The Proposition

“Goodbye, Jessica.” Two hundred pounds of power and brawn pivoted away from her.

“Wait!” She chased after him. “There’s no guide at the big hotel as qualified as you. And now that my father has discovered my plans, he won’t let me go unless I’m escorted by a Mountie. Devil’s Gorge isn’t a light jaunt into the mountains and no one seems eager to go.”

He spun around. “Then why do you?”

She had prepared for the question for days, but it still prickled her skin. “I’m trying to locate Dr…. Finch.”

Travis frowned. “I know him. He’s been through here before. He’s helped a lot of folks.”

Helped was not the right word. “I’ve—I’ve been tracing him for the last year and a half and I hear he has a base in Devil’s Gorge.”

“I thought he set up his practice on the West Coast, north of Vancouver.”

Is that what the Mounties thought? She fumbled with her drawstring purse. “But I heard it from someone in Montreal, and another source since.”

“At the charm school?”

She looked away and nodded.

“Why are you looking for him?”

“I’m writing an article on doctors for the Pacific Medical Journal.” On quacks and charlatans.

He assessed her. “You’re a medical journalist?”

She nodded.

“Why would you need to work?”

“I enjoy it. It’s something I’m good at, and…I’m needed.”

He pondered that for a moment.

“It’s an interest I began in Montreal. I’m still learning, but they’ve published three articles already.”

Dr. Finch had hurt a lot of people. She believed he’d gone by another name in Montreal—by Dr. King. When she found him, she’d expose him and Travis could jail him.

The blue in Travis’s eyes deepened, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was no longer solely occupied with ball gowns and fancy dinner shows. “And I imagine by speaking to him, you could write a better article, perhaps land an interview and a better paycheck.”

There was always a monetary bonus to getting an interview with any subject, but she’d fight her way to Dr. Finch for no money.

“I told you,” he said. “The only thing I want on my leave is to be left alone.”

He stalked past her. The stall boards rose to just above his waist level, but met her at shoulder height.

“I know you’re delivering your horses. You’re selling your three prize broodmares to a buyer who will be meeting you there.”

He stopped and faced her.

“The superintendent told me. Why are you selling them so far away? I would think there’d be plenty of buyers here.”

“I did sell them here when the buyer was visiting, but he lives there. And it’s as far away as possible, which is fine with me.”

She didn’t understand his answer. “Why?”

“That’s no one’s affair but my own.”

“I thought breeding horses was…You seem so good at what you do. You seem to love—”

“It’s no one’s affair but—”

“Your own,” she finished. “Listen, I’m prepared to pay you as my part of the bargain. Lots.”

He walked away.

“One hundred dollars,” she shouted after him. “And another hundred on safe delivery!”

He turned toward her, his eyes misty. “It’s always about money with you people, isn’t it?”

Her throat clamped. “Not always.”

Not anymore. But no one knew about her problem—or at least believed how Dr. Finch had deceived and devastated her.

She followed Travis as he walked around the stalls. “Mighty fine horse,” she said about the beautiful bay in the corner. Its muscles glistened reddish brown.

Travis didn’t respond, but she saw him grow rigid.

“I said, it’s a mighty fine mare.”

He cleared his throat, but his head didn’t turn in the bay’s direction. “She’ll bring in a fine dollar.”

“What kind of horse is it?”

He blinked but still didn’t look at it. “Some people call them running horses, some call them quarter horses.”

“On account of their speed, ma’am,” said Shamus the stable boy, passing with an armful of straw. “Their muscular legs and rump make them excellent at racing the quarter mile.”

Travis’s gaze followed the boy. A muscle in the man’s cheek quirked. “And also at maneuvering through cattle, which makes them excellent on cattle drives. This one’s sold to a rancher.”

She found it odd that he wouldn’t look at the horse. “Ah, one of the broodmares you’re selling.”

That seemed to make him angrier. He scowled. “Let me make myself clear, Miss Haven. I don’t care what you’re up to, who your friends are or what you do with your time. Leave me alone.”

She felt dizzy and wavered on her feet. She knew his response stemmed from Caroline, and Jessica was sorry that she’d caused the woman any grief. But it was unfair of Travis to blame Jessica for everything.

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond. His mouth tightened.