Set during the Klondike gold rush, a simple girl and her fancy producer try to make a go of it, but family matters get in the way.
*****
Previously included in The One That Got Aw...
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Mad Cat Saloon sat dead center of Sweetwater Peak, the busiest boomtown on the Klondike trail. It's why I stayed, while my brothers pushed into Yukon territory. They were after the gold, and I was after a husband. But after weeks of watching men come and go, there was nothing else to do but make my own living using my full-figured gift and fortunate breeding.
Today, I got stuck behind the bar after Sam woke up with a fever. If it turned out to be Typhoid, we were doomed. The place was filled to the rafters with prospectors, loggers, and a company of actors who were there to make a film about the gold rush. I enjoyed watching the prissy, city women complain about the mud on their boots. I wanted to tell them not all of it was mud.
"What are you serving here?"
His voice came out of nowhere. A bass vibrato that made me think of a Bellini opera I'd heard on a gramophone recording. It was a miracle I could hear him at all through the noise, but the sound entered my ears like it was intended just for me, and I turned to find a man smiling beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Although the sun hadn't come out for a week, I wasn't complaining. The look suited him, as did the thick mustache above a pair of tilted lips.
"Preferably, something top shelf," he added smoothly.
"We have a nice gin." I crouched behind the bar, reaching through a mess of bottles to find the good stuff Sam hid in the back. When I set it on the counter, he leaned in, tipping his hat up to get a look at the label.
"Beefeater. Your barkeep knows his gin. Or, are you the barkeep?" With his hat still sittin' back, he locked me down with a bewitching gaze that came through a pair of fierce, blue eyes; all icy and intense like the sled huskies you never could trust.
"Sam's the barkeep. I'm helping in his stead today."
"Well, I'm glad I chose today to enter this fine establishment. I'm sure Sam is a regular fellow, but I'd much rather get a pour from a pretty brunette."
I was glad I'd been born with a naturally flushed complexion, cause the heat came on like a fresh brand as I fumbled for a shot glass. "Would you like a pour, then?"
"I'll take two pours." He slid a nugget of gold toward me, enough for ten pours, and I got him started on the first. "What's your name?"
"Liberty, but everyone calls me Libby." I watched him down the gin like an expert. No squinting or shakes, and I filled him up again when he lowered the glass. "So, you already done with your prospecting?"
A warm smile came to him, or maybe that was me feeling the warmth. "I'm no prospector. Don't got the patience for it. I'm producing a motion picture about them, though."
"Oh. You're here with those actresses, then? I've seen them in here before. They don't seem to appreciate the weather."
He set down his glass as a husky laugh rolled out. "They hate the place. They've never been north of Vancouver."
