As she tucks a long lock of hair behind her ears, I’m almost surprised I don’t spontaneously combust.
I come to when my brother nudges me.
Blinking, I stare at him dumbly as he asks, “Are you okay to go?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Clearing my throat, I offer our beautiful passenger a hand to help her step up into the plane.
With a flash of a grin, she places her gloved hand in mine and climbs up, giving me ample opportunity to admire her round ass and thighs. Roman shoots me a warning glare as he steps into the cockpit.
After we’re all buckled in and wearing our headsets, it’s only a matter of minutes before we’re in the air headed to Skagway. I try
not to stare at our guest while she watches the scenery pass below. Based on the way she’s gripping her fingers together in her lap, I’d guess she’s nervous. That’s no surprise. Most people freak out the first time they’re in a plane this small.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she says to me at last. It takes me a moment to respond. “There’s no prettier place in the world. Then again, I’m partial. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
Interest flashes on her face. “Is that right?”
I nod, shifting in my seat so I can see her better. “My family has been in the area for more than a century.”
“Homesteaders?”
I shake my head. “Goldrush.”
She arches an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty exciting.”
“It sounds more exciting than it is.” In reality, most people who chased after gold ended up empty-handed, with frostbite, or worse: dead. “When they didn’t strike it rich, my ancestors stuck around and made this place home.”
“What did they do?” she asks, her eyes bright with interest.
The beauty in them momentarily takes my breath away. I’m not accustomed to coming across gorgeous, busty bombshells like the woman seated next to me. I’m less accustomed to women being interested in what I have to say. Most of the people I interact with are men, out on once-in-a-lifetime fishing excursions. When we do get women, they’re usually part of a couple or a large group.
This one is blessedly single. At least I assume so since she’s here on her own and there isn’t so much as a band or hint of sparkle on her left hand. Of course, she could be dating someone or in one of those marriages where people don’t wear rings. I dismiss that possibility. If a man was lucky enough to call her his, he’d waste no
time in putting a ring on it. If only to keep lusty men—like me—from poaching.
And I sure as shit wouldn’t send her up to Alaska on her own.
Then again, some men are stupid. I’m not. At least usually. This woman can already strike me dumb with a smile or a touch.
“The first generation ran a cafe in town,” I say, my voice a little gruffer than I’d like, laced with restrained lust. “That turned into a feed store, then a mercantile. My grandpa and dad eventually started an outdoor adventure business. That’s what we do today.”
She arches an eyebrow with interest. “You offer outdoor excursions?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wince inwardly. Ma’am? Who am I turning into? The curious glance I get from my brother tells me my odd behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed. “I’m sure you already have your plans arranged, but if you find yourself needing a guide, we’d be more than happy to help you out. We’re Prince Excursions.”
“Prince Excursions,” she repeats thoughtfully.
“I’m Ryker Prince, by the way.” I thrust out my hand awkwardly.
“I’m Tabitha.”
She shakes my offered hand. The smooth skin of her palm warms my hand, teasing it with a gentle caress. I could be perfectly content to sit here holding her hand forever. Well, not perfectly content. I have other wants and needs. But I’d be pretty happy just the same.
All too soon, she slips her hand away from mine. “And thank you. I may just take you up on that. I don’t really have any plans in place. My trip here was a little . . . last-minute and spontaneous.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re maybe the first person I’ve heard coming this way without a plan.”
“What about the gold prospectors?” There’s a hint of challenge in her voice and a playful grin on those full, fuckable lips of hers.
“Though it might not seem like it, they had a plan.”
“Which was?”
“To strike it rich.”
Her lips form a full O, and the erection already growing in my pants begins to ache. Damn, but she’s a beauty. I’ve never wanted a woman more. Hell, I’m not sure anyone could want another person as badly as my body seems to cry out for her.
We don’t say much else, because it’s already time for our descent into Skagway. Before I can offer to show her around, I find my father is already there and waiting to do the job.
It’s probably for the best. Tabitha is only in town for a short time. It wouldn’t do for me to go losing my head and heart over her.
But as she shakes my hand goodbye and warmth spreads through my chest, I fear it might be too late for that.
TWO
TABITHA
When I get to the small room I booked at a nondescript motel in Skagway, I release a breath I’ve been holding almost since I left Seattle.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I mutter to myself.
Of course, I already know the answer. I’m being blackmailed into finding a missing map that will supposedly lead to a stockpile of gold. That is if the map—or gold—even exists.
Both are mentioned in the diary. I authenticated it myself with the help of one of my former professors who is an expert in artifacts. I can even see the place in the diary where the pages might have been torn.
That doesn’t mean any of it really exists. And if the map doesn’t exist, I am royally screwed.
As if to remind me of that fact, my phone rings. Stephen’s name appears on the display. Just at the sight of his name, my heart pounds in my ears as my chest tightens.
“Hello,” I say, angry at myself when my voice trembles.
“Have you found the map yet?” he asks.
“I’ve only been in Alaska for a couple of hours.” I nervously toy with a pen that’s been left on a desk. “It might take me a few days— or even weeks—to find it.”
“It sounds like she’s making excuses,” his brother, Stetson says. “What have you done to find it?”
