"And then he said, 'You want women? I'll get you women!'" the logger pounded his fist on the table, startling his companion and causing the young man to grab for his tottering mug of beer. Others at nearby tables hooted with laughter, whether at the logger's story or his own discomfort, the young man wasn't sure. He wanted to stay on the good side of these men, but he couldn't quite keep a hint of challenge from his voice.

       "Just like that? How's he going to get a hundred women just like that?"

       "Well, I'll tell you, son," the logger said, leaning closer across the table. "If there's one thing I know for a certainty in this life, it's that if Jason Bolt says he's gonna do a thing, that thing is DONE!"

       "Yeah, but a hundred women?" the young man continued despite himself. "I don't think there's a hundred women in the whole of the Territory."

       "Well, now, that's the beauty of the thing, you see," the logger grinned. "He ain't gettin' 'em here -- he and his two brothers are sailing clear around to somewhere back East. Heard say there's lots of women available back there after that war they had. So Jason's gonna gather up a hundred or so of 'em and bring 'em back here!"

       "And just how's he going to do that?" the young man argued.

       "Probably talk them into a stupor," the dark voice cut across the chatter of the room. The young man looked over at the speaker, who sat in determined solitude at the table furthest from the bar.

       "What's the matter, Stempel? Having second thoughts about your offer?" one of the loggers called out, setting off a chorus of jibes among the others.

       Aaron Stempel shook his head in disgust and turned back to his meal. How many more times were they going to tell that blasted story, he fumed. Yes, he was having second thoughts, and third, and fourth. But, he reminded himself yet again, even Bolt would be hard-pressed to pull off a scheme this harebrained: to convince one hundred marriageable (and that term was deliberately vague) young women to relocate to Seattle for one full year would take more than Bolt's admittedly formidable powers of persuasion. And when Bolt failed to deliver the hundred women as promised, the Bolt brothers would have to relinquish Bridal Veil Mountain to him, Aaron. So, it had been a risk worth taking. Just imagining Bolt's face as he signed over the deed . . . something in that image tweaked at a part of Aaron's mind that he preferred not to examine too closely. Well, never mind that. This was business, and Bolt had entered into the agreement with eyes wide open, not to mention mouth. Still, the man had an uncanny knack for pulling off the impossible. Aaron grimaced, and pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

       "Well, I certainly hope it wasn't something you ate," Lottie teased as she refilled his cup.

       "What are you talking about?" Aaron grunted, avoiding her eyes.

       "Aaron, you look like you just swallowed a fistful of maggots. I know my cooking can't be that bad. So what's eating away at you?"

       "Can't a man just come in here for a quiet meal?" Aaron huffed and jerked his head back towards the bar. "Aren't they tired of that story yet? I certainly am."

       "Why, Aaron," Lottie dimpled and winked at him. "You're their hero."

       Aaron groaned, drained his coffee cup, and tossing a few coins on the table, pushed his way out the doors.

       The young man had let his mind wander as he watched the exchange between Stempel and the saloonkeeper. So the rumors were true; all three of the Bolts were gone. That would mean that the camp was shorthanded, so it shouldn't be too hard to hire on there. Unless of course the Bolts were coming back soon.

       "How long are they going to be gone?" he asked, interrupting the continuation of the logger's story.

       "Who? The Bolts?" The logger gave it a few seconds of deep thought, requiring long draws of his beer. "Don't know as I can say. Hey, Swede! Jason say anything about how long this was going to take?"

       A blond giant sitting at the bar turned and spoke in a quiet, accented voice. "He say maybe one year."

       "One year?" the young man exclaimed.

       "One year," the logger echoed, seemingly more dismayed by the news than his companion.

       "Dang it all!" Lew cursed, throwing his pencil across the tent. "I just can't get it to total out right."

       It had seemed so simple when Joshua had shown him how to do the accounts. Maybe Lew should have asked a few more questions about some of the things he hadn't been sure of. But time had been short and Lew hadn't wanted Jason to think he wasn't up to the job. Now, though, he realized he was in over his head. And the Bolts had only been gone for a few months. The accounts would be a total mess by the time they returned.

       Big Swede seemed to be doing all right as the camp foreman. But then the men had always respected Swede, and he was doing a job he knew. Josh had been the one to handle all the paperwork; how could he, Lew, be expected to master it all in such a short time?

       Well, all right, perhaps he had led the Bolts to believe he had more experience with this kind of work that he had. And he had volunteered for the job. But dang it, what were they going to do? The jobs that the Bolts had lined up before they left were almost completed and soon they'd have to go on a bidding trip if they were to keep things running as promised.

       "Lew?" Big Swede poked his head inside the tent. "Could you come out here, please?"

