第 21 页

First December 1896. Weather today is crisp and clear. No new snow last night- buildup remains at approximately eighteen inches. Several miners seen milling about the saloon this a.m.- apparently it's now too cold to be on the trail. Hard winter is close, and the men who have spent months mining Bonanza Creek are returning home. The pen trembled in her hands, and she lifted its tip from the paper. The entry was wrong. Not all of the men were returning home. Not the one who mattered.

Tears misted her eyes. It had been forty-one days since Stone Man had left, and every day she missed him more. And all because of a single kiss.

It had changed everything, that kiss. One brief touch of the lips and the guise of platonic friendship had been stripped away. They'd been left naked and vulnerable, unable to pretend they didn't care for each other.

Stone Man, being Stone Man, had run from the truth.

Devon, being Devon, had analyzed it. She'd thought and thought about the kiss-clinically, objectively, and passionately. She'd read and reread Doctor Cowan's book. Nothing helped. She simply couldn't rationalize away the fact that she wanted more from Stone Man than a single kiss.

God help her, she wanted more.

It didn't matter that he didn't love her; it didn't matter that Dr. Cowan would label her a wanton.

For once in her life all that mattered were feelings-the feelings she had for Stone Man. She wanted, just once, to be loved as a woman should be loved, and Stone Man was her last and only chance.

She was dreaming, of course, but what was wrong with dreaming? And besides, she told herself, she wasn't asking for much-all she wanted was one golden memory to take home with her.

She'd made that decision weeks ago, and every day it grew stronger. Now all she needed was for him to come back.

A knock at the door shattered her musings. She wiped the haze from her eyes and plastered a smile on her face. Thank God for Bear. The friendship that had sprouted between them in the past month was her lifeline. Without him the long days in the post would have been unbearable.

She put on her fur-lined denim parka and winter gloves then opened the door. A blast of ice-cold air slapped her in the face. She staggered backward. Bear grabbed her arm and hauled her close, sheltering her from the wind.

"Pull your hood up," he hollered.

She flipped the wool-lined hood around her face and tied it in place. Bear's hand curled around her padded waist, and together they plunged into the arctic wind, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Look at the river this mornin'," Bear yelled.

She lifted her face just far enough to peek at the Yukon. Huge, battered chunks of ice churned in slow motion through the barely moving water. An eerie, netherworld groan accompanied the river's icy death.

"Won't be more'n a day or two till it's froze solid," he noted.

When they reached the post, Bear immediately went to the stove and started a fire. Devon rushed past him, excited to check her Yukon thermometer. On the counter Bear had set up four bottles, one each of quicksilver, whiskey, kerosene, and Perry Davis Painkiller. Devon figured out the temperature in a glance. Only the quicksilver was frozen.

"It's only forty below," she informed him smartly.

"Better get me a bathing costume."

Giggling, she grabbed the coffeepot and headed outside to fill it with snow.

"Uh... don't put no coffee on for me."

"What?"

He cocked his head toward the table. "Sit down, Devon."

She felt a sudden, sharp pang of apprehension. Never in all the days they'd spent together had Bear used that tone of voice with her. He sounded like a father about to mete out punishment. She moved swiftly to the table and sat down. "Okay. I'm sitting."

"And I'm leaving."

"To your tent, I hope." There was the barest of quivers in her voice.

Pushing slowly to his feet, he shuffled over to the table and sat down, taking Devon's small white hand in his own. His eyes were sad. "The post'll only be open for another two or three weeks.

After that it's too damn cold. All us Yukoners do in the winter is sit in our tents, drinking to stay warm and wishing to hell we were somewhere else for Christmas."

"Stay, please." Desperation deepened her already husky voice. "I'll plan a Christmas you won't forget. We'll have-"

He squeezed her hand. "Hush, now. I ain't leavin' for good; I'm just gonna find Cornelius. He's shirked his responsibilities long enough, and it's time he came home..."

A lightning bolt came right out of the sky and slammed into Devon's chest. It's time he came home. Her heart started beating so hard she could hardly hear.

Bear started to rise. "Well, I'd best be-"

She clung to his hand. "No! I don't want to get him back this way-kicking and screaming all the way."