I take a deep breath, willing the nerves to settle. When they don’t, I let the breath out feeling even shakier than before.
“I went to the library here in town—”
“You didn’t tell anyone about the diary, did you?” Stephen asks, his voice heavy with accusation. “Because you know what will happen if anyone finds the map before we do?”
“Yes, I know.”
He’ll post two nude photos of me on the Internet. Photos I’d foolishly sent to him during the brief weeks we’d dated a couple of months ago. I should have known better. I’m about to earn a doctorate from a prestigious university, for crying out loud. But, like many others before me, I allowed myself to get caught up with the notion of an exciting romance.
A romance that had turned dark when Stephen had threatened to post the photos if I didn’t help him and his brother find the stockpile of gold supposedly hidden by Remington Prince.
“What do you think any future employer will think if those photos ended up in their inboxes?” Stetson asks.
“My career will be over,” I whisper.
Over before it even began. Then, all of the hard work I’ve done the past several years will have been for nothing. I’ll be overeducated and unable to get a job in higher education.
It’s not just my efforts that will have been for nothing. It’ll be my grandma’s. She’d worked hard her whole life to raise me well. Then,
she’d worked even harder to save up money that allowed me to go to graduate school debt-free.
If she could see me now, she’d be so disappointed.
“I didn’t talk to anyone at the library,” I insist. “I just went through all of the older books I could find to see if the map might be tucked in any of them.”
“Hmm,” Stephen muses. “That’s actually not a bad plan. Too bad it didn’t turn up anything.”
“I’ll keep looking.”
“Why don’t you go straight to the source?” Stetson asks. “Worm your way into the Prince family and find out if they have a map stashed away somewhere.”
At the mention of their name, my stomach does a somersault. This time, it’s not from fear, but a hint of desire. Even desire landed me in this position, I hadn’t been able to keep myself from studying Ryker Prince with more than a little admiration.
He’d been so kind to me on the plan, and so handsome. With that chiseled jaw covered with whiskers, broad shoulders and a pair of hazel eyes with gold in them, I’d been instantly attracted.
Then, when I found out his name and recognized it from the genealogy I’d done in preparation for this trip, I’d felt guilty. I’m here to help these bastard brothers steal a treasure that should rightfully belong to his family.
“Maybe you should retrace the trail,” Stephen suggests.
I shake my head in disbelief. “Do you know how long the trail from Skagway to the Klondike is?”
Not to mention how much of it I’d have to do on foot.
“Steady there,” he chuckles. “We already know the general area where he made the map.”
“That’s right,” Stetson says. “Didn’t he mention that he’d already crossed some pass and was in the home stretch?”
That sounds vaguely familiar. Digging into my bag, I retrieve the copy of the diary I’d made for my own reference. Skimming through the pages, I see that they’re right. He had made it through the Chilkoot Pass. I pull it up on my computer and note that it’s a little more than 30 miles away.
That’s still a lot of ground to cover, but it’s much more doable. There’s just one problem.
“This trail is for experienced hikers,” I say. “I don’t know the first thing about climbing a mountain.”
Or, whatever you do to get through it.
“Then hire yourself a guide,” Stephen says. “And get right on it.”
“Okay.” Hire a guide. Where will I find one of those?
My mind returns back to Ryker and the offer he’d made earlier. His family has a company that leads outdoor excursions. They’re as local as local gets. Surely one of them would be able to help me find my way.
Of course, I’d be using them only to turn around and give away part of their family history. But what other choice do I have?
“I’ll find a guide.”
“Good. And Tabitha, be sure you find that map,” he warns. The creepiness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, like a spider crawling over the skin. “Otherwise, the dean at that fancy college of yours is going to see a side of you that he’ll never be able to forget.”
My stomach pitches in terror. “I’ll find it.”
I don’t know how, but I will. It’s the only way I can protect myself and the legacy my grandma left for me.
RYKER
“Bombshell approaching,” Robin calls out. “One o’clock.”
I glance up from the paperwork scattered across my desk in time to watch Tabitha, the woman from the plane, stroll through the front door of our storefront. I jump to my feet, earning a curious stare from my brother. Shaking my head to silently warn him to keep his mouth shut, I keep my gait casual as I step out of the office.
“Tabitha.” I flash her a welcoming grin. “Did you decide to take us up on an adventure excursion, or were you trying to find the general store?”
Her dark as sin eyes sparkle. “What if I told you both?”
My heart hitches as I stare into them a little too long before recovering. Damn, but she’s even prettier than I remember. My gaze flickers to the swell of her breasts, and the smooth skin exposed by the V of her button-up flannel shirt. My cock grows instantly hard as it presses against my jeans.
“Then I’d say you’re in the right place.” Clearing my throat, I guide her toward the banged-up table we use for lunch breaks and greeting customers. My hand rests on the small of her back. I jerk it away quickly like I’ve been burnt or electrocuted. Hell, maybe I have. That would be one explanation for the effect she has on me.
I scoop up a pile of brochures leftover from a previous guest and hold out a chair for her.
As she takes a seat, Tabitha glances around the store with curiosity. Her gaze lingers for a moment on the elk head mounted on the wall alongside a giant fiberglass salmon my dad just brought back from the taxidermist. Besides that, there are wooden cubbies where we store our gear and a rack of brochures. The only thing that could pass as nice is an empty vase on a shelf.