       Lew sighed at the interruption, but was grateful nonetheless for an excuse to abandon the uncooperative columns of numbers. He stepped outside the tent and saw a red-haired, rather thin young man standing slightly behind Swede.

       "Lew, this is Robbie Johanssen," Swede introduced him. "He comes for a job."

       Lew nodded to Robbie and motioned Swede aside.

       "Why're you bringing him to me?" Lew whispered.

       "He wants job. You are paymaster," Swede shrugged.

       "Yeah, but Jason didn't say anything about hiring on any new hands," Lew argued.

       "He didn't say not to hire," Swede countered.

       "Well, . . . so why don't you hire him, then?

       "He needs interview. That is paymaster's job, and you are—"

       "Paymaster. All right, I get it. I'll handle it," Lew conceded reluctantly.

       Lew invited Robbie into the tent, waving him toward a stool, and seating himself at the cluttered table.

       "So, what kind of experience do you have?" Lew asked in what he hoped would pass for a paymasterly tone of voice.

       "Not much heavy logging," Robbie answered. "Mostly just clearing scrub and some bookkeeping and picking up supplies and such. But I'm a fast learner, if you'll just ---"

       "Wait a minute," Lew interrupted. "Let's back up a bit. Did you say you'd done some bookkeeping? Like what, exactly?"

        "Payroll," Robbie began counting off on his fingers. "Sending out the bills, making the deposits at the bank, helping to prepare the bids, ..."

       "Hired!" Lew shouted.

       "What?" Robbie flinched back from the outburst.

       "You're hired," Lew said, trying to regain that paymasterly tone. "I could use your help with the financial end of things around here. We're, uh, a bit short-handed at the moment and I, um, don't have enough time to do all the paperwork and handle all my other responsibilities. So, you're hired. Here, you can start by balancing this ledger."

       Lew escorted Robbie to his chair at the table, retrieved the thrown pencil, placed ledger and pencil before his new assistant, and hightailed it out of the tent.

       Do the job well, Robbie thought bitterly as he crumpled the letter and threw it on the camp fire. Do the job FAST and get the hell out of here, that's all I care about, he silently told his "affectionate" step-father.

       And to Hell with your pride!

       "So, hear anything from Jason yet?" Harve greeted Aaron as he seated himself across from his boss' desk.

       Aaron glared at his foreman from beneath the hand he held to his aching head. "They've only been gone five months."

       Harve shrugged. "Just thought maybe he'd have sent word somehow. You know, letting us know how the voyage is going."

       "Maybe they've sunk. Or been devoured by sea monsters," Aaron muttered. One could only hope.

       "Reckon they'll do it? Get a hundred women to come here, I mean," Harve pressed on, oblivious to Aaron's pained expression. "Wouldn't that be something? Sure would spark up the place."

       "Harve, was there something in particular you wanted to see me about? Something related to the mill, perhaps?"

       Harve recognized the cold, quiet tone as the warning sign of an on-coming tirade, and got quickly to his feet. "No, Mr. Stempel. I'll just be getting back to work now."

       Aaron covered his face with both hands as Harve closed the door to the office. Blast the Bolts; even hundreds of miles away at sea, they still plagued him!

       There was no escaping the questions, the speculations, the anticipation about this damnable venture. Everyone in town seemed to want to talk about it. And they seemed especially determined to talk to HIM about it. What had he been thinking when he agreed to back this scheme? For scheme it was; one of Jason Bolt's endless string of schemes, and he had allowed himself to be backed into it.

       What if Bolt did succeed? The men would certainly be happy. Of course, they'd hail Bolt as the hero, forgetting entirely that he, Aaron, had been the one to provide the crucial financing. Bolt, naturally, would revel in it all, and would find every opportunity to rub Aaron's face in it. It didn't bear thinking about!

       Aaron set his tormented mind on more conducive matters, shuffling through the bills his clerk had prepared to send out for that month. He stared hard at the third bill in the pile.

       "Lawrence!," he bellowed, bringing a pale, nervous-looking man hurrying into his office.

       "Lawrence, what is this? Explain this," Aaron commanded, shoving the bill toward his flustered clerk.

       "It's the bill to the Bolt Brothers operation, Mr. Stempel," Lawrence ventured, unsure of exactly what his employer wished explained.

       "Yes, I see that," Aaron shook the paper at him impatiently. "It's marked 'Overdue'. How long 'Overdue' is this account?"

       "A couple of months."

       "A couple of months? And you didn't see fit to bring this to my attention?"

       "Well, Mr. Stempel," Lawrence hurried to give an explanation. "I just thought that, what with the Bolts gone, maybe things up the camp were a bit, well, confused? I mean, Lew Harper was handling their accounts up there, and Lew's not exactly.... well, I mean to say, I think things will work out now since they hired a new bookkeeper a couple of weeks ago."

