A Handful of Heaven

"Or St. Louis." The words slipped out of Devon's mouth before she had time to think. Immediately their gazes locked. Her throat constricted. Time seemed to dwindle away to nothing as she waited for his answer.

Oh, God, she thought desperately, don't make me leave you. All I need is an invitation. . . .

Stone Man's fists clenched and unclenched. A knot twisted around his windpipe. She was asking him to come with her. To her tidy, well-ordered little life in St. Louis.

The Neanderthal and the lady. He winced at the thought. He couldn't do it-not to either of them.

He forced a scowl. "What good is money if you have to live like sardines? You keep the gold, Dev. It's too much responsibility for me."

Devon's knees buckled. She clutched the table edge with shaking fingers to steady herself. He'd done it; he'd turned her down. She glanced down at the tiny pink blanket she was working on, and an unaccustomed bitterness assailed her. "I should have figured that," she said sharply.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out, Stone Man. I'm tired of thinking for you."

His lips compressed into a hard line. "Whoever said gold doesn't change a person is full of shit."

"Oh, it changes things."

"I know. Digger's goddamn grubstake made you picket-fence rich. You don't need my money anymore to leave. You can buy your own goddamn ticket."

Devon felt like wilting into the floorboards. But years of training with an abusive father stood her in good stead. She'd learned not to show her pain.

Clutching the baby blanket to her breast like a shield, she stared at Stone Man through cold, expressionless eyes. "Your relief is showing, Stone Man, but you needn't worry. I'll be on the first boat out of this sorry, godforsaken pile of mud."

248

Stone Man watched her leave him. Her heels clicked on the plank flooring. Every footfall was like a nail in his heart.| God help him, he thought. It was all over.

The next sixteen days-and nights-were the longest in Stone Man's life. He watched Devon from a distance, never daring to get close enough to touch her. They lived in a world of walled silences and resentful glances. At night he si pinned to the canvas. -,

Who would have thought a ten-by-ten tent could seem so goddamn big? He was afraid to get near her, afraid to touch her. Most of all he was afraid to look at her. The few times their gazes-had accidently locked, he'd seen pain in her eyes. Stark, bitter pain.

It was like having a red-hot knife shoved into his gut. He, knew the pain mirrored his own, knew they both felt it keenly. : But what could they do about it? She hadn't offered to stay. ¦ He couldn't offer to go.

He grimaced. No matter how much he thought about their ; problem, the answer never changed.

Lifting his head, he stared at her. She was sitting at the; table, knitting on that damned pink tablecloth again. Her ramrod-stiff back was to him. She'd been sitting in that precise position for two hours, knitting. Not once had she spoken.

Her pointed silence was wrenching. He hadn't realized until last week how very much he enjoyed talking with her. Or, as she and Dr. Cowan would say-a bittersweet smile tugged at his lips-exchanging thoughts, desires, and ideas.

She hadn't spoken to him since Digger's announcement. They'd lived like enemies in an armed camp-distant, angry, wary-and it was tearing Stone Man up inside. With every silence he remembered the laughter. With every separation he remembered the closeness. God, he couldn't live this way any longer.

Mornings were the worst. When he woke up the first things he noticed were the fresh, clean scent of her and the warmth of her body beside his. For a heartbeat, before his sleepy mind focused, he was in bed with the woman he loved.

Then came remembrance and pain. The scant inches between their bodies yawned like miles, and the feeling of loss assailed him. His first waking thought was always: You don't belong in her bed anymore.

He groaned, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. He'd wanted to say / love you a hundred times this week, but each time the words lodged in his throat. The past had taken its toll. He wasn't strong enough to say the words, not when he knew she was leaving.

A blaring whistle ripped through the tent's premeditated silence.

Devon's head snapped up. "What was that?"

Stone Man didn't answer. He couldn't.

She turned to look at him. "Stone Man? What was that?"

He swallowed hard. "You should recognize it-it's the sound you've been waiting for. The sternwheeler's here."