Bear smiled. "Don't worry. If he starts screaming, I'll knock him out."

"It's not funny," she said miserably. "He won't want comeback."

The twinkle slipped out of Bear's warm eyes. "Nope, won't."

She tried to smile and failed. Her vision blurred. "I... I want him to come back because he misses me-not because he's unconscious."

"I know, but we can't wait no more. You won't survive alone, and I can't move in with you." He stood, holding his arm out. "I'm gonna miss our morning talks, missy."

She flung herself at him. His arm curled around her, creating a harbor of safety. She pressed her cheek against the worn flannel of his workshirt and blinked hard, trying to keep the mist in her eyes from turning into a puddle. "I-I'll miss you, too."

He tightened his hold. "I won't be gone longer'n a lick. I 'spect I'll find Cornelius already on his way home."

She sniffled loudly. "Be careful, Bear."

"I'm always careful, missy. You just get that Christmas dinner ready. I'll be there."

His arm fell away from her body, and she pulled away slowly. "What will I do without you?"

"Don't worry none. Father Mick got home from the Indian camp yesterday. He said he'd watch out for you."

"It won't be the same."

"Thanks." There was an uncustomary catch in his gruff voice. "It's nice for a big old hulk like me to feel special ance in a while."

She smiled shakily. "Oh, Bear..."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You take care now, and don't you go forgettin' what I told you: Stone Man may be big and more'n half ugly, but the man has a heart bigger'n the whole Yukon Territory. He just don't know it."

Devon sighed miserably. "Then he's the slowest learner I've ever met."

Bear grinned at that. "Don't surprise ya, does it?"

Reluctantly she smiled. "No, I suppose it doesn't at that."

Stone Man's breath came hard and fast, shooting past his blue lips in bulbous clouds of mist.

Pausing, he looked skyward. Snow pummeled his unprotected cheeks, stabbing his skin in a thousand pinpricks of fire. He blinked hard, trying to locate the sun through the leaden sky. It was impossible. The heatless globe was sulking somewhere to the east, just inches above the Arctic horizon. He hoped like hell he was still trudging atop the frozen Yukon toward Dawson City.

He grabbed hold of the rope at his waist and lurched forward. The hemp strained, biting into his gloved fingers. Gritting his teeth, he lurched again. This time the heavily loaded toboggan on the rope's other end slid out from its rut in the snow and glided behind his labored steps.

Hours later the snow ebbed. The moon winked in the velvet sky, its blue-white light shimmering softly across the new snow. The ground sparkled like a layer of crushed rock salt.

He slowed his pace, scanning the deserted shoreline for a place to camp. Something in the trees glinted at him. Wiping his tired eyes, he looked again. A trembling finger of moonlight flicked at something metallic-the gray barrel of a stovepipe.

With a thankful sigh he surged through the thigh-deep snow. At the tent he flung back his hood and hollered,"Anybody home?"

No answer. He pulled his toboggan close to the tent and peeled back its icy canvas cover.

Burrowing through his belongings, he extracted his sleeping bag, a can of beans, and a can opener.

He entered the cold, quiet abode, feeling his way through the shadowy interior. He found the Yukon stove quickly. His fingers crept along the stove's sheet-metal surface, feeling for a box of matches, which he found. Striking a match, he used the moment of light to peer around.

He saw it in an instant and he smiled. The tent belonged to an old-timer who lived by the unwritten rules of the Yukon. The absent owner had left a pile of wood and a can of beans for whomever happened along.

Stone Man lighted a fire, and in no time the tent felt like home.

What a lie that was. For the first time in his long, lonely life he knew what a real home felt like, and the feeling had nothing to do with a warm fire and a full can of beans.

Home was a place where you belonged. A place you missed.

There it was, the thought he'd spent the better part of six weeks trying to outrun. It was always just below the surface, waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness. Every night, as he sat alone in the middle of a cold dark nowhere, he'd grown weaker.

