Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  Before she could make any sense of it, the sound of gunfire lessened.

  "Hold your fire!" she heard Devlin shout.

  She was too far away to see what was happening down below in the rocky canyon, but someone else answered her question. "They got a white flag! They want to surrender!"

  Devlin's men quit shooting. The resulting silence after all the explosive gunfire seemed deafening. Jess wished she could see.

  Pressing Burke's good hand against the bloody ban­danna to keep up the pressure, she murmured, "Here, hold this. I'll be back in a minute. You'll be all right till then."

  She belly-crawled back to the canyon ridge just as Dev­lin called out, "Throw up your hands and walk out slowly."

  There was another long silence.

  Through the sun-dappled tangle of alders and wild rasp­berry, Jess could see the mouth of the mine tunnel and a glimpse of white. Several figures were making their way down the treacherous trail, hands raised high, the leader waving a flag. Jess had a good idea why they were giving up. The outlaws were trapped and they knew it.

  When they reached the bank of the stream and flattened themselves on the ground with hands behind their heads, at Devlin's command, Jess counted six men. "Purcell isn't with them," she whispered to Devlin. "He must still be in the mine."

  "Purcell, you, too!" Devlin added after a few moments. "Give yourself up."

  "And offer my neck for stretchin'? No way!"

  Purcell's distant voice reached her as merely an echo, but the words were clear enough, and not at all encourag­ing. She saw Devlin draw a bead and fire at the mine en­trance in an attempt to force the issue. The rifle report echoed through the canyon.

  "Can't we talk this over?" said Purcell. "I don't bargain with killers."

  "I ain't no killer!"

  "You robbed the Colorado Central and shot two men to death."

  "I had nothing to do with those holdups." Another short pause. "But I know who did it. You promise to let me outa here, and I'll tell you all about it."

  Purcell was trying to bargain for his freedom, evidently. Jess hoped Devlin wouldn't believe that scoundrel's claim.

  "Tell me now," Devlin retorted.

  "They're the ones who pulled 'em off."

  "That ain't true!" one of the outlaws on the ground yelled. "Purcell's the one told us when the shipments was going out."

  "Why, you dirty double-crosser . . ." someone else ex­claimed faintly. Strangely, the voice seemed to come from inside the mine.

  The sudden explosion of gunfire from the tunnel startled Jess. She and Devlin ducked, but then raised their heads cautiously. The canyon below was silent; the six outlaws on the ground lay unmoving.

  "Purcell's dead," the voice in the mine shouted.

  Jess stared, wishing she could see inside that black tun­nel.

  "You must have miscounted," Devlin murmured to her. "Someone else was holding out in the mine with Purcell."

  She nodded. Grateful that the ordeal was finally coming to an end, Jess let her head droop wearily.

  It was jerked up again when Devlin gripped her shoul­der. "I told you to get back," he grated, giving her a grim look that promised a reckoning. "Now do as I say."

  Too drained to protest, Jess obeyed. Forcing herself to her feet, she returned to Burke's side.

  It was only when she knelt beside him that she realized her forgotten patient wasn't moving. Alarmed, she bent an ear to Burke's chest. The heartbeat was erratic but definite—and a thin stream of air issued from his blood­less lips as he breathed, she saw with relief. Burke had only passed out.

  She inspected his wound again. Blood was still welling from the gash, so she tore off the sleeve of his shirt and made a pad, then tied the bandanna around it and his arm. When she'd finished bandaging Burke's wound, she stayed with him, feeling guilty for abandoning him earlier. Rest­ing her chin on her updrawn knees, she closed her eyes. She was so tired she could almost fall asleep sitting right there.

  It was nearly a half hour later when Devlin finally came to find her. Jess looked up wearily to see him standing over her, his expression hard.

  From the unsmiling look on his face, she could tell he was still angry with her. And he was about to light into her, unless she missed her guess. She sighed heavily. She didn't want to argue with him. She didn't have the strength.

  Devlin didn't say a word, however. Without warning, to her complete shock, he reached down and hauled her to her feet. She barely had time to issue a gasp before his lips crashed down on hers in a fierce, punishing kiss.

