The Proposition

“I’m not finished speaking.” His grip on her arm ripped her from her spot.

Her head snapped back, blond hair swaying against her chest. “I am.” She tried to yank free but his hold was like a wooden clamp.

“You’ll listen to me until I say you can go.”

The man was a vain mule but she would tolerate him for the duration of her cause. She’d never ever trust him. Lord only knew how condescending he’d be if he knew the truth. She trembled and tried again to pull free.

He held fast and drew her closer, an inch away from his patronizing face. “I’ll supply your horses.”

She didn’t flinch. “But we’ve got two perfectly—”

“I said I’ll supply them. The broodmares I’m bringing are valuable, and I won’t chance the interaction of horses whose temperaments I don’t know.”

“All right. You bring them.”

“And I’ll pack the supplies and food.”

“But Mr. Merriweather—”

“You and Giles can each bring one small bag with a change of clothes.”

“But that’s not nearly—”

“One bag. Can you manage or not?”

“One bag,” she repeated. “And my reticule of course, plus my small duffel with my notepad and pencils.”

“I said one.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. One.” She aired her frustrations in one big exhale. “Are we finished?”

“Seven days and nights,” he said, holding open the door for her to enter. But he was no gentleman, she thought. “That’s all I’ve promised. When we get there, there’ll be a Mounties’ outpost with three men you can count on for further help, and a small inn where you can stay while you’re writing. I’ll be heading back immediately, so you and your chaperon can find your own way home.”

It was better than nothing. However, she stormed by him in annoyance.

Peering around the noisy crowd, she tried to find the hosts. She’d give her regards then leave. Mr. Merriweather needed to know they had to repack. Maybe the mercantile was still open for her to buy a lighter bag. Luckily, it was Monday and she’d already done her banking earlier today.

The soft sounds of a fiddler and accordion player wafted above the chatting heads, a lively melody winding through a cloud of cigar smoke. Jovial diners filled one side of the pub, feeding on cabbage and beans while on the other side, people threw darts at dartboards, raised their glasses at the walnut bartop, or clapped along to the music.

“There you are, Travis,” said his sister Shawna, coming up beside them.

Jessica was surprised to find Travis still at her side. When she turned to look, she brushed against his rock-hard chest. His presence dominated her.

Shawna, long black hair tumbling over her shoulder while she held a three-month-old baby in her arms, peered tentatively at Jessica and nodded. “Miss Haven.”

The baby boy, with lids closed, balled up one tiny fist and sucked on the other’s loose fingers. Jessica smiled. She had that to look forward to. “Shawna, I want to offer my congratulations and wish you and your family the best.”

The woman kept her distance. “Thank you.”

Jessica knew she wasn’t welcome even though invitations had been extended to the whole town. Her father always went to these events—for the company of his friends, yes, but Jessica knew he also went for harmless political reasons, to have his photograph taken and name written in the papers. It seemed to work, for the town had reelected him twice, and most folks genuinely liked him. Except the Reids. “I’m leaving now. I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

Travis grumbled but Jessica ignored him. She noticed the commander’s sister, the eager widow, waving to him from the opposite side of the pub and felt more ill at ease.

“You won’t be joining your father, Miss Haven?” Shawna nodded at the well-tailored heavy man in the corner with the slim redheaded wife at his elbow.

“I’ve come only to give my regards to you. Good night.”

“Good night,” Shawna offered a bit too readily.

A man bumped Jessica from behind as she swung away.

“It’s dark,” said Travis. “You need someone to walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jessica hollered above the crowd, squeezing past his sister.

She couldn’t help but overhear the sister’s whispered comments to her brother. “What’s this I hear about you taking her to Devil’s Gorge? You know how Caroline felt about her…how we all feel about her.”

Travis whispered something back but Jessica was already out of earshot and heading to the exit. She burst through the doors, eager for calm, pine-scented air and the privacy to slow her beating heart.

Her walk home was only two blocks, but the streets were darker and lonelier than when they’d come. She picked up her pace. A man skidded beside her and nearly made her jump.

“Travis, you scared me.”

“Just wanted to make sure the mayor’s daughter got home to her mansion safely.”

She bristled. People treated her politely because of who her father was, and never, it seemed, on her own merit. “My house is in view. You can leave.”

“One bag,” he reminded her.

“I’ll manage.”

“Quarter to six at the fort’s gate.”

“Quarter to…”

Now he wanted her there even earlier than before.

“Do you think we’ll be able to stand each other for seven days?”

Her heart quivered at the question. “Yes,” she answered dutifully, knowing it was best to appease him. She no longer cared what he thought of her personally. Nothing mattered except finding Dr. Finch and having him return her most precious gift.

She’d been unable to trace any adoption agencies in Montreal that had dealings with a Dr. King or Finch, but someone at the university had told her Dr. Finch was planning an agency out West. Devil’s Gorge, she figured, was as good a starting point as any to search. An adoption agency for a fee, she imagined, and wondered if her baby had been sold.

She couldn’t tell Travis more or he might react the same way her father had, or worse, he might jeopardize her plan.

Her father’s words rang in her mind. You weren’t lucid that night, honey. Your accusations against Dr. Finch have proven to be false. Please don’t say any more about them. People will think you’ve lost your mind, and it will ruin your future chance of marriage.

But, she reminded herself, Travis was a police officer. He’d been sworn to uphold the law, despite what he might think of her character or reputation if her problems were revealed.