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                                                         By Melissa 'Mel' Miller
                                                  Chapter 1: The Gold Rush

This story features original fanfic characters, which are characters of Melissa Miller, andcharacters from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, which are trademarks of Sullivan Productions and CBS. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work. This work is © of Melissa Miller 2001. If you'd like to archive this story somewhere, let me know first. Thanks.


"Everybody's a bloody entrepreneur these days. A damned money hungry swine, always looking to make a buck. At this point in my life I'm almost completely certain that the only good the War ever did was manage to shake all of the Roaches out from under the rug, making them actually have to stop leaching offa the fortune of their wealthy inheritance and work down in the dirt for a living, right along with the rest of the world.

It was the money that did it.

They'd always had it. Never had to work a lick to get it, and when the War tore the country apart, limb by limb, causing many wealthy families to lose everything, the pampered fools went nuts the head, thinking that they'd never get back up top again without it.

With the weight of having to do things for themselves for a change, with the realization of just how hard their grandparents had to work to make life in this new land any life at all, the Roaches, in the midst of the hard-working elite within every territory between Philadelphia and the furthest tips of California, became bitter and self loathing.

...And money hungry.

Its all about the silver dollar.

About lynching the working class, and it was the Roaches that learned the trade, did it, and did it well. In the midst their despair, the formerly pampered third generation slackers, although admittedly few and far between, looked for the easy way out. Looked for what would sell, what would rake in the money, with effort on their part, yes, but through the sweat and tears of others.

So what sells on the frontiers? What sells within the hearts of Boston and Philly? Through the rich and the deprived alike? 

Booze and women.

Whiskey and whores.

Plain and simple, its a money makin' machine. Buy the liquor for a penny and sell it for trice as much. Contract women with so little in life, yet so much to lose, and trap them. Throw them to the dogs. Make 'em think that this is as good as it gets when you're you. Because you're a whore. Just a five dollar entertainer, not a penny's worth more.

I always tell myself that I'm more, even though I'm not entirely sure I believe it, even now that I'm free. I'm fendin' for myself now, takin' from them what I need to survive and high-tailin' it to what I need even more. The open road. The countryside.

Out here the Roaches can't lay a damned finger on me, less I ever get caught.

I pray to God that'll not happen.

Winter's comin' on quick now, though, and I'm scared more and more each day that I won't make it far south enough before the first blizzard hits. I'm so far away from Boston now, but the Colorado winters can be just as harsh, I reckon. I'm hopin' to pass through here quick, hopin' upon hope that I'll reach my destination, were ever that ends up bein'.

Maybe I can become an ol' school spinster, with some time and schoolin’ for myself. I mean, 'pending if people're willin' to hire a runnin' ex-whore to be teachin' their children.

Or maybe.... Maybe I'll find my Pa yet. Maudry always said he'd been dreamin' of the Colorado countryside for years b'fore the War.

Or maybe me passin' through this way is just wishful thinkin'.

Either way, no matter where I end up, I swore up and down to Maud before she died that I'd make somethin' outta myself yet, and I ain't one to back down. Noth then. Not now.

I'll proove him wrong yet.

Damn him.

Damn his saloon and his keg-tapped brain.

Damn the sunnovabitch to hell.

I'm free now.

I'll show him yet."

A makeshift charcoal pencil and ratty leather-bound diary, worn from travel and tears, were set back within a buckskin knapsack and replaced by determination and a catlike stealth. A small tattered and soiled but oddly graceful form hopped and dodged, keeping down low as she snaked through the darkened city streets avoiding warmly lit windows and noisy wood-planked porches, seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold late-fall breeze that seemed determined to keep her from her intended goal. The deathly grey full moon's rays seemed bent on searching her out and exposing her, while the obsidian shadows cast by the empty store fronts' sunfaded gables remained equally bent on aiding her on her bitter plight.

It seemed the towns just got smaller and smaller the further south she went, the girl reckoned, yet oddly, with as many as she'd seen, Colorado Springs seemed no different then any other railroad town in the province. You could blink and miss the place if you road by it fast enough.

