Page 1 of Gold Fever

Chapter One

"Are you sure there isn't anything else?” Barbara Lane asked while running her fingers nervously through her golden locks of hair. She was beginning to feel faint, and unfortunately she was not prone to fainting. Then again, fainting wasn't going to get her out of this mess.

The New England summer heat was making the lawyer's office stifling. How could the lawyer stand being dressed in his three-piece business suit? She was already hot and sticky from the heat, and this news wasn't helping her to stay cool, calm, or collected. She worked her fan furiously with her free hand, hoping not to faint right in front of the lawyer she hired. The light breeze lifted wisps of blonde hair away from her serious face.

She had dressed impressively in her frilly pink dress. Frothy layers of lace made the dress appear to float as she walked. It created the impression of being richer than she was, but she had no doubt she couldn't afford this now and should not have splurged on the dress. If that was all her father left her, it wouldn't even cover the lawyer's fees. She had planned on the inheritance being enough to help out with some of these costs.

The lawyer pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his starched white linen shirt while turning over the last will and testament of Joseph Lane. He adjusted his spectacles high on the brim of his nose, before finally speaking. “No. That's everything."

"Read it again for me, please,” she said in an octave higher than normal, mentally cursing her father for bothering to put her in his will.

The lawyer readjusted the reading glasses on the tip of his nose before reading the will for the second time. “I, Joseph Lane, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my physical possessions including my mining claim in Solvang, California to my only begotten daughter, Barbara Lane.” He looked back up to Barbara before continuing. “This is pretty clear to me. It seems you are now the proud owner of a gold mine."

"No. It can't be,” she said in disbelief, then questioned, “What am I supposed to do with a gold mine?"

"Whatever you want, Miss Lane. It's yours to do with as you please."

"But I don't know the first thing about gold mines...” Barbara was in complete shock, but should not have been surprised. It seemed that her father had let her down in death just as he had in life. This would be more money she would have to spend that she really couldn't afford to spend, and it would all come out of the last of the money her mother had left her. The trust fund was nearly empty. She would be practically destitute after she paid the lawyer for his services today.

Her father had been a complete heel when he left her mother nine months pregnant. He never came back and she had not heard anything more about it until now. He never visited her, never wrote them a single letter. It was a good thing that her mother was as beautiful as she was or she would never have been able to remarry with a bastard daughter in tow.

But all that was in the past. Barbara was twenty-five years old now and suddenly her father remembered her in his will. Well, he could have let her stay a forgotten part of his past. That mining claim was what he wasted his entire life on. If he had not hit a gold strike by now, what were the odds in her favor?

No, she would have to try to sell the useless claim to someone else to work, but first she should at least take a look at it. Maybe he built a decent house or something of value on the property.

Her luck couldn't possibly be so bad as to have this be a complete waste of time. Could it?

Barbara let out an audible sigh before making her decision. She would have to head west and just find out exactly what it was that she now owned.

"I guess I am the proud owner of a gold mine.” Barbara stood up and reached to shake the lawyer's hand, squeezing it in hers. She smiled weakly as she said, “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Peterson, and if you know anyone who needs a gold mine, please let me know."

He grasped her hand firmly in his and shook her hand in return. “Certainly, Miss Lane, but I doubt I know anyone who would be interested."

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Chapter Two

Barbara patted the dust out of her skirts as she exited the hired stagecoach. The plain black stagecoach was devoid of any luxurious trappings, made to only service the masses in transit cheaply, and it stank of poverty, cheap cigars, and strong perfume. The dark interior only intensified the heat, and the small windows allowed very little air to circulate inside. It made for a long hard ride.

> Barbara had been asking herself for the last few months why she bothered to travel all this way. So she couldn't help but ask herself again, why was she here? She should be in the cool mountains of North Carolina. That was where she belonged. North Carolina was where she grew up and, until now, had never left. California was so different, so hot, so desert like, and she couldn't stop kicking herself for bothering to come.

