Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  Refusing even his assistance in mounting, Jess dragged her weary body up into the saddle and straightened the skirts of her brown calico gown. She was so tired she was ready to drop, not only because of the grueling demands on her time during recent weeks, but because of the lack of sleep. She'd found it hard to live with herself the past five days. She had helped kill a man, and the memory made her sick to her stomach. Ever since then, she'd had nightmares about it—and about the rest of that night on the trail. It made her skin crawl, knowing she and Devlin had been stalked by the same gunmen they'd been trailing. And then there was Devlin himself. Every time she looked at him, at his hard sensuous mouth, she remembered the feel of him kissing her bare breasts and she flushed with humiliation. Dear Lord, she'd nearly allowed Devlin to se­duce her.

  Only the gravity of her other problems kept her from dwelling on that serious lapse in judgment. She was in big trouble. All her efforts at protecting the mine had been a failure. McRoy's death had ended their search for the gun­men, and now they were like sitting ducks, not knowing when the next attack would come.

  In her weakest moments she allowed herself to hope that the shooting of McRoy would warn off the others, maybe even end the feud. Maybe, just maybe Burke's gun­men wouldn't be back. But it was far more likely that they would retaliate for the death of one of their members. They'd choose a time when the mine was most vulnerable, and then . . . They wouldn't have to destroy the operation entirely. Even minor sabotage could be enough to make Riley lose his crew and drive his business under.

  She felt the ache of unshed tears clog her throat. Lately it felt like her entire world was crumbling around her.

  She started to turn her horse and came up short.

  "My God . . ." Jess breathed. "Look."

  A red flickering light shone ominously from within the Wildstar, while a small crackling noise reached her ears.

  The abrupt oath Devlin gave was low and vicious as he turned to run. Weariness gone, Jess was off her horse and following him in less than a second, reaching the mouth a few yards behind him. She didn't like entering the mine even under normal circumstances, and this was far from normal, with black and red shadows leaping on the walls. She stumbled more than once along the glowing tunnel, over rail tracks and rough floor.

  Halfway along the narrow rockbound passage she came to the fire. It was a only a small blaze—apparently made of debris and ore bags, but the smoke it gave off was black and choking, and the stench of kerosene was almost over­powering.

  Devlin had already scooped up a rawhide bag and was beating at the flames. Jess turned to fetch one of several buckets of water that were always kept in the mine for drinking and for emergencies like this.

  "A trap . . . Jess, get out of here!" Devlin shouted.

  Jess halted in indecision, torn between common sense and loyalty. That fire hadn't started by itself, and was very likely the kind of decoy Devlin had warned her about. She wanted to obey him, but she couldn't bear to leave him here to fight the fire on his own.

  Before she even had a chance to decide, the choice was taken from her; a sharp crack like a gunshot sounded from the mouth of the tunnel.

  Devlin reached for his Colt.

  "No!" Jess shrieked. "Don't shoot in here!" It would be insane to fire a gun in a mine tunnel; the danger from ric­ocheting bullets was too great.

  Devlin apparently understood. Even as he nodded and started back toward the mouth of the tunnel, another spark lit up the entrance.

  Then all hell broke loose. A jarring boom, a violent rush of air, a loud grinding rumble . . . the tremendous explo­sion seemed to make the whole earth vibrate. The deafen­ing sound of splintering timbers and crashing rocks drowned out Jess's scream. She felt herself being hurled back as her world erupted in a fusillade of flying stones, timbers, and dirt. Then pain exploded in her head and ev­erything went black.

  The stink of sulfur and smoke and suffocating dust greeted her when next she opened her eyes. Immediately Jess found herself gasping for breath. She must have been knocked out by the blast for a minute, she realized dizzily as she heard a man's agonized voice call her name.

  "Jess! Answer me!"

  "D-Devlin?"

  Even that small attempt sent her into a spasm of cough­ing and choking. "Are you hurt?"

  Am I hurt? she wondered, forcing herself to take inven­tory. She was sprawled on the rock floor, her face pressed against the wall, that much she knew. Her ears were ring­ing, while her head ached abominably.