       "I see. You THOUGHT that things were confused. Now, you THINK things will work out. Well, Lawrence, I don't pay you to think; that's my job. Your job is to keep me informed. So, you will please keep me informed about this bill, understood?"

       And I think I'll go meet with this new bookkeeper, Aaron said to himself as Lawrence escaped from his office.

       But the new bookkeeper wasn't at the camp to meet with Aaron, who startled Lew by striding into the tent shortly after lunch.

       "He's gone to Port Angeles to bid on a job," Lew explained when Aaron asked to see the new man. "Should be back in a couple of days."

       "You let him go on a bidding trip?" Aaron asked increduously. "Who went with him?"

       "No one," Lew answered. "He went by himself. Said he'd done it before where he used to work."

       "And where did he used to work?"

       "At ...," Lew tried to recall. "One of the camps over Olympia way."

       "One of the camps? Which one?"

       Lew and Aaron stared at each other.

       "Did you bother to ask?" Aaron's voice was chill with sarcasm, rankling Lew right down to his boots.

       "Look here, Mr. Stempel, we don't need you pushing your nose into our business. We're doing just fine up here, so you can just head on back down to your mill and mind your own concerns."

       "I am minding my own concerns," Aaron slapped the overdue bill on the table before Lew. "Your new bookkeeper seems to have forgotten to pay my bill. I'm here to collect!"

       A few days later the embarrassment of Stempel's overdue bill was driven from Lew's mind by the return of Robbie Johannsen with a very lucrative contract. Spirits were high among the loggers as they celebrated Robbie's success at Lottie's saloon.

       "Jason himself couldn't've done better," Corky congratulated Robbie with a rough slap on the back. "Imagine beating out all them big time operations!"

       "Well, Jason sure ain't going be able to say we let him down," another logger proclaimed. "He said to keep the camp going as best we could, and I'd say, with this contract here, we've gone him one better!"

       "Yeah, wouldn't surprise me at all if, when the Bolts return, they ask you to stay on," Lew said, proud of his young assistant, and prouder still that he'd had the good sense to turn over the financial end of things to Robbie completely and get back to doing the things he knew best. Of course, Lew was still in charge of the financial operations, but the kid was doing a fine job on his own and, thankfully, need very little supervision from Lew.

       And so Lew was surprised a few weeks later when the men he had sent to town for supplies returned with an empty wagon.

       "Ben says he can't give us no more supplies until he gets paid. Says our accounts in a-rears!" the teamster spat disgustedly.

       "What's Ben talking about? We paid his bill. I signed the check myself," Lew retorted.

       "All's I know is that he wouldn't give us nothin'. He's got a problem with payment, that's your look-out. And you'd better straighten it out fast, 'cause Cook says we're about out of everything."

       The teamster clicked the horses into motion, leaving Lew staring bewilderedly after him.

       "Yes, you sent me a check," Ben agreed amiably enough when Lew came to see him the next morning. "But the bank said the check's no good. Said there's insufficient funds."

       "Ben, come on, you know that can't be," Lew argued.

       "Well, the bank seems to think it can be,"Ben insisted. "They don't honor the check, I don't get my money. I don't get my money, you don't get your supplies."

       "Ben, I'm in a bind here," Lew pleaded. "I'll straighten this all out with the bank, but we need those supplies today. You know Bolt Brothers are good for it. I just a need a few days get over to Tacoma and talk to the bank; probably just some piddly misunderstanding. What do you say, huh? Float us awhile longer?"

       "One week," Ben relented. "I'll give you enough supplies to see you through one week. But if I don't get my money, that's it. No more supplies."

       Lew thanked him, and wandered dazedly out into the misting rain. How could this be happening? The bank had to be mistaken.

       But the bank was not mistaken, the bank president sternly informed Lew. In fact, not only were there insufficient funds to pay for supplies, there wasn't enough money to cover the payroll Lew had come to draw.

       "What the blazes is going on here?" Lew asked his horse as they rode back to Seattle.

       "It is impossible," Big Swede was telling a stranger as Lew rode into camp. "We cannot do what you say. Nobody could do this."

       "Nevertheless," the stranger replied. "Those were the terms of the contract your agent signed. And failure to meet them, I'm afraid, will result in default of that contract. We will expect delivery by month's end. Good evening, sir," the man tipped his hat and remounted his horse.

       "Who was that?" Lew asked Swede as they watched the stranger ride down the muddy road back to town.

       "Mr. Forbisher," Swede read from the card the man had given him. "He is lawyer for the company that give us contract." Swede looked at Lew. "We have big problems."

