Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  While Riley headed to the livery stable to saddle a mount, Devlin quickly rode over to the boardinghouse, where he found Mr. Kwan. Jessica had dismissed him from guard duty, just as Devlin had surmised.

  He met up with Riley at the street corner, and they quickly rode the few blocks to Main Street. After very lit­tle searching, they found Marshal Lockwood just down from the jail, concluding his rounds, and cornered him as he was about to step off the boardwalk. As Riley had pre­dicted, however, Lockwood had no interest in leaving his comfortable bed to comb the mountains for Riley's wild daughter.

  "It's none o' my business if she's gone gunning for Purcell," the marshal hedged, tipping his head back to look up at the two grim-faced men on horseback.

  "It is your business to uphold law and order!" Riley snapped. "Hank Purcell was the one who blew up my mine. And he was partners with Zeke McRoy in those rob­beries on the Colorado Central."

  Lockwood's eyes narrowed. "What proof do you got?"

  "He told Jess about it."

  "That's all? You expect me to believe that?"

  "My daughter doesn't lie!"

  "Well, send Miss Jess down to the jail and I'll question her."

  "She's not here, dadblamit! I told you, she's gone after Purcell!"

  "And I told you, Riley, I'm not gettin' in the middle of any feud between you and Mr. Burke!"

  "This has nothing to do with Burke, you stupid fool! My daughter could get killed, and you stand there doing nothing!"

  Devlin laid a hand on Riley's arm, wanting to calm him before he had an apoplectic fit. "This isn't getting us any­where," he said urgently. "I'll do better to hire my own guns."

  "You aren't gonna take the law into your own hands," the marshal insisted.

  "Just watch me," Devlin retorted, his tone grim.

  "No," Riley interjected. "There's a better way. Burke is the law around here. If anybody can light a fire under this crowbait"—he gave Lockwood a scornful look—"Burke can. And maybe he also has a notion just where up north Purcell is headed. Purcell worked for him for a good while."

  Devlin was skeptical that Ashton Burke would suddenly turn charitable, and said so.

  "I'll make him help, by God," Riley said through his teeth as he turned his horse.

  And so, for the second time that night Devlin found himself entering the Diamond Dust Saloon, looking for someone. Riley was close behind him, hunching his shoul­ders against the pain in his back.

  They found Burke still gaming at Lena's faro table. He appeared highly perturbed at the interruption, but with a grimace acquiesced to their request to speak privately with him. As they left, Lena gave Devlin a probing look, but didn't interfere.

  Burke reluctantly led them upstairs to his private office. The room was opulently furnished, as Burke seemed to prefer, but neither of them took the seats they were of­fered, or accepted a drink.

  Burke, however, poured himself a brandy and drank it while Devlin told him briefly, in clipped tones, about Jess's abduction earlier that night, what Purcell had admit­ted regarding the Lady J's mining ore from the Wildstar, Purcell's alleged connection to Zeke McRoy, their own suspicions about Purcell's having a hand in the train rob­beries, their trouble with the sheriff, and then finally came to the point. They needed Burke's help in forming a posse to ride after Purcell.

  From the faintly contemptuous sneer on his face, Burke obviously wasn't inclined to be cooperative.

  "Why the devil should I help?" he said at the conclu­sion.

  "Common decency might do for a start," Devlin replied with sarcasm.

  "Because Jess is in danger," Riley added quietly.

  "I hardly think that is my concern."

  "You sure ought to be concerned about your own daughter."

  There was a long pause while Burke digested Riley's words. His expression changed from scorn to a puzzled frown, then utter disbelief. A dozen heartbeats later, the doubt disappeared and comprehension set in. Burke went absolutely white.

  "My daugh—?" He choked on the word. The crystal snifter fell from his fingers and shattered on the carpet as he reached blindly for the back of a chair. Staggering over to it, he half fell into the seat. His mouth worked silently, and he couldn't seem to speak or even gather breath.

  For a long moment, the noise from the crowd below, muted and distant, was the only sound in the room.

  "Dear God . . . Jenny Ann . . ." The harsh rasp was raw with pain. "I didn't know."

