Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  The slight grimace Jess made was accompanied by a note of disapproval in her tone when she spoke. "You're a gambler?"

  Devlin gave another shrug, but this time his glance held amusement. "Among other things. You've got something against gamblers?"

  In fact, she had a great deal against gamblers, almost as much as she had against wealthy silver barons. In her opinion, they were lazy no-accounts who lived off other men's misfortune and lack of skill. Garrett Devlin proba­bly fit that bill, too—but it would be highly impolite to de­ride him for his profession after what he'd just done for her. Her confrontation with Burke could have been a disas­ter. If Hank Purcell had managed to sneak up on her and take away her only protection, she would have been made to look like a fool, instead of walking out of there with her point made and her dignity intact. No, she was grateful to Mr. Devlin, no matter what or who he was.

  Jess turned to look out over the street. It was a quiet night, and blessedly peaceful, with a big half moon shin­ing overhead, bathing the town in a silver glow and cast­ing the surrounding Rockies in rugged silhouette. The mountains were beautiful at night, with a raw majesty that vanished in the stark light of day. At night you couldn't see the ugly mine dumps that scarred the rocky slopes, or hear the loud milling operations on the outskirts of town.

  At the moment, the saloons and dance halls along Main Street were mostly silent. The only noise was the low hum of the crowd inside the Diamond Dust. Jess herself re­mained silent, even when Devlin moved to stand beside her at the rail.

  "I have no objections," he admitted, "to sitting at a table with a man, as long as he's honest."

  "Oh, Ashton Burke is honest at cards," she said bitterly. "A man like him has no reason to cheat when he has so many other ways to get rich."

  "I take it Burke has made a practice of getting wealthy off men like your father?"

  "You take it right, Mr. Devlin. Burke has always grabbed whatever he's wanted from this town, never mind who got hurt. Everybody knows he's unscrupulous, but no one's ever been able to prove it. But he won't get away with it this time!"

  At her quiet vehemence, she felt Devlin's gray gaze drift down her body to the shotgun she still held. "You think your warning will make him hold off?"

  "Maybe not. But he wouldn't take any threat from me seriously unless it was backed with lead."

  Devlin slanted a glance of sympathy tinged with admi­ration at the young woman beside him. He had a pretty good idea what she was feeling. Anger, frustration, con­cern for her father, fear. She hadn't wanted to march into that saloon of gamblers and fancy women and face Burke alone. But she'd done it. And it had shaken her, he was certain. Not only had he heard the husky rasp of tears in her voice when he'd followed her out here, but she'd been trembling, he would swear it. You aren't as tough as you pretend, are you, sweetheart?

  He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and tell her that she wasn't alone, that everything would be fine. But he knew precisely where such a damn fool action would lead. He would kiss her till she was limp and breathless, which would make him want her more than he already did, and then he'd be tempted to seduce her. . . . And he wasn't prepared to let things go so far between them. Lovely innocents like Jessica Sommers only spelled trouble for a man like him. Nor was he at all sure that he wanted to take on her battles for her.

  "Do you know how to use that scattergun?" he asked, gesturing at the weapon she held.

  "Well enough. My father taught me. I'm handy with a six-shooter, too, but one gun won't be enough against Burke and his gang. It would take an army." She sighed, then went on as if thinking aloud. "I'll at least have to hire an armed guard for the mine, find somebody who isn't be­holden to Burke. That two-bit town marshal is too yellow to stand up to him—and the Clear Creek County sheriff is hardly any better. They both owe their jobs to Burke's sup­port. As do half the men in this county—" She stopped suddenly, glancing up at Devlin with speculation.

  Devlin's guard went up instinctively. He knew that look—the kind of calculating expression a woman got when she wanted something from a man and was figuring out the best way to get it. On the Sommers woman, the calculation wasn't as hard and mercenary as some he'd seen, but it was calculating all the same. Ah, sweet Jessie, just what scheme do you have in that pretty head of yours? He didn't have to wait long to find out.

  "You aren't beholden to Burke," she said slowly.

  "No," he agreed, his tone wary.

  "I don't suppose you'd be interested in the job."

  "Job?"

