Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  The wagon had burst apart, scattering ore and splintered planks over the sleep slope. Of the dozen mules lying tan­gled in harness and debris, one or two were thrashing in pain. Someone would have to climb down and put the poor beasts out of their misery.

  "I'll do it," Devlin said grimly. He looked around at the dazed, dirt-streaked faces of the silent miners. "If someone will fetch me a rope?"

  Someone turned and started the long trek back up the road.

  His old knees giving way, Clem sank down in a palsied heap. "My Nellie . . . my poor Nellie. . . ."

  Jessica was in the kitchen of her boardinghouse with Flo as usual when Clem and Devlin came in.

  The mule skinner poked his grizzled head into the large room for barely an instant. "I don't want you saying nothin' about it, Jessie, so I'm givin' you fair warnin'. I'm aiming to get likkered up in private." Then he turned and stomped up to his room, leaving Devlin to tell her about the tragedy.

  Jessica's reaction was predictable; her face turned white with shock and horror. "Dear God, was Clem hurt?"

  "No, he's all right, but he's upset. His favorite mules were among the ones killed."

  "Not Nellie and Gus? Oh, no!"

  "I'm afraid so."

  Flo had a few pithy words of her own to say, while Jess stared at Devlin with growing fury. "You say the gunmen got away? We have to go after them!"

  "I intend to. I'm riding out in a minute to search the mountains for them. I only came back to hire another horse and pick up a bedroll and more ammunition."

  "I'm going with you," Jess declared, already tugging off her apron.

  Devlin's grim expression turned flint-eyed. "No, you're not, Jess. I'm riding alone. This is no job for a woman."

  "This is no job for a lone man, either. You need help— and I can shoot. You'll need an extra gun if you have to go up against three of them. And there's no one else you can ask on such short notice, at least not anyone we could trust."

  "Maybe, but you'll only be more trouble for me. I don't want to have to worry about you."

  "You won't. I can take care of myself."

  "Not in a situation like this," Devlin declared. "It's far too dangerous."

  "What about the danger to you? It wouldn't be right to ask you to risk your life for us and not give you all the help I can."

  "It's my risk to take."

  "Well, it's our mine. You work for me and I'm going!"

  He shook his head adamantly. "I'm riding alone, Jess."

  Taking a deep breath, she tried another tack. "You can't succeed alone. You need me. You don't know the moun­tains north of here, and I do. I've ridden over them before and I know the terrain."

  That gave Devlin pause, but only for an instant. "I'll ask the marshall to accompany me."

  "That lily-livered coward? You must be joking. Even if we could trust him, he wouldn't lift a finger to help us. Besides, you don't have the time to waste looking for him."

  "True. But that's all the more reason why you can't come. I don't have time to wait for you."

  "I can be ready to leave in ten minutes."

  Devlin eyed her grimly. He'd never known a woman who could get ready for anything in ten minutes, but then he'd never met a woman like Jessica Sommers, either. "I'm not going to argue with you, Jess. You're not going, and that's final."

  "And I won't try and change your mind. If you ride without me, I'll just follow you."

  She didn't wait for him to reply, but turned to Florence O'Malley. "Flo, you're in charge here. I'm counting on you to take care of Riley and Clem while I'm gone. I've got to get home and pack," she added as she marched from the room.

  Devlin looked after her with a narrow-eyed expres-sion that was half scowl, half exasperation. He did not want Jess tagging along with him as he tracked three gunmen who'd already proven they weren't above killing indis­criminately. Besides the fact that he didn't want her any­where near that kind of danger, he absolutely did not want to be alone on the trail with her. He'd already demon­strated that his usual legendary control vanished whenever he had Jessica to himself. But short of tying her down, he had little choice but to accept her company.

  "How do you stop a hellion in full march?" he mur­mured to no one in particular.

  Flo grinned broadly at him. "I've always admired pluck in a girl, haven't you?"

  His mouth twisted in a rueful glance. "Pluck? Is that what Jess has? That's like calling a Kansas twister a sum­mer breeze."

  Reluctantly he followed Jess outside, catching up to her on the street just before she entered the small house she shared with her father. He was counting on Riley to forbid her to go.