Rumors suggested that the men outnumbered the women. That couldn't hurt since she would be looking for a husband, eventually. Of course she heard it was a good place to start a new life, to raise a family, but she might as well be camping out. Something Barbara Lane had never done in her life.

"Hmmmph. It's not like I am some Indian maiden,” she muttered to herself.

California was a wilderness unlike anything she had ever seen, and it made her think twice about whether she was meant for this kind of harsh environment.

She was hot, sweat permeating the thick layers of her clothing. Not even for the hot California sun was she going to give up wearing her chemise or any other of the proper garments of a lady. Three months of traveling across the country had not stopped her from being any less of a lady, a little sun wasn't going to change her, either.

The lawyer had explained that the mine came with a house and she planned to stay there until she could dispose of the property.

Looking at it for the first time, she reconsidered her decision. The house was not very impressive at first glance. It was more of a shack than a house. The windows were covered in dust, and a fresh paint was needed. It just carried an unclean feeling on first sight, but she really couldn't afford a hotel now that she had used up nearly all of her money getting here.

"Ma'am? Where do you want your bags?” the driver asked her while untying her baggage from the top of the stagecoach. He picked up her trunk and it landed on the ground with a cloud of dust.

Barbara wrinkled her nose at the thought of more dirt coming in the house. Everything was dusty and with very little grass around the cabin, she would be fighting the dirt coming into the house for as long as she lived here. “Just help me carry them to the house and that should be fine. Thank you, sir."

"I got it.” When she bent down to take the handle of her trunk, he brushed her hand away, lugging it over one shoulder and carrying it to the front porch. The burly driver set it down with a thud.

"You gonna be all right, ma'am?” His voice was thick with unease, his eyes warm and welcoming.

"Of course, thank you for your concern,” Barbara said in a shaky voice. She wasn't sure she believed she would be fine, and here she was consoling his fears. She forced a smile to look more confident of her decision to stay alone.

"Well, if you need anything—all you have to do is ask. The town isn't too far away, and neither am I, ma'am.” He tipped his hat before turning and walking away.

Barbara turned the knob on the front door and was extremely happy when it opened. Breaking into her own house left little appeal for her. Looking around the dismal little one-room cabin, she decided a cleaning would be in order. Dirty clothes littered the floor, dirty dishes were piled up in a tub in the corner, and a layer of brown dust was everywhere, coating the sparse furniture in the small house.

Barbara let out a whistle appraising the chores ahead of her. It would take a while but it was a necessary task. She thought clearer when her surroundings were clean, and she wouldn't be able to think at all until this place held some kind of order. Then she could figure out the next step to take in her life, and figure out exactly how she was going to sell this house.

The coach took off suddenly, leaving her isolated at the lone cabin. The horses whinnied and the wheels creaked as it moved back towards the road.

There is no turning back now, she thought wistfully.

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Chapter Three

Barbara cleaned for hours, scrubbing the wooden floors, dusting off the worn furniture, washing down the windows, until she fell onto the bed, exhausted. The quilted down comforter enfolded her in its warm folds. She didn't mean to close her eyes, but the physical fatigue consumed her. It wasn't long before she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Darkness settled over the new frontier and went unnoticed by Barbara as she slept on the bed. It was not until much later, she was startled awake by the sound of the door swing open and closed. Heavy footsteps broke the silence of the night. Her heart froze in fear as she realized she had forgotten to lock the door. It was pitch black in the cabin, and so quiet she could hear the stranger's breathing across the room from her. She was a woman in a strange place. A wild land, full of Indians and cowboys. Outlaws walked among everyone else freely. The law of the west was about who carried the bigger gun. It wasn't safe for her to be alone like this. What had she been thinking?

Silently she lay still frozen in place on the bed, agonizing over what to do next. She couldn't see him, but he sounded big. She imagined it was his coat that just fell to the floor. He sat down on the chair, loosening his clothing.

Good Lord! He was undressing!