  "Of armed guard for our mine. I could pay you"—she took a deep breath—"two hundred dollars a month."

  Her offer surprised but didn't impress him. The wage was a staggering one around these parts, but Devlin often made more than that in a single day.

  When he didn't answer, she went on quickly, the eager­ness she tried to hide tugging at his heart. "The job would come with room and board, too. I serve the best meals you're likely to find this side of Denver."

  Does the room come with you included, little firebrand? If so, I might be inclined to accept.

  Devlin shook his head, disciplining his wayward thoughts. Miss Jessica Sommers was a respectable woman, he had no doubt about it. He'd known enough of her kind to recognize the signs and to steer clear. She was the mar­rying kind, the kind whose father came after a man with a shotgun if he thought his daughter's reputation had been besmirched. He wasn't about to get tangled up in a web like that. Besides, there was no sense in getting himself killed in a petty squabble.

  On the other hand, he'd already made an enemy of Burke, so he had nothing to lose there. And hooking up with Jess Sommers would bring him a step closer to his goal. Putting himself squarely in the middle of the mine feud would give him ample reason to ask questions about a man with a bullet scar over his right eye. Wasn't that why he'd come here in the first place? To find an outlaw and the organized gang that had robbed the Colorado Cen­tral Railroad of sixty thousand dollars in cash and silver bullion and killed the engineer and fireman in the process?

  Other than the description of the scar and the roan horse, Devlin's only lead was a snatch of conversation one of the wounded robbery victims had overheard: ". . . get back to the Plume."

  He'd come here intending to lay low and sniff around, but had found the trail cold. That is, until Riley Sommers had been shot.

  "It would be honest work," Jess added, obviously still intent on persuading him.

  Devlin didn't misunderstand her insinuation. "Meaning that gambling isn't?"

  "Well . . . I . . ."

  Her stammer and the delicate flush on her face told him clearly that she wanted to be tactful, but that she included him in her low opinion of gamblers. Absurdly, her charac­terization of him stung his pride. Yet he didn't press the is­sue when she hurriedly returned to the subject of his possible employment.

  "You would only have to work at night—stay up at the mine and make sure no one came around. You could still do . . . whatever it is you do during the day. And it wouldn't be for long. Only till my father gets back on his feet. You weren't planning on leaving town just yet, were you?"

  "Not just yet. no."

  She hesitated, looking up at him with pleading amber eyes. "I could maybe go up to two-fifty a month. I'm afraid that's all I can afford."

  Ah, darlin', don't look at me that way, unless you want to get more than you're bargaining for. "The salary isn't what concerns me," Devlin said.

  "Well, if it's Burke you're worried about, working for me won't make a difference to him. There'll be hard feel­ings in any case, if you mean to stay in town. Burke won't forgive you for what you did tonight, and there's no telling what he might do in retaliation for your defying him. And Hank Purcell will no doubt try to cause trouble for you. But you're good enough with a gun to make him think twice about— You are good with a gun, aren't you?"

  The anxious note in her voice almost made him smile. "Good enough for what you want.
"

  "I thought so. Nobody would draw on a man the way you did unless he knew what he was doing. So you see, there's really no reason not to accept the job. That is . . . unless, like the marshal, you're afraid to stand up to Burke."

  Jess knew right then that she had pushed Mr. Devlin too far. Something bright and alive flashed in his eyes, some­thing very much like anger, although when he spoke it was with hard-edged amusement. "Don't try to manipulate me, Miss Sommers. Better schemers than you have tried and failed."

  She flushed again, dropping her gaze. "I'm sorry. There was no call for me to say that. Whatever you are, you aren't a coward."

  Whatever I am? You really know how to stroke a man's ego, don't you, love?

  When he remained silent, she sighed. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. I'll find someone else, if I try hard enough. Thank you again for helping me in there, Mr. Devlin. Good night."

  She started to turn away, but his hand on her arm fore­stalled her. "All right, Miss Sommers, I can spare a couple of weeks. I accept your offer. You've got yourself an armed guard."

  Apparently not believing his answer, she stared up at him.

  You don't trust me, do you, angel? That's good. I'm a dangerous man for an innocent like you. For your sake, keep away from me.