       Swede explained the terms of the contract as presented by Mr. Forbisher. "We could maybe do it, if the rain stops and the men work longer hours and give up the day off," he finished on a doubtful note of optimism.

       "I wouldn't count on their cooperation," Lew said, and explained the payroll situation.

       "What goes on here?" Swede exclaimed.

       "I don't know," Lew replied helplessly. "Where's Robbie? Maybe he can help make sense of all this."

       But the young bookkeeper wasn't to be found in camp that night. Nor did he show up for work the next morning.

       Everyone in town noticed the absence of the loggers over the next few days. At first, Aaron counted this as an unexpected blessing since he now found Lottie's saloon all but empty when he stopped in for his meals. But the prolonged silence was beginning to get to even him. It was unnatural, especially when on Saturday night not one of the loggers ventured down the mountain for their weekly fill of drink and mayhem.

       "Something's wrong," Lottie insisted. "Maybe someone should ride up there. Just to see that they're all right." She looked pointedly at Aaron.

       "Oh, no," he declined. "This is none of my affair."

       "Aaron, you know that if anything were wrong at your mill, Jason would be the first to offer to help."

       "Do I know that? I'll grant you, he'd be the first to come around to gloat." Aaron shushed Lottie's heated objection with an upheld palm. "This is business, Lottie. I don't meddle in another man's business any more than I'd welcome his meddling in mine. Now, if Jason and his brothers chose to go off for a year and leave Big Swede and Lew in charge of the camp, the least I can do is grant them the courtesy of assuming that they know what they're doing and not interferring."

       Lottie simmered. "You know, if they fail, your mill fails too. This whole town fails. You talk a fine game, Aaron, but what would you do if Jason and the boys did have to fold and move away? How long would you last?"

       She angrily cleared away his dishes, including the slice of pie he was still eating, and slammed through the door into her kitchen.

       It WAS business, Aaron told himself. Bolt understood that, even if others in town didn't.

       There was nothing personal in his wanting to gain Bridal Veil Mountain; it was just good, practical business sense, nothing more. Oh, of course he and Bolt often butted heads, but that was to be expected between businessmen. Sure, they egged each other on, getting in sharp little digs wherever they could; that was the nature of business. No, Bolt wouldn't thank him or even expect him to interfere in his business.

       But Lottie's words hung in the air. How long would he last if Jason left? He'd own the timber for his mill, true, but who would cut it down? Bolt's loggers would likely leave with him. He could hire other loggers, he supposed, but where would he find the time to manage both the mill and the camp? Maybe Harve could . . . Argh, it was almost more of a headache than it was worth!

       No more Bolt? Well, things would at least be quiet. Maybe too quiet; Aaron's mind flashed on the other men of the town. All fine, hard-working citizens, without a lick of intellect among them, plodding along through their daily lives as dependably and unchangeably as the clock that ticked away the hours on Aaron's mantle. At least with Bolt there was always that expectation of the unexpected, the challenge, as in a good game of chess, of trying to keep two or three steps ahead of the man's quick mind. If Bolt were to leave...

       This was business, Aaron told himself as he saddled his horse. And if there was a problem up at the camp, he might very well find himself trying to collect on another long-overdue bill. So, maybe he'd ride up there, just to make sure everything was all right.

       "Everything is big mess, Mr. Stempel," Swede concluded.

       Aaron sat at the table in Lew's tent, the contract, ledgers and a pile of overdue notices strewn before him. He had arrived at the camp at dinnertime several hours earlier to find a group of tired, morose men making do with bowls of watery stew and biscuits the size of pebbles. No one was speaking, and few even bothered to acknowledge Aaron's presence.

       He had found Lew and Big Swede picking at their meal in the relative safety of the tent. Lew had been reluctant to admit any problems to Aaron, but Big Swede had told him all that had happened and had seemed relieved to hand over the documents for his perusal.

       "Lew, how did this happen?" Aaron asked as he had been asking ever since he started looking through the ledgers.

       "Stempel, I don't know," Lew snapped. "Quit asking me, 'cause I just don't know!"

       "Didn't you check these ledgers?"

       "They looked all right to me," Lew answered defensively.

       "And the deposits? Didn't you check the receipts from the bank against the entries in the ledgers?"

       Lew hesitated before answering. "Robbie took care of all that. I didn't have any reason to doubt him."

       "And this contract, did you read it before signing off on it?"

       "I read the damned thing!" Lew shouted, then forced himself to lower his voice. "I looked at how much timber they wanted, and the delivery date, and how much they were paying."

       "And somehow missed the part about delivering half of the order by the end of this month," Aaron stated rather than asked. He turned to Big Swede. "How close are you to meeting this?"

