Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  "This has to be," Devlin said with dry amusement as he

  reached for her corset, "among my more unique experi­ences . . . playing lady's maid in a mine cave."

  Jess bit her lip. It was obvious Devlin had a good deal of experience playing with women's clothing, for he knew just how to tie the laces of her corset, and in just which or­der each garment went. He was proficient and casual about dressing her, just as he'd been proficient and casual about comforting a hysterical woman last night . . . and making love to her. What had been unique and special for her— her introduction to womanhood—had been nothing in the least extra-ordinary for him.

  When they were both dressed, and she had brought some semblance of order to her wild, sleep-tumbled hair, he snuffed the light again to save oxygen and fed her bites of biscuits and ham in the dark. He was tenderness itself, never once mentioning the intimacies they'd shared. But his discretion didn't assuage Jessica's conscience in the slightest, or relieve her acute embarrassment. Devlin had told her they'd be rescued. He'd also told her that one day she would find a man who would give her the family she wanted. He couldn't have made it plainer. He wasn't that man. Her face burned in remembrance.

  She couldn't blame him for what had happened. He had tried to refuse her advances, but she hadn't heeded him. Now all she could do was pretend their lovemaking had never happened, and instead concentrate on stopping Burke and his hired killers.

  She had a long while to contemplate her rashness, for it took even more time than Devlin had predicted for the de­bris to be cleared. The shouts of men outside the blocked tunnel grew louder as the long night wore on. After sev­eral hours, when they judged it to be near daybreak, Jess and Devlin moved to the upper level, a safe distance from the cave-in in case more rubble was loosened in the dig­ging. There they waited, sitting quietly, not touching, not talking, simply hoping.

  It was already morning before a hole was opened about the size of man's head. Jess blinked at the blinding daylight and nearly sobbed when she heard Clem's ragged voice calling to her.

  "Jessie? Jessie, you in there?"

  "Yes! We're here. Please, hurry and get us out!"

  "Godamighty! She's alive!"

  She heard the cheers that rose from outside, and the frantic digging that followed. Clem's litany of foul oaths as he cussed every boulder and piece of rock in his way was like angels' music to her ears.

  It seemed like an eternity before the opening was large enough to permit a person to squeeze past the fallen tim­ber that braced one wall. Finally the digging stopped. With Devlin helping push from behind, Jess crawled out into the open, skinning her palms and knees.

  She was dragged the last few feet by a dozen masculine hands, and then pulled to her feet and crushed in a violent bear hug. Hardly able to stand, Jess gulped deep, urgent breaths of sweet air and clung to Clem.

  She didn't realize she was crying until Clem drew back, his own grizzled face wet with tears. "Dammitall, Jess, you sceered ten years off my life."

  "Mine, too." She angled her head frantically to regard what had been the entrance to the Wildstar mine. "Dev­lin's still in there . . . please, help him," she pleaded, un­necessarily. An army of grim-faced miners was already hard at work, rescuing the other survivor of the explosion.

  "Jess . . ." Her father's choked voice sounded from a short distance away, making Jess whip her head around. He was trying to climb down from the back of a buck-board wagon, she saw in dismay, while Flo was trying just as hard to hold him back.

  Shaking off Clem's hold, Jess stumbled over to her fa­ther. And then Riley was taking her face between his cal­loused hands and showering her with desperate kisses, and she was laughing and crying and babbling. "Riley, you shouldn't be out of bed. . . . Flo, you should have stopped him. . . . Riley, don't . . . your wound."

  "Forget about my wound! I'll be fine. What about you? God, Jess, are you all right?"

  "Yes . . . just shaken up a bit—"

  "What in tarnation happened?" Clem interrupted as he lumbered up behind her.

  "Somebody set a fire in the tunnel and then blew up the entrance while we were inside."

  The mule skinner's curse was low and fluent, while Ril­ey's face went paper-white.

  "That does it," Riley muttered under his breath.

