At the Rainbow's End by Jo Ann Ferguson

solace in knowing next year another bride could be found.
    â€œI didn’t know exactly when you’d be back, so I’m afraid the venison stew may be overcooked.” She gestured toward the table. “Please sit. Everything is ready.”
    Kevin scurried around the table and took the cast iron pot from her. “That’s too heavy for you, Samantha. Let me carry it for you.”
    â€œThank you,” she said with a smile. She could not help being charmed by Kevin’s earnest desire to make her feel at home. Whether he truly regretted his part in this charade or not, he acted chagrined. Not like his partner.
    Joel sat next to one of the plates, his elbows firmly on the table and his eyes on her. A heat flooded through her as his gaze traveled appreciatively up her body to meet her eyes. His smile broadened when he saw her disquiet.
    Hastily breaking the spell of his knowing stare, she dished out food and sat. She smiled swiftly at Kevin as she picked up her fork.
    â€œThis is good,” said Joel.
    â€œYou don’t have to sound so surprised!” she said, blushing. She had not intended to put such heat into the words.
    â€œWhen we asked you to come north, we forgot to ask if you could cook.” He pointed his fork at the man across from him. “Make a note, partner. Next time we search for a bride, we want to be sure she can cook as well as our Samantha. We may not be so lucky next time.”
    â€œJoel, enough of that for now.” He flashed an apology to the scarlet cheeked woman. “You’ll have to get used to him, Samantha. He’s outspoken.”
    â€œUncouth, he means,” said Joel.
    Samantha did not look at either man. She recalled her dreams of being here with the man she had loved, a man who looked like Kevin, but did not act like either of them, the man who had quoted poetry in his letters and spoken to her of long walks beside the cascading waters of the Bonanza.
    She forced her pain and homesickness deep within her, and quietly ate while they discussed the day’s labor and what they would do tomorrow. Many of the terms they used were alien to her. It seemed at times as if they no longer spoke English.
    â€œFifteen Above? Why do you call the claim that?” she asked.
    Kevin explained that the initial claim belonged to George Carmack, who first found gold in the water of the stream then called Rabbit Creek. Each claim staked after that was numbered as above, or upstream, and below, or downstream, from the original grant. Fifteen Above, which Kevin and Joel had gotten by rushing here ahead of many others, was in the area rumored to be gold rich.
    â€œBut you’ve found no gold?”
    â€œNot enough.” His eyes were sad behind the dusty lenses of his glasses. “Things are so expensive here that even at $16 for an ounce of gold, a man has to find a fortune to keep himself in provisions.”
    She nodded. “When I saw what Mrs. Kellogg was charging for laundering shirts, I knew other prices must be as high. The men paid eagerly what she charged.”
    â€œWell, you’ll find no such luxuries as a laundry out here on the Bonanza,” said Joel.
    â€œI didn’t expect that.” Samantha regarded him seriously. “If you’ll let me have that shirt and anything else you need cleaned, I can wash them tomorrow.”
    â€œHow generous of you!”
    Before she could snap out an answer, Kevin growled, “Enough, Joel. She’s trying to be nice.”
    â€œIs she?” He snorted as he served himself another serving of the roast venison and vegetables. “She’s just doing what she promised to. That’s nothing to get excited about.”
    â€œAnd what do you get excited about?” she demanded.
    His sudden smile told her she had asked the question the wrong way, but he did not answer with the obscene response she expected. “What makes me excited, Samantha? One word will tell you. Gold! A