And, she decided firmly, peering up and around her intended target, stomach wrenching with previously ignored hunger pangs, the town saloon seemed to mirror all the rest of its kind. Long, spit platoon lined porch, a set of cafe-style swinging double doors, its location right smack in the middle of town with an eerily welcoming precedence after dark and-- the girl scanned the buildings' overhead sign, tacked gaudily upon the gable, scoffing as her suspicions were confirmed-- a flashy hellspun name reflecting promise and promenade that the establishment no doubt lacked entirely.

"The Gold Nugget," she grinned bitterly, shaking her head, pressing on in disgust, "All the same, ain't they?"

It appeared so, as, just like the rest, their drunken barkeeps seemed to feel that they were invincible to thievery; thought that they were the best damned shots in the township, so all potential thieves be damned. This blundering egotism shown in the Golden Nugget as well, with its equally piss-poor security. Windows were left open and vacant, the side corral's gate latch lock left haphazardly open and unattended.

The girl sneered ruefully at the nearest first-floor open window. This place would be a sinch to leach off of for the next week or so, just as she'd hoped, until Spirit was healed and strong enough again to ride her further south. The damned barkeep, the roach, whoever he was, owed her that much, just like the rest.

Poising only momentarily to listen and watch for any danger or sign of authorities, the girl, pulling her gray suede wide-rimmed hat further over her face, vaulted almost soundlessly into the cotton curtained window. Feet hitting the wood-plank floor equally as soft, she immediately crouched down, out of the reach of the moon light, hearing noise and sensing the presence of someone else, and coming to the unnerving realization that she'd just come less the a foot away from landing onto a dreadfully tattered bed, and on top of the fat, reaking, clearly drunken sow of a man that inhabited it. She squinted warily at the bulbous male, who seemed to have passed out and slept where he landed, having barely landed onto the bed, and now mumbled incoherently in his stupefied drunken sleep.

Catching her breath and regaining her nerves seconds after her near-exposing move, the girl wondered for a second if the man that lay haphazardly beside her was, in fact, the hated omniscient Barkeep himself, though she had no way of knowing for sure. He could just as easily be hired help, or a treasured well-paying regular who was too drunk to ride home and face the Mrs., or simply a drop-by visitor renting the room, who was clearly unable to hold his own when it came to rotgut.  They all looked the same to her. The girl secretly vouched for his identity as the Barkeep, though, knowing that such a drunken stupor would make her job all the more easy.

Creeping out of the room with no more then a shuffle and a single light squeal from the poorly-oiled door's hinges, the girl padded in moccasined feet down the hall and into the smoke-stenched saloon.

She had to fight immediately to push back the dreaded wave of emotion that swept over her as she took in the sight of the place, smelling its forever-tainted scent of musky men, booze, cigars and cheep perfume, as she went sneaking behind the room's oak-topped bar.

This place wasn't like all the others somehow. It was TOO familiar, too reminiscent, and somehow too much like the place she'd so desperately fled. All of these things were hated reminders of a past too close to present to be forgotten, and the vile images and memories that swept through her mind as she searched out much-needed food, whiskey and silver-dollar tips, suddenly proved to numb her senses, and in turn, dulled her skillful stealth.

This hadn't happened before. None of the other saloons had managed to render her so brittle and scared.

Mindlessly shoving jerky, rolls, a whiskey flask and other things she numbly, uncharacteristically, fumbled into her satchel, she began to fear the impossible.

That He would come barging in at any moment.

That He would catch her.

That He would hurt her again.

And again. And again.

She paid little mind to the perfectly clear knowledge that her feared assailant was good and dead, six feet under for over eight months to date, and, unfortunately, paid just as little attention, amidst her tears, to the racket her trembles and jitters had caused.

Within seconds there was a sudden, eerily hallow 'KERR-CLICK!'.

The girl, still on her haunches, half bent into the storage cabinet, back turned against the offending noise, grew deathly pale. Eyes wide, stomach lead, she prayed for her life as the cold iron barrel of a Colt pressed firmly against the exposed nape of her neck.

"Drop... everything," a fuming, smoky voice snarled at a near whisper from behind her.

Her satchel hit the floor, her panic rising, her hand involuntarily reaching for the knife on her belt. Gut instinct told her that she'd just managed to make the acquaintance of the Gold Nugget's illusive barkeep.