  Before Jess could ask what he meant, Devlin came to stand beside her. She glanced up to find him searching her face, his gray eyes clouded with smoky intensity in the early morning sunlight.

  She didn't know where to look. It had all seemed so clear to her last night in the dark. She had needed him so desperately. She'd wanted him to drive away her fear, wanted the simple reassurance that she was still alive, the comfort of his touch. But now . . . she didn't know how to act, or what to say.

  As if he knew how confused and vulnerable she felt, he smiled a quick mercurial smile that held a bewitching mas­culine charm. Jess felt her heart jump to her throat. Dusty, unshaven, weary, he was still the most stunningly attract­ive man she'd ever known. She couldn't look at him with­out remembering the possession of that hard expert body, without a dozen shocking, vividly carnal images playing in her head. It was all she could do to drag her gaze away.

  She had to get hold of herself. She had to at least try to give the appearance of normality around Devlin. Devlin. He'd asked her to call him Garrett, but she couldn't— wouldn't—do it. Being on a first-name basis with him would fairly shriek impropriety, and she wanted nothing to suggest how familiar, how intimate, they'd been last night. Addressing him as "Devlin" was much wiser, especially if she was to keep up the pretense that nothing had happened between them. "Devlin" was safer, more distant—or at least it gave the illusion of distance.

  Glad that her father had kept his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, Jess chose her words carefully. "Riley, Devlin saved my life. I would have gone crazy in there if it hadn't been for him."

  "Thank you, Mr. Devlin." The unashamed quaver in the older man's voice indicated how precious his daughter was to him. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

  "You don't have to," Devlin replied, his expression grim. "If I hadn't been careless, they never would have gotten close enough to use that dynamite."

  "You mean if I hadn't been careless," Jess said quietly. "You don't have to take the blame for my mistakes, Dev­lin. You weren't even on duty yet."

  An oppressive silence settled over the small group.

  "'Well." Flo exclaimed, breaking the sudden tension. "Give me a hug, Jess, and then let's get you back home and put to bed. There's a pile of work that sure isn't gettin' done on it's own."

  Devlin's jaw tightened at Flo's insensitivity. Remind-ing Jess of unfinished work was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. She certainly didn't need to be burdened with the boardinghouse after she'd nearly lost her life. But going to sleep in the middle of the day was against her religion, it seemed, and she protested with automatic vehemence.

  "Mebbe you should, Jessie," Clem observed. "You look plum wore out. Mebbe you oughta have that sawbones Wheeler take a look at you."

  "I'll be all right! I don't need Doc Wheeler, and I don't need to be pampered."

  You do, angel, Devlin thought. I've never seen any woman who needed it more.

  "You'll go to bed, Jess," her father said in his sternest voice. "You've done enough. Clem's staying to shore up the mine entrance, and we're going home."

  Wearily, looking as if she hadn't the energy to fight, Jess gave in. She helped Clem get Riley resettled in the back of the buckboard, while Flo climbed into the driver's seat.

  Devlin collected the horses he and Jess had ridden last night and followed, feeling a smoldering rage at Burke and a disgust at his own unfamiliar helplessness. Despite all his experience with the opposite sex, he didn't quite know how to deal with this situation, with Jess. He'd felt her withdrawal the moment they'd awakened, but he hadn't known the right thing to say to ease the tension, the awk­wardness. For once he'd been bereft of words. At a time
when it had never seemed more important to strike just the right note.

  In spite of all his past affairs and involvements, he had never experienced anything quite like the fierce ecstasy of helping Jess blossom from an innocent girl into a sensual, sexually responsive woman. He'd felt such an overwhelm­ing rush of tenderness, his heart ached with it. He hadn't expected, either, the sweet languor of lying woven to­gether afterward. Usually he merely tolerated such close­ness from his lovers; women needed the reassurance of being held in the aftermath of passion, and he was nothing if not considerate of his bed partners. Yet he hadn't known how to handle Jess—her shyness, her uncertainty, her re­gret.