My mom used to bring in fresh flowers to soften up the place. But the vase has been empty since she passed away a few years back.
At the moment, I wish we’d kept that tradition alive and that things around here weren’t quite so rustic. There’s not a lot I can do about that now. Not that it matters either way.
Tabitha is a customer, just like everyone else who walks through the door. I shouldn’t care about things like flowers or scuffed-up tables and floors. We treat our customers well, but we don’t roll out the red carpet.
I’d like to roll out the red carpet for Tabitha. I’d like to give her the world.
“First things first,” I say, taking the seat across from her, giving myself a little distance from her. “What sort of excursion did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to go for a guided hike.”
Okay, that’s easy enough. “We have several day tours that we offer. We can—”
“I was actually hoping you might be able to take me here.” She pulls out a map with a path that runs through Chilkoot Pass.
“Are you planning to prospect for gold in the Klondike?” I tease, arching an eyebrow. “If you are, you’re about a century too late.”
“What can I say? I’m a history buff.” She shrugs. “Is it possible to do?”
“It’s possible. There’s a hiking trail that the parks run.” I study her for a moment. “It isn’t easy. It’s about thirty miles through inclines.”
She lifts her chin. “I can do it.”
“It can take anywhere from three to five days.”
“I have time.”
I arch an eyebrow. “They also only issue so many permits a day.”
Her lips tremble slightly. “Oh. Do you think we can get one?”
“I have a buddy at the park.” The knot in my gut eases as she relaxes slightly. “Let me see what I can do.”
“Okay.” She releases a breath and leans back in her chair. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“While I give my friend a call, you might want to run to the general store next door and pick up some long underwear and gloves.”
She stares at me in confusion. “But it’s summer.”
“It won’t feel like summer when you get into parts of the Pass.” I wink, hoping to ease her nerves. “Just get yourself some warm clothes, and I’ll take care of the rest. Check back here in about an hour and we can talk about the next steps.”
She thanks me again, then runs off to hopefully get clothes that won’t give her frostbite in June.
As soon as the door closes behind her, Robin steps out of the office. “Who was that?”
We watch her through the windows as she walks briskly. She seems to be talking to herself, and I can’t help but grin.
“That there is the woman of my dreams, and our newest customer. And I’m taking her prospecting for gold.”
THREE
TABITHA
As the park ranger finishes giving the briefing, I can’t decide whether to faint or run screaming back to civilization.
But when Ryker asks if I’m ready to hop on the shuttle that will take us to the start of the Chilkoot Trail in Dyea, I plaster a bright smile on my face and say, “You bet.”
While aboard the shuttle, I feign interest in the rainforest scenery passing by. In reality, I’m trying to keep my breathing steady so I won’t have a panic attack and pass out. How did I end up in this mess?
Of course, I already know the answer. I let my guard down and decided to throw caution to the wind for a bit of fun one time. And look at where I’ve ended up. I’m about to be eaten by one of the bears that apparently roam freely around the trail.
Seemingly reading my thoughts, Ryker lowers his head and whispers, “You don’t need to worry about the bears.”
“Why not?”
“In all the years I’ve lived here, which is pretty much my whole life, I’ve never heard of a bear attack along these trails.”
I release a deep breath. “So they’re safe?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” He flashes a grin and winks, sending a ripple of delight through me and straight to my gut. “Just show the bears some respect, give them plenty of space if you need one, and don’t leave any food sitting around.”
My eyes go wide. “What will they do with the food?”
“Eat it.”
“Oh.” I relax back against the seat. “That doesn’t sound too bad. They’re probably hungry.”
“Don’t feed the bears.” His voice takes on a slight edge.
“I won’t.” I hold out my pinky to him. “I swear.”
He stares at my extended little finger for a moment before a grin spreads across his face, making him somehow even more handsome. He links his pinky with mine, sending a fresh shiver of electricity and excitement through me.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I promise.”
If only he could. Bears and the elements aren’t the only dangers out there. Stephen reminded me of that very fact when he texted me earlier today. It was less of a message and more of a threat.
“Get in with the Princes and find thatmap or you can kiss your careergoodbye.”
As if I needed a reminder. That threat has consumed my thoughts. I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Ryker asks.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just had a shiver run down my spine.”
He nods knowingly. “I hate when that happens. But if you do get cold, let me know. I have some hand warmers in my pack.”
Then he gives me a reassuring grin, and I’m once again struck with the urge to pass out or run. I hate myself for doing this.
So far, Ryker and the rest of the Princes I’ve met have been nothing but accommodating. His dad booked me a spot on their plane. Roman flew it so well, I wasn’t scared even though I was sure I would be. Robin gave me a quick rundown on gear when I returned to the Prince Excursions office. Even River, the town sheriff, bought me a pint of beer when I met him at the bar where I had dinner.
And Ryker must have pulled some major strings to get us a permit for the trail and spots on the campgrounds. I overheard some of the other hikers say they’d booked their trips more than six months ago. He’s been so kind to me. And he’s stirred a need inside of me I wouldn’t think possible given the situation I’m in.
