Gold Rush Groom - By Jenna Kernan Page 0,2
many minutes, finally coming to complete stillness as he stared out at the inlet. He’d seen it now, the second wave of water reaching ten feet as it rushed toward him. His chin nearly touched his chest. Ah, now that was an expression she recognized—for hadn’t she seen that look in the faces of so many hopeless men and women when the jobs dried up back there?
It was a rare thing to witness one of his class brought so low. She savored the moment.
He glanced up. Their eyes met and held. He recognized the truth now; that even he couldn’t save it all. She would offer her services and see just what sort of a man fate had cast in her path. It wasn’t the offer she wanted to make, but best to test the waters first. She stooped to pat Nala, who sat with her long pink tongue lolling.
Part of her hoped he would turn her down. But surely he couldn’t tell by looking at her what she was or where she had come from. She wore fine clothing now and had paid good money for lessons to help eliminate the traces of her Irish heritage that had clung to her every word like cold porridge to a bowl.
Could he?
She set her jaw, gathering her courage. Her desperation eased the next step.
“Would you like help moving your belongings?” She had concentrated hard not to drop the h in help.
“You’re a hauler?”
His clipped New England accent held no hint of the gentle brogue of the Irish. He managed his heffortlessly, while simultaneously adding a definite inflection of skepticism. She inclined her head, dignified as a queen.
She took in his black hair and a straight nose that spoke of a childhood which did not include being clouted in the face.
Lily fingered the bump at the bridge of her own nose then dropped her hand, suddenly very self-conscious. All the Shanahans were fighters. No shame in that.
She met his gaze, inhaling sharply at his soulful whiskey colored eyes. He wore no hat and his unruly hair brushed his wide brow. His skin glowed from the exertion with perfect good health. Why he was young, she realized, perhaps only twenty, the same age as Lily. Had his size made her think he was older? He held her gaze and for some reason she couldn’t seem to breathe as he looked at her. Her gaze fixed on the curve of his upper lip, the twin lines upon his cheeks that flanked his mouth, the dark stubble that he’d likely scraped away before leaving the steamship this morning. His jaw was wide and the muscles looked strong as if he spent a good deal of his time clenching his teeth.
When she met his eyes again, she felt off-balance and slightly dizzy, as if she were the one who had been dashing in and out of the shifting waves.
The man was handsome as sin, but Lily forced herself to breathe, if a bit more quickly than customarily, for she’d not be caught gawking at him like a child at a candy store window.
“How much?” he asked.
This time she noticed that the rich timbre of his deep voice seemed to vibrate through her insides. She pressed a hand to her middle to gather her flagging resolve.
“I’m not interested in your money.”
He frowned. Was he so used to buying everything he needed? She pushed back her indignation. No time for that now.
He quirked a brow, finally fixing her with those arresting eyes before taking the bait. “What would you have from me then?”
“I find myself in need of a partner to Dawson.”
His jaw dropped and then he recovered himself and grinned.
“You’re joking.” He cocked his head. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Well, I rather think you would be a liability.”
She didn’t argue, but only glared at him as another three-foot wave beat against his legs, rocking his foundation.
“Well, you’re a dark horse yourself, but I’m in a gambling mood.”
His eyes widened at the insult. “You think I’m a liability? How so?”
How so? She wanted to smack the smug arrogance off his handsome face.
“A greenhorn dandy, with not enough sense to secure his own supplies. Did you think that servants lined the rivers here with the nuggets?”
He lifted his hands to stop her as another wave hit. Two crates smashed together, spilling wood shavings onto the mud.
“Not to worry,” she called, “with luck that bore tide will drag you right back to Seattle.”
That seemed to strike a nerve, for his face reddened.
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