"Ah-ah," The gun pressed harder against her backbone when her fingers gripped her knife, "How bad you wanna die, kid?"

The girl froze, frowning bitterly.

"What I thought," The barkeep grunted, "Get up. Hands where I can see 'em."

There was a sudden hint of fire in the girl's eye, and she weighed her options, her mind racing at a feverent pace, and she began to comply diligently with her soft-spoken order. Halfway to her feet, like a shot of lightning, She whirled around in a high kick, the gun knocked out of the barkeep's hand in a powerful blow. The girl grinned ruthlessly at the man's stunned shout, snatching up her knapsack and vaulting the grimy bar in a flustered panicked attempt to escape.

"Hey!" the barkeep was a massive blur in her side vision, angry and storming, he ran after her, over tables and stools at an alarming speed, his angry shouts booming. The girl tried to scream as she dodged his grasp this way and that, her voice evading her, leaving her choking with fear. Her head swarmed, the room swam, and in her panic she suddenly realized he hadn't a clue where she was headed---

-- and smacked head long into another screaming body, the two tumbling to the floor in a flailing entanglement of limbs, buckskin and lace. For only a moment, the girl seemed to go numb, peering down, face-to-face at the terrified green eyes of the shrieking Working Girl that had had the misfortune of cushioning her fall, when an angry curse from above and behind her was followed an forceful grip upon her buckskin jacket. In a fluster of silent fury, she was yanked to her feet, swung around and greeted with a granite fist to her left temple. Her world went black before she even hit the floor.


******************************************


The girl-theif wasn't sure how long she'd been trapped in her secluded, frightening darkness before consciousness began to needle its way back into her batter-rammed skull.

The pain came first, quick and pulsating, her bloodflow a deep base racking her rattled brain before the faint hint of worried female chatter flooded her ears, the sudden rush of sound causing her head to pound with even more fury. Her eyelids pulled back like fluttering window shades, her initial sight a spattering of bright red, fading to an increase of pain in her skull and a lightning-crackle effect across her line of sight. Persistent blinking and painful concentration brought her sight and mind out of its reprehensible blur.

Her senses back, but the sharp pain still unmistakably present, she was faced with the knowledge of three blatant facts. She was lying down. There were three petite, rather pretty female faces peering down at her with a shared mix of concern and curiosity painted clearly across their faces. And she hurt like hell.

Somehow, for the moment, the latter fact managed to take precedence over them all, and she groaned miserably.

"Poor baby," a soft-eyed redhead drawled, placing the cold press back against the horizontal she-thief’s left temple, causing her to wince, "She's coming back to, Ya'll."

Before anyone could react, the jaunty, brown eyed blonde reared back and shouted, "Boss! She's awake! Boss!"

The thief recoiled in pain with a start as the other two girls wrestled to hush their friend.

"Jeeezelouis, Jennie, will you cut it out! You'll give the girl a bloody aneurysm!" a cherub-faced brunette scolded, "Get up and go GET him, would you? I think Lacie's still wrappin' up his hand."

"Sorry," the reddened Jennie rose and left the theif girl’s line of vision.

The other two girl's attention returned to their newly discovered intruder, the redhead tended to the swollen, clotting gash in the new girl's forehead, and the grey eyed brunette pushed the thief’s deep auburn hair out of her pain-stricken face.

"You got a name, love?" the brunette whispered coyly. If she was what the thief suspected her of being, she new the Brunette’s saucy voice was at hand for no other reason then out of relentless practice.

"Anna," The thief girl lied effortlessly.

"I'm sure," the girl above her chided with a grin, "You always managed to pick the worst temper in town to rob, or are you just having an off-night?" The brunette teased.

Anna said nothing, glaring coldly.

"I'm Naidine," the brunette offered, "She's Madelyne. You've already seen Jennette."

"Or heard her, any way," Madelyne offered, releasing her grip on the cold press long enough to mop her fiery red terraces from her face.

"Guess so," Anna tried to sit up, pain shooting through her head, and she decided pointedly to stay prone to the bed.

"Wouldn't move too much if I was you, love," Naidine stated coolly, "You got knocked pretty hard."

"No shit," Anna based.

Naidine smothered a smile, "My kinda girl." Her grin faded as she poised at the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway, and turned back to Anna, "You want advice from someone who knows better?"