Then again, it would be hard not to turn into a pool of liquid when he smiles at you with those gold sparkles in his eyes.
I shake my head at myself. I can’t let my feelings for him—or my gratitude for his family—get in the way of what I’m here to do. I don’t have a choice. Either I use them to find the map, or I lose the career I’ve worked so hard to build.
Either way, I’m screwed.
When we get to the entrance to the trail, Ryker flashes me that devastating grin. My belly flutters in response.
“Are you ready to search for gold?”
He has no idea how ready I am to get this over with and done. “Let’s do it.”
RYKER
I’ll admit, I wasn’t counting on Tabitha to keep up this well. Based on how wide her eyes got while we received our briefing at
the start, I half expected her to bolt. Instead, she’s matched me step for step without a stumble or complaint.
I like a woman who can keep up. Better, I like a woman who will set the pace. That’s exactly what she’d done when we’d walked through the remnants of Dyea. All the while, she peppered me with questions, asking about what other gold rush ruins we might expect to find on the way.
From anyone else, I’d probably refer them to one of the rangers so I could avoid getting into it. But when she asks, I don’t mind. And, upon learning that Tabitha has just turned in her dissertation to earn a doctorate in history, it makes sense that she’s curious.
What is surprising is how much I’ve enjoyed telling her about the different traces of the past we might find along the way. There was a time when I found all talk of the Klondike Gold Rush annoying. I don’t suspect I could find any of Tabitha’s interests annoying.
But while Tabitha has learned a lot about me and the people who were here a century ago, I haven’t found out much about her. Well, I’ll just have to change that.
Clearing my throat, I cast a quick glance back at Tabitha. “How did you get into history?”
That’s such a lame question. But it’s too late to take it back.
“I used to spend a lot of time at the library,” she says. “My grandma and I used to walk there every day after school.”
“It sounds like you were close.”
“We were.” I glance back in time to catch a wave of sadness cross her face. “My parents weren’t around, so she raised me. She worked so hard to take care of me and to support my dreams. That included taking me to the library every day to read the encyclopedias.” She sighs. “If you hadn’t guessed already, I’m a pretty big nerd.”
“There’s nothing nerdy about being informed.”
I turn to see a grin return to her face. My heart pounds a little faster, and it’s not from the exertion of our increased elevation.
“My grandma passed away when I was in college.”
My heart hitches. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I still miss her a lot, but I’m grateful for everything she gave me. Including the money to get my master’s degree and doctorate. I want her to be proud of what I’ve done with her gift.”
“I have no doubt she is.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Tabitha trails off and gasps.
I swivel on my heel, ready to protect her from whatever has scared her—bear or man. But I don’t see anything, except her staring to the side, her mouth open in rapture. I follow her gaze and find what’s captured her.
“That’s Irene Glacier,” I say. “We’re making pretty good progress to finally reach this break in the woods.”
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She beams at me, and my heart pounds a little faster. Then her face scrunches up. “Did you say it’s called Irene Glacier?”
“I did.”
“Irene?”
“That’s right.”
She shakes her head. “I wonder how it got a name like that.”
“One of the first guys headed on the trail to the Yukon said the only thing prettier was his wife Irene.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Of course not.” I take the elbow to my ribs with a grin on my face. “Honestly, I don’t know how it got that name.”
“I suppose I could always Google it.”
“Not around here.” I shake my head. “I’d be surprised if you get even a bar of service until we’re back in Skagway.”
“Oh.” Her lips curve down with a worried grimace. “I should have guessed we’d be pretty isolated up here.”
My chest aches at the sight of her discomfort. “Don’t worry. There are rangers and wardens all along the way. If there’s an emergency, we can always ask them to radio for help.”
She nods but doesn’t look relieved. Instinctively I stroke her cheek. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You had a pine needle on your face,” I lie. Feeling foolish, I let my hand fall to my side.
“Oh, thank you.” Her expression relaxes.
My heart only pounds harder and faster.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back. “We should probably keep going so we can get to Canyon City.”
“That’s where we’re camping for the night.”
I nod. “There are also some ruins leftover from the old town about a mile away from the campsite.”
Her face lights up at that mention. “Oh, that’s right. I can’t wait to see them.”
A hint of the ease that had existed between us before returns. At least on her end. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at ease as long as I’m with her.
But she’s counting on me to keep her safe. I’ll just have to keep my feelings—and impulses—to myself.
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
BY ALGIS BUDRYS
ILLUSTRATED BY EBEL
They were the hired gun-rabble of the System, engaged in the dirtiest, most thankless racket in all the worlds. But Ash Holcomb was doing all right, until the girl walked out of his past with high stakes in her pockets and murder in her eyes!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Rocket Stories, July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Rocket Row is the Joy Street of three planets. It's got neon lights, crummy dives, cheap hotels, and women to match. Every man who's ever rode a ship into space knows about Rocket Row. It runs along the far side of Flushing Spaceport, down toward the Sound.
The New Shanghai was full of dockworkers and crewmen on liberty It was noisy. I sat on a bar stool and watched the fog trying to infiltrate the open door. It didn't have a chance against the tobacco smoke that rolled out to meet it. Outside, the streets and alleys would be choked with wet, creeping darkness, full of quiet footsteps, and the cops would find empty-pocketed corpses behind the ashcans in the morning.