  Jess wisely saved that announcement for last, however, first telling her father about the disaster up on the moun­tain. Still bedridden, Riley wasn't prepared to withstand this new blow.

  Wearily, with an air of defeat, he closed his eyes. "Maybe it might be wise to consider selling out to Burke, Jess."

  "Over my dead body!" she vowed. The thought of meekly letting Burke drive her father to capitulate stuck in her craw. She wasn't a quitter, and neither was Riley.

  She turned to Devlin, a look of entreaty on her face. "Tell him he shouldn't sell out."

  Devlin nodded. "I think it's too early to give up just yet," he observed dispassionately. "Let me see what I can do to find the men who were behind the attack."

  "What do you mean to do then?"

  "If I can catch them, I'll bring them back to town for the marshal to arrest."

  "I'm riding with him, Riley," Jess interjected. She knew her father would try to stop her, but she didn't intend to give him a choice in the matter. She couldn't stand any longer to live with the threat of death hanging over their heads without even lifting a finger to prevent it.

  As she expected, Riley did not take kindly to the idea. "Jess, that's plumb crazy!" he exclaimed.

  "No it's not. Devlin needs help. One man alone won't stand much of a chance against three hired guns. And you're certainly in no condition to go with him." "Then let Clem do it!"

  "By now Clem will have already downed half a bottle. You know how worthless he is when he's been drinking." "Well, find somebody else!"

  "There's no one else to ask. Even if we could find any­one with the gumption to ride after a gang of gunmen, it would be too late. We'll lose their tracks if we wait much longer. I have to go, Riley. We're wasting time. Flo will look after you while I'm gone."

  She didn't stick around to finish the argument, but left the room.

  "Jess, I forbid it! Do you hear me?" Riley shouted after her. He couldn't leave his bed, but he struggled to sit up as he continued to complain loudly. Jess fetched her clothes from the wardrobe in Devlin's bedroom and car­ried them to the sitting room without interference. Through the connecting door, she heard Riley promising to blister her hide, but he hadn't paddled her since she was little, when she'd sassed her mother, so she wasn't wor­ried.

  She took three minutes to change into an outfit rugged enough to withstand a long trail ride—Spanish-style leather riding chaps worn over men's trousers, a white shirt and bolero. A flat-brimmed hat, a bandanna, gloves with flared gauntlets, and riding boots completed the cos­tume. She took three more minutes to throw some food and cooking utensils into knapsacks and fetch her father's ten-gauge.

  When Devlin entered the kitchen, she was almost ready. He eyed her attire with approval, even if he didn't con­done her reason for wearing it. He didn't try to stop her, though. He wasn't fool enough to argue with a woman packing a shotgun. The weapon Jess carried would tear a hole in a man that was big enough to drive an ore wagon through.

  He had belted on his guns, and now he checked the chambers of his pistols and the magazine of his Winches­ter. Then he set his black, flat-crowned hat on his head, slung the provisions over his shoulder, and followed Jess to Riley's room.

  She bent over her father's bed, giving him a farewell kiss on the cheek.

  "Jess, dadgummit, I don't want you doing
this!" Riley declared, trying one last time.

  "I know. But it has to be done. Don't give Flo too much trouble while I'm gone."

  When she turned away, he looked after her helplessly, then gave Devlin a pleading look. "I'd be obliged if you'd take care of my girl," he said in a voice made rough by worry.

  Devlin nodded soberly. Then, turning to follow, he and Jess set out.

  Chapter 8

  The high country to the north of Silver Plume was a maze of rocky peaks and rugged wooded slopes. Jess and Devlin rode over little-used tracks toward the distant mining town of Empire, asking at the scattering of mines along the way about three armed riders, especially one mounted on a roan horse. It would have been easier to take the stage route that ran from Georgetown through Empire to Central City, Jess knew, but then they would likely miss their quarry. A man could hide out for months in this rugged terrain.

  It was a warm, glorious deep-summer day, at odds with the deadly purpose of their journey. Each time they topped a ridge, the wide expanse of the Colorado Rockies stretched before them . . . a majestic array of bold summits and windswept gulches and narrow mountain passes.

