Snow Angel Read online

  After a moment, the realization that he was the reason for her sudden calm sank in through the layers of comfortable denial. A deep unease settled in her stomach. She had allowed herself to become dependent on this man. She’d relaxed her guard and let him mean something to her. Sinking quietly back down into the warm covers, she sternly lectured herself, replaying in her mind the faces and ways humankind had failed her—thinking of Ross Brandon, then Margaret and Henry Dunning, then back further, face after face, until she saw the wraithlike image of her own mother, an image she never let herself see. She forced herself to recognize that here in this cabin, with this man, was a new kind of threat, one that could destroy her far more thoroughly than the others. She had to get away from him before she never wanted to leave.

  With new determination, she sat up on the sofa and tested her feet. They were much better, though not well enough for the long walk back to Juneau. She didn’t ever again want to plunge back into snow that reached her waist, but she would think of something. She must think of something. She glanced behind her and saw that Noah was wiping the soap off his face, looking at her.

  “Good morning,” he said. The outer corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile, genuinely happy to see her.

  It was such a domestic thing to say. Had anyone ever said that to her before? She felt anger overtake her. Quickly turning away she said in a stiff voice, “Before you go and ask how I’m feeling, let me tell you. I’m stiff and sore from lying down so much, and I don’t smell very good either. I’m hungry and I need a bath. Is there any possibility I can get a bath?”

  Noah’s brow creased and with a wavering smile he said, “Sure, I have a tub. I’ll fill it up for you and set it in front of the fire. It will take awhile to warm though, so if you want to go over to the table, I’ll cook you some breakfast while you wait.”

  She gritted her teeth in frustration. He was so good! So unable to understand her response that she wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he be like everyone else and shout back at her? She would know how to respond to that. Instead he made her feel churlish and whiny by being so patient.

  “Thank you,” she said in a low voice instead.

  Noah only nodded and set about getting her breakfast of sourdough biscuits and gravy on the table, all the while talking to her like … she was his friend, like she was his equal.

  “I’ll need to go back out to the smokehouse for some more meat today. It’s a good thing the storm finally blew itself out. We’re running low on wood, too.”

  His list of his chores made Elizabeth feel guilty. Her bath would no doubt put him behind schedule, but he wasn’t complaining. He never seemed to protest the ebb and flow of life’s changing moments.

  “I should get back to Juneau.” It sounded harsh in the face of his kindness, but she couldn’t help it she was disrupting his life.

  He paused in the act of making biscuits—something she couldn’t help but feel she should be doing for him.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” He sounded hesitant, like he knew she wouldn’t like it. “I’m not sure you’re ready to travel yet.”

  “No, maybe not yet. But soon.”

  He nodded. “Let’s get you a bath set up. We can figure out your plans later.”

  He clearly didn’t want her to leave. She pondered it, wondering what he might want with her. What could a man who had everything want from a woman like her? But she remained quiet, watching him hurriedly eat his breakfast and then rush out to fetch a big metal tub stored in the rafters of his barn. She watched quietly as he hauled it through the door, placed it in front of the fire and then set to work hauling buckets of snow. The snow piled high in the tub made her shiver. It would probably take some time to melt, all that snow.

  Spearing another forkful of fluffy biscuit and swirling it in the brown gravy, she took a bite, a spectator from her comfortable seat at the kitchen table. His cooking was really good, just enough salt and not a lump in sight. She had watched him prepare the dough for the biscuits using his clay pot of sourdough starter to make the bread rise. Every morning he mixed the dough, let it rise, and then rolled it out and cut it into biscuits. Coming fresh from the oven for breakfast they were wonderful, light and flaky and oozing with butter. She knew the importance of a good batch of starter for sourdough; it could last forever and keep a person alive on the trail. His biscuits were just about the best she’d ever had, which again brought to mind this puzzle—he was just too perfect. There had to be a chink in that shining armor somewhere, and she was going to find it. She would find it and then push and push on that spot until he pushed her out of his cabin back to the safety of the strangers in Juneau.

  After filling the tub to the top with snow, Noah went to the stove and carried a large pot of boiling water over to the rim. Every so often he glanced over at her at the table. He would smile or comment on some small matter, but what his eyes spoke to her sent new tremors through her body. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, this man liked her.

  The tub emitted a great hissing sound as the steaming water melted the snow into slushy piles that soon turned into lukewarm water. After another fifteen minutes, Noah had another pot ready and poured it in. Then another and another until the cold, harsh, deadly snow had turned into something inviting, something desirable. Elizabeth could hardly wait to get in.

  Clearing his throat Noah said, “I have chores to do in the barn, then I plan to chop some wood, so I’ll be gone awhile. The soap and a towel are in the top drawer of the bureau. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”

  Elizabeth looked down at the shirt she was still wearing—his shirt—and asked in a rush, “Are my clothes still here?” She hadn’t seen them hanging to dry for days.

  “Of course. They’re in the bottom drawer.” He pointed to the bureau, pulling on his winter gear as he talked. “Well, I’ll be back around noontime.”

  With that he was out the door.

