you’re qualified to take over for Mr. Trench.”
He smiled slightly. “Maybe if you’d tell me what the job is, we could figure it out. All I know is that Jacob was supposed to guard some cargo for you. What is it? Supplies? Mining equipment?”
“Not exactly, although my customers are all miners.”
Frank suppressed the irritation he felt at the way she was making it difficult for him to find out anything. He asked bluntly, “What is it you’re taking to them?”
“Women,” Fiona said.
Frank grunted. He couldn’t hold in the startled question that came to his lips.
“You’re a madam?”
It was Fiona’s turn to look shocked again. “I should say not! How…how dare you imply…Do I look like the sort of woman who…who would engage in such…such an immoral, despicable—”
Frank broke into her outraged sputtering. “You said you’re taking women to Alaska for the gold-hunters up there. What was I supposed to think?”
“Brides, Mr. Morgan! Mail-order brides!”
Frank blinked and frowned, then said, “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed! I’ve never been so…so insulted!”
“Now hold on a minute,” he said. “It was a natural mistake.”
“No one else has ever mistaken me for a purveyor of fallen women.”
“Maybe not, but I meant no offense.” She would probably just be more upset if he told her that he had known some madams who were fine women. The salt of the earth, in fact. She wouldn’t think that was possible. So he went on. “I’ve heard about such things, even known some fellas who sent off for brides like that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Well, I’m so glad my business meets with your approval, Mr. Morgan.”
Frank glanced at Captain Hoffman, who seemed to be having a hard time not laughing at him. He supposed the situation was a mite comical. It would have been more so, though, if it hadn’t been brought about by the death of a friend.
“Is there someplace Mrs. Devereaux and I can talk in private, Captain?”
Fiona said, “I’m not sure we have anything to discuss.”
“I made a promise to an old amigo, and I intend to carry it out.”
Hoffman said, “You can talk in my cabin, if Mrs. Devereaux agrees.”
Fiona sniffed. “I suppose it woudn’t hurt anything to hear you out,” she said with obvious reluctance.
“Thanks,” Frank said. He nodded to Hoffman. “Captain?”
“Follow me, please.”
He led them down to the main deck and opened a door that revealed some more stairs, heading down this time. They descended into a corridor with several doors on each side. Hoffman opened one of them and stepped back, holding out a hand to usher them inside.
Fiona went in first, followed by Frank. The cabin wasn’t very large, especially considering the fact that it belonged to the captain, but Frank supposed that space was at a premium on board a ship. There was a narrow bunk, a comfortable-looking chair, and a table strewn with maps, along with a sextant and some other things that Frank didn’t recognize but supposed were navigation instruments.
“I’m sorry, it’s not very fancy,” Hoffman said, “but make yourself at home anyway. I’ll be topside, if you need me.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Fiona said. She waited until Hoffman was gone, then put her handbag on the table, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked steadily at Frank. “I think I’d like to know more about your relationship with Jacob Trench, Mr. Morgan.”
“Wasn’t really a relationship,” Frank said with a shrug. “We ran into each other a few times over the years. For all its size, the West is a smaller place than you might think. Jacob and I backed each other’s play a few times, when there was trouble. Out here, that makes a man your friend. Last time I saw him was in New Mexico Territory, ten or twelve years ago.”
“And was there trouble then?”
“There was. He was running a freight line, and outlaws were raising he—I mean, stealing shipments from him. I helped him put a stop to that.”
“How?”
Frank smiled. “Well, there are some folks who seem to think that I’m pretty good with a gun.”
“Are you saying that you’re a…gunfighter?”
“Yes, ma’am. For want of a better term, I reckon I am.”
“Then you’re as capable of handling trouble as Mr. Trench was?” Fiona didn’t give him a chance to answer the question. Instead she shook her head and went on. “Of course you are. You must be more capable. You’re still alive, and Mr. Trench isn’t.”
“One thing doesn’t always follow the other. There’s some luck involved sometimes, too. But yeah, not bragging or anything, I can take care of myself. I can handle the job of guarding you and those mail-order brides of yours, too.”
“You sound quite confident.”
“If a man’s honest with himself,” Frank said, “he knows what he can and can’t do.”
She looked at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I suppose that’s true. It’s true of a woman, as well.” A smile curved her lips. “And I know that I’m not capable of taking a dozen young, eligible ladies all the way to Whitehorse by myself.”
“Whitehorse? I thought you were going to Skagway.”
“That’s just the first stop,” Fiona explained. “Our ultimate destination is the settlement of Whitehorse. That’s across the border in Canada, in the Klondike country, where the most valuable gold diggings are. From what I’ve heard, the terrain is very rugged. We’ll have to cross over something called Chilkoot Pass to get there.”
Frank didn’t know anything about the geography of Alaska or Canada, but he supposed he could learn. It was also possible that they could pick up a good guide when they got to Skagway. His job would just be to make sure that Fiona and her charges were safe…assuming, of course, that she agreed to let him come along.
If she didn’t…well, he might have to try to follow them and keep them safe, anyway. A promise was a promise.
She seemed more amenable to the idea now, though. She had said we when she was talking about crossing Chilkoot Pass, wherever that was. So he said, “I give you my word I’ll do my best to get you there safely, ma’am.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. Don’t ma’am me. And you don’t have to call me Mrs. Devereaux, either.” She laughed softly. “We shared a very pleasant dinner last night with you calling me Fiona. I don’t suppose there’s any real reason to change that. Especially not if we’re