  "She didn't want you to know," Riley said defensively.

  Burke squeezed his eyes shut. "Why? Why didn't she tell me?"

  "Because you made it clear you would never marry her. You told her you wanted a wife who could move in your social circles, and that darn sure left her out."

  "But I would have married her if I'd realized she was carrying my child."

  "How was she supposed to know that? All you ever did was lord it over everybody—her included. Jenny Ann didn't want to bear the shame of raising a bastard alone, so she married me. How does that make you feel, Mr. Burke, knowing you threw away the best thing that ever came into your life?"

  Devlin had to admire the dignity in Sommers's bearing. Riley obviously felt pain in finally divulging the truth after all these years; the bitter knowledge that his wife had loved this man must have eaten at his soul like acid. And yet his revelations were made with more careful control than Devlin could have managed in the same circumstan­ces.

  "No . . ." Burke protested hoarsely. "I loved her."

  "You don't know what love is," Riley said quietly. "You never thought about anyone but yourself in your life. I loved Jenny Ann more than you ever could. And I love Jess more than if she was my own daughter."

  Seeing the anguish contorting Burke's pale face, Devlin could almost feel sympathy for the man. And yet when Burke looked up to glare at Riley, his blue eyes were burn­ing with an emotion that seemed very much like hatred.

  "You knew all this time. You knew Jessica was mine and you never told me."

  "Jessica is not yours." Riley's tone finally took on an edge of fury. "You gave up any right to be her father twenty-two years ago, and nothing you've done since has changed that. She hates everything you stand for. and I don't blame her one bit. I raised her to have principles—something you wouldn't recognize if they jumped up and bit you."

  "You took my daughter away," Burke muttered. "You turned her against me—"

  "No, you turned her against you. Good God, you nearly killed her! You tried to take over our mine and blew it to hell with her in it."

  Devlin knew the exact moment when Burke made the connection between Riley's angry accusations and the events of a few weeks before; the silver king's stunned, angry look turned to horror.

  "Dear God . . ." he rasped again, evidently finally real­izing that his machinations had nearly killed his own daughter. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

  Devlin found a kind of grim satisfaction in Burke's dis­may. The bastard should be horrified by what he'd done. Even if he hadn't given the direct order to dynamite the Wildstar, he'd turned his hired guns loose to terrorize Jessica and her father, with dire results. His ruthless greed had almost cost him dearly. That ruthlessness was also re­sponsible for prejudicing Jess so bitterly against wealthy men—the prime cause of Devlin's own recent battles with her. He held Burke to blame for that, as well.

  He watched grimly as Riley stood there clenching his fists at the silver baron. "You didn't deserve to know about her," Riley declared. "And I wouldn't have told you now if it hadn't been necessary. Jess is far too good for you. If she wants to acknowledge you, it'll be her deci­sion. She doesn't know about you yet, and you won't be the one to tell her. I will. You'll keep your mouth shut un­til then, and after—"

  "If we don't do something soon," Devlin interrupted quietly, "no one will have the chance to tell her. Burke, we don't have much time. We need to get a posse together and go after her. If she finds Purcell first—I don't even want to think of
what might happen. Will you help us or not?"

  That seemed to jolt the Englishman. "Yes . . . yes, of course I'll help." He stood up, still looking dazed . . . as if he'd been poleaxed. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Have a word with Lockwood."

  "Yes . . . certainly." He seemed to gather himself with difficulty. "You'll have your posse in fifteen minutes." It was said with the assurance of a man accustomed to hav­ing an army of sycophants at his command. "I can't be sure where Purcell has gone, but I might have an idea. There is a canyon near Middle Park . . . I've hunted there—with Purcell, in fact. It would be an ideal location for a hideout. I intend to go with you—" He stopped ab­ruptly and looked at Devlin, obviously realizing the choice was not his to make. "Please?"

  Devlin was certain it was one of the few times in Burke's entire life that he'd ever pleaded for anything. Devlin gave Riley a glance, leaving the decision to him. Jessica's father nodded, suddenly looking weary.

  "Let's go, then," Devlin said grimly.