But none of that was any of my business. I was sick and tired of fog— the real kind, the kind they grow on Venus—and I was sick of the thought of blood. I'd seen too much of it, soaking into the hot mud, and some of it spilled by my guns. I wanted to forget the night, and fog that gave cover to every kind of dirty deal a man could imagine. I wanted to pull the corners of my world together until all that was left was the drink, the bar stool, and me. But it wasn't going to work out that way, because I was in the New Shanghai on business.
And my kind of business was the dirtiest, lousiest, most thankless racket in the world.
The bartender moved up to where I was sitting. "Have another one, Ash?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure, Ming," I said. "You still make the best Stingers in the System. Maybe that's because you don't brew your own gin."
"Could be, Ash, could be," he laughed. He shook up the drink and poured it in my glass. "How'd it go on Venus?"
"It went," I said.
Ming was one of the few people who admitted knowing I was a D.O. —a Detached Operative. It was a crummy job, but it suited me.
We were the hired-gun rabble of the System, thrown together into the damnedest police force there had ever been. Spacial expansion hadn't really gotten underway until after the Terro-Martian War, and after it ended every would-be bigshot there was had realized that all he really needed to set himself up as a pocket-size dictator was some salvaged gear from the mess the war had left, a crew that wasn't too particular, and a good-looking piece of territory in the practically limitless areas of space. Most of them had picked slices of Venus. There were a few in the Asteroids, hooked up with renegade Marties, and one or two that had actually grabbed sections of Mars.
Sending regular law enforcement officers or Marines after each one of these boys would have been physically impossible. Earth government had come up with a cuter idea.
It was a lot more economical to fight one big decisive battle than to endure a series of inconclusive skirmishes. There were a lot of us boys out in space, most of us just drifting from one port to the next, picking up a living by our wits, and by our skill with a gun, some of us. Earth government had quietly picked out the ones they considered trustworthy, sworn us in, and turned us loose with a few standing orders and a lot of dependence on our discretion.
Whenever something brewed between two of these minor warlords, we'd come flocking in and hire ourselves out to whichever side we felt had slightly more justice. Sometimes we wound up shooting at each other, but you couldn't even be sure of that, since most of us didn't know, beyond a guess or two, who the other D.O.'s were. Usually, though, we had enough brains to pick the right side, and we'd make sure that was the one that came out on top.
It was a process of elimination, actually. The warlords were helped to knock each other off until, eventually, those who remained either
proved themselves to be strong leaders, which was what frontier planets needed, or else megalomaniacs, in which case it paid to devote a full-scale military campaign to them.
It was a highly informal system, but it had worked. It was tough on us, but it wasn't any harder than freelance grifting had been. It left an awful lot to personal discretion, and we paid ourselves out of whatever came to hand, but there hadn't been any big totalitarian regimes lately, either
"Yeah, I did pretty well," I repeated.
Ming puckered his mouth and winked. I used to try and figure out how he did it, standing behind his bar all day, never going out, never talking much except to a few people like me. But I knew for sure that he could have told me exactly how much I'd made on that Venus job —and the gimmick I'd pulled to get it past Customs, too.
But that was why I was in here. Something was up—something big, and I wanted to find out what it was before every grifter and chiseler in the System tried to cut a piece of it for himself.
"I got a note in my mailbox today," I said casually.
"Yeah?" he asked, just as quietly.
"Must have been put there as soon as I touched down this morning. Somebody wants me to go to work for them. They're paying high— too high, maybe. Hear anything about a big job coming off somewhere?"
Ming grinned. "If you mean that little letter from Transolar, yeah, I know about that." He got serious, and moved closer.
"But that's all I know, and nobody else knows even that much. Sure, something's cooking, but nobody knows what it is. I—" He broke off. "You've got company. Boy, have you got company!"
I looked in the backbar mirror. A girl had come in the doorway and was walking toward me. Her dress tightened in intriguing places. Her face was as much of a treat. High-cheeked, brown-eyed, with a small, uptilted nose and a full mouth, it was framed by short curly hair the color of new copper wire. I liked it.
So did the spacemen and the dockworkers sitting at the bar. One or two half-rose to invite her to join them, but they sat down again when they saw who she was headed for.
There was something about that hair. I'd seen it before, somewhere. The guy next to me got up and slid out of the way. I let my eyes stay on the bottles on the backbar until she sat down beside me. I gave Ming a look. He nodded, and moved down the bar.
"Ash?"
The voice was low, but crisp. It had whispers and murmurs in it, too, and I knew I'd heard it before.
"I'm Pat McKay."
I turned my head and looked at her. Her dress, tight as paint from hem to bodice, was mysteriously loose in the sleeves. Ruffles at each shoulder hid bulges that Mother Nature never put there. They looked more like twin shoulder holsters. They were.
And the last time I'd seen her, she was seventeen—eighteen, maybe —in a ball gown, her hair long then, curling around her shoulders.
And the voice hadn't been as controlled, or as crisp, but she'd been saying, "You're a good dancer, Mr. Holcomb. Not much on the light conversation, but a good leader."
