At the Rainbow's End by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

deepest blue she had ever seen. Little of the rest of his face could be seen behind a beard as thick as Joel’s.
    He paused in mid-step when he saw her, standing by her escort. He smiled the same way Joel had at his first sight of her, easing lines ingrained by hard work and the rough climate.
    â€œThis is Miss Perry?” He sounded delighted.
    Her fiancé nodded with obvious reluctance. He put his hand on her arm, startling her. It was the first time he had touched her. “Miss Perry, this is my partner Joel Gilchrist.”
    â€œHow do you do, Mr. Gilchrist?” She offered her hand politely, thinking it odd that both men shared the same given name. Never in any of the letters had there been the mention of a partner. Perhaps this was a new arrangement to ease the workload. “Do you live nearby?”
    â€œI live here.” His dark eyebrows formed a line across his forehead as he regarded the other man steadily. “What did you tell her?”
    â€œNothing,” Joel Houseman answered, too quickly.
    The taller man frowned. “Nothing? You brought her all the way out here without telling her the truth? I thought you were going to tell her before she left Dawson.”
    Samantha demanded, “What truth?” The men ignored her.
    With his hands creating a flurry to match his hasty explanation, Mr. Houseman did not try to soften his words. A heated blush climbed her cheeks as she heard him tell his partner how he had been smitten with her from the second he saw her working at the laundry tub. Embarrassment became fright as Gilchrist stepped forward threateningly. Then she realized his rage was directed at the man beside her.
    â€œCharmed, were you? Did you marry her? Did you forget our agreement, along with what you were supposed to tell her?”
    â€œCalm down,” said the blond man, still holding her arm. “We didn’t stand before the preacher. I don’t cheat my own partner. I’m just speaking the facts. She is powerfully pretty, and I wouldn’t have a difficult time taking her to wife.”
    â€œWe decided how it would be, remember?” the darkly handsome man said in a steely, quiet tone which did not disguise his rage.
    Peeling her fiancé’s hand off her arm, Samantha stepped away from both men. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Gilchrist. There is no reason to argue. Mr. Houseman proposed to me and paid for my passage here. I promised to marry him.”
    â€œYou promised to marry Joel Houseman, right?”
    She did not back away from his daunting blue stare. If she was going to have to suffer this man’s presence, she would not allow him to cow her on their first meeting. Without a sign of her internal turmoil, she said, “That’s correct, Mr. Gilchrist.”
    â€œNot Kevin Houseman.”
    â€œWho?” She turned to the man who had brought her here from Dawson.
    A scarlet as bright as the gaudy decorations of the Dawson hotel splashed across his face. He swallowed several times. “Miss Perry, I am Kevin Houseman.”
    â€œThen who is Joel Houseman?”
    Instantly, she knew the answer. Her gloved hands clasped over her mouth; she tried to deny the truth she could see on the men’s faces. Joel Gilchrist—Kevin Houseman.
    She felt arms around her shoulders when she swayed. Trying to shrug them off, she nearly fell to the ground, her knees too wobbly to support her. Her ears rang with the effort to breathe, as she was helped into the cabin. A bench was pulled away from a table, which took up most of the room. A glass was pressed into her hands. When she did not raise it to her lips, it was taken and placed against her mouth.
    With a gasp to ease the fire etching its way to her middle, she struck out at the hand holding the glass. It flew across the room to crash into the wall and fall to the floor in a rain of sharp shards.
    â€œDamn!” snarled a male voice. “Look what