feelings for any woman ever again.
So why had Elizabeth Breckenridge changed all that? It made him so angry he could spit. This was never supposed to happen to him again. For one thing, it was dangerous to care. That meant risking having his heart shattered yet again, and it wasn’t even mended from the first disaster. Besides that, he was full of too much hatred and anger to find room for caring about anyone. He hadn’t even cared about himself for the past four years. How many times had he wished that in pursuit of a criminal he’d get shot and killed so the pain in his heart would go away forever? Then he could be with Jenny…and little Ethan.
There came the sharp pain again, so real that it made him grasp the rail and bend over. For months now he’d managed to stop thinking about his son altogether. Maybe, just maybe, he could have gotten over Jenny, if only he still had his little boy…his sweet, innocent, joyful little blue-eyed, blond-haired son named after his daddy. From the day he’d had to look at that beautiful child lying dead he’d never again used his real first name, because every time someone would call him Ethan he’d think about that baby. He used only his middle name now. That helped some.
A hard sneeze brought him out of the pain of the past long enough to remember how lousy he felt today. This was the worst cold he’d ever experienced, and it hadn’t helped sleeping on the deck last night. It had rained, as it seemed to do several times a day in this place, but at night it was a cold rain that went to the bone. He’d covered himself with a tarp, but the dampness had enveloped him anyway. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. It hurt to breathe, hurt even more to cough, hurt to look at bright light, hurt to move at all.
As soon as he reached Skagway he hoped to find one available hotel room where he could stay in bed for a day or two before heading into God-knew-what in his effort to reach Dawson. He could only hope that the holdup wouldn’t mean missing his chance to corral Roland Fisher. If he somehow heard Clint was after him, he might slip away.
Life sure had taken a strange turn since he’d first tackled the man who stole Elizabeth’s handbag. Something about this whole trip just didn’t seem right, kind of like he suddenly was not in full control of his life. Elizabeth weighed on his mind like an anvil, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep from feeling like he should watch out for her. He thought he’d be glad to reach Skagway, where he could let her go her own way. If that meant she’d really be dumb enough to try to reach Dawson this late in the year, then so be it. And yet the thought of it drove him nuts. How could he let her try to do that alone? Stupid as the idea was, he had to admire her gumption…and her unending faith that God would help her.
At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her having that faith. God would find a way to shatter it, just as his own faith had been shattered. Fact was, he hadn’t even given much thought to God for the past four years, until Miss High-and-Mighty-Holy-Roller had come along, constantly throwing God in his face. There again, he had no control over having to listen to her rhetoric about God and Jesus and prayer and all that bunk. That’s what made it so senseless to think about helping her get to Dawson, which was exactly what he’d been thinking about doing…probably the worst decision he could possibly make.
Another sneeze. Could a man feel any worse than this without being dead?
“Clint?”
Someone touched his arm. Naturally it was Elizabeth.
“You’re even sicker, aren’t you? I’m so sorry you had to sleep on the deck last night. I told you I’d gladly go back below.”
He sneezed again, which only increased his irritation with her and then enhanced his anger with himself for being irritated with her, because the way he was feeling inside wasn’t her fault. It was his own. Still, that didn’t stop his sharp retort. “I wish you’d stop bringing it up. I told you that you could have the bed and that’s that.” He sneezed, and she leaned closer to