  "I think so—ooh—" She broke off as another stabbing pain knifed into her left temple. Her groan echoed hol­lowly in the tunnel.

  "Don't move! I'll come to you."

  I'm not going anywhere, she thought dazedly. Help­lessly, she waited, her body convulsing in another fit of coughing. When it was over, she tried to make out Dev­lin's outline, but she couldn't see a blessed thing. The darkness was absolute, the silence terrible. Her heart began to pound with raw fear as the horrible realization of their predicament began to dawn on her.

  Then Devlin unearthed a still smoldering sliver of wood from the smothered fire and fanned the ember to life, chas­ing away the blackness with the tiny flame. Jess blinked at the sudden brightness and raised a hand to shield her eyes, but she couldn't block out the sight that met her gaze through the haze of dust. White-faced, with dread clutch­ing at her heart, she stared at the wall of rubble that blocked the entrance to the tunnel.

  They were trapped. Imprisoned in a rock-walled tomb. Buried alive!

  "Dear God . . ." she croaked, her voice hoarse with panic.

  She heard Devlin crawling toward her, and suddenly she couldn't seem to stop babbling. "It was my fault . . . all my fault. . . . I shouldn't have left to go check out that noise . . . they must have started the fire . . . Oh, God . . . we're trapped . . . we'll never get out—"

  Her voice cracked on a rising note of hysteria as Devlin reached her and grabbed her arm. The small flame went out, leaving them surrounded by blackness again, and she gave a keening animal cry.

  "Stop it, Jess! Dammit, get a hold of yourself!"

  She felt his fingers dig into her flesh as he pulled her up from the rough floor and shook her. With a choked sob, Jess flung herself at Devlin's chest. Instantly, his arms closed around her, holding her protectively while he mut­tered meaningless sounds in her ear.

  "Don't fall apart on me, angel. . . . Take a deep breath. . . . That's a good girl. . . . That's my sweet Jessie."

  On his knees, he cradled her tightly, fiercely, his body absorbing the tremors from her own. Gradually, her whim­pers subsided. Devlin let out a deep breath.

  "Jess, tell me where you're hurt. I have to know."

  She swallowed hard, trying to force back the raw edge of panic as she willed her mind to function. She felt bruised and battered all over, but the worst pain was in her head. "My . . . temple . . . the left . . ."

  His fingers came up to gently feel her face, moving to touch her hair. "I think you're bleeding. Let me up, sweet­heart. I have to have a light. It should be safe now that the worst dust has settled."

  Her arms tightened in a stranglehold around his waist. "Don't leave me!"

  "I won't, I promise. I'm just going to stand up for a minute. I'll be right back."

  It was long moment before Jess felt brave enough to let him go. Pulling away, Devlin struck a match on the heel of his boot.

  The box had come from his vest pocket, Jess saw.

  "Lucky I came prepared." He flashed her a smile that made her blink in confusion. How could he be so uncon­cerned? Didn't he know they might very well die?

  She watched in bewilderment as he lit the candle in the wrought iron sconce mounted on the tunnel wall. Then he knelt beside her again and examined her temple in the flickering light.

  "Yep, you're bleeding . . . a nasty gash. Bet it hurts like hell." Without warning, he bent over and raised her skirt to her knee. "What fun. I get to undress you after all."

  His m
outh curving in a smug grin, he tore several strips off her petticoat, then made a pad and pressed it against the bleeding flesh at her temple. Ignoring her wince, he wound another long strip around her head, fashioning a headband to hold the bandage in place. Finally he pressed his lips gently against her forehead in a soothing kiss.

  "If we only had a feather," Devlin teased, "you would look like an Indian brave. Now help me think, Jess. What should we do?"

  "D-do?"

  "You're the mine expert here. You'd better take charge or we'll wind up in a heap of trouble."

  We already are in a heap of trouble, she wanted to re­ply, but she couldn't force the words past her dry throat.

  "Jess?" Devlin repeated patiently.

  Dazedly, she looked around her, peering through the haze of dust. What had happened? Someone had dyna­mited the entrance to the mine, that much was clear. The tunnel roof had caved in, spilling a deadly wall of dirt and rock some ten yards away, barricading the entrance. How thick the wall was, she couldn't guess. At least the heavy timbers propping up the ceiling adjacent to the entrance had held, keeping the mass of dirt and stone above their heads from crushing them. And the fire had been extin­guished by the rubble.