  The golden air was sweet and pure, redolent with the scent of life. The slopes were cloaked in towering ponderosa pines and thickets of aspens, whose white trunks stood out in striking relief to the riot of deep greens surrounding them. The meadows were carpeted with the colorful wild-flowers of late August—mountain pinks and lavender harebells and yellow paintbrush. In shaded places along the edge of the woods, vivid blue columbine swayed on slender, aristocratic stalks.

  Both Jessica and Devlin scarcely noticed. They spoke little during the entire day, except to comment once or twice on their dispiriting lack of progress. Their quarry seemed to have eluded them. Around noon they came across a mine shack where the mine foreman remembered seeing a roan horse pass by earlier—only there had been two men, not three.

  As the day wore on, a burning frustration filled Jess, eating at her stomach like acid. The same frustration seethed in Devlin; the knowledge of having failed in his responsibility to protect the Wildstar filled him with a des­perate anger.

  Matching Jess's mood, Devlin remained grimly silent. A few times as they rode along the rocky trail, he felt an it­chy sensation between his shoulder blades, a sense of be­ing watched. But each time the feeling passed quickly. He decided it must be wild animals, a cougar or a bear, maybe, but his vigilance increased.

  They made camp at sunset, off the track near a black-green forest of pine. Devlin picketed the horses on a patch of grass and took care of the saddles and bedrolls, while Jess fried some bacon and. warmed up some biscuits for supper. A curious whisky-jack flew down to investigate her preparations, but Jess shooed the fearless camp thief away.

  The sun was flaming red, turning the mountain range crimson, as they settled down to eat. Jess merely picked at her food. "Do you think we'll find them?" she said finally, asking the question that had preyed on her mind all day.

  "It's becoming less likely." There was another long silence.

  "Devlin?"

  "What?"

  "You didn't deserve this, being dragged all over the mountains. I'm sorry I ever got you involved in our fight."

  Devlin gave her hard glance. "It's my fight now."

  Her gaze meeting his, Jess saw the cold determine-ation in his gray eyes and realized he meant it. He wasn't in this just for the money anymore, or even for her. For him, the feud had turned personal the minute Burke's gunmen had attacked the Wildstar while it was under his protection. Jess smiled faintly in gratitude. It gave her a welcome feeling of relief, knowing Devlin was truly on her side.

  He turned to stare out at the distance and resumed his meal. Involuntarily, Jess's scrutiny increased. He didn't look like a city slicker just now. In his denims and leather vest and red-checkered bandanna, a chambray shirt that was well worn and faded, a full day's growth of black beard shadowing his face, he looked rough and capable and dangerous as sin.

  The unbidden thought made Jess flush, while the mem­ory of what had occurred between them yesterday—Devlin's stunning kisses in her kitchen—came flooding back to haunt her. No matter how firmly she'd resolved to remain unaffected, she hadn't been able to withstand his devastating charm; no flesh-and-blood woman could have. With scarcely any effort, Devlin had made her body hot and her blood race. After that intoxicating embrace, she should have felt nervous around him today, but what she felt instead was an intimacy of common purpose.

  Still, she wasn't immune to him by any means, even when he wasn't putting himself out to be charming or se­ductive, or provoking her to lose her composure. At the moment his face looked as cold and hard as any stranger's, but it still had the power to make her think hot, forbidden thoughts.

  Realizing how vulnerable she was to him, Jess fell awk­wardly silent.

  The long shadows of the pines enveloped them, while the rose-amber light of evening turned to blue gloom. Af­ter finishing her bacon sandwich, Jess wiped the plates and frying pan clean and set them aside for tomorrow's break­fast. Devlin had arranged their bedrolls side by side near the fire, with their saddles for pillows. Jess climbed into hers and lay there staring up at the darkening sky.

  She listened while Devlin built up the fire and laid some sticks close to hand, then settled on his own bedroll. He had left on his gun belt and laid his Winchester within easy reach.

  "Mind if I smoke?"

  "No, go ahead."