I'd swept her around another couple, and kept my cheek away from hers. "The Academy is geared to the production of good leaders, Pat. Good conversationalists, on the other hand, are born, not made."
She laughed—a giddy party laugh from a girl who dated Academy boys exclusively, who loved the glitter and pomp of graduation ceremonies, who hung around the Academy all she could, who had been to Graduation Balls before, and would certainly be to a number of them again, before she managed to separate all the black and silver uniforms she'd danced with and found herself a man from
inside one of them. An Academy drag—a number in a score of little black books.
"Like Harry—oh, pardon me, it's Graduation Night—like Mr. Thorsten, you mean?" And she looked up at me, raking my face with her green eyes.
"If you will."
"You're jealous, Mr. Holcomb," she said, breaking out her best little tease manner.
"Maybe." I knew she was trying to get me angry. She was getting there fast, too.
"Well, now, if you displayed some of Mr Thorsten's other gifts, I could forget about the conversation," she said lightly.
"Meaning you'd like me to dance you out on the terrace and make a pass at you?"
"Maybe."
She was daring me.
I danced her out on the terrace, and found a darker corner. She looked up at me, her eyes a little surprised, but her lips were parted. I tightened my arms and kissed her It started gently—just a kiss sneaked in between dances—but her arms were growing tighter too, and her fingers were hooking. We held it, while I listened to the blood running in my ears, until we broke apart, both of us dropping our arms, standing and looking at each other, dragging air down our throats.
"Ash! You—"
She started to say something, and broke it. It sounded a little too much like a movie heroine, all of a sudden. She was holding the pose a little too long, too. "Hell, she's a kid—she's doing it the way the grown-ups in the movies do it," I told myself, but I'd danced her out here for a purpose. Maybe she didn't deserve it, but I was sick to death of the little bits of fluff that hung around, drinking in borrowed glamor, getting the big play from boys like Harry Thorsten.
I reached out and grabbed.
"Now comes the part you've really been asking for," I said. I crouched, bent her over my knee, and brought my hand down. Hard. Three times in all, putting everything I had into it.
"Now," I said, letting her get up, "maybe you'll quit bothering guys who worked all their lives to get in a spot where they could go out and be of some help in the only job they ever wanted—the TSN. Do you think you really stack up worth a damn beside the only thing that counts?"
She just stood there, tears of rage in her eyes. I was never sure whether it was what I'd done or what I said that had her so mad, but the last thing I heard her say as I walked away was: "Damn you, Ash Holcomb! Damn you for being such a snobbish stuck-up...."
Well, maybe I was wrong and maybe I wasn't. I didn't know as much in those days as I should have, either. But it was too late now—too late by a war and a hundred revolutions, too late by all the men who'd gone down before my guns, too late by years of loneliness and bitterness.
But if it was too late, why did I remember it all now, with Thorsten up in the Asteroids, a little king in his own right, with me in the New Shanghai, a white ray-burn splashed through my hair, with the Academy a dim thing behind both of us, and Pat—
Why was Pat here? What had she done through the years, while I fought my way from one end of the System to the other, and Harry took the easy way out during the war?
"Hello, Pat," I said. "I haven't seen you in a long time." Well, what else was I going to say?
I don't know what she had expected me to say She kept her face in profile, and didn't let me see what it was showing.
"I'm here on business. I hear you're a good man, these days, for the job I've got." She twisted the words like a knife.
All right, if she wanted it that way, she'd get it.
"So they tell me," I said.
"Fifteen thousand for a month's work."
She said it quietly, without any build-up. Maybe she figured fifteen thousand didn't need one.
I sat there for a minute, not saying anything, but thinking hard. What kind of a setup was she offering me? Was this the big job that was floating around? There's usually a sure way to find out. When someone offers you a blind deal, argue. Maybe they'll get mad, or scared you won't take it, and spill something.
"No, thanks," I said.
She frowned. "Don't try haggling with me, Ash. I can get somebody just as good for less."
"I don't doubt it. You could probably get three. That's why I don't want any part of it. It's sucker bait."
She looked at me for the first time, mouth twisted.
"Since when does a hired gun like you turn down that kind of money? The job's worth it, believe me."
That hit me. But I couldn't afford to get touchy
"Probably is. But with standard pay at three thousand a month, plus bounties and commissions, this little errand of yours, whatever it may be, must break so many laws it could land me in a death house," I said, watching her eyes.
It didn't add up. Nothing added up. Why had she picked me, in the first place? I had a reputation as one of the better gunnies, sure, but there were at least twenty guys I'd never draw against, if I could help it, and four or five of them were available. Because she'd known me? And this job—what kind of hanky-panky was going on at these prices?
I watched her eyes acquiring dangerous highlights. The temper that went with that hair was beginning to stir.
"Do you want to get in on the biggest deal that's ever been pulled off in space or don't you?" she said. "Or are you going to chicken out?" she added contemptuously.
I let it slide off my shoulders.
"I don't know," I said. I wanted to get a chance to really talk things out with her, and this wasn't the place for it. "Anyway, this is no place to talk business. Walk out of here as if I'd turned you down, and go up the street. I'll catch up to you."
"Okay." She got up and walked out.