  Jess closed her eyes as she thought of how close they'd just come to death. Growing up in a mining town, she'd heard countless stories of cave-ins—called "caves" by anyone in the business—that buried miners under tons of rock. Few escaped alive, without terrible injuries. Her fa­ther worked daily with explosives, blasting rock into ore, and her greatest fear had always been that some day Riley would miscalculate in setting a giant powder charge and bring the mountain down on his head.

  And now, here she and Devlin were, trapped in a rock-bound passage, four feet wide, seven feet high, without air or food. . . .

  The blackness closed in on her again and she couldn't seem to breathe. . . .

  "Jess!" Devlin's harsh voice prodded her sharply. "I never would have expected you to quit when the going gets tough."

  "I can't—"

  "Yes, you can! Think! Tell me what to do!"

  She couldn't think. They were going to die here. They were going to suffocate from lack of air . . . unless they found some air first. Yes, that was it. They had to get away. Find someplace to wait till the choking dynamite fumes dissipated. A quiet place to recover from the blind­ing headache giant power always caused. Jess raised a hand to her aching temple. Her skull hurt so much just now she could barely speak.

  "Maybe . . . we should move . . . to the lower tunnel. It's too hard to breathe here. The air will be better down there."

  "Good idea. Come on, honey." Putting an arm around her waist, he lifted Jess to her feet.

  She didn't protest; she knew Devlin wouldn't allow it. She'd never been so scared in her life, but it was obvious that Devlin wasn't going to let her dwell on her fears.

  He took one step forward, though, then stumbled and cursed roundly.

  "Jess, I've twisted my ankle. You're going to have to help me."

  "Is it bad?"

  "Yes. Get the candle."

  She obeyed automatically, moving to fetch the candle on its spike holder, then lending her shoulder for Devlin to lean on. The thought of him in pain was somehow harder for her to deal with than her own pain; it brought out all her motherly instincts and spurred her to action in a way all the other danger had failed to do.

  Slowly, awkwardly, they made their way down the nar­row tunnel, ducking frequently to avoid a beam or a jag­ged outcrop of rock, till they reached the end. The huge iron bucket that normally transported people and ore up and down the shaft could not be used without someone to operate the hand-crank, but steel pegs had been driven into the shaft walls at regular intervals to form a ladder of sorts. Jess went down first, awkwardly negotiating the rungs while holding the candle, splotches of dripping wax burning her hand.

  The air was sweeter there, almost bearable. She took a deep breath as she set foot on solid ground, then called up to Devlin. "Can you make it?"

  "Yes." His tone sounded grim but determined. Jess waited below for him, wincing each time he missed a peg of the ladder.

  When finally he reached her, she moved into his em­brace without speaking. Pressing her body against his lean-muscled frame, Jess wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, unsure whether she was offering support or drawing from his strength. Maybe both.

  They stood there a minute, holding each other, savoring the feeling of being alive.

  "Can you find a place for us to rest?" Devlin said at last.

  Jess swallowed hard and summoned her courage. Nod­ding, she drew away.

  "There's a good place over here," she said a moment later. Returning to his side, she helped him limp along the lower tunnel, moving deeper into the mountain, skirting several ore cars. Shortly this level came to an end and the iron rails stopped. Jess settled Devlin on the rock floor with his back to the wall, and sat down beside him, plac­ing the candle safely out of reach. There was little space, but they had enough room to lie down if they chose.

  "Ah, much better," Devlin said with a sigh that sounded almost like pleasure. When Jess didn't reply, he cast her a sidelong glance. "Are you all right?"

  "No." Her body was shaking helplessly, and she couldn't control it. "We're going to die down here."

  "No, we aren't. Don't sound so dour. We'll survive. We have plenty of drinking water and"—he fished in his vest pocket to pull out a small wrapped parcel—"biscuits and ham for supper. Flo packed a supper so I wouldn't starve, bless her heart. What will you give me for a biscuit, an­gel?"

