The Unlikely Groom

Lucas blinked and shook his head. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He knew better. He was lucky to have this much.

He picked up the shot glass and drank.

Ashlynne Mackenzie stepped into the saloon with no more fanfare than was necessary. Just the thought of where she was and what she was doing caused her to shiver. She managed to suppress it by sheer strength of will. She couldn’t afford the weakness or even the appearance of it.

What was the name of this place? Ashlynne looked around but saw nothing in particular to distinguish this saloon from the others she’d been in tonight. It was loud and bright, cheerful in a frenetic sort of way, and a good deal warmer than the outdoors.

Even that couldn’t make her like it here. She didn’t.

A saloon?

A saloon. The truth repeated itself in a heavy, condemning voice.

Oh, God.

What was she doing here? But she knew. This was, after all, the fifth or sixth one she’d been in. Ashlynne couldn’t remember for certain—and maybe, she thought, she didn’t want to remember. It was bad enough that she found herself here at all. Worse, she didn’t see Ian anywhere in this place, either.

Ashlynne swallowed a disappointed sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. The night was bitterly cold and a terrible draft blew in beneath the poorly hung door, but the chill had nothing to do with the way she stood. That was due to other, far more important reasons. Such as, with her arms clutched around herself and her hands tucked away, no one could see that she trembled.

Take your time, she reminded herself with as much cheerful encouragement as she could muster. She took a breath and looked around once more. The room stretched as deep as it did wide, with tables scattered throughout in no apparent order. A bar graced the far wall, a surprisingly sturdy wooden arrangement compared with some of the others she’d seen. The wall behind it boasted shelves that held an array of bottles and glasses. A gilt-framed mirror hung as the area’s centerpiece. It was, by far, the most prosperous-looking place she’d seen in Skagway.

She didn’t doubt that Ian’s first choice would be a place very much like this.

Reminded of the urgency of her mission, Ashlynne turned to inspect the men who lounged at the various tables. They seemed contented enough, drinking the night away or staring dumbly at the capricious luck of the playing cards in their hands. But even looking again changed nothing.

Her heart sank. Ian wasn’t here.

She would have to keep looking.

“You lookin’ for someone, honey?”

“Come on over here, sweetheart, and give us a kiss for luck!”

The catcalls eliminated any errant sigh of disappointment. Her brief time in Skagway had already accustomed her to withholding her reactions. Ashlynne pressed her lips into a thin line rather than permit the scowl that would reveal more than she dared allow in a place such as this. Especially for a woman alone…

She turned to leave without ever having stepped more than a foot away from the entrance—and then she saw him.

It wasn’t Ian. Instead a stranger threaded his way through the scattered tables and chairs. Heading straight for her.

She should have been swamped with disappointment that it wasn’t Ian—or at least troubled by a new fear. Oddly enough, she was neither. She was, instead…captivated. By nothing more than the sight of this man. She’d never before been so taken by the mere sight of anyone.

He was big and muscular. Surprisingly so, she thought. He dressed in a fine broadcloth suit like those worn by the most elegant businessmen in San Francisco, and he was, she realized, even taller than Ian. That put him several inches over six feet and well above her own five foot five. And as he moved closer, his features became more distinct, appearing far less rugged than she would have expected for a man who seemed at home in the wilderness of Alaska.

Or in a saloon.

He looked to be in his prime, no more than thirty, and almost…aristocratic. His nose was straight, perhaps a little too big to be considered perfect, but it suited his high cheekbones and clean-shaven, square jaw. And while his dark blue eyes pierced her with the force of his stare, they did little enough to draw her attention away from his mouth. His lips were full in a classic bow shape, and the whole image gave him an improper, seductive air.

An air of wickedness. Something…irresistible. And something that enticed and repelled with equal fervor.

Or did that impression come from his overlong blond hair? It scraped well past his collar, almost to his shoulders, and tumbled into his eyes. The blunt cut looked tantalizingly tousled, as if he had done nothing more than run his fingers through it once he’d left his bed. Or perhaps someone else—one of the soiled doves who seemed to abound in Skagway?—had done it for him.

Ashlynne swallowed, astonished by the shamelessness of her thoughts. Her heart had found an extra, erratic beat that left her gasping. She tried to catch her breath but couldn’t seem to manage it. Her heart stumbled, her breathing continued with no apparent rhythm…and the man kept coming.

What was wrong with her? He was just a man, after all.

He stopped an arm’s length away and frowned. “Who are you?” he demanded without preamble.

“I…” His rudeness sent her thoughts tumbling with a new uncertainty and she couldn’t quite formulate the haughty answer she might have liked. “I’m Ashlynne Mackenzie. Who are you?”

He blinked, as though he hadn’t expected the question. But then, she hadn’t exactly planned to make such a request of him and certainly not in such a saucy tone. She regretted it the instant it was too late. She wanted these people—these strangers—to help her; insolence would hardly encourage them to do so.

“I’m Lucas Templeton.” The man surprised her when he answered, considering how very…detached he sounded. The fire in his eyes was gone, as well. Still, he didn’t look away and the aloof distance in his stare left her feeling nearly as uneasy as had his earlier vehemence. She refused to let him see it, however.

“I own the Star of the North,” he added after a moment.

“The Star—” She blinked and cast a cursory glance around her. It was an unthinking reaction; she hadn’t forgotten for a moment where she was or why she was here. “That’s the name of this place? The Star of the North?”

“You didn’t know?”

She shook her head, thinking instead that she would be safe to settle her gaze somewhere near Lucas Templeton’s shoulder. Unfortunately looking at him at all only made her more aware of his strength and size in an entirely new—and intimate—way.

She jerked her gaze up to his and held herself steady as she tried to regulate her breathing. “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping her apology might give her a reprieve from the bone-deep intensity of his glare. “I’ve been in so many of these places tonight I lost track.”

“So many?”

The question, low and incredulous, kept her eyes drawn to his, no matter that she knew better. In spite of the dim interior, she could see that his expression remained narrowed with distrust. In fact, he made no attempt to disguise it; he didn’t blink or look away, revealing exactly what he wanted her to see.

“I…yes.” She swallowed in an effort to free up an answer. Surely that would help with this breathlessness—wouldn’t it? “I’ve been in a number of—”

“How many?” he interrupted.

“I beg your pardon?” Her spine stiffened despite her very precarious situation. Perilous predicament or not, she didn’t tolerate anyone making such rude, autocratic demands of her.

“How many?” he repeated as he stepped forward.

He smelled of whiskey. Ashlynne caught the scent, a familiar one that made her want to back away. She resisted the impulse and the weakness it would reveal, reminding herself sternly that she had no excuse for it. She’d known exactly what to expect before she’d ever entered the first saloon. She’d grown up as a Mackenzie in San Francisco, after all. Her father had been very clear in his choice of vices and he’d trained his only son quite effectively to follow in his footsteps.

And if his daughter had proved to be an utter failure…well, fate had given her this unexpected chance to succeed.

“How many?” Templeton asked again. His voice came sharp with impatience this time.

Ashlynne stiffened and offered him a disapproving glare. “Five or six,” she said woodenly.

“And why would you do that?” He paused and angled his head as though suddenly looking at her from a different perspective. “Are you looking for work?”

“No!” She meant to resist the provocation of this man’s impolite questions, but the word came out too sharp all the same. “I am not looking for work. I’m looking for—someone.”

Just because she answered, she didn’t have to give him any more information than was strictly necessary. Even so, she couldn’t afford to dismiss him too quickly; Lucas Templeton left little doubt that he was not a man to be denied.