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Forcing herself up, she walked unsteadily over to the bureau and looked for her clothes. There they were, practically her only possessions in the world, folded into neat squares and lying on top of some other shirts like the one she was wearing. After closing the drawer, she opened a narrow top drawer and started digging around for the soap. She found it, a big, flaky cake smelling of lye that she could hardly grip with one hand. The washcloth was easy to find, right beside the soap, but a towel … hadn’t he said the towel was here also? Still rummaging through his things, she found a pocketknife with a sharp blade. Staring at it for a moment, she made her decision and dropped it onto the top of her pile. She could hide it on her person after her bath. She might not need it here, but there was always tomorrow. She would need it someday.

  Glancing around, she saw the towel draped over the washbowl. He’d probably forgotten he had already used it this morning after he shaved. It must be his only one. She reached for it, noting it was still damp and lifted it to her nose. It smelled like him. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent … manly, woodsy, like the land and a man melded. It reached something inside her, making a warmth come over her that startled her. Quickly she lowered the towel, wishing he had another, something sterile and free of … anything. Without that choice she hefted it with her other supplies and hobbled over to the steaming tub of melted snow.

  Piling her goods on a nearby chair, she dipped a finger into the water. Perfect. She could hardly wait. How long had it been since she’d had a real bath, one of life’s few pleasures? Wresting the large buttons from their holes, she worked the plaid shirt from its place. Ugh. It was practically stuck to her back, she’d worn it so long and slept in it so soundly. She peeled off the itchy socks he’d given her, staring at her feet and feeling another rush of thankfulness that they weren’t ruined. Then gingerly, with a breath of anticipation, she stepped into the water. A loud sigh of pleasure escaped her as she sank down into the depths. She was surprised and pleased to find that she could almost stretch out completely, with her head
leaning against one curved end. Closing her eyes, she let her thoughts wander—wander from the small room to Noah, outside chopping wood.

  How strong he was. How strong and good. Had she stumbled upon a saint’s doorstep?

  * * *

  BY NOON NOAH’S arms were aching and his stomach was growling. She must be done bathing by now. After stacking the logs against one of the cabin walls and making a trip to his small smokehouse for the last of the deer meat, he headed back.

  Cautiously, feeling like a visitor in his own house, he opened the door, his face shielded by a load of wood with the bundle of wrapped meat stacked on top.

  “I’m back,” he announced hesitantly.

  He was walking into the kitchen to deposit the meat on the table when Elizabeth surprised him by saying pleasantly, and in a suddenly silkier voice than he remembered her having, “If you will lower the wood, I’ll take that bundle off the top for you.”

  He automatically did as requested, disgruntled with himself that his mind had seemed to stop working. After feeling the weight lifted, he turned, carried the wood to the fireplace, and busied himself by stacking it and building up the fire. After a time, curiosity got the better of him and he turned around. Instead of a sulky girl lying on the sofa in his excessively large shirt, he saw a radiant young woman, dressed in her own dry and very becoming clothes, busy cooking in his kitchen.

  Well, he amended after smelling the air, trying to cook. As he stood staring at her, she burned a finger on the handle of the iron skillet and let out a yelp. The noise shocked him into movement. Full of only good intent, he walked over to help. He reached for her hand. “Let me see it,” he commanded softly.

  She didn’t extend her hand toward him as he expected. Instead, she held it to her tight, shaking her head. “It’s fine. My own foolishness.”

  He reached for it. Taking her hand in a firm, steady grip he uncoiled her fingers so that he could examine the wounded finger. There was a red welt but no blister. He’d had enough of both in his early bachelor days to know the protocol. Noah wordlessly backed her to a wooden chair by the table, picked up a cloth, and went to the front door to pack it with snow.

  She didn’t resist this time, only looked at him with big brown eyes. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted him handling her, but she bravely held the offended finger out to him anyway.

  He smiled deep inside, seeing this small measure of trust, hoping to be worthy of it. “Hold it in the ice a few moments.” He gently wrapped the cloth around her finger, his eyes on the welt. Then he raised his gaze to hers, felt himself drowning in the deepness of her, seeing his reflection and then deeper, into her soul for a brief moment before she quickly looked down.

  “Just sit a minute. I’ll finish dinner.”

  He could sense Elizabeth’s eyes on him while he tried to save her meal.

  “I’m not much of a cook,” she said unnecessarily.

  Noah nodded in silent agreement as he took the charbroiled meat from the pan. The potatoes, lying next to the meat, were black in places, but still raw inside, and the biscuits … well, he guessed that’s what they were. He was afraid to ask.

  * * *

  ELIZABETH THOUGHT HIS silence meant he was angry. Aha, a chink in the armor. He wasn’t fond of anyone messing with his kitchen. A strange chink, but maybe it would qualify. With a sigh she asked, “I suppose you were born knowing how to cook?”

  Noah was looking at her as if he couldn’t really make out this new side of her. He cleared his throat and responded hesitantly, “No, I’ve lived alone for a long time. A person learns to cook after doing it for years.” His ears were red.

  “Well, I haven’t been in a kitchen much, but I’m sure, someday, after years of practice, I’ll be as competent as you.”