       "Not close," Big Swede admitted. "The men, they agree to work, but they are angry about no pay. And Ben, he will not send supplies, so we have no food for the men. I do not think they will stay."

       "I'll deal with Ben," Aaron said absently, studying the contract again. Lew and Big Swede glanced at each other and then, wonderingly, at Aaron.

       "YOU'll deal with Ben?" Lew asked.

       Aaron focused back on them and realized what he had just said. "Yes, I'll deal with Ben," he repeated impatiently.

       "Will wonders never cease!" Lew marvelled quietly. Aaron shot him an angry look and turned his attention back to the contract.

       "Johannsen...Johannsen..." he murmured under his breath. "Where do I know that name... My God, that's it: Overton! Overton married a widow named Johannsen. Tall, red-haired woman from Vancouver, I think...."

       "Robbie has red hair," Swede offered.

       Aaron stared at him dumbly, his mind clattering through myriad memories and speculations. That had to be it! Bolt had bested Overton on a number of bids in the past, and Overton didn't take losing, especially to Bolt, lightly. But would even Overton have been this underhanded, sending his son to ruin the Bolts financially? And what if Jason had been here, how would the kid have — but, of course, Overton would have known that the Bolts weren't here. Given the absurdity of their venture and the men's propensity for repeating the tale to all and sundry, it hadn't taken long for the story to spread to other parts of the Territory.

       Damn it, Aaron thought. It was one thing to take on a man face to face, but sneaking in behind his back was plain filthy business. And by bringing down Bolt, Overton could very easily bring down the mill as well. Aaron made his decision.

       "How many men would you need to complete this job on time?" he asked Big Swede.

       "A dozen. Maybe more," Swede answered. "But there is no money to pay for more men."

       "Can't pay the ones we've got now," Lew reminded him sullenly.

       "I'll deal with that," Aaron said sharply. "You just hire whomever you need."

       Aaron left, taking the ledgers and documents with him. Lew and Big Swede sat for a few more minutes in stunned silence, then went out to try to explain the incomprehensible to the men.

       "Here, see if you can put these in some kind of order," Aaron said as he dropped the ledgers and bills on his clerk's desk.

       "These are the Bolts' ledgers," Lawrence looked at his boss suspiciously.

       "Yes?" Aaron raised a warning brow.

       "Nothing, Mr. Stempel, I'll get right on it."

       Lawrence shook his head as Aaron left in search of his foreman.

       "Harve, I'm going to be gone for a few days. You'll need to see to the completion of this job, but I should be back by the time Banniger comes to pick it up."

       Harve followed Aaron out to his horse. "Where are you going Mr. Stempel? I mean, if anyone asks where you are—"

       "Tell them I'm unavailable," Aaron spurred his horse, cutting off any further questions.

       "Aaron, I'm sorry, but I don't talk about other people's accounts with other people," Ben insisted stubbornly. "It wouldn't be ethical."

       Aaron sighed and, tamping down his rising temper, tried another approach. "If I give you fifty dollars, will that settle the account?"

       Ben gaped at him mutely.

       "Sixty dollars?" Aaron slapped the bills on the counter.

       "Let me get this straight," Ben managed to find his voice. "You want to pay up the Bolt Brothers account?"

       "Apparently," Aaron replied wryly.

       "Why?"

       "Why? What do you care?" Aaron grumbled. "Does this cover it?"

       "Oh, it covers it all right," Ben assured him, scooping the money into a drawer before Aaron could regain his sanity.

       "I'll want a receipt for that," Aaron said quickly.

       "All right, all right," Ben reached for his receipt book. "Sixty dollars paid on the Bolt Brothers account by --"

       "Never mind the 'by'. Just mark it PAID." Aaron snatched the receipt from Ben's hand. "Now, do you think you can send the supplies they ordered up to the camp?

       "I reckon I could do that," Ben agreed slowly, still trying to puzzle out what Aaron was up to.

       "Good. Get to it today," Aaron commanded as he left the store.

       "I don't like it," Ben told Lottie later. "I can't help feeling I did something wrong."

       "Well, I'll admit it doesn't sound like the Aaron we all know and love," Lottie conceded.

       "Harve said Aaron's gone away for a few days," Ben continued. "And Lawrence thinks maybe Aaron's gone to Tacoma to see his lawyer."

       "Why?"

       "Don't know. Lawrence clammed up after that, like he thought he'd said more that he ought," Ben took a sip of his beer. "It's all awful suspicious, if you ask me."

       "Now, Ben don't let your imagination get away from you," Lottie cautioned. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Somewhere."