Anna blinked.

"Stay put, act real hurt till mornin, you got it? He won't have the heart to turn in a girl he just cuffed," Naidine pulled away Madelyne's cold press and threw it aside, "Then as soon as you pay off whatever you owe him, get out of here. Out of town, got me?"

"Who do you think you--" Anna's throaty threat was cut off.

"You don't wanna get back into all this, love," Naidine's eyes pierced Anna's. "and if you want it to stay that way, you'll take my advice."

Anna was stunned, despite her pain, "How did you know that--?"

"Shh!" Madelyne hushed, and Anna could hear three sets of bare feet clamber into the room.

Jennete reclaimed her spot on the bed, giving Anna a surprisingly kind gaze. A new figure, with raven black terraces and cold green eyes- the same girl Anna had clobbered in the hallway, and no doubt the fabled Lacie- glare down at her rather distastefully, "She looks like a little Mountain Man with breasts, if you ask me," the Raven girl spat.

"Lacie!" Molly's eyes grew wide, "You shut yer yap! Thats cruel!"

Lacie scoffed, "But you know I'm right."

"That would be a first," Naidine quipped at Anna's defense. Resisting the urge to jump up and thwap Lacie with the beating of her life, Anna had a rather odd instinctual drive to do precisely as Naidine had suggested- play possum.

"All of yahs cut it out."

Anna's blood ran cold. The same hardened, smoky voice that had threatened her with the Colt not long before suddenly put an immediate end to the hooker girls' squabbles. Naidine caught the look of alarm in Anna's eyes, and shot her a warning glare not to move.

"Scram," came another demand from the Barkeep's disgruntled baritone. The girls that littered the bed suddenly scooted and swarmed out of Anna's sight and, she suddenly felt ill, her means of protection vanished right along with them. With one last gaze from Naidine, Anna heard the lot of them shuffle out of the room.

There was a moment of panicked silence. Anna's sore head pulsated as she glared at the rutty off-white ceiling, suddenly weighing her options once more in the back of her skull. She wanted to get up and run like hell, despite her injury, but, along with Nadine's whispered warning, the sudden scent of burning tobacco from merely feet away told her that she didn't have a chance of avoiding the possibility of another wicked blow to the head if she tried. She reckoned her skull just might cave in on her yet with another joust like that, and she staid prone, hoping that the terrible tremble she was suddenly overcome with wasn't near as noticeable as it felt.

Anna's placid glare at the smoke-stained ceiling was suddenly cut off by a suprisingly tall, lanky form, and, receiving her first good look at her Hot-headed Barkeep assailant,  her breathe caught in her throat at the man that contrasted entirely with the horrid disheveled drunk she'd known most barkeeps to resemble. Tall and lean, with broad, muscular shoulders, Anna found herself caught in the glare of angry blue eyes that accompanied a perplexed, but suprisingly handsome face, stubble-length beard and a mane of sun-bleached tawny brown hair, long locks that fell nearly to his elbows. Add this to the fact that his rather well-sculpted frame was in little more then a haphazardly buttoned red Union Suit, and this, Anna inwardly gaped, was a far cry from the slug she'd nearly landed on in the other bedroom.

Still.... the reality of it swept over her in a wave of hate, he was a barkeep- a Roach- the same as all the rest, with the same blackened mind behind those cold blue eyes. The surprise on Anna's face quickly drained into a bitter hatred.

"Well well," The scruffy barkeep finally spoke, dabbing the life out of his cigarillo and exhaling lungs of smoke. Anna winced and resisted the urge to shy away as the large man sat on the bed beside her, and leaned in close, his golden locks falling to trace her arm, looking her over, "Coulda been damned sure I thought you was a boy with that hat on yah," fingers lightly pushing Anna's chin to one side, the barkeep looked over her swollen temple critically, then sighed, "Ain't usually accustomed to knockin' the daylights outta a lady."

Anna finally managed to breathe when the barkeep sat back up straight, scratching at his stubble laden chin, "You pull stupid stunts like that often? I coulda killed you, easy."

Anna said nothing, staring defiantly into the barkeep's face.

The big man glowered, "You got a name, girl?"

Anna stayed silent, kept glaring.