Running hadn't helped a damn thing; if anything it had made the problem worse. For weeks now he'd been alone, and, if he allowed himself to admit it, lonely. He missed the strangest things-the husky, sensual sound of her voice, the lilt of her laughter, the way she handed him his napkin, the tiny, mewling sounds she made in her sleep.

Admit it, you coward. You miss her.

No! He was just sick and tired of running, that was all. That's what had turned him toward home last week. Pure exhaustion.

And if you believe that, old man, I've got a train line from Skagway to Dawson City to sell you.

Damn it! He refused to waste any more time thinking about her. Snagging the can of beans, he stabbed the pointy tip of his can opener in the metal lid and wrenched the thing open.

After he'd set the can on the stove, he searched the tent for a coffeepot. Finding one, he packed it with snow and put it on to boil. After a few moments steam spiraled slowly from the pot's mouth.

It collected on the grayed, sagging roof and froze solid.

He stared at the icicles for a few minutes then grabbed the bean can and shoveled a huge bite of the half-frozen, red-brown sludge into his mouth. Just as he was about to ram home a second bite, he heard a noise. Moving cautiously toward the door, he lifted the flaps and peered outside.

"Cor... ne... lius..." The shouted word echoed through the valley.

"Bear?" he yelled back, "is that you?"

"Who... the... hell... else... would... look... for... you?" came the echoing reply.

Stone Man grinned. By God, for once it would feel good to have someone to talk to. It would keep his mind off Devon.

Devon. Stone Man's smile vanished. Fear chilled his soul. Oh, God, not Devon. A man like Bear didn't make social calls. Especially not in sixty-below weather.

Bear burst into the clearing. "Holy God," he wheezed, stumbling up to the tent, "it's colder than-"

Stone Man grabbed Bear. "Is she all right?"

Bear looked up at him through baggy, bloodshot eyes. "Fine. Now get me something hot."

Stone Man swiveled back into the tent and poured two cups of hot water. Bear took the cup gratefully, wrapping his half-frozen fingers around the warm metal."I-I w-was about to give up on finding you. I been lookin' for more than two weeks. I must of walked forty miles. Figgered I'd find yi two miles from camp."

"Why are you looking for me? You should have kn I'd come back. Fact is, I'm on my way now."

" 'Bouttime."

"To you, maybe."

When he'd warmed up, Bear planted one ankle on his knee and leaned back in his chair, studying Stone Man through narrowed, knowing eyes. "What's that mean?"

"Just small talk."

"You never made small talk in your life, Cornelius. Now what the hell's going on in that peanut brain of yours?"

/ like her. The damning words burst to life in Stone Man's brain. He wanted to tell someone, and Bear was the only one he could tell. But years of training were hard to break; he had no idea how to start talking. So instead of saying what was on his mind, he slammed his lips together and sat mute.

"Okay, let's start simple. Why are you headin' home?"

Stone Man shifted uncomfortably. "I got responsibilities at the post. I figured it was time to get back to them."

Bear pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and jimmied it between his gaping front teeth. "I guess you ain't heard."

"Heard what?"

"Digger Haines took over your 'responsibilities.' He and Devon are shacked up in your tent, happy as-"

Stone Man leapt to his feet. For an instant the urge to punch Bear's fleshy face was almost overwhelming.

Rising slowly, Bear placed his hand on Stone Man's chest. "Old pounder's beatin' like a kettle drum. Guess there's more to it than 'responsibilities,' huh?"

Stone Man sank back into his chair, feeling suddenly old. It was pathetic what she'd done to him.

He couldn't even hide his feelings anymore. He wore them on his sleeve like a damned bridegroom. "It's not true, is it?"

" 'Course not." Bear leaned toward him. "Cornelius, we ain't game-playin' men, you and I. If you got somethin' to say, say it."

Stone Man stared at the only friend he'd ever had. Bear was right; the words needed to be said.

Maybe if he heard them aloud he'd even be able to laugh them off. It was worth a try. Unspoken they were killing him. He screwed up his courage and said quickly, "I miss her."

The moment the horrific words were out of his mouth, he tensed, waiting for the familiar sense of desperation to engulf him. Yet amazingly this time he felt no despair at the admission. In fact he felt almost freed.