Synopsis: We now meet Pete Crockett, whose story this is. Pete is a prospector from the Northwest Territory who meets Sarah in Mr. Bose's office. After his first date with her, he discovers unusual feelings.
Part III My Story
Chapter Eight
You see, I was once married to a girl I thought I loved very much, and perhaps I did because when she left with a long distance truck driver, I was left with a broken heart. I mean literally.
I suppose I should have realized something was going on because of unexplained absences, and occasional overnight trips out of town to visit "relatives," or the one time I had come home early and found her wearing lingerie I didn't recognize only partly covered as she struggled to straighten her clothes, but I ignored it as well as her mussed hair and smeared lipstick, partly out of youthful arrogance, but truth be told, mostly out of fear of losing her. I dove straight into a bottle, and for six months managed to stay drunk most of the time. I sobered up only after the constable carried me off to the lock-up where I spent a miserable two weeks in the company of some Indians in the same condition, and the town bum.
The second time I was locked up, it was the result of a fight I had gotten into with some Mexican field hands. I was with a different set of Indians but the town bum was just finishing his sentence and was due to be released in two days. I'll never forget him.
"Listen, kid," he had said, his dark eyes looking straight into my soul while I contemplated his wasted features, "I seen you in here before. No woman is worth killing yourself over. And the next time you get into a scrap with them Dagos, one of 'em will put a knife in your ribs! I know what I'm talking about!" He pulled the tail of his shirt out of his pants and raised it, revealing a jagged, sunken scar about four inches long running diagonally along the bottom of his rib cage. "Lucky for me, all he had was a razor. If he'd had a real knife, he's have sliced my liver in half!"
I dreamed about that scar off and on for weeks afterward. But it was the man himself who turned my head around. Feeling his eyes penetrate me was like peering into the deepest pits of Hell. The second time I was released, I found a job as a helper in a carpenter shop. Business was good, and eventually the boss hired another young fellow. That's how I met my partner, Jack Whittier.
Since we were both bachelors, we began spending some of our free time together, hiking and exploring the nearby hills. Jack's great uncle was one of the few lucky prospectors who had found "color" in what was to become the Yellowknife District which, after the Klondike, became one of the major gold producing areas in Canadian history.
Jack was enrolled in a general course on mining geology with special emphasis on precious metals. It was sponsored by the Yellowknife Chamber of Commerce as a way of attracting (luring might be a better word) young men into a prospector's life. They saw it as simply good business to recruit young men to search further and further afield for gold, in what was generally recognized as one of the most mineralized areas of the country, at no cost to the company.
Jack had the fever which proved contagious because I also began carrying a rock hammer whenever we went for a tramp in the woods. We knew, of course, that the ground for miles around the first strike had been thoroughly examined by scores of young men as well as seasoned prospectors.
Then, ten years ago, we decided to get serious. Although we both were earning journeyman carpenter wages, we quit and decided to prospect in a different, but geologically related corner of the Great Slave Lake. We were looking for gold, so we tended to stick to stream beds. However, we'd occasionally find an interesting outcropping or other indication of a mineral formation. When we did, Jack always noted it in his field diary.
That was how we discovered the molybdenite prospect. We had passed it over two years earlier, but having found no "color," we decided to retrace our steps. Now it looked like we really had something.
I don't know what time Jack came in because I was sound asleep. I knew things had gone well with them, however, because when I had come to our room the previous night, the bed Jack slept in was badly rumpled. The next morning, he was all smiles and all during breakfast all he could talk about was Willa. Although he never said anything directly about it, it wasn't at all necessary.
However, when we returned to Mr. Bose's office, a message was waiting for us. It seems one of his mining school classmates had seen or heard something that led him to think somebody was planning to jump our claim. We hadn't proved up on it yet, and had even talked about him staying behind to guard it while I took care of our business with Bose, Rothchild and Gibbons.
After a quick telephone call, he left immediately for the train station, not even taking time to stop at the hotel to pack or check out. As it was, he barely caught the train.
And I was in love again. In love with a woman I had seen only twice, and one unfortunately who seemed to share Amy's trait; an abiding interest in other men, if her performance with the big stranger the previous night was any indicator. For a time, I almost decided to cancel my dinner invitation. I couldn't bear the thought of repeating the hell I had gone through with Amy. But neither could I force myself to cancel the dinner.
Promptly at 7:45 the following evening, I tucked the bottle of wine under my arm to free a hand so I could press the doorbell button. Almost immediately, the door opened. Sarah was wearing a long translucent gown in a pale green shade that highlighted her beautiful brown eyes and elaborately arranged auburn hair. She wore matching undergarments that seemed designed to attract attention rather than conceal her most intimate parts.
Like a fool, I held out a bouquet of roses in one hand, and a bottle of merlot in the other. Possibly mistaking my intent, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her body against mine while her open, working lips seemed to suck my lips into her hot, moist mouth.
Naturally, my unruly cock responded almost immediately to her erotic welcome. She felt it stir, and responded by deliberately bumping it with her pelvis.
Then she released me and accepted the flowers and wine with a gracious smile. "Let's get out of the hallway." I followed her into her apartment and was almost immediately surprised by how large it was. She must have sensed what was passing through my mind because she explained, "I share this apartment with Willa, so we needed three bedrooms."
Three bedrooms?
Seeing the question on my face, she quickly added, "The third bedroom is for our two daughters -- my Nonnie and her Ruth. Nonnie is 15 going on 25, while Ruthie is 13. Believe me, they're a handful!"
This woman was full of surprises. Had anyone asked me, the way she was dressed, I would have sworn Sarah was no older than about 25. However, it seemed unlikely that she would have had her daughter when she was 10 years old.
Correctly reading the expression on my face, she smiled and with characteristic directness, said, "That's the nicest compliment I've received all day! I'm an old hag of 35."
I couldn't believe it. She was only two years younger than me, but if one could overlook the sweet curve of her bosom and the womanly flare of her hips, she could easily have passed for my daughter. Her face and hands were as smooth as a child's.
She invited me into their living room and left me while she went into the kitchen, presumably to attend to our dinner. The quiet tones of a familiar classic provided soothing background music. She quickly returned with a wine glass in one hand and a highball in the other. "I hope I chose the right one," she said, handing me the highball.