  Nor had he known how to silence the warning bells clanging in his head. He was getting in too deep with Jess, Devlin realized with a feeling close to panic. He was run­ning the risk of letting his heart get sliced up again, by a young woman who'd never given even the slightest hint that her affections might be engaged- In fact, Jess seemed determined to forget that last night had ever happened.

  He couldn't forget, though. Not the sweetness of her passion, or his own guilt. He had taken her innocence, the innocence she should have saved for her husband. There was also the possibility that he had made her pregnant.

  He tried to tell himself there had been extenuating cir­cumstances last night. He'd warned Jess she would feel differently in the morning, and he'd done his best . . . al­most his best. . . to refuse her. But she hadn't listened. In­stead, she'd insisted she knew what she was doing. And he'd wanted to believe her. She was old enough to know what she wanted. . . .

  There was no need for him to flay his conscience, re­ally. He was blowing this out of proportion. Jess had been terrified and had turned to him for human comfort and as­surance, that was all. And he had offered it.

  So why then did he feel guilty as hell? And why was he running scared?

  It took two hours for Flo to get Jess cleaned up and fed and put to bed in her own bedroom. For the entire two hours Devlin found himself fighting the urge to send Flo away and take over. He wanted to be the one caring for Jessica. And that was the problem. He already cared too much.

  His fierce possessiveness shouldn't have surprised him. It was perfectly reasonable that he should feel protective of Jess after all that had happened between them. But he didn't have the right to perform such intimacies as bathing her or tucking her into bed. Not unless he intended to make it a lifetime commitment by offering to become her husband—and he wasn't willing to risk suffering that kind of pain again. And so he took his own bath and shaved and dressed, and then joined Riley in the kitchen to eat the breakfast Flo had prepared.

  As soon as Jess had fallen asleep, Flo left for the boardinghouse. Jessica's father sat at the kitchen table, not touching his food. He wasn't in dire physical pain, Devlin was convinced. Riley could get around if he moved slowly, and his injured body seemed to have held up under the strain of trekking up the mountainside and the terrible wait to find out if his daughter was alive. But his con­science was another story. He looked like a man at the end of his rope.

  Respecting the man's privacy, Devlin finished eating in silence, then leaned back in his chair, nursing a cup of cof­fee.

  "I nearly got her killed," Riley said finally, to no one in particular. He dropped his head in his hands.

  Devlin held his tongue, unwilling to argue the point. Sommers's past determination to hold on to his mine at all costs had led to a feud that was now out of control. Last night he had nearly paid a dear price for his single-mindedness. The question was whether he considered the price too dear.

  Devlin had already decided what action he would take regarding Burke—he'd had a long time to think about it while trapped in the Wildstar with Jess—but he wanted to be certain he hadn't been mistaken in his judgment of Riley Sommers.

  Sommers didn't let him down.

  "I'm gonna sell out to Burke, like he wanted. I'll go down and file for a quit claim deed tomorrow morning."

  "You're going to give up now?"

  "I've got to," Riley said hoarsely, wearily. "I can't risk my daughter's life any longer. If it was just me . . . But Jess . . . I can't do it. I should never have let it drag on this long."

  "What would you say if I could get Burke and his hired guns to back off?"

  Riley raised his head sharply. "How?"

  "Never mind how right now. What would you do?"

  "Even then—" He shook his head. "It wouldn't matter now. This last trick of Burke's 'll break me. Do you know how much it'd take to dig out and rebuild?"

  Devlin sipped his coffee before he answered thought­fully, "Both tunnels are still standing and probably struc­turally sound. The major damage was done at the mouth. I'd say a few thousand should do it."

  Riley snorted. "Might as well go wishing on stars. I couldn't even raise five hundred."

  "I'd be willing to supply you the working capital to re­build."

  The other man's brows drew together in a frown. When he looked as if he was about to refuse, Devlin added ca­sually, "And another fifty thousand to get your operation in a position where you can compete with the other con­solidated mining outfits."