       "Yeah, well, remember it's Aaron we're talking about, and there's never been any love lost between him and Jason. And then there's the ledgers."

       Lottie paused in wiping a beer mug. "What ledgers?"

       "Didn't I say? When I took the supplies up to the camp, one of the men said he'd seen Aaron up there last night in the Paymaster's tent, and when Aaron left, he had some ledgers tucked under his arm."

       "Well, maybe they were his own ledgers," Lottie argued, though she couldn't think why she should be defending Aaron. Ben was right; it was sounding awfully suspicious.

       "Why would Aaron take his own ledgers up to the Bolt brothers camp?"

       "I don't know, Ben," Lottie shot back irritably. "Maybe he was giving them arithmetic lessons."

       "No," Ben mused on the suggestion. "No, Aaron's up to something. He may be aiming to teach a lesson, but you can bet it ain't gonna be in arithmetic!"

       Aaron got his own lesson in arithmetic over the next few days as he met with his attorney and the banker.

       "I don't see any way around it," his attorney advised after reviewing the contract. "Mr. Bolt gave this Lew Harper his power of attorney to sign off on contracts during his absence. Failure to read all the terms before signing is not cause to nullify the deal."

       "But the boy, this Robbie Johannsen," Aaron suggested. "Couldn't it be argued that he wasn't empowered to act on the Bolts' behalf?"

       "Perhaps, but if the Bolts gave over the operation of their business to these two men without a clause that precluded them from assigning representative rights to someone else, it might be a difficult issue to argue. Though, I suppose you could try. However, it would likely take quite some time to work it through the Territorial courts."

       Aaron thought about this. "No," he decided. "We don't have that kind of time. Time and money would be better spent trying to meet their blasted deadlines."

       "Well, let me know if there is anything else I can do," the lawyer said, rising to shake Aaron's hand.

       Aaron met next with his banker, who, there being only the one bank in Tacoma, was also the Bolts' banker.

       "Yes, I suppose we could transfer money from your account to theirs. But are you sure you want to do that? This is a rather substantial amount, and you're already somewhat overextended," the banker cautioned in vague reference to the large withdrawal Aaron had made to finance the Bolts' trip. "That might leave your own business in a financially vulnerable position."

       The knot in Aaron's stomach tightened. To risk the mill? For Bolt?

       "What about a loan?" Aaron rasped and, clearing his throat, repeated. "A loan?"

       The banker strived to keep his voice neutral, though the unusualness of Mr. Stempel's requests were making his head swim. "Yes, we could make them a loan. But are you authorized to act on their behalf?"

       "Not for them!" Aaron nearly shouted, then continued with no small effort in a calmer manner. "I'm sorry. Not for them. For me."

       "For you," the banker repeated uncomprehendingly.

       Aaron took a deep breath, willing the throbbing ache behind his eyes to go away. "Yes, for me. Then transfer it to their account."

       The banker stared at his favorite client with concern. "Are you all right, Mr. Stempel? Perhaps a glass of water? Or a small brandy?"

       "I'm fine. Just a loan. Can I just get -- a loan?" Aaron felt drained by the whole ordeal, and was relieved when the banker pulled out a loan document.

       "Yes, yes, of course," the man prattled soothingly as he filled in Aaron's name and the amount of the loan. "And what do you want to use as collateral?"

       Oh God, collateral! Aaron forced his exhausted mind to sort through the options. Not, not the mill; definitely not going to risk that. That piece of property in the valley? No, probably not valuable enough. Aaron's heart dropped to his feet as his only viable choice became apparent.

       "My house," he murmured in resignation.

       Thankfully, the banker didn't give voice to the consternation in his eyes. Aaron signed the loan agreement and left without another word.

       "Well, you know Aaron," Ben was holding court in Lottie's saloon. "Whatever he's doing, it ain't likely to be outta the kindness of his heart!"

       A few of the mill hands raised a feeble protest, but they had heard the rumors and knew their boss, so the protest quickly died.

       Conversations all around Seattle that week had focused almost equally on the exciting news of a telegram from Massachusetts announcing the Bolts' success in recruiting one hundred young women to come west, and speculation on what Aaron was scheming to do. Bets were even being placed on whether Aaron would manage to steal the Bolts' mountain out from under them before they could return—and Aaron was the odds-on favorite.

       "Ben, fill your gullet with beer and stop yapping," Lottie demanded, placing another mug before him. Honestly, it was getting to be too much! She knew Aaron was perfectly capable of all the deviousness ascribed to him. But she also knew him to be a good customer and someone she had been able to count on for help on several occasions in the past. At the rate gossip was going, Aaron would have grown horns and a tail by the time he returned from whereever he'd gone.