  Taken aback, Jess could only cling to him and accept the bruising pressure of his mouth. There was little evi­dence in his kiss of the erotic lover of the night before, and yet it still had the power to send her pulse rate soar­ing.

  To her immense regret, his kiss ended almost as sud­denly as it began. He didn't let her go, though, but instead dragged her into his arms, his grip so tight it almost crushed her.

  "If you ever scare me like that again," he rasped in her ear, "I'll beat you black and blue. Do you understand me?"

  His harsh, commanding tone held a possessiveness that should have riled her, but Jess could feel only relief that Devlin cared enough to be worried about her. She nodded obediently against his chest. "Is it over?" she murmured contritely.

  "Yes." His tone was still gruff. "Purcell's dead. Shot by one of his own men who was holding out with him. The others have been arrested."

  "Thank goodness."

  Hearing a groan just then, she looked back over her shoulder. On the ground, Burke stirred and flinched, then tried to grab his wounded arm.

  Jess pulled out of Devlin's embrace and knelt again be­side the injured man. "Be still!" she admonished.

  Burke had regained consciousness and was looking at her feverishly. "Jessica . . . my beautiful daughter. . . ."

  Jess stiffened.

  Devlin froze.

  He hoped Jess would consider Burke's mumblings merely the ravings of a wounded man. It was clear Burke wasn't entirely himself. His face was contorted in pain, his blue eyes unfocused.

  Burke wet his dry lips. "I have a lot . . . to make up for."

  "What are you talking about?" Jess asked, sounding be­wildered, wary.

  Burke shook himself groggily.

  "What did you mean? I'm not your daughter."

  He suddenly looked more alert, as if he realized what he'd just revealed. "Nothing. I meant nothing."

  "Then why did you say it?" When he didn't answer, Jess's expression turned suspicious. "I don't know what kind of trick you're trying to pull this time, Mr. Burke, but you can just stop it right now."

  "I'm not trying to trick you. . . . I wouldn't do that."

  "You honestly expect me to swallow that?" she de­manded. "You wouldn't hesitate to bilk your own grand­mother if you had something to gain. I want to know what you're up to this time."

  Grimacing, Burke looked more wounded by her accusa­tion than by his actual injury. "I don't deserve your trust, Jessica . . . I realize that . . . but I'm not trying to hurt you."

  "Then why did you say what you did?"

  "I . . . don't know."

  Devlin had to give Burke partial credit for trying to undo the damage, but Jess was like a dog going after a bone. "What did you mean, darn it?"

  He closed his eyes. "You must let Riley tell you."

  "Tell me what?"

  "Ask him."

  "Confound you! You're going to tell me or I swear I'll leave you here for the buzzards!"

  Burke's blue eyes flickered to Devlin. "I'm sorry . . . Sommers was right. He should be the one to tell her."

  "Tell me what?" Jessica's voice held the high pitch of panic as she surged to her feet.

  "She ought to know," Burke said almost pleadingly.

  "Know what!" Jess cried.

  "You . . . are my daughter."

  She went stock-still, the color draining from her face. "It isn't true. . . . I don't believe you."


  Confusion, denial, pain, all warred for expression on her face.

  "It's true," Burke murmured hoarsely. "I fell in love with your mother twenty-two years ago . . . and we made you. I never knew it, though. . . . I only just learned of it last night."

  "You're lying." Her voice was raw, anguished.

  "No. I would never lie about something like this."

  She took an involuntary step backward. It had suddenly become hard for her to breathe. Her head swiveled toward Devlin. "Tell him not to lie."

  Devlin swore under his breath, wishing there were some way he could have avoided this, wishing he could have spared her the pain. Jess's look was heartrending, her panic-filled eyes imploring him to deny Burke's claim. But he wasn't going to lie to her. "Riley wanted to be the one to tell you," he said quietly.

  She might have been able to disbelieve Burke. She couldn't doubt Devlin.

  Terrified, horror-stricken. she backed away from them both, shaking her head frantically. "No . . . no'. . ."

