To his surprise, Devlin found himself liking the older man. After the hardships Riley had apparently put his daughter through over the years, Devlin had expected to find a selfish son of a bitch who thought only of his mine and himself, but Riley obviously cared as deeply for Jessica as she did for him.
Another unexpected surprise, Devlin discovered during that first week, was the physical discomfort of being rejected by a beautiful woman. He'd never reacted to anyone with such immediate attraction—downright lust, actually—as he had with Jessica Sommers, nor had he ever been held at such arm's length. The frustration of being around her for several hours a day and not being able even to touch her, let alone make love to her, proved a severe exercise in self-restraint.
His schedule began to assume a routine. He spent each night from nine p.m. to seven a.m. up at the Wildstar, until Clem and the miners showed up for work. Then he rode down to the Sommerses' small house and ate the huge breakfast Jess had waiting for him—steak or ham, fried potatoes, hot biscuits with homemade jam, flapjacks with molasses or maple syrup, and anything else he wanted. Usually she served the meal in Riley's room so he could keep her invalid father company—or perhaps so Riley could keep an eye on him. Riley didn't quite trust him yet with his daughter, Devlin suspected, although he did seem resigned to the necessity of a guard for the Wildstar. Each morning when they discussed how the night had gone at the mine, Riley would always toss in some personal questions about Devlin's past. Devlin answered patiently and in most cases factually, withholding only the truth about his vast wealth. Afterward, Devlin turned in and slept until Jess woke him in time for supper.
To save her the trouble of carting his supper over to him like she did for her father each evening, Devlin usually walked the short block and a half to her boardinghouse at six o'clock and ate with the miners in the communal dining room. Jessica hadn't been boasting in the slightest when she'd claimed to be an excellent cook. She made fried chicken that was mouth-watering, a venison stew that was the best Devlin had ever tasted, a Cornish meat pastie that her boarders loved, and a rhubarb pie that the miners couldn't seem to get enough of.
He only wished she could afford to hire more help. The Chinese couple she employed worked like fiends, but the chores were never-ending and Jessica seemed always to shoulder the major burdens herself.
Devlin met Kwan Chi An and his wife, Mei Lin, the first night at supper. Like most other Chinese, they wore long plaited pigtails, straw hats, and shapeless wide-sleeved tunics over straight trousers. And, like most other Chinese, they were fiercely resented in the West, not as much for their differently shaped eyes and yellow skin as for their cheap labor and willingness to do the menial jobs no one else would touch. Having supervised gangs of Chinese laborers on his father's railroads, though, Devlin had learned to admire their dependability and capacity for hard work. He particularly appreciated the Kwans because of their devotion to Jessica.
It was because, Jess told him, years ago her mother had rescued Mei Lin from a life of prostitution in one of Silver Plume's illegal opium dens.
At that story, Devlin raised an eyebrow. "Mei Lin served in an opium den?"
Jess grimaced. "So I understand. And she was no more than a child. It must have been horrible. Places like that shouldn't be allowed to exist. But no matter how many times they get closed down, they always come back. Georgetown is rumored to have an opium den, too, although no one likes to admit it. I'm afraid we have as many vices as the big cities."
Devlin wasn't surprised that Mei Lin had once been condemned to such a squalid fate. The pretty young Chinese woman would no doubt have been in great demand, with her delicate Oriental features, flawless yellow-toned skin, and lustrous black eyes. The wonder, however, was that Jenny Ann Sommers had been compassionate enough to take in a wretched foreign prostitute at a time when the rest of the citizens of the West were driving the Chinese out by force, and when self-respecting ladies would go to great lengths merely to avoid walking on the same side of the street as a soiled dove.
Florence O'Malley was someone else Devlin found himself liking. Jessica's buxom widowed neighbor drawled with a pure Western twang, but she claimed Irish roots and approved of Devlin because he was a countryman.
"Devlin is a good Irish name," Flo observed upon meeting him. "My Paddy was Irish, God rest his soul, and a better man you'll never find."
