Where Heaven Begins - Rosanne Bittner Mills & Boon Silhouette

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their business, nor yours! They asked me to pray for them, and so I did. I am not as naive as you think! My own father was murdered on the Barbary Coast, ministering to harlots and thieves and murderers! I know a little bit about the real world, sir, and I know that you are a bounty hunter! You hunt men down for money, so as I said, why should I trust you?”

      Why had she said that? She hadn’t meant to. She wasn’t even going to bring up the subject, which she now knew surely had something to do with his wife! She saw hurt and anger in his eyes. She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

      “No matter,” he said coldly. “I didn’t say I was any better than the harlots and murderers you just mentioned. I’m only telling you that I do care what happens to a young woman alone against the odds you’ll be facing. In fact, what I was going to say was that for what’s left of this journey, you’re welcome to use my cabin if you want. I hate to think of you down there with a bunch of men who haven’t bathed since God knows when and who I don’t doubt are using language you’d rather not listen to. But then since you’re more worldly than I thought, I guess it’s not so bad for you. And you wouldn’t want to stay in a cabin that’s been inhabited by a bounty hunter, now, would you? Enjoy the rest of your trip, Miss Breckenridge.”

      He left her then, and Elizabeth wanted to kick herself. He’d given her an opening to help him learn about God’s love, and she’d missed it! She’d let her own pride and orneriness get in the way. She leaned over the railing again, putting her head in her hands.

      Oh, Lord, forgive me! I failed You miserably! Clint Brady had offered to help her, protect her, give up expensive quarters for her, and she’d behaved abominably. What a fool she was! And what a poor servant of the Lord!

      Chapter Eight

      He that is of God heareth God’s words: ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.

      —St. John 8:47

      Clint felt frustrated, angry, anxious, guilty, worried and bored. He tried to think of one positive thing about his life, and he couldn’t come up with anything…except Elizabeth Breckenridge, which seemed pretty ridiculous, considering he’d known her all of ten days. Most of that was by sight alone, and the one and only real conversation he’d had with her ended disastrously.

      Why in heck did she get to him the way she did? He was making this trip for one reason alone—to find Roland Fisher and either take him back to San Francisco alive, or return with a notarized certificate of his death…by a bullet from Clint Brady’s gun. It made no difference to him which way it was. The man was a murderer of innocent people, which meant his life had no value.

      The intrusion of Elizabeth Breckenridge into his thoughts and emotions was an unexpected infringement on his life and purpose. Why did he allow it to perplex him? There was absolutely no reason for it, and he wished he’d never run after the thief who took her handbag. Maybe then she would have missed the Damsel altogether and he wouldn’t be in this mess of emotions.

      How could a woman be so ridiculously stupid about her decisions? She was apparently just as misguided as her father had been, actually believing that God would watch out for her and see that she reached Dawson safely. The thought was enough to make a man laugh. Sometimes he wanted to, but the thought of what could really happen to the poor girl sobered him.

      He lit another cigarette, glad he’d brought plenty along. Pacing around on the Damsel was driving him nuts. He couldn’t wait to get off and get away from Miss Naive. At least those below ate at a different time from those with cabins, so he didn’t have to see her in the dining room, such as it was. He wondered how her stomach was handling the doughy, half-baked biscuits and tough meat the ship’s cook served.

      At least once they landed at Skagway he could get away from her. If she was so sure she could make it to Dawson all on her own, then let her find out the hard way that God was not going to provide! It would serve her right to discover that maybe there was no God at all. She’d find out how crushing it could be to realize that simple faith wasn’t enough when it came to the real evils of the world.

      And faith in God was also no use when trying to forget the pain of the past, to get over the loss of loved ones. And forgiveness—that was totally impossible. How can a man forgive those who’ve robbed him of what was most precious in his life? No, forgiveness is for fools, as is faith in a cruel God. What a mean lesson Miss Breckenridge had yet to learn!

      Fools! Half the world was made up of fools. Fools like the men on this ship who’d deserted loved ones to look for a treasure most of them would never find. Fools like Elizabeth Breckenridge. Fools like he’d once been, thinking life could be perfectly wonderful and peaceful and full of joy. He’d almost forgotten what true joy was, forgotten how to smile because of love rather than because of bounty money. He wasn’t even sure what to do with all the money he’d gradually built up in a bank in San Francisco. The only things he spent money on were a few clothes, tobacco, the horses that would arrive in Skagway ahead of him on a cattle boat and the best Winchester rifle and Colt handgun money could buy.

      A group of men toward the Damsel’s bow began singing a risqué song about the women of Skagway and the places they liked to stuff gold nuggets. He wondered if poor Elizabeth could hear the filthy words, then chastised himself for caring. He finished his cigarette and walked over to join the singers, laughing at the dirty lyrics. Laughing. Crying inside.

      Elizabeth shivered into her cape, surprised at how cold it was today compared to the lovely day yesterday, with sunshine and no wind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the beauty of the mountains, softly humming a hymn in her attempt to shut out the dirty, suggestive words of the men singing nearby. Finally the singing stopped when a pod of orca whales began following the ship, sometimes jumping high out of the dark, foggy waters in a magnificent display of black and white majesty.

      After nearly a half hour of staying close enough to be seen in spite of the fog, they swam off to the distance, disappearing into the mist. Only minutes later their show was replaced by the antics of a huge herd of chattering dolphins that jumped and rolled and played alongside the ship. The comical sight made Elizabeth and others laugh, and it seemed the blue creatures were laughing with them. They reminded Elizabeth of little children.

      It felt good to laugh. Elizabeth glanced around to see if Clint Brady might also be watching the dolphins. She saw him standing farther down along the ship’s rail, and yes, he, too, was laughing. She whispered a little prayer of thanks to God for creating something so sweet and beautiful that it could make a man like that forget whatever was burdening him and genuinely laugh, if for just a few moments.

      She quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching him, for she suspected he’d fast lose his smile if he knew she’d seen him actually enjoying himself. As little as she knew about him so far, she was pretty sure he’d be stubborn about admitting any kind of brief happiness. Mr. Clint Brady was determined to be mad at the world and at God.

      The dolphins disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, and again the ship was shrouded in thick, cold fog. It was unnerving to know there were islands and rocks and other ships all around, as they’d been watching other steamers ahead of and behind them throughout their voyage. In just one more day, so she’d been told, they would make Skagway, and she would be more than happy to get off the Damsel and out of the worsening conditions in the lower deck.

      “One more day, fellas,” a man nearby shouted.

      All the talk was of Skagway and White Pass and Chilkoot Pass and the cost of horses and gear and hope that those who’d gone before had “left some of that there gold for us.”

      In the distance she could hear another ship’s steam whistle. The Damsel sounded her own wail in reply, the steam pouring from her stacks only adding to the denseness of the fog. Something about the thick mist made the whistles seem louder than normal, and the other ships’ haunting horns seemed all too close.

      Suddenly Elizabeth could barely see past her hand, couldn’t even see those standing next to her.

      How close were other boats? They were in fairly narrow fjords

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