"Sorry, Honey," I called after her, loud enough for everybody to hear. A snicker went up. I cut it off with a look at the characters lined up against the bar, and got back to my drink. I finished it casually, put it down, paid, and walked slowly to the door. I let everybody get a good look at me turning down the street in the opposite direction from the one Pat had taken.
I ducked into the first cross street and moved swiftly over to the alley that paralleled the street that Pat was on. I was thinking all the way.
Being a D.O. was one thing—getting into something solo was another. I could get killed, for all I knew, and maybe by a lawman's gun. That was a risk I ran on every job, but in this case, I didn't even know, yet, what was going on. The smart thing to do would have been to pass the word to my SBI contact, but that would take too much time. There was nothing I could do but dive into this mess head-on, and hope I'd have time to yell for help later.
I was about to turn into another alley that ran back to the main street when I heard the coughing of a Saro airgun and the faint sizzle of a Colt in reply.
Instantly, I was running silently up the alley. One hand unzipped the chest of my coverall, and the other one dove in and grabbed the butt of the heavy Sturmey that's my favorite man-killer. I reached the mouth of the alley and stopped abruptly in the shadows.
A man lay in the middle of the street, unnaturally flat against the concrete slab. The street lamp up the block was dark, its base
surrounded by shattered glass.
The Saro went into action again from the roof of a building across the street. I saw the slugs chip cement from the railing of a flight of steps four doors up. A pale blue flare winked from behind the railing, and the man with the Saro ducked, but was up again as another gun raked the stairs from a spot on my side of the street. I didn't like that setup one bit.
The Sturmey in my hand went whoomp! and the man on the roof sailed out over the street and landed with a crunch. The other gun cut off abruptly. Two Colt beams probed for it from the stairs, and that clinched it. It was Pat, all right, and somewhere, she'd become a fair hand at street fighting.
"Hey, Pat!" I yelled, and ducked away from the storm of bullets the other gunman flung at me. The result was what I'd hoped for. The man had exposed himself to Pat's fire by shooting at me. The Colts sizzled viciously, and the burst of Saro noise stopped in mid-clip.
A gun clattered on cement. I poked my head cautiously around the corner. Silence blanketed Rocket Row, and then was tempered by a scuffing noise. Up the street, a leather belt was being pressed against the side of a building by the weight of a body that was sliding slowly downwards. I spotted a glowing dot that was a tunic smoldering around a Colt burn.
"Ash!"
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
I grinned. She sounded a little worried.
I sprinted across the street at a weaving run, and dove behind the stairway.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I don't know—but I've got an idea. I got about a hundred yards up the street when I spotted this guy tailing me. I yelled, and he ducked. At the same time, this other fellow started running toward me across
the street. I burned him down, and ducked in here just as the bird on the roof opened up. That's it, until you came along."
I swore. I didn't go for three men gunning one girl. I looked over the top of the railing. One or two people were starting to come out of doorways.
"Maybe we'd better get out of here," I said.
We ran up the street to another alley. She re-holstered her guns on the way, revealing a lot of what the dress advertised. We stopped inside the alley and caught our breaths. "Well, anyway," I said, "I know what you're in this for."
She looked up sharply. "What?"
"You need money to buy some underwear with."
She slammed her hand into my face. I ducked back, and stood there, blinking.
"Look, Holcomb, as far as I'm concerned, the deal's on. Fine. Thanks for helping me out back there, too. But just thanks—no further payment. And no kidding around. This is a business deal. Have you got that straight, or do I burn you down where you stand and find another boy?"
She meant it. I looked down at her hand, and one of the Colts was in it.
"Okay." I hadn't meant that crack as a pass, but as long as the question had come up, it was all right by me to have it settled right here. "But put that thing away before I make you eat it."
She grinned, suddenly, and put the gun back. "I'm sorry, Ash. But it's the best way I've ever found to establish a clear-cut business relationship. Partners?"
She stuck out her hand, and I took it.
"Deal."
A siren rose and died on Rocket Row. Pat jumped back. "Damn it!" she said. She shot a glance up the alley. "We'd better split up," she said. "Look, Ash," she said hastily, "I'll get in touch with you. Meanwhile, do what I tell you to, and don't waste time asking me why. I'll tell you later. All you have to do now is take the job Transolar is going to offer you. That's all. Take that job, and start to carry it out. I'll be in touch with you somewhere along the line."
She looked down toward the alley's mouth. I followed her glance, and saw shadowy figures of men running by.
"They'll be in here in a minute. I've got a car a couple of blocks away. I'll see you, Ash."
"Yeah. Hurry up," I added, as the first of the cops came warily into the alley.
I pulled my gun and ducked behind a barrel as she started to run. The cop yelled and came after her. I snapped a shot over his head, and that drove him into cover. Over the shouts that rose, I could hear her footsteps fading out.
I followed her cautiously, sliding from behind one ashcan to another, keeping the cops down with an occasional shot. I made it out of the alley and into the street, then ducked into a doorway, kicked the lock loose, took the stairs two at a time to the roof, and got away over the housetops.
And all the time, I was wondering about Pat, the job that Transolar was going to offer me, and how she'd known about it.
