LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      With much love for my mom, Lenore Romey, who never

       told me I should be outside playing instead of reading a book, and in memory of my father, Wendell Romey, the most patient man I’ve ever known.

      And, as always, for Doug, who loves me despite

       all the trouble I cause, who makes everything work— somehow—and who has been known to offer that special endearment only a writer can appreciate: “Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” I couldn’t do it without you, darlin’.

      I love you all.

      Acknowledgments

      Special thanks must go to Willie and Candy Seltenrich

       for their willing participation in this book. Legs all the way to heaven, Candy, and not one broken bone! Also to Heather Mase for filling in as the Paperwork Queen so I could finish this book and to Kathy Hafer for last-minute proofreading.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Epilogue

       Chapter One

      Skagway, Alaska, February 1898

       L ife was hell. It had been for longer than Lucas Templeton could remember, and there was no changing it. He’d gambled everything to learn that lesson—and he’d lost as completely as any man could. But that was old news and not particularly interesting any longer. Not to him, at least, and it was nobody else’s business.

      It was part of the past and that’s exactly where he meant to see that it stayed.

      Lucas lifted his shot glass and eyed the fine, clear whiskey with some appreciation. The glass was cool and smooth against his fingers and the alcohol shimmered with the taunt of a familiar amber color. The memory of its smooth, distinctive bite offered the lure of forgetfulness…if only he would give in to it.

      He didn’t doubt the whiskey’s ability to make good on its promise; tonight he drank the expensive stuff, available to any man who could pay the price…and he could. He, in fact, owned the whole damned shebang—or at least this shebang. He sipped the whiskey with an appreciation for which few men in Alaska seemed to have the patience and turned to survey his domain.

      The Star of the North. Lucas smiled and nodded, satisfied by what he saw. It wasn’t much, not by most standards anywhere else in the world. For him, it was everything.

      One of the first saloons in Skagway, he had built it at precisely the right time. He’d had little competition at first and had unwittingly built the Star’s reputation by dealing fairly with his customers and offering a reasonable comfort not often found on the frontier. Now, less than a year later, he continued to enjoy a particular success that few of the others had matched.

      He’d often thought that those who’d come later hadn’t wanted the triumph—or needed it—nearly as badly as he had. He’d even accepted that explanation for at least part of the difference.

      But what about the rest of it?

      He didn’t know for certain, nor had he ever wasted much time trying to figure it out. That kind of thinking could only lead him back to the reasons that this saloon mattered so very much in the first place, and all that was better left in the past. He needed no reminder of the life he’d once led.

      It was enough that this life compared in no way to the one he’d left behind.

      No. He corrected himself with an irritable scowl and tossed back the rest of the whiskey. Not left behind. He hadn’t left a damned thing behind. Everything he’d had had been stolen from him and he’d simply walked away from the devastation that had followed. There had been nothing left, no reason to stay.

      And while it was true that he’d never planned a life such as this one for himself, it would do well enough. His success meant that he could do as he damn well pleased. He never could have done that in his other life. If it could be found in Skagway and he wanted it, he could have it.

      Well, he might not go that far. An inherent trace of humility, the result of his Minnesota upbringing, stopped Lucas before he got too full of himself. He twisted his lips into a parody of a smile and dropped his glass to the well-used wooden table where he sat, then gestured to Willie, behind the bar, for a refill.

      Undoubtedly, he reminded himself, he was in a much better position than most of the men who had poured into Alaska seeking gold over the past six months. And while he would have no trouble covering the expense of his choice of diversions, the reality of affording something and actually having it were two different things altogether.

      He

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