       And the men! Lottie's train of thought passed on to the news of the impending arrival of the "brides". She had thought—hoped, actually—that the news of the Bolts' success would temper the tension that had been simmering under the surface these past months. But if anything, it had fed it. If they weren't anxiously seeking her advice about attracting one of the girls, they were beating each other senseless over some jibe about one or the other's prowess (or lack thereof) with women.

       She was beginning to wish she had never advised Jason to go in search of "nice girls". Maybe he had been right in offering to bring in some "fancy girls" from San Francisco. At least they'd have fit in here. What were "nice girls" going to think of Seattle? Or of her?

       Nonsense! she sniffed. It didn't matter what they thought of her. They were coming here for the men's sake, not hers. Still, there were precious few women in Seattle, and she had harbored the secret hope of finding a friend or two among these women. Men's company was fine and good, but, as they say, too much of a good thing... sometimes a girl just wanted to sit down over a cup of coffee for little chat with another girl.

       And girls they'd probably be, she realized with a little rush of disappointment. Jason had gone in search of "brides", so they'd all likely be pretty young things who'd have scant inclination to chat over coffee with her anyway. Lottie brushed a tear from her cheek and chided herself for giving in to self-pity. I've a business to run, she reminded herself. Where would I have found the time to sit around chatting anyway?

       Still, it would have been nice...

       Three days later, Aaron rode into the Bolts' lumber camp and sought out Lew and Big Swede.

       "Here," he said, thrusting a bag into Lew's hands when he'd gotten them away from the other loggers. "You can make your payroll now."

       Lew opened the bag to see several stacks of bills. "What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.

       "No catch," Aaron assured him. "I talked to the bank manager and we worked out a solution.."

       "And what was that solution, exactly?" Lew pressed.

       "Nothing you'd understand!" Aaron barked.

       Lew reddened and was about to retort when Swede placed his large hand on Lew's shoulder.

       "All is now right with the bank?" Swede asked quietly.

       "Yes, you can draw against the account again," Aaron forced himself to answer levelly.

       "And with Ben? The problem is fixed also with Ben?"

       "Yes, all the problems with everyone are fixed. You're back in business."

       Aaron tried not to flinch from Swede's steady gaze. Finally, Swede held out his hand to him. "Thank you, Mr. Stempel. We are grateful for your help."

       Aaron shook his hand, taking a deep breath. This was no time for emotions; this was business.

       "Have you hired the extra men you need?" Aaron forged on.

       "Yes, they are working now," Swede answered.

       "Good. That's good. So, you'll be able to meet the deadline?"

       "Yeah," Lew jumped in. "But what about that contract? I mean, I thought you were going to find us a way out of it."

       Now Aaron exploded. "I can't do everything for you! I cleaned up the mess you made of the accounts; you'll just have to deal with meeting the terms of the contract yourselves!"

       "We'll meet the contract," Swede interrupted before Lew could say anything more. "Thank you again, Mr. Stempel."

       "Yeah, thanks," Lew muttered as they left to rejoin the other loggers

       "Your gratitude is overwhelming," Aaron murmured to himself as he mounted up to ride back to town and his now mortgaged home.

       "Well, welcome back!" Lottie greeted Aaron as he walked into the saloon sometime later. She studied him carefully before announcing, "You look like hell, Aaron."

       "Thank you," he replied with a half-smile, taking a seat at his usual table. "It's always a pleasure to see you, too."

       Lottie grinned and brought him a brandy and the decanter from the bar. "Here, first one's on the house. Put some color back in those pale cheeks."

       Aaron toasted her silently.

       "So, where've you been all this time?" Lottie chatted on.

       "On business," he replied, refusing to be drawn out further.

       "Sorry to pry," Lottie offered in mock apology. "People have just been curious about your rather unusual departure."

       "People are too damned curious, if you ask me," Aaron grumbled. "Lottie, do you think I could just have my dinner and a bit of solitude?"

       "Of course, Aaron. Right away, Aaron," Lottie curtsied her way back to the kitchen, leaving him to keep company with the brandy decanter.

       He poured himself another glassful and leaned back in his chair. It was done. Heaven alone knew how he had done it, or even why. Even now he wondered if he had done the right thing. Nothing would please him more than to see some of that smugness wiped from Jason Bolt's face. So why had he stepped in?

       Bolt! that was why. The man was always embroiling him in his schemes, and he'd somehow managed to do so again even at a distance of several thousand miles. Aaron snorted; well, all that would change soon enough. A hundred marriageable women for Seattle? Not unless you're planning to raid the Sultan's harem, my man! And when you return sans the promised cargo, well, we'll just see, Bolt.