Florence was nearly as hard a worker as the Kwans were, but the three combined couldn't provide Jessica the help she needed. It disturbed Devlin that she scarcely had a minute for herself. Between running her boardinghouse and caring for her father, the only time she had a chance to sit down was in the evening after the supper dishes were done, when Clem visited and kept Riley occupied playing cards. Even then Jessica would usually have to referee their game. Riley wasn't allowed to sit up yet, and Clem, who had to play the hands for both of them, tended to cheat. More than once Jess had to put a halt to the shouting matches that erupted between her father and the ornery mule skinner.
Riley's growing frustration at being bedridden was another burden for Jess to bear. To relieve her, Devlin took over reading to the invalid whenever he had a spare minute. He managed to overlook Riley's grumpiness and complaints about being helpless, and used his not-inconsiderable charm to soothe the wounded man's ill temper. At the end of the week, when Devlin was invited to join a card game, he correctly interpreted Jess's worried look about his skill as a gambler and carefully lost his stake of matchsticks. The smile of relief Jess gave him afterward made up for any affront his reputation might suffer.
Otherwise, for perhaps a half hour each evening Devlin had Jessica alone. Usually he sat talking with her in the parlor until it was time to ride back up to the mine and relieve the evening guard. She'd employed a needy miner she trusted to take the four-hour shift from five to nine p.m. and Saturday nights as well, so Devlin could have some time off.
The only stylish room in the Sommers house, the parlor was small and modestly furnished, boasting two overstuffed velvet chairs with footrests, a matching settee, and a rocking chair. Lace and crocheted doilies decorated the two spindly tables, glass figurines and knicknacks covered all the flat surfaces, and sepia-toned photographs in oval gilt frames graced the plaster walls. Those parlor sessions were a strange, formal affair, with Devlin probing for personal details about her life and Jess politely keeping her distance. She wouldn't permit him close enough even to touch her. Certainly she refused to let him massage her shoulders again or take down her hair.
Jess thought she had good cause for wariness, though. Devlin seemed more interested in finding out about her and her father's long-standing feud with Ashton Burke than in guarding the Wildstar. And having him in the small house, in such intimate proximity, made her nervous as a cat. A novice at knowing how to handle a man like him, she frequently resorted to spouting the polite phrases for conversing with gentlemen that she'd been taught at finishing school—which immediately brought a teasing glint to Devlin's eye, as if he knew she was trying to erect defenses against him.
Flo liked Devlin, though, calling him a smooth charmer and "a gorgeous fella." Jess thought him smooth, all right. Smooth enough to charm the skin off a snake, which was too smooth, in her opinion. As for gorgeous, she thought Devlin altogether too handsome for his own good, with his almost patrician features and his lean, muscular physique. Flo, however, sighed with envy when she learned Jess had spent the entire night with Devlin up at the mine shack.
"Makes me wish I was thirty years younger," the widow said dreamily.
"Why?"
Flo left off peeling potatoes to stare at her. "Are you serious, Jess? I know you never think about men, but by now you gotta feel some kinda urge about love and courtin'."
"Devlin isn't the kind of man to come courting. Especially someone like me."
"Maybe not, but it sure would be fun seein' how far you could bring him."
"Ho!"
"Well, it would
. And if anybody could use a bit of fun, it's you. Lord have mercy, gal, if I was your age, I'd be all over him like a tick on a bloodhound."
Jess sighed. She didn't doubt Flo meant it. No doubt other women found Devlin totally irresistible. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit she did too. It was impossible to ignore Devlin's casual, disarming charm, or the blatantly suggestive spark in his gray eyes, or the maddening undertone of laughter in his rough-velvet voice. And he knew what kind of power he had over the members of the frailer sex, Jess was sure. For all his lazy seductiveness, there was a shrewdness, a cool intensity in his teasing gaze. She'd seen the amazement in those eyes when she'd used his gun to stop him from kissing her. She was probably the only woman who'd ever said no to him.
