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“It’s time to get up,” he mumbled above her head.
“I know,” she answered. “I just don’t want to. Not yet.”
“Well, darling, you don’t have a choice.”
He moved so quickly, throwing back the covers and sliding off the bed, her head rolled onto a pillow before she had a chance to lift it off his chest. She flipped onto her back, stretching her arms overhead as he pulled the blanket off the window.
“We need to hit the trail before anyone else,” he said, tossing the blanket at the foot of the bed, “and stay ahead of them.”
Maddie scooted to the edge of the bed and bent down to pluck out the socks she’d rolled up and stuffed inside each boot last night. That was from habit, to keep unwanted crawlies from sneaking their way in while she slept. It was too cold for crawlies in Alaska, but she couldn’t help from doing such each night. “Are others going toward Whiskey Jack’s claim?”
Lucky had tugged on his boots and stood from the chair he’d taken. “Can’t say. Truman said he only gave us the directions, but others might try to follow, or just be going that way. It’s upriver.”
After clipping her socks to her garters, she pulled on her boots and fastened them. “I’ll make up the bed, then get some breakfast fixings from our packs.”
“No need,” Lucky said. “Truman said to visit his kitchen this morning. He has a few things to send with us for Whiskey Jack.”
“I hope it’s not much,” she answered, already straightening the covers. “The mules are already packed tight.”
Lucky let out a chuckle, and she glanced his way, wondering what he found funny. He did that now and again—laughed at something she said as if he knew something she didn’t, like last night when he’d chuckled about not staying in the cabin. It flustered her, and she still didn’t understand what he meant about her not being like other women. It most likely was true, considering she’d never known many women, therefore didn’t know if she was like others or not.
While she gathered her coat and such, he hauled in an armload of wood, saying it was the neighborly thing to do, replace what they’d used up. Maddie pondered that, as she had many things he’d said or done since the night they’d met. She didn’t know much about being neighborly, or about women—the two days she’d been at Mrs. Smother’s house had been spent doing laundry and scrubbing floors, which hadn’t taught her much—but she had lived around men all her life. However, Lucky wasn’t like any of the men she’d known. He wasn’t gruff or rude, nor did he insist she was wrong all the time.
Actually, he was gracious in a lot of ways, like now, the way he held the door for her to exit the cabin.
Breakfast was a noisy affair. Gunther’s two sons joined them for the meal. Truman explained they kept people honest during the day, and considering Gunther was small compared to his sons, Maddie understood how that might happen—keeping people honest. She had to wonder if people actually dared enter the store with these two men sitting next to the door.
Before long she and Lucky had said their goodbyes and had started up the path leading to the ridge—above the opposite side of town from which they’d entered yesterday. The trail wasn’t as well-worn, and no one appeared to be ahead or behind them. It seemed to take forever for them to top the ridge and start along a narrow trail. “Seems to me,” she said, whilst looking down into the valley where one could see the entire town laid out along the riverbank, “plenty of folks are taking boats upriver. Why didn’t we do that?”
“Because we have mules,” Lucky answered, “and this is the route Whiskey Jack said to take.” He paused long enough to glance her way. “You getting tired?”
“No.” She hadn’t meant to sound as if she was complaining, just curious. “How long will it take us?”
“Truman said the better part of the day.”
She nodded, glancing back to the river and hoping those folks wouldn’t make better time. Finding the right claim was a lengthy process, and having a crowd searching the same area would make her feel rushed or miss what she was looking for.
“Keep your eyes on the trail,” Lucky said. “All the miniwaterfalls coming down this mountain are making the ground slick.”
Maddie was about to say she’d noticed that when the ground disappeared beneath her and she was on her bottom, sliding downhill fast.
Her stop was so sudden, she screeched at the pain of both arms practically being wrenched from their sockets. Realization hit as she drew in a breath. She was hanging over the edge of the mountain, holding on to nothing but the lead mule’s rope, which was slowly slipping from her grip. Seizing a brief moment, she took in her predicament. Less than five feet on either side of her was solid ground. Rocks and boulders, but all out of reach. Right smack in the middle, where she was, there was nothing below, not for a long way.