  It was left to Burke to voice what all three men were thinking. "If Purcell dares hurt my daughter . . . I swear I'll rip him apart limb by limb."

  Devlin shared the sentiment completely.

  Chapter 18

  A bullet smashed the rock beside Jess's head, making her flinch. Flattening herself on the ground, she drew a steadying breath. She didn't know how much longer she could hold out. Her ammunition was nearly spent, and her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.

  Squinting against the bright, early-moming sunshine, she carefully aimed her shotgun but held her fire. She had pinned Purcell and some half dozen other men in the crooked canyon below, but the tangle of growth in the gulch—willows and alders and a few big cottonwoods snarled with patches of wild raspberry—provided them too much cover for her shots to be totally effective. And she couldn't afford to waste a single cartridge.

  It had been mostly luck that had allowed her to find Purcell before he could get away. Just after daybreak, she'd seen the smoke from a campfire and spied him down below, harnessing a team to a big ore wagon. When she started shooting, he'd gone to ground with his cohorts in an abandoned mine, some fifty yards up the far slope. She could see the tunnel entrance from where she lay.

  Her success surprised Jess a bit. She'd expected them to seek safer ground. Certainly, they could have managed to get away if they'd tried hard enough. But they seemed re­luctant to desert the wagon.

  The day felt hot already. The sun had burned away the frosty chill of the night and the early-morning mist that had hung over the mountains. Beneath her hat, sweat trickled down her brow—although that could have been caused by tension. Jess wished she could stop for a minute and at least quench her thirst. A clear rushing mountain stream glittered invitingly in the boulder-strewn chasm below, but she couldn't risk leaving her post.

  Lifting her gaze, she cast a worried glance above her, trying to judge the time. All around her, lofty granite peaks cloaked in aspens and tall pines stretched upward into a sky of richest blue, where three buzzards swung la­zily overhead. She had chosen her position well, with a mountain on each side that would make it difficult for someone to circle around and ambush her from behind. But time and her ammunition were running out.

  Where was Devlin? She'd expected him to be hot on her trail. He had planned to ride after Purcell—at least once he'd gotten her safely home. She could use his support just now, even if last night she'd been bound and determined to prove that she didn't need him.

  Darn it, why hadn't Devlin listened to her when she'd pleaded with him to ride after Purcell at once? Why had he felt the need to be so blasted protective of her and for­bid her to go? She could shoot as well as most men, and she could have been a big help to him. Besides, she had her own score to settle with Hank Purcell. After what he'd done to her—both last night's abduction and blowing up the Wildstar—she wanted to see him in jail for a million years. Of course, if she could prove he had robbed the Colorado Central, he might very well hang.

  She was almost certain that was his gang down there, and that he'd come to fetch the money he claimed to have stashed away. She would bet her last ten dollars that the ore wagon was filled with stollen silver bullion. Otherwise they would have abandoned it when she'd started shoot­ing.

  Jess returned her attention to the sun-splashed canyon below. If Devlin didn't get here soon, she would have to admit defeat, but she wasn't about to draw off until she was down to her last shells. What happened then might be a bit tricky. She would have to get out of there fast if she didn't want them to come after her.

  And Purcell would likely get away.

  The thought made Jess grit her teeth.

  That was how Devlin found her five minutes later— holding a half dozen men at bay with the last of her am­munition. He'd heard the gunfire from two ridges away, and rammed his heels into his horse's sides, reaching the scene a dozen yards ahead of the rest of the posse.

  Yanking his galloping horse to an abrupt halt, Devlin shucked his Winchester from the scabbard and leaped down from the saddle, just as a bullet whistled past him. He got off a return shot before he threw himself down be­side Jess.

  "Damn fool woman," Devlin growled through his teeth. "Riley is worried sick about you."

  Infinitely grateful for his presence, even despite the de­spicable, scandalous things he had done to her last night, Jess drank in the sight of him. He was still wearing the same elegantly tailored suit he'd had on the night before, but with his beautiful face stubbled by a night's growth, he looked a lot like an outlaw himself. His gaze was diamond-hard in the sunlight as he gave her a fierce scru­tiny.