  His grin was teasing and altogether too irreverent for their dire situation. Wrapping her arms around herself, Jess shook her head. "We can't live without air," she reminded him bleakly, her voice quivering.

  "It won't come to that. We'll be rescued long before our air runs out. I wouldn't be surprised to hear a crew work­ing with pickaxes and shovels in a little while."

  "You really think we'll be rescued?"

  "Absolutely."

  "I can't see how. Even if anybody heard the explosion here, they wouldn't have paid it any mind, not with all the blasting going on in the other mines. The night shift is the best time to set charges, so the fumes will be gone when the crew shows up for work in the morning—"

  "Perhaps," Devlin cut off her chatter. "But there's still a chance someone heard this one and became suspicious. It's common knowledge that you don't work a night shift in the Wildstar. And someone might pass by and notice the collapsed tunnel and go for help. In any case, when you don't come home right away, Riley will send Clem after you."

  "You think so?"

  "Most certainly. And after what I did for Clem last week, he damn well better hightail it up here or I'll have his ears." Devlin's adamancy surprised a faint, fleeting smile from Jess. "Until then," he added, "we sit tight. Come here."

  Lifting his arm, he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her close. Willingly, wearily, Jess leaned against him, resting her cheek against his collarbone. Her head still throbbed savagely, but she felt calmer now, touching another person, touching him.

  "Devlin . . . I'm so sorry . . . for ever dragging you into this mess."

  "Don't be, angel. It was my decision."

  She gave a ragged sigh as Devlin smoothed her hair gently back from her injured temple.

  "Think you can do without a light?" he said after a while. "You were right. . . we'd do better to conserve air."

  "I . . . can manage."

  He leaned around her and blew out the candle, then settled back again. In the darkness she felt his hand cover hers, linking their fingers.

  "This isn't so bad," he murmured. "I could use a good shot of bourbon just now, though."

  "So could I."

  Devlin chuckled softly. "I swear I'm going to corrupt you yet. Miss Jess."

  She shuddered a little at his blithe attitude. "How can you sound so cheerful?"

  "Why shouldn't I be? I can think of wors
e things than being stuck in the dark with a beautiful woman."

  Amazingly Jess felt herself start to blush.

  "I suppose I could try to dig our way out," Devlin re­marked unenthusiastically.

  "No, you couldn't!" she exclaimed. "You'd use up all the air before you cleared a foot."

  "Good. I wasn't looking forward to moving a ton of earth." She felt him hunch his shoulders and roll them around slowly. "My muscles are out of shape after all the easy living I've done. You're in a lot better condition. Per­haps I should make you climb up there and dig."

  Incredibly, she almost wanted to laugh at his teasing. How could she possibly think of laughing when they were in such danger? In all likelihood they wouldn't make it. She'd known of too many disasters like this to hold any false hope, known too many men who had been killed . . . crushed or suffocated in caves like this . . . friends, neigh­bors, her own boarders. She'd seen their cold, stiff bodies laid out for burial. She'd mourned their loss with the fam­ilies they left behind, shared in the grief. And now that grief would be for her. Would her death devastate Riley the way his death would have done her?

  Devlin, however, wasn't going to leave off trying to make her forget their terrible predicament, it seemed.

  "Jess, you have a smudge of dirt on your nose."

  "What? How can you tell . . . in the dark?"

  "I peeked. When we get out of here, I'm going to give you a long bath, Miss Jess. I'll put a ton of bath salts in the water and make you stay there till you turn into a prune." His fingers squeezed her hand. "Then I'm going buy you some hand lotion and rub it all over you. . . . Now there's a thought."

  "Do you ever have any thoughts besides lecherous ones?"

  "Sometimes on Sundays."

  She did laugh then—a reluctant, shaky ghost of a chuckle that made her head hurt. How could she not, with Devlin teasing her and trying to charm her? He'd kept up her spirits since the moment she'd realized they were trapped. She had nearly despaired up there, but Devlin had brought her back from the edge.

  "Devlin, I'm sorry I went to pieces a while ago. I be­haved like a ninny."

  "No, you didn't. You behaved just the way a woman should." His tone was so smug that Jess pushed her elbow into his side. "Ouch!"