“There is something you must do for me.”
“Me?” He looked at her, his dark eyes shining in the firelight. “Your father was my friend. I’ll do what I can, but I’m leaving town tomorrow and don’t plan on ever coming back.”
As if of their own accord, his eyes washed over her body. He looked away abruptly, embarrassed, it seemed.
She pulled the buckskin tighter, conscious of her wet dress clinging to her, outlining her hips and legs. “That’s exactly why it must be you, Mr. Crockett. You and no other.”
He turned toward her, then, and narrowed his eyes. They were black again. Black as a Dublin night in Liffey Quay. “What exactly is it you want, Miss Dennington?”
She’d likely burn in hell for what she was about to propose, but she mustered her courage and did it anyway.
“I want you to marry me.”
Praise for Debra Lee Brown’s previous titles
Ice Maiden
“Ice Maiden is an enticing tale that will warm your heart.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
The Virgin Spring
“Debra Lee Brown makes her mark with The Virgin Spring, which should be read by all lovers of Scottish romances.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Debra Lee Brown pens an enjoyable tale of intrigue and adventure.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“A remarkable story. The fast pace, filled with treachery, mystery, and passion, left me breathless.”
—Rendezvous
#591 MY LADY’S TRUST
Julia Justiss
#592 CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF
Carol Finch
#593 DRAGON’S DOWER
Catherine Archer
Gold Rush Bride
Debra Lee Brown
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
DEBRA LEE BROWN
The Virgin Spring #506
Ice Maiden #549
The Mackintosh Bride #576
Gold Rush Bride #594
To my mother, Marilyn Berger.
And my father, Lee Hargus
With love
Contents
Chapter One
Tinderbox, California, 1849
Kate Dennington arrived too late.
Months aboard ship, a fortnight tromping across the steaming jungles of Panama. Riverboats, mule trains and enough miles on her feet to wear holes in her shoes.
And all of it for nothing.
She ground her teeth behind pursed lips and met the solicitor’s sympathetic gaze. “When did my father die?”
“Tuesday.” Mr. Vickery looked past her out the window to the graveyard across the road. A fresh mound of earth stared back at them.
Tuesday. She swiped at her eyes, but her hand came away dry, as always. No tears, girl. Bear up. She could hear her mother speak it in the Irish, even now, so many years after her death. Denningtons didn’t cry. Not ever.
“W-what day is today?”
She’d arrived in San Francisco nearly a week ago, ill from the rough steamship journey up the coast, and with barely enough funds left to make her way to the frontier mining town where her father, Liam Dennington, had hoped to make his fortune.
“Sunday.” The honeyed voice belonged to a well-dressed gentleman who pushed his way through the throng of miners and tradesmen who’d gathered in Dennington’s Grocery and Dry Goods the moment Kate had arrived.
Vickery stepped aside, as if in deference to him. “Um, this is Mr. Landerfelt—from Virginia. Eldridge Landerfelt. Head of the town council and proprietor of Landerfelt’s Mercantile and Mining Supply.”
Kate had seen it amidst the hodgepodge of tents, shanties and cabins that served as the center of mining trade for the densely forested area. Both the gentleman and his enterprise seemed far too rich for a town the likes of Tinderbox.
“Eldridge, this is Miss Den—”
“I know who she is,” Landerfelt drawled. He looked her over, as if he were sizing her up.
Kate arched a brow and looked back. His haughty stance reminded her of an upstart prizefighter she’d once seen in a makeshift boxing ring in a warehouse in Dublin,