  She lifted her chin stubbornly. "If you'd come with me in the first place, Riley wouldn't have had to worry. We would already have taken Purcell. With your dawdling, he almost got away."

  Just then, more than twenty men came galloping up be­hind them. Jess's eyes narrowed in surprise when she rec­ognized Virgil Lockwood, but she was completely astonished to see Ashton Burke among the marshal's posse. Burke, like Devlin, was dressed for an evening on the town, but he carried a Springfield rifle that had a long range and deadly accuracy. His blue eyes, however, were not searching the canyon for danger; they were riveted on Jess.

  Her jaw hardened. "What is he doing here?"

  "He's here to save your stubborn hide," Devlin retorted grimly. "Now tell me what's happening. How many are down there?"

  "Purcell and six others—" Before she could say more, a volley of gunfire erupted from below.

  "Find cover!" the marshal shouted, and immediately ev­eryone scrambled for positions.

  Jess went rigid when she realized the man who'd stretched out beside her on her right was Ashton Burke, but there was no time to protest. A hail of bullets struck the rocky slope directly in front of them.

  "Dammit, Jess, get the hell out of here!" Devlin yelled as he took aim and fired.

  Ignoring his order entirely, she began reloading her shotgun, slipping the last cartridges from her box of shells into the empty chamber to replace those fired.

  The ensuing gunfight would likely go down in Colorado history, Jess suspected with no amusement. The crack of rifle fire echoed through the rugged canyon as the desper­ate men below began a fight for their lives. Those above began picking their targets.

  Jess finished reloading and put her weapon to good use, finding it hard to breathe as the burning stench of gunpow­der filled the air.

  Moments later, a bullet ricocheted off the boulder in front of her while another shot kicked up gravel a few feet away.

  "Dammit, Jess!" Devlin seethed. "I told you to get back!"

  "Quit cussing at me! And quit telling me what to do! You aren't my keeper!"

  Devlin muttered something that she didn't quite catch but that sounded like "I will be."

  She might have retorted, but a bullet whizzed through the air a fraction of an inch from her face. A harsh cry sounded beside her.

  Burke had taken some lead, sh
e saw with chagrin; he had dropped his rifle and was clutching his left arm.

  "Get him out of here," Devlin ordered as he got another shot off.

  Jessica would rather have let him bleed to death . . . al­most. "Don't you dare let Purcell get away," she warned as she flung her shotgun into the grass behind her to free her hands.

  "I won't."

  Recognizing but not appreciating the irony of helping Ashton Burke, Jess grasped his uninjured arm and helped him slide-scrape backwards over the ground. Burke gritted his teeth at the pain.

  By the time they had taken refuge behind a pine tree, out of range, he had lost his fancy hat and sweat dripped down his pale brow. Jess had never seen him at such a dis­advantage. She found it really hard to feel much sympathy for this coldhearted, ruthless magnate, though. Burke hadn't shown the least compassion for her father when he'd been shot in the back.

  Carefully pushing Burke's elegant coat off his injured shoulder, she ripped open his ruffled shirt and rapidly as­sessed the severity of the wound. A deep gash scored the outside of his upper arm, and blood was pouring freely from it, but it could have been far worse. He was incred­ibly lucky the bullet had only pierced the skin and muscle instead of shattering the bones in his shoulder or arm.

  Jessica tugged off her bandanna and pressed it hard against the torn flesh of his arm, trying to stop the bleed­ing. "You'll live," she murmured.

  Burke winced, whether from the painful pressure or her unfeeling remark it wasn't clear.

  "Th-thank you . . ." he gasped, "for . . . helping me."

  His gratitude surprised her, but she set her jaw. "I'm only doing it for one reason. Unlike you, I don't want a man's death on my conscience."

  "Jessica . . . I'm sorry. . . ."

  "It's a bit late for that now, don't you think? My father almost died because of you."

  Burke startled her by reaching up to touch her cheek. "You look so much like your mother. . . . I never noticed before. . . . How could I have been so blind?"

  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. She had the distinct feeling they were talking about two entirely different things. She'd thought he'd been apologizing for hurting Riley, maybe even for supporting Purcell, but now she wasn't so sure.