  But Devlin didn't voice the thought aloud. Instead, he smiled. "Come on, Miss Sommers." He took hold of her elbow, turning her toward his hotel. "Let's go get my gear."

  Chapter 3

  "Wait a minute!" Jessica came to an abrupt halt and eyed him warily. "Just where are we go­ing?"

  With a casual pressure of his fingers on her elbow, Dev­lin urged her forward again, directing her along the wooden boardwalk. "Next door, to my hotel room."

  "You're taking me to your hotel room?" The memory of seeing this man standing bare-chested at the window of his room only that morning assaulted Jess with disturbing force—and it wasn't helped by the masculine scent of sandlewood soap that emanated from Devlin. Both did strange things to her insides. In fact, she felt unnerved with him this close. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be at all proper," Jess said weakly, only to hear him give a quiet chuckle.

  "No, I expect not, but it wouldn't be gentlemanly to leave you out here alone on the street at night, either."

  "No one in this town would accost a lady. Mr. Devlin. And I am a lady, I assure you."

  "I never doubted it, Miss Sommers." The grin he flashed her was sensual and mischievous and had all the power of a lightning bolt. Jess swallowed hard, scarcely hearing when he went on. "You'll be perfectly safe, I swear it. Especially armed the way you are."

  When her expression remained uncertain, Devlin raised a black eyebrow. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

  She was a little, at that. But she was more afraid that if she let him out of her sight he might change his mind about coming to work for her. And she had her shotgun, after all. "Very well, Mr. Devlin. I'll go with you."

  "Call me Devlin. Or Garrett. 'Mister' is too formal if we're to have a relationship."

  His choice of words didn't particularly reassure her, but it would be silly to argue with him over such a point. There was no harm in reminding him just what that rela­tionship would entail, though. "All right . . . Devlin. And most of the men who work for me call me Miss Jess." She saw him raise one eyebrow, but he didn't reply.

  They reached his floor by way of the outside stairs at the side of the hotel. The hallway was softly lit by crystal wall sconces, illuminating elegant carpeting and expensive flocked wallpaper. Jess, who had never been inside the Di­amond Dust Hotel before, found herself calculating how much it must cost to run a place like this, and wondering about Devlin's success as a gambler. He had to be good if he could afford to put up here.

  And the room. Decadent, was Jess's first thought when Devlin had lighted a lamp. The black walnut furniture gleamed, while the wine-colored tapestry drapes glowed. Gingerly she stepped inside, allowing Devlin to shut the door behind her. Above the bureau hung a smokey dia­mond dust mirror in an ornate gold frame, a color theme that was carried out in the trim of the washstand and the headboard of the huge feather bed.

  Against her will, Jess found herself staring at that bed, where the wine-velvet counterpane and fine linen sheets had been left in a wild tangle. The image of Devlin sleep­ing there flashed in her mind before she could stop it. Thinking of him sprawled there, naked as he had been this morning, made her cheeks go hot.

  When quickly she looked away, her gaze fell on a red feather boa carelessly draped over the arm of a leather chair. That feminine frippery didn't belong to Devlin, she was certain. And she seriously doubted it had slithered up here on its own. Does he often invite women to his room?

  Promptly Jess squelched the thought, realizing she didn't want to know.

  Devlin didn't seem at all self-conscious about the un­made bed, though, or the evidence left by his female com­panion. When he led Jess over to the chair, he merely picked up the boa and tossed it aside. "Sit down. I'll get you a drink."

  "A drink?"

  "Would you prefer whiskey or brandy?" he asked as he went to the bureau.

  "I don't drink liquor."

  "You do tonight. After what you faced today, you need it."

  He had a point, Jess thought as she sank into the deep comfort of the chair, resting the shotgun across her lap. Her nerves did feel shaky, and it had not been one of her better days. First the terror of her father being shot. Then the tension of waiting all day to make sure Riley would be all right. Then the strain of standing up to Burke. And now the shock of being alone in a bedroom with a stunningly attractive stranger whom her memory persisted in keeping unclothed.