"If he thinks I'm going to fall all over him like every other woman," Jess returned as she picked up another spud, "he can just get that notion out of his head."
"Well, I think you're missing your big chance. You got a man like that right under your nose, you should take advantage of it. 'Course your pa might have something to say about it." Flo grinned. "I'll bet he cut up something fierce when he found out you were up at the mine all night with that gorgeous fella."
"He did," Jess replied wryly.
Jessica might not be willing to take advantage of the proximity, but Devlin certainly was. He did his best to break through her defenses, without success.
To his surprise, he actually enjoyed the novelty of the situation at first. After the clinging, cloying women in his past, Jessica's indifference was like-a breath of fresh air. But as the week wore on, the novelty began to wear thin, and Devlin began to see her resistance as a challenge.
By week's end, he'd become determined to make Jessica admit her attraction to him. He would never let their relationship go so far as to compromise her virtue or claim her innocence, certainly, but a good dose of flirtation wouldn't do her any harm. She needed to loosen up, in any case. Jess was too rigid, too tough, too hard for a woman—although he had to admit there was nothing hard about her curves or lithe grace, or the motherly side that she showed to her rough boarders. Still, she needed to get more pleasure out of life, and he sure would like to be there when it happened.
As illusive as Jessica proved to be, Devlin's main goal in coming to Silver Plume was even more so. After the first morning, he made little progress toward finding the gunmen who had robbed the Colorado Central. During his tenure as night guard, no one attempted to sabotage the Wildstar mine. In fact, no one even came near. He seemed to have reached another dead end.
Riley appeared to view the lull as a victory. "Looks like Jess was right, Mr. Devlin. You acting as our guard is working—maybe even enough to scare Burke off. I'm much obliged to you."
Riley's appreciation, however, did little to relieve Devlin's frustration.
Hoping to stir things up, Devlin went into town Saturday night, purposefully seeking Ashton Burke. It seemed as if every miner in Silver Plume had flocked there with him. From the sounds of it, the saloons and dance halls along Main Street were doing a rip-roaring business. Plinking pianos and screeching fiddles and lusty songs were accompanied by laughter and shouts and hearty applause—the revelry of hardworking, hard-drinking men and the hard-living women who entertained them.
Devlin was at his third gambling hall, standing to one
side watching the action at the keno table, a drink in one hand, when, oddly, Burke found him.
"Good evening, Mr. Devlin," Burke said in his uppercrust British accent, adding when Devlin nodded politely, "You aren't playing. Is the company not to your liking?"
"Keno never has been my game."
Burke paused, evidently interested in holding a conversation. "I've been hearing some interesting tales about you, sir."
Devlin smiled blandly and took a sip of his bourbon. "Have you?"
"Rumor has it that you have joined forces with Riley Sommers in his mining enterprise."
"Rumor would be right."
Burke's smooth jaw tightened. "I took you for a smart man, Mr. Devlin, but that doesn't seem to be a particularly intelligent move on your part."
"No? And why not?"
Instead of answering, Burke asked, "How much is Sommers paying you?"
Devlin shrugged. "The pay's good enough."
"I can triple it."
He raised a black eyebrow and smiled. "I thought you told me you expected loyalty in a man. How loyal would it be if I were to leave Sommers's employ in favor of yours?"
The chill in Burke's blue eyes could have frozen molten metal. "It would not be wise to make an enemy of me, Mr. Devlin."
"I'm sure it wouldn't." He bit back a smile of satisfaction as Burke ground his teeth, obviously chafing at his impotence.
"Speaking of rumors," Devlin added pleasantly, "there's a substantial one going around that Zeke McRoy was the man who shot Riley Sommers. I understand McRoy used to work for you."
"I don't," Burke replied coldly, "care for your implication, Devlin. Not every misfortune that occurs to Riley
Sommers is the result of my disagreement with him. Perhaps McRoy had his own reasons for disliking him."
"Perhaps. McRoy did work for you, though?"