  He fished in his saddlebag for papers and tobacco, then rolled a cigarette. When he flicked a match on his boot heel, the golden flame lit up his handsome face for a mo­ment. No. she wasn't immune to him, Jess thought with consternation. Nor was she unaware of the danger of spending the night alone with him, even if it was on the trail, out in the open.

  The night closed in around them, bringing with it a soft breeze redolent with the sharp scents of wood smoke and wildflowers and pine. A full moon hung over the shoulder of a majestic peak in a radiant sphere, while overhead stars blazed in a cool, deep sky. Jess was trying to discipline her thoughts when Devlin quietly spoke.

  "Why is Burke so determined to destroy your mining operation?"

  "He wants to ruin my father," Jess said simply. "He's always hated Riley, ever since my mother . . ." She hesi­tated, embarrassed to be dredging up the vicious stories about something that had happened before she was born.

  "Since your mother married another man," Devlin fin­ished for her. At her discomfited look, he explained. "I've heard the rumors. I also heard that Burke named the Lady J mine after your mother."

  Jess nodded. "I expect it's true. He never forgave her for choosing Riley over him."

  "She wasn't interested in Burke?"

  "No. Oh, maybe he turned her head for a little while. She was flattered that a man of Burke's consequence paid her attention. But he wasn't willing to marry her. Besides, my father is ten times the man Ashton Burke is."

  "She could have pursued a relationship with Burke af­terward. Marriage isn't synonymous with fidelity."

  Jess flashed Devlin a startled look. "That's a disgusting thing to say! My mother would never have even thought of betraying my father that way."

  Devlin tossed the stub of his cigarette into the fire. Few women in his experience would have been concerned over betraying their husbands if it meant getting something they wanted. "Not even for all Burke's wealth?" he said skep­tically, not bothering to keep the sardonic edge from his tone.

  Jess's amber eyes narrowed. "Especially not for that. She never put much store in wealth."

  "She sounds like a paragon."

  "She was!" Jess shot back, not liking his tone.

  "Climb down, hellcat. I didn't mean to ruffle your fur."

  When Devlin held her gaze levelly, Jess forced herself to relax, realizing she'd sounded a bit too defensive.

  "What happened to her?"

  "She died of pneumonia five years ago."

  "And you still miss her
," Devlin said softly, hearing the pain in Jess's voice.

  "Very much. And I'm not the only one. All the miners around here just about worshiped the ground she walked on. Riley, especially. He took it awfully hard when she died." Jess sighed heavily. "I could never fill her shoes."

  "I don't know about that. I think you do a pretty good job of it."

  "That's because you didn't know her."

  Restlessly Jess sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, looking out at the distant peak.

  "Why do you call your father 'Riley'?" Devlin asked fi­nally.

  The question surprised her. "I don't know, I just always have. What do you call your father?"

  "I guess if I call him anything, I use his initials like ev­eryone else does. But then he and I never have been close, not the way you are with Riley." He paused. "It must be satisfying, having such a special relationship with a par­ent."

  Wondering if she'd actually heard a hint of wistfulness in Devlin's tone, Jess smiled softly. "It is."

  She and Riley might not be rich in monetary terms, but they had a lot more than most families she knew, because they shared a wealth of love. Material things weren't im­portant if you had that. Her mother had strongly believed in that philosophy. Jenny Ann had never once complained about their lack of luxuries or Riley's extravagant dreams. Riley had always done his best for his wife and daughter, and was always apologetic that he couldn't do more. Jess would have let herself be stampeded by wild horses before she allowed one reproachful word against him to pass her lips.

  "Not all the money in the world," Jess said ardently, "is worth one ounce of real love. Burke could never under­stand that. His kind never has learned that you can't buy everything you want."

  "What do you mean, 'his kind'?"

  "Rich men like him."

  Hearing her scornful tone, Devlin appraised her for a moment. Jess knew nothing of his vast wealth, he remem­bered. She still thought of him as a gambler.

  He shifted uncomfortably on his bedroll. Now was probably the time to tell her about his background. She'd given him an opening. And he really had no good reason to hide the truth from her any longer . . . nothing except long and bitter experience that told him what to expect. Once she knew his net worth, Jess would change toward him. It was inevitable.