  "Jessica . . ." Burke said pleadingly. She didn't answer. Blindly turning away, she broke into a run, her stumbling gait painful to watch. "Jessica!" Burke cried again.

  Devlin followed her. He couldn't leave her to face such a shocking revelation alone.

  She ran for some time before finally collapsing. When he found her, she was kneeling on a patch of grass, hold­ing her stomach, her forehead nearly touching the ground. Her anguished sobs nearly broke his heart.

  Sinking down beside her, Devlin caught her arm and pulled her up, holding her tightly against him. She was shaking violently, but to his surprise she didn't try to pull away. Instead, she clung to him, her face buried against his neck. He simply held her, absorbing her tremors, her pain, feeling the wetness of her tears against his skin.

  Jess hardly realized how fiercely she was clutching him. She was aware of little but her own agony, her own need. She needed Devlin to hold her. She felt as if she would shatter in a million pieces if she let go. Her commonplace existence had just exploded like dynamite and sent her en­tire world careening.

  She wasn't Riley's daughter. Everything she had be­lieved in and trusted and lived for had just been blown to smithereens.

  It was a long, long moment before her racking sobs lessened—and longer still before she could catch her breath over the stabbing pain in her chest. Only then did Devlin draw back. He didn't release her, though. Instead, he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her . . . her damp eyelids, her pale cheeks, her trembling lips. His ten­derness was comforting, compassionate. Intimate, but not sexual. He was offering her solace.

  Jess clung to him limply, her rasping breath coming in shallow spurts as she tried to make sense out of her shat­tered existence. One tormenting thought kept slicing at her, hurting more than all the others.

  "Riley . . ." she whispered. "Riley lied to me."

  She sounded bewildered, despairing. Devlin hesitated. He knew how obsessively important honesty was to her.

  "No, Jess. He didn't lie to you. What he did was spare your mother the scandal and shame she would have faced had the truth come out. He spared you the hurt."

  She gazed up at him, her tawny eyes shimmering with tears. "M-my mother . . . she lied to me, too."

  "Sometimes there are good reasons for withholding the truth, Jessica."

  She sniffed, trying valiantly to swallow the ache in her throat, but losing the battle. Fresh tears spilled over.

  Devlin's own gray gaze was gentle, sympathetic, his eyes soft as he brushed her tears away. "Nothing's changed, Jess. Riley still loves you more than life."

  "How can he? He's not my father."

  "Yes, he is. And you're still his daughter. He thinks of you as his own flesh and blood, no matter what the biolog­ical facts are." His thumbs stroked the dampness beneath her eyes. "Riley's given you the kind of love most chil­dren never see from their parents." Devlin smiled, a bit sadly. "When I was a boy, I would have done just about anything to have my father cherish me the way Riley does you."

  Jess closed her eyes, pressing her face in the curve of his shoulder. His heart beat sure and strong, anchoring her in reality. "I don't . . . think I can bear it."

  "Yes, you can." And Devlin knew he spoke the truth. This woman was strong enough to bear any difficulty, even this. She was strong enough to meet any challenge life threw at her. He would lay odds on it—and his gam­bling instincts had always been uncannily accurate.

  "You need to talk to Riley," Devlin said gently.

  "He lied to me," Jess repeated, though with less convic­tion this time. "You don't think that was wrong?"

  "Life isn't always black and white, Jess. Goodness and evil aren't always distinct entities. We're all human, Jess. Even Burke."

  She shuddered. "He can't be my father. I've always hated him. How can I accept him now?"

  "You don't have to accept or even acknowledge him, angel. You don't owe Burke a thing. He forfeited any right to your love long ago. But you may find that blood ties are stronger than you think."

  He held her away. "Maybe Burke isn't all bad. Maybe he just needs someone to teach him the kind of values Riley taught you." Devlin paused to let that sink in. "If it's any consolation, Burke swears he would have married your mother if he had known."

  The muscles in her jaw clenched defiantly. Devlin, re­membering his love/hate relationship with his own father, knew better than to press further. She needed time to ad­just, to assimilate this shattering revelation. He understood her pain, and wished he could spare her, but she would have to deal with it in her own way, in her own time.