The barkeep, clearly agitated, leaned in closer, "I know I didn't knock you stupid, girl. You mind answering the question?"

Silence still, and Anna looked away.

She was, by all means, scared shitless. Her better judgment told her to speak up if she wanted to stay in one piece, but her hatred for the type that sat beside her simply blockaded her willingness to care.

"Hank Lawson."

Anna blinked, suddenly confused, and her lock-jaw accidentally slipped, "Pardon?"

The barkeep grinned slyly at himself, "Names Hank," he raised an eyebrow at her cynically, "Figured you might like to at least know the name of the man you were tryin' to rob blind," Hank pushed his long hair behind his shoulder, quiet for a moment. He then grinned and winked slyly once more, "So you DO talk."

Anna resisted the urge to scoff. The man nearly knocks her brains out of her skull, and twenty minutes later he was flirting with her. But then, she reasoned, he was a Hustler by trade. It was part of the job description. She knew of this all too well.

"Adrian Anna Leigh," Avoiding his gaze, Anna finally confessed her identity rather forcibly to the man, somehow sensing that the sly-faced barkeep would know immediately if she were to lie.

"That yer full name?"

"No."

"Didn't think so," Hank finally stood, looming over Anna as he stretched, leaning his head to one side and wincing as his neck cracked. "Well, Adrian Anna Leigh," he mocked her regal demeanor, "You're damned lucky I don't drag your theivin' ass to the Sheriff’s right now, despite the time." Hank watched the color in Adrian's face drain at the mentioning of the Authorities, "But seein' as how yer brains were practically makin' love to my fist because of all this, I'm gonna cut you a deal."

Anna's head reeled.

The damned sonnuvabitch.

Stinkin' beautiful bastard.

Adrian was suddenly gutted with the stark realization that she was, with those words, placed in debt to a pimp, and in turn, trapped in the Hustler's pocket, right where he wanted her. Bile rose in her throat, taunting the back of her tongue as Anna watched the wild-maned barkeep lean in on her slyly, "You give me a weeks work of work here at the Nugget, without pay, and I let you off scott free." Hank seemed quite proud of himself, seeing as how stealthily he'd just gained full reign over the much smaller young woman.

"And if I don't?" Anna dared to stared the man down.

"Easy," Hank Lawson's pale blue eyes grew cold, "You don't, you'll be answerin' to the Hangman for robbin' the man who supplies Colorado Spring's menfolk of the only Entertainin' within a day's ride."

Anna closed her eyes, trying to think in amidst pain, nausea, fear, and a sudden overwhelming wave of complete desperation.

It was only a week, she reasoned. She'd still be able to come out of it with enough time to get well south of the Colorado Territory before winter struck, and he'd never actually MENTIONED the possibility of whorin', which she knew she could, and would, use against him later, if she had to. Lord knew she could run the damned place for him for the week if given the chance. Adrian finally glared up at him coldly, "Fine. One week. Then I'm out."

She held out a hand, Hank Lawson shook it, and in a mocking gentlemanly gate, he grinned, "Much ablidged."

It took everything in her for Anna to refrain her boiling anger and keep from knocking the teeth clear out of Hand Lawson's wicked grinning skull. In turn, she kept her silence.

"Damn I need sleep," Lawson growled moodily, stifling a yawn, "So do you. Yah start first thing in the mornin'."

Adrian half expected the barkeep to turn and leave for his sleeping quarters and finally leave her alone to fret, but paired with his shutting the door, lock and key, and soon after, beginning to peel away his Long Johns, Anna realized with a start that this WAS his bedroom, and she was inhabiting the barkeep's own bed- the one of which he had every intention of using that night.

"I--I should go-- out- another room-- you--" Adrian stammered in a bit of a panic. Hank cut just short of removing the bottom half of his undergarments, and looked up, rather puzzled. His befuddlement melted away into a sassy grin soon after as he caught sight of Adrian's exasperated expression and reddened cheeks.

"I should go." Adrian repeated, apauled at the weakness she heard in her own voice while addressing the exact type of man she's spent most of her life's energy on hating.

"I wouldn't recommend it."

Anna paled considerably, her expression suddenly turning pitifully fearful at the tall man's statement that she could have sworn was a threat.