"He did. I fired him for disobedience six months ago and haven't seen him since."
Devlin expected that to be the end of the conversation, but Burke still wasn't finished probing, it seemed. "There is a railroad baron in Chicago by the name of Devlin . . . C. E. Devlin. Are you any relation?"
"I know of him. Devlin's a common enough name, though. I've met one in just about every state I've been in." He held Burke's gaze levelly, knowing that if the silver king was truly interested in finding out who he was, it could easily be done.
Burke let the noncommittal answer drop, however, and with a curt nod turned away.
Watching him go, Devlin felt marginally satisfied with his progress. They had danced around each other, but Burke's frustration in finding a man he couldn't sway was evident.
Clamping down on his own frustration, Devlin went in search of a good poker game. He could be patient if he had to, and it looked as if this job, like Jessica Sommers, would require an extraordinary amount of patience.
Chapter 6
Patience was not a quality Jess possessed much of Saturday night. She found it hard to sleep that night, although her restlessness had only a little to do with her concern over Ashton Burke. The Wildstar mine was well guarded, and things had been quiet during the past week since her father had been shot.
She was worried about Riley though. That afternoon he had stubbornly attempted to have Clem drive him up to the mine, but halfway up the mountain, all the jostling in the wagon had broken open the wound in Riley's back and started it bleeding again. Devlin had to be awakened to help Riley into the house, and Doc Wheeler had to be fetched. Doc had lit into Riley for his foolishness and railed about the danger of infection as he liberally applied carbolic to the raw flesh. Still muttering, Doc bandaged the wound tightly to stop the bleeding, then administered another dose of morphine to ease Riley's pain.
But what also bothered Jess, almost as much as her father's muleheadedness, was that Devlin stayed out most of Saturday night.
She heard him come in very late and quietly pass the door of the tiny sitting room where she slept on the floor. She wanted to ask where he'd been and what he'd been doing, but being his employer didn't give her the right to demand an accounting of his free time.
Irritably, she turned over on her lumpy mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. It really wasn't her business what Devlin did on his Saturday nights. He had probably been gambling, anyway, or, quite possibly, he'd found a woman to keep him company—
At the disturbing thought, Jess punched her pillow, then caught herself. She adamantly refused to admit she might be the least bit jealous of the saloon girls and fancy women who could attract Devlin's interest. In a determined effort to sleep, she forced her eyes shut.
>
It was later than usual when she woke Sunday morning, but the small house was quiet with both men still asleep. Jess lay there a minute, remembering the terror of last Sunday, when her father's bleeding body had been brought home. Shuddering, she threw back the covers and got up.
She ate a solitary breakfast of eggs and ham, and cleaned up after herself. Feeling at loose ends, with nothing to do till time for church, Jess heated water for a bath and washed her hair, then toweled and combed it dry. Remembering Devlin's hurtful comment about her being afraid to let herself be a woman, she spent nearly an hour arranging her hair, piling the tawny mass in a knot high on her head, with coils of braids down the back, feminine curls above her ears, and soft fringe of bangs on her forehead. Then she slipped into Devlin's room to retrieve her best Sunday outfit from the clothespress.
She risked only a single glance at him, finding the sight far too intimate in the dim light that filtered beneath the curtains. With his muscular shoulders and chest bare above the yellow quilt, his black hair and whisker-shadowed jaw a dark contrast against the white pillow, Devlin looked disturbingly, roughly masculine in the feminine surroundings.
Just then his eyelids with their thick black lashes lifted abruptly, and his gray gaze found hers with startling impact. His look was alert and piercing, as if he anticipated trouble and was eminently qualified to deal with it. Jess tensed, while her hand crept to her throat where her heart had lodged. She had forgotten Devlin was a hired gun . . . a stranger she'd found in a saloon barely a week ago. What did she really know about him, after all? At the moment he looked hard and dangerous, and just a little bit frightening.
He must have realized she was no threat to him, though, for he visibly relaxed, his features softening, his expression a striking counter to the previous moment.
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