  "Well," he said briskly. "That's enough preaching for one morning." Tenderly he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "You can tell Burke to go to hell, if it will make you feel better."

  "You keep forgetting that I don't cuss." Her watery smile, so soft and tremulous, made his heart contract.

  He knew then that he loved her. It shouldn't have taken him by surprise. For weeks now he'd been fighting his feelings for her. But this was a quiet conviction that had sneaked up on him. And it rattled him profoundly.

  Devlin shook his head silently. How was it possible? Jess had the ability to anger him more than anyone he'd ever met. She could rouse his fury like no one else ever had with her stubbornness and her blind prejudices. But she could also arouse his fiercest protective instincts. The past twelve hours had been sheer hell, thinking of her in Purcell's clutches. He'd never in his life been so shaken.

  But love?

  There was only one answer to that question: Jessica had stolen a large chunk of his heart. He had no doubts on that score.

  The question was, what was he going to do about it? He had always prized softness and femininity in a woman, qualities that Jess would never exhibit in a thousand years. But perhaps he didn't want a soft, feminine woman like he'd always thought. He wanted Jessica to need him, yes, but that didn't mean she had to be molded out of the same cloth as his previous lovers. Most definitely he didn't want her to be like ail those other shallow-hearted, greedy socialites in his past.

  But did he really want a stubborn, honey-haired fire­brand who challenged him at every turn? Did he want Jessica for his wife?

  Certainly he wanted her in his bed; he had no doubts about that. Jessica could arouse and excite and satisfy him sexually the way no woman ever had. He knew they would be physically compatible.

  That wasn't what he feared.

  What concerned him was the strength of her regard. He knew instinctively that Jessica would give her whole heart to the man she loved. But did she love him that much? Enough to forsake all others? Would she, unlike his fiancée, have given up a comfortable life to go west with him all those years before? Would she have lived with him in a hovel if that was all he could have provided for her?

  She had yet to admit even the smallest affection for him. He had only her father's suspicions to go on.

  Was he prepared to risk his heart again on such flimsy evidence?
r />   But what was the alternative? If he didn't marry her, if he left her here and returned to Chicago without her, would he be making the biggest mistake of his life? The kind of mistake Ashton Burke had made and paid dearly for—was still paying dearly for? Riley had warned him not to let real love slip away—

  Jess. interrupted his troubling contemplations by speak­ing.

  "Devlin, I want to go home . . ." She lifted her quiv­ering chin. "To my father. I have to talk to Riley."

  Forcing aside his own conflicting thoughts, he pressed a soft kiss on her lips. Now was not the proper moment to .sort out his future relationship with Jess. She didn't need to deal with anything else but this crisis just now, and he needed to take a good hard look at his feelings for her. Alone, without distractions. "All right, angel. But I'm rid­ing back with you. You don't need to be alone at a time like this."

  "Thank you." She hesitated, gazing up at him. "Why are you always so nice to me?"

  He gave her the kind of seductive, teasing, heart-stoppingly beautiful grin that couldn't fail to bolster her spirits. "Simple retribution. I want you to be properly re­pentant for all the terrible things you accused me of. By now you should feel like a lowly worm."

  Her mouth trembled with a smile. "I . . . I guess maybe I was wrong about you."

  "You guess?"

  "All right, I know I was wrong. I'm sorry."

  He dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "Apology ac­cepted. Now, come. Riley's waiting for you at home."

  They returned to the canyon rim then. Jess studiously avoided looking at Ashton Burke, but Devlin saw that someone had taken charge of him. The marshal had rounded up all the prisoners as well, so there was nothing remaining for Devlin to do but take Jess home. He col­lected both her horse and his own, and helped her mount.

  They hardly spoke on the long ride back. Devlin hesi­tated to interrupt the silence, for Jess seemed to need the quietude.

  It was well after noon by the time they arrived back in Silver Plume and rode up to the Sommerses' small house. Riley must have been waiting anxiously, for he opened the front door the instant the horses came to a halt. Stepping into the sunlight, he took one long look at Jessica and seemed to shrink. The fear and hurt written on her face proclaimed louder than words that she had learned the truth about her parentage.