Barbara hoped he didn't plan to join her in the bed. He didn't know she was there yet. Perhaps if she was quiet she could slip out unnoticed. Then she could go get the sheriff to throw the trespasser out. She moved one leg slowly to the edge of the bed, trying not to make a sound. She imagined he just took off his shirt as she stood up in the darkness. Revealing a bare chest that no lady of good society should be seeing on any man except her husband.

The soft material barely made a sound as it was tossed on the floor. He began to whistle in the dark as he worked to undress. One shoe hit the floor with a thud, and then another. What was he doing now? Working at his belt perhaps? Goodness sake, she was going to be in the room with a naked man soon. She heard another item of clothing hit the floor with a clink. There was not much left to remove but his pants, so she wasn't surprised when she could hear the sound of the material being removed as he pulled it off his legs.

Desperation hit her. She had to get out of here now! This was incredibly dangerous. Being alone with a man who was both a stranger and naked was a recipe for disaster. No one even knew she was here alone to worry about her if she went missing. There was no one she knew that could help her. Nowhere that she could go. Stealthily she crept to the door and towards safety.

The floor creaked under him as he stood up and came towards her. Panic seized her heart and suddenly in a frenzy, she threw the door open, running for her freedom.

* * * *

"What the hell?” Vincent Waverly heard the door slam and the sound of someone running out of the cabin. That wasn't the the wind. His heart pounded with a mixture of anger and fear. What was that person doing in here? Why hadn't they spoken a word to him? He didn't know who it was, but he did know he wasn't going to let that someone get away from him.

* * * *

Barbara could hear him curse before running after her. His breath came hard as he pounded the soft earth behind her. She pushed herself to run faster, lifting her skirt up out of the way of her feet. Unrelenting he refused to allow her to escape.

Suddenly he was upon her, his strong arms locking around her chest, imprisoning her arms and using his bodyweight to knock her to the ground. The soft earth and grass broke her fall, but it momentarily knocked the wind from her lungs. She struggled against his arms, pulling at him until he cursed again.

"Let go of me!” she demanded, wriggling under his body.

* * * *

"You're a girl?” his deep voice said in disbelief. His hands were on her ripe breasts, feeling the fullness of them as if to be sure of her sex.

"Not a girl.” She puffed out her chest indignantly, arching away from him. “I am a woman. Now get off of me, you big oaf."

He wasn't about to argue with her there. She was most definitely a woman, with very womanly curves. However, he wasn't about to remove his body from hers until he had some answers, and even then he wasn't sure he wanted to get off her.

His body was already responding to being in such close contact and she was a perfect stranger. His powerful body pinned her to the ground, and in a most ungentlemanly like manner. This was not a situation he anticipated. His conscience dictated that he should be removing his body from hers, but there was still another matter to consider. What was she doing here in the first place?

He growled out, “Not so fast. What were you doing in my house?"

She seemed indignant when she responded, her voice lined with restrained anger, “Your house? It belongs to me. I am Joseph Lane's daughter."

"Who?” He didn't recognize the name, but instinctively knew she wasn't the burglar he originally suspected. She really did think she belonged here. He turned her body over, kneeling above her. Her disheveled hair was strewn about her shoulders. His cock was hardening in response to her feminine curves, straining against the confines of his pants. Vincent always had been a sucker for a beautiful woman. There were too many women in his memories. He couldn't remember half of their names, but this one...

"Joseph Lane.” Barbara paused a moment. If this stranger belonged here at all, he would recognize the name. “He owned the gold mine here and built this house, and I have come to claim it now that he died. You are the one that is trespassing,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.

The man cocked his head studying her in the moonlight. It was lighter out here than in the house and he could see the resemblance now. She looked like his old friend, Buster. He stared deep into her stormy eyes. Her eyes were a prettier shade of blue than her father's, only accentuated by her anger. He let his gaze trail down her face to her heaving breasts, making her even more tempting. As if she sensed where his mind was headed, she let out a small growl.

She was a spitfire, to be sure.

"What is your name?” he asked.

Her fighting spirit captivated him. Even overpowered, she wasn't about to give up her escape. Her lips pursed in resentment of her confinement.

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