Hank sighed at her, "You mind letting me finish?"

Anna blinked, "What?"

"I won't pull anything on yah, all right? Lighten up. I was going to say, you need t' stay still considering the knot on yer head ain't gone down any. You stand up, the blood'll rush to yer head and you'll be out cold," Hanks expression went from annoyed to sly once again, "And somehow I kinda doubt you wanna be locked inna room with me with no whits about yah."

"Sounds about right." Anna said, her eyes still fixed rather placidly at the grip Hank had on his faded red Union Suit bottoms.

"You want I should keep these on?"

Anna nodded so fast her head realed with pain, and she grappled it immediately, wincing.

With a sigh and a shake of his own head, Hank Lawson blew out the lamp that illuminated the small room, leaving a fetal Anna to pray that the Barkeep was a man of his word.

**********************************

Despite her pulsing head, and her fear of the man that lay just inches to her side, Adrian Anna Lee managed to get the most fitful sleep she'd had in weeks. The chance to sleep in an actual bed instead of the rocky, ruddy ground was accepted with open arms and a good six hours of fitful dozing. And despite Hank Lawson's having, to her own befuddlement, kept his word and kept to himself through the night, Anna awoke to find herself in a rather precarious position, amidst the muffled quilt and bed linen- wrapped up rather snugly in the arms of the lightly snoring barkeep.

Somehow Anna doubted his subconscious cuddle was on purpose, considering what he COULD have done having been in such close proximity to her sleeping frame for so many hours, but more out of habit, so she ruled out her initial drive to feed him a rather malicious knee to the groin.

Truth be told, the accidental affection wasn't entirely loathed. Something within Adrian's chest fluttered like mad in the protective arms of the rather attractive barkeep. But he WAS a barkeep, and the power he had to ruin the new life she was just managing to forge was far too great not to get the snoring, snuffling, fuzzy galloot offa her and as far away from her and her fragile heart and life as soon as humanly possible.

Besides, if nothing else, his chest hairs had her tickled nose in a threat to sneeze at any moment, and she had a feeling that it probably wasn't all too safe of a concept to wake Hank Lawson up with a start.

Resorting to shifting position a bit and snuggling her head into the crook of his collarbone with a mumble and feigned sleep, Anna could feel the big man stir, yawn, and pause, probably trying to recollect just who in the hell this new young woman was whom he was holding. Catching on quick, Hank carefully wriggled his way away from the prone Adrian, and rolled out of bed to stretch, scratch his moppy head, and turn and swat Anna with a pillow. Anna immediately 'woke up', trying to feign drowsiness with a moan and stretch.

Hank reached for his pants, "Rise n' Shine, dollface. You got work to do."

"mm-hmm," she gave a fake mumble-stretch, looking  tired and droopy from sleep, but her mind switching onto the keen awareness of the danger she posed to herself if she stayed at the Gold Nugget even a moment longer. Now freed from the Barkeep's unexpected comfort, her position with him, and the debt she feared he'd abuse, sank into the pit of her stomach, weighing it down and sending her sore head reeling once again.

Gut instinct told her that the time to escape was now. Her eyes lingered from the dressing barkeep to her still-full buckskin knapsack on the floor at her side and back. Hank was oblivious. She was determined. Desperate. The moment he turned his back to slip a second leg into his black denim trousers, Anna bolted, up out of bed, snatching her knapsack, still in her moccasins from the night previous, she was already halfway out of the window when the Barkeep swung around and yelled, and had her feet on the ground, sprinting into a fearful run when she heard the man clamor and fall loudly to the floor, tangled up in his own trousers.

"ANNA!" Hank's ferocious roar as he made it to the window fueled Adrian's strides with the dose of terror enough to have rendered anyone else motionless with fear, "ANNA GET BACK HERE! GOD DAMMIT, WE HAD A DEAL! ANNA!" Adrian, however, was far too experienced in running for her life to give into the paralysis of fear. She knew what the sound in the barkeep's voice meant. If he caught her now, she would barely live to regret it.

Tearing out of the town of Colorado Springs on foot, dodging startled eyes, rearing horses, practically knocking townsfolk off of their feet as she fled, Adrian disappeared into her beloved countryside.
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