II
Mort Weidmann was the same Captain Weidmann who'd left an arm in the cockpit of a K class scoutbomber that he'd flown through a formation of Marties while he almost bled to death. He looked very military in his blue and silver uniform. It wasn't a TSN uniform, of
course, but even a Transolar Express rig makes an old soldier feel better.
He was another old friend of mine, like Thorsten. The three of us had been touched by the war, each in our separate ways. Mort was the one who didn't just feel a yearning for space, who didn't just ride on a TSN uniform because it was the one available way. Mort had loved the TSN itself, with a pride in the traditions that guys like Thorsten and me hadn't quite had. He'd been a better officer because of it— and the only one who couldn't have stayed.
And, as we'd gone our separate ways, so our ways of thinking had changed. Thorsten—well, he'd taken his choice, and some day I might have to go into the Belt and do something about it, but Mort's attitude hurt. He didn't have any respect for me—he couldn't have, for a man who'd resigned his commission and become a planet-hopper. He stood at the window in his office, his phony arm tucked into a pocket, his moustache moving up and down as he talked to me.
"I don't know why they picked you, Ash," he said.
I leaned back in my chair. "I don't either—unless maybe it's because they couldn't find anybody else with my qualifications. Or maybe it's because they can trust me, and they know it." I was getting pretty mad. Weidmann was a right guy, but I was getting sick of being offered jobs without being told what they were. Two in two days was a little too much.
Weidmann turned around. "Don't get edgy, Ash! I've got my orders— they came down from the top brass, and I'll carry them, whether I approve or not. But don't get me sore. I'm authorized to offer you ten thousand dollars, plus expenses, for one trip to Titan and back. You'll be carrying extremely valuable cargo, and you'll be expected to deliver it intact. Do you want the job, or not?"
I didn't answer him right away. What was wrong with him? There was more than just dislike riding his voice.
"I don't get," I stalled. "Like you've said, why me? And why Titan? There's nothing out there. Besides, the Asteroid Belt is full of Marties,
to say nothing of Thorsten and his crew. Nobody in his right mind would try to make that trip without a convoy."
Weidmann flushed. "For your information," he said, "there's a small scientific staff in a bubble on Titan. They need a new charge for their power pile, and we've got the shipping contract. Our problem is to get it to them without Thorsten or the Martians learning about it and grabbing it up. That's why we dug you up. We need somebody who can fly it out to them and fight off raiders at the same time. You're still the best available."
So that was the big job! No wonder there were so many phony things going on!
"For God, for Country, and for Transolar, huh?" I said, watching the blood leave his face. "Now why should I help you pull your fat contracts out of the fire? What's it to me if a bunch of technicians don't get their damn fuel? The stuff'd be worth plenty to either Thorsten or the Marties. Living in the Asteroids isn't fun—I've done it, and it takes power to maintain a bubble. Believe me, they'll throw everything they've got to keep a ship carrying a pile charge from making it past them."
I must have sounded pretty nasty about it, because Weidmann actually yanked that murderous motorized artificial arm out of his pocket. He pulled up his shoulders and looked at me like I was something floating down a sewer, but he kept his voice even.
"All right, Ash. Ten thousand, plus expenses. You'll be given a new kind of ship. It's a model we picked up from a manufacturer who had his contract cancelled by the TSN. She was originally designed for armed reconnaissance, and we've installed the weapons called for in the original specifications. She'll outfly anything with jets on it, and stand off a cruiser, given room to maneuver. Does that soothe you, or do you want a convoy, too?" he added scornfully.
I lit a cigarette and pretended to think it over. Actually, of course, I was going to take the job. I would have, anyway, but there were two additional reasons why I wouldn't turn it down. There was Pat, of course, and her orders. Most important though, had been the fact that the message to report to Weidmann that I'd found in my mailbox at
the Spacemen's Hiring Hall had borne a slightly different Post Office cancellation on the stamp than the usual. The "T" in United wasn't quite formed the way it was on the regular stamp. It wasn't apparent unless you looked for it—but it was as good as a big red sign that spelled out "Official United Terrestrial Government Business—Act as Directed Within," because that was what it meant.
"Sounds better than I expected," I admitted. "All right. When do I go?"
Weidmann didn't show any expression to indicate disappointment or satisfaction. He simply said, "Tonight, after we check over the details. The ship's equipped with standard TSN controls, and you'll have lots of time to test her flight characteristics once you get out in space."
"What happens if she explodes? Don't I get to test her first?"
"No—there isn't time, and it would be a dead giveaway." For the first time, I saw something like satisfaction on Weidmann's face. "And if she explodes ... well, frankly, Holcomb, that's your problem."
I spent the afternoon being briefed. One thing was off my mind—if I had official orders to take this job, then the SBI would be keeping a tab on me. It made a difference, knowing that no matter what kind of a mess I got into, somebody would at least know what had happened to me, and, most important, why.
I was given a Company flight suit, and a hip rig for my Sturmey I put those on, and was taken to within a block of the port in a shuttered car.
Not going all the way to the spaceport was my idea. The reason I gave Weidmann was good enough—there was no sense putting up neon markers to indicate that I was up to something special—but I had a better one than that. I had to give Pat a chance to get in touch with me.
It didn't work out that way