  Blushing in spite of herself, Jess kept her gaze averted as Devlin poured a finger of brandy in a snifter and brought it to her. She had to look up then, which gave her a jolt. The soft, speculative way he was studying her made her feel like she was the one undressed. She wanted to reach up and see if the pins had come out of her hair.

  "Here, drink it down," he said gently, offering her the glass.

  Jess started to refuse, but there was a force in those gray-silver eyes that scattered her thoughts like chaff in a wind. What was it he'd said?

  When she merely stared at him, Devlin smiled, a slow, lazy, sensual curving of his lips. "For medicinal purposes only."

  Sweet glory, that lethal smile combined with that velvet-smooth voice could persuade a woman to forget her own name.

  In something of a daze, Jess obediently accepted the snifter from him and felt the warm brush of his fingers against her own. Trying not to jump at the startling sensa­tion his accidental touch aroused, she took a tentative sip. Her breath caught as the potent liquor went down, fiery and smooth. It was expensive stuff, even her inexperienced tongue could tell that. Nothing like the rotgut whiskey Clem was so fond of drinking. But then, no two men could be further apart than those two, in either tastes or appear­ance. Garrett Devlin obviously preferred the finer things in life and was willing to spend good money for them; Clem didn't have the money to spend. With his mules, Clem could have earned an excellent living with other outfits hauling ore down the mountainside to the stamp mills, but he had thrown in with her father instead.

  "I'll only be a minute," she heard Devlin say. "Let me get my things together."

  Nodding, Jess sipped her brandy and watched as he took some garments from the bureau and began filling a carpet­bag. She knew better than to gape, and yet her gaze kept straying to his face. It was sinful, how a man could be that beautiful. His hair was a rich, thick sable—nearly black but with no trace of blue—and fell over a high forehead delineated by heavy, straight eyebrows. Smooth creases carved his face in several places, down the cheeks and around the sensuous mouth, giving his features the sculpted stamp of classical perfection.

  He wasn't that old, Jess thought; maybe ten years older than she was. And yet those shrewd, smoke-hued eyes seemed as if they had seen a lot more of life than she had or ever wou
ld. Still, she would bet that life hadn't been the same struggle for Devlin it had been for her. There was a vital authority about him that suggested clearly he would succeed at most anything he attempted, and with relative ease.

  Even as Jess made the observation, Devlin paused in his packing. Eyeing the small leather-covered trunk in the cor­ner, he absently placed his hands at his hips, a gesture that called attention to the lean contours of his lower body.

  Flustered that she should even notice such things, Jess cleared her throat and said hastily, "I'll send Mr. Kwan over in the morning to pick up your trunk."

  "Mr. Kwan?"

  "A Chinese man. He helps with the heavy work at my boardinghouse. His wife, Mei Lin, does laundry and clean­ing." Jess hesitated. "You don't mind, do you?"

  "Why should I mind?"

  "Most everybody in Colorado hates the Chinese."

  Devlin gave her a smile that was a bit grim. "When you get to know me better, Miss Jess, you'll find that I'm not 'most everybody.' "

  Devlin went back to his packing then, leaving Jess to her contemplations. No. he was certainly was not "most everybody"; he was very little like the men of her ac­quaintance. He had the look of a man who knew the taste of power, and the confidence of someone accustomed to the best. A bit like Ashton Burke, perhaps, Jess thought with a grimace. And yet Devlin moved quietly, in the way of a man who concealed his power rather than flaunted it the way Burke did.

  The reminder of Burke made Jess's mouth tighten. It was with grave satisfaction that she saw Devlin withdraw from the trunk a cartridge belt and a pair of Colt Frontier six-shooters with ivory grips and toss them on the bed. She was grateful he was so different from Burke. Unlike Burke, Devlin was kind. Coming to her rescue the way he had, agreeing to help her protect the Wildstar until her fa­ther got better . . .

  He was also charming, smooth, and every bit a ladies' man. She had no business thinking about him in any way but a professional one—

  The thought screeched to a halt as Jess suddenly real­ized what Devlin was doing. He had already taken off his elegant coat and vest and stored them in the trunk, and his long fingers were making rapid work of the buttons on his fancy shirt.