  “Sure you will, but in the meantime if you would like me to show you some basics, I could.”

  “OK.” She shrugged and smiled at him. “How long have you lived up here?”

  “Seven years now. Came up from Montana in ’90 to start a trading post with my friend, Will.” His eyes took on a faraway gleam. “My pa was a trader before he started ranching. He taught me everything he knew.”

  “What made you decide to come to Alaska?” Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him.

  He threw some fresh steaks into the pan as he talked, warming to the subject. “A friend of mine, Will Collins, came up first. We grew up together. When he got back to Montana we would sit around and talk about Alaska. Will couldn’t wait to get back here. He said I would feel the same once I came here, and he was right. I scouted around Juneau for six months before I found this place. It was summertime. You wouldn’t recognize this valley in the summer, it’s so different. Anyway, I was following Gold Creek. Usually I would go south and follow the road all the way to the Silver Bow Basin and Jumbo, the mine down that way. But that day I pushed east and found Granite Creek. I passed an amazing waterfall and then came into this lower basin. That’s where this cabin is now. The valley and lower slope are covered with wildflowers and berries in the summer. It was perfect. I knew it was the place I’d been searching for. I can’t imagine I’ll ever leave. It’s wild, unspoiled. It’s home.” He paused and gazed out the open window to the mountains, and Elizabeth suddenly understood why the windows had no curtains.

  “I guess the land has become a part of me, in my blood.” Looking suddenly sheepish, Noah snapped his attention back to the skillet on the stove.

  Elizabeth felt herself drawn to him even more. She’d never met anyone so sincere, so passionate about something.

  “I like it here, too,” she said softly.

  Noah turned toward her with his piercing blue eyes and said, “But you like it for its gold.”

  Elizabeth felt mesmerized by those eyes. Smiling deep into them, she said softly, “It’s called ‘gold fever,’ and I’ve had it for years. That’s what is in my blood.”

  * * *

  November 29, 1881

  Dear Mrs. Rhodes,

  I have just received word from my correspondent at the New York Orphan Asylum. She writes of a child, about four years old who matches your daughter’s description. I leave tomorrow with the great hope that we have found her. I will, of course, write immediately should I locate her. You didn’t mention the photograph in your letter. Does this mean that you don’t have one?

  Thank you for the extra funds sent by personal messenger. It is my great pleasure to assist you.

  Sincerely yours,

  Jeremiah Hoglesby

  Private Detective for Hire

  Four

  You really pan for gold?”

  “Sure. I’ve been mining since I was fourteen.” She paused, steel threading her next phrase. “I know I can do it if I can just get a claim.”

  “And you plan on going to the Klondike?” Noah asked with his brows raised.

  “Yes. I admit I haven’t mined alone before, but I did my share of the work. I can pan and work a sluice or a rocker. I know how backbreaking it is. If I can get my hands on a decent claim, I’ll hit pay dirt, I know I will.”

  Noah sighed and gave her a patronizing grin. “OK, you’re a miner. But do you have any idea the hardships on a trail like this one? There are mountains to traverse, lakes and rapids to cross. The Canadian Mounties won’t let you into the Yukon Territory without a ton of supplies that you have to pack there on your own back. Horses and dogs can only help some of the way, and only if the weather is just right for them. I’ve heard one of the trails has become a horse graveyard, so many of them have slipped and fallen into the ravines along the way. The trail is a muddy ice bog in the spring, and with all that melting snow, the rapids are so fast you can barely get a vessel down them with your life and supplies in tact. It’s no place for a woman.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “I’ll have you know I’ve traveled from one end of the West to the other. I’ve crossed mountains, streams, and rivers, and I’m as capable as any man. You just watch me tackle that trail
. Just … you … watch.”

  Noah held up his hands in surrender, “Now don’t go getting your feathers all ruffled. If you want to risk your fool neck, well then I guess there’s nothing I can do about it. But it seems to me you still have one big problem: What are you going to do until the spring thaw?”

  Elizabeth hadn’t quite figured that out yet, but she wasn’t about to let him know. “I’ll get a job in Juneau. Wait if I have to.” She shrugged. “It will just take a little longer than I originally planned.”

  Noah made a discouraging sound. “You’ll be lucky to find a job with so many others in the same situation. Do you have enough money to hold you over and buy all the supplies needed for the journey?”

  Elizabeth didn’t. She only had what little she had been able to take from Ross, the investigator who even now might be in Alaska looking for her. After the ship’s fare to Sitka, there wasn’t much left for precious supplies. She did need a job, and she would have to save every cent she made. But she really didn’t appreciate this line of questioning and attempted to change the subject, nodding toward the stove. “I may not be much of a cook, but doesn’t that smoke coming off the pan mean it’s done?” She raised her brows questioningly, as he had done earlier.

  Noah quickly saved the second batch of deer steak. Cutting off a small piece for her, he put it on her plate alongside some beans and leftover sourdough biscuits from breakfast. He seemed deep in concentration, so Elizabeth kept quiet. She watched him give her a plate with carefully small portions and sit down across from her.