  "Where," Riley said slowly, "in the name of Pete would you get that kind of money?"

  He smiled at the suspicion in the older man's tone. "I

  haven't robbed a bank, if that's what worries you. Have you heard of the Homestake Syndicate?"

  "You mean the Black Hills' Homestake? Who hasn't heard of it?"

  "I was in the Dakota Territory in '77 and bought into the Homestake. I own a small interest."

  Riley simply stared. "You own part of the largest gold mine in the country?"

  "A small part."

  "How small?"

  "Enough to make me a millionaire several times over."

  Riley's slow exhalation was long and loud.

  "I just have one question," he said finally. "If you're so blamed rich, then what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

  "I followed a lead. The man I killed last week—Zeke McRoy—was rumored to be running with an outlaw gang from this territory."

  Keeping the story short, Devlin told the older man about the robberies of the Colorado Central and his own determi­nation to stop them.

  Riley nodded. "I heard about those holdups. Had a lot of folks here real upset. But that still doesn't explain why you ever let Jess talk you into guarding our mine in the first place. You sure don't need the money, like I first thought."

  "Have you ever tried to say no to your daughter? I don't think she understands the word."

  Riley smiled briefly, for the first time that day. "I see your point."

  "Besides, my hiring on with you gave me a good reason to ask around about McRoy without raising eyebrows."

  "You sure picked the hard way to ask questions."

  "I suppose so."

  Draining the last of his coffee, Devlin went to the stove and poured himself another cup. When he held up the pot, Riley shook his head. He still looked somewhat dazed, as if he didn't know quite how to act after all the revelations he'd heard. Devlin decided now was the time to speak up.

  Settling himself at the table again, he met Riley's gaze. "You have at least one other option I'd like you to con­sider. Instead of selling out to Burke, you could let me buy in."

  "What," Riley said cautiously, "did you have in mind?"

  "A simple transaction. I propose that you sell me a quarter interest of the Wildstar mine for say, fifty thousand dollars. That should give you the working capital to re­build and to increase your crew size to two shifts, plus cover the expense of expanding your tunnels for the first year or so."

  Riley looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Devlin, I won't be less than honest with you. You could buy the whole darned mine twice over for that much money."

  "I don't want the whole mine. I merely want the lever­age to deal with Burke. Part ownership will give me that."

  "You don't even want controlling interest?" h
e asked in disbelief.

  "No, I don't want that, either. I have too many invest­ments to oversee as it is. I don't need another head-ache."

  "Still . . . fifty thousand is a powerful lot of money. I don't know if I could stomach being that beholden to you."

  Devlin flashed his most charming smile, determined to overcome any objections, even though he liked Sommers better for not jumping at such a lucrative deal. Integrity wasn't an abundant commodity these days, and it was re­freshing every time he found it.

  "Mr. Sommers, I already give to my favorite charities, and you aren't one of them. This is purely a business deal. And I don't do business halfway. If I become involved in your mining operation, I want it run correctly. With the right backing, I believe you can turn a good profit with the Wildstar. You can pay me twenty-five percent of net earn­ings after the first year, which will give me an adequate re­turn on my investment."

  Riley was still looking unhappy. "Those are mighty generous terms, Mr. Devlin. I just wish I understood why you're willing to offer them."

  What could he say? Please, let me make amends for tak­ing your daughter's virginity? Maybe that will help as­suage my guilt?

  At least it would keep Jess from having to scrub floors for the rest of her life. And it would provide for her if there should happen to be a child.

  In any case, although Jessica was his main considera­tion, she wasn't the sole reason he was proposing to throw away good money on a possibly worthless mine, and pressing it on a man who was too proud to take anything he didn't earn by his own hard sweat. Given the choice be­tween an honest underdog and a shady capitalist, he would back the underdog any day of the year.

  T don't like letting men like Burke win," Devlin replied instead. "He's already gone about two steps too far, and he won't go a third if I can help it."

  Sommers wasn't buying it. "This never has been your fight. You'd do better to just walk away."