He kept the peace without surcease
Did mighty Jack O’Dair.
Through Dyea-town fights, and dread Klondike nights,
None other could compare.
A brawny bear was Jack O’Dair,
His voice deep, mellow brass,
Bright red hair had Jack O’Dair
And eyes green as Ireland grass.
Lawman Jack was bold in the Northland’s cold.
Jack struck the scoundrels down.
With his wolf-dog Taku and his ulu, too,
Jack tended Dyea town.

And it continues....

Jack had returned. "Looks like everyone’s in bed, including Eldon. I wanted to make sure he got home all right after that little difficulty."

Little difficulty. That was all the fight, the menace from six drunken men, had been to him.

And he was kind enough to check to make sure that Eldon had returned with no further problem.

Jessie shook her head slowly, as though hoping to clear it of years of brainwashing from hearing the ballad--to no avail.

Jack was everything she had imagined he would be.

"Are you all right, Jessie?" Jack had draped his heavy jacket over a hook on the wall, and he drew a chair toward her. His ecru sweater did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his muscles.

"I’m fine," she said, though she knew the tremor in her voice belied her words. "Fine," she repeated more strongly. She glared at Jack as though daring him to contradict her. If he did, she’d really get angry.

She had to.

She had never before met the hero of one of her pet ballads. She had half fallen in love with the idea of Jack O’Dair, even without knowing how his song ended. Now that she was faced with the reality of the man, her heart had not reached a sensible equilibrium. Of course she found him attractive. What woman wouldn’t? But she was going home, as soon as she could--wasn’t she? She didn’t care for Jack in any case, just the idea of him.

Then why, when she looked sidelong into his concerned face, did she want to kiss him?

"You don’t look fine," he contradicted.

"I... I’m just not used to all this cold. And excitement."

"I don’t know about that." Jack pulled his chair a little closer to the fire--and a lot nearer to her. "You seemed to be right at home in all that excitement at Helen’s. You had those stampeders bawling like babies at your song."

She had, hadn’t she? She grinned. It wasn’t every day that her ballads struck such emotional chords in her audience.

But then she realized that Jack’s tone had not contained solely admiration; there had been another message-- jealousy?

She nearly laughed aloud. He had no reason to be jealous. He hadn’t any more interest in her than he had in one of Helen’s girls--did he?

"Did you like my singing?"

She’d meant to ask if he minded that the other men had been so affected. She hadn’t intended such a plaintive question.

But now that it had been asked....

"I liked it, Jessie Jerome." He stood beside her chair. "I liked it a lot."

She wasn’t sure if he had urged her to her feet with his touch, or whether she had simply stood of her own volition, but suddenly, she was facing him.

In his arms. His strong, heroic arms were tightly around her, and she felt right at home. She rested her cheek on his chest, feeling the coarseness of the hand-knit material of his shirt against her skin.

But not for long. His fingers lifted her chin.

She stood on tiptoe, for that was the only way she could reach him. But he bent down to her, too. He touched her lips with his--very, very gently.

His mouth was warmer than the fire, and it stoked some long-banked conflagration deep within her. When he began to pull away, she reached up and held his head down to her.

She ran her fingers through the silky inferno of his bright red hair. Her eyes were closed, the better to concentrate on her all-consuming sense of touch. She felt his hands at her back, kneading her skin--her skin! His hands were beneath her shirt, and the sensation of his flesh on hers made her even more crazy.

"Jack O’Dair," she whispered against his lips.