       "I'm glad to see your spirits are improving," Lottie said, noting his smile as she placed his dinner plate before him. She chose to ignore his scowl as she seated herself across from him. "You missed all the excitement."

       Aaron mentally shrugged and accepted the presence of his uninvited dinner companion, realizing he had little choice in the matter; Lottie would have her say, regardless. "What excitement?" he asked around a bite of steak.

       "The telegram from Jason," she offered teasingly. "They're headed back here with one hundred marriageable young ladies, as ordered."

       As Aaron began to choke on his steak, his hand shot out to grab his glass of brandy, but knocked the decanter over instead, splashing the liquid across his plate and down the front of his shirt. Lottie grabbed a napkin and rushed to his aid, thumping his back with one hand while mopping at his shirtfront with the other.

       "What's this?" she asked when a packet of folded documents fell from his inside jacket pocket to the table. She snatched the papers away from the spreading wetness and Aaron's flailing hands. Aaron could only gasp helplessly as she scanned the documents.

       "Aaron, this is a loan agreement," she informed him. "And a deposit receipt. To the Bolt brothers' account?"

       "So help me, Lottie," Aaron gurgled through his swollen throat. "If you dare breathe a word of this to ANYBODY . . ." He was forced to stop and gulp down precious air.

       Lottie looked at him with concern, then, deciding he would survive, she smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, Aaron," she said soothingly as she refolded the documents and tucked them back into his jacket pocket, giving them a little pat. "I wouldn't DREAM of telling anyone what a sweetheart you are."

       Aaron pointed a warning finger at her and tried to sound threatening, "Lottie..."

       "Besides," she said, casting a flirtatious glance over her shoulder as she carried his ruined dinner back to the kitchen. "Who would believe me?"

       During the following months Aaron strived to avoid his fellow townspeople, keeping to himself at work and taking his meals at home as often as possible. Over time the gossip about his attempted take-over of the Bolt brothers' business faded as the arrival of the "brides" grew imminent. Aaron heard that Ben Perkins was doing a record business in boot polish and new shirts as the men prepared to present themselves to the poor, unsuspecting ladies. An itinerant barber had set up an open-air business near the totem pole, and was said to be doing such a brisk trade that he was looking to build a shop next to the general store. Several of the ladies of the town had even advertised lessons in etiquette, elocution and dancing. So Aaron's predictions were proving true; the import of one hundred women would be good for business.

       But the goings-on in Seattle came to Aaron mostly in the form of rumor. After his return from Tacoma he had retrieved the Bolts' ledgers from Lawrence, who had seemed strangely reluctant to trust him with them, and sequestered himself in his library, there to spend many evenings trying to unravel what Robbie Johannsen had done. That the boy had been embezzling was clear, but try as he might, Aaron could not find sufficient proof. And without that proof, the Territorial Marshall told him, they couldn't issue charges to bring the boy in. That is, if he could be found, the matter of Robbie's whereabouts being somewhat vague by that time.

       In the end, there was nothing Aaron could do but turn the matter over to his attorney and try to clean up the ledgers to look as though all had gone well in Bolts' absence. He did, however, allow himself the pleasure of riding up to the camp to return the ledgers the same day that Overton sent his men to collect on the contract. The look on the men's faces when they realized that they would be returning with the promised timber instead of the expected excuses was proof enough to Aaron's mind of Overton's role in the scheme.

       It had taken a lot of long, hard days of unflagging labor to meet the full terms of the contract, but Big Swede and the loggers had managed. A letter from Aaron's attorney informed him that Overton had declared bankruptcy shortly thereafter; apparently he had heavily mortgaged everything he owned to bankroll his scheme to bring down the Bolt brothers, and when the contract had been met fully and on time, he had had to pay the exorbitant price he'd promised. A brief postscript noted that Mrs. Overton had returned to her family in Canada, and that Robbie Johannsen was rumored to be attending University somewhere in Europe.

       An official-looking envelope from Aaron's bank arrived sometime later, containing a deposit receipt and a neatly written note from his banker reporting that a sum equal to amount of his loan had been deposited in his account by a Mr. Lew Harper. So Lottie hadn't kept entirely quiet about the loan, or perhaps Big Swede had guessed it that night he took the payroll to the camp. Either way, Aaron just hoped they'd all have the sense to keep the story to themselves. Jason Bolt was going to be unbearable enough when he sailed back into town with his cargo of "brides".

       But, for the next couple of weeks at least, Seattle would be bereft of Bolts, and Aaron would finally be able to focus his full attention back on running his own business. And high time, too, if Lawrence's bookkeeping was any indication of the sloppiness that had passed for management while Aaron was distracted by all this Bolt business...

       Then, with a sigh of defeat, he went out to join the others in welcoming the ladies to Seattle.

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