Wildstar

Chapter 1

Silver Plume, Colorado; 1884

Lean and naked, the gambler lounged at the window of his second-floor hotel room, his attention drawn by the commotion on the street below. The thud of galloping hooves had shattered the peace of the lazy summer morn­ing and startled the few brave souls who were out and about after a wild night's revelry, it was Sunday, the one day of the week that a rowdy mining town like Silver Plume slowed down. Except for the occasional rig or pack mule tied to the hitching rails, Main Street was nearly deserted.

The fury riding hell for leather up the dirt street— bareback, no less—seemed oblivious to the peace.

Garrett Devlin watched curiously from his hotel win­dow. Ordinarily such a disturbance wouldn't concern him, but he'd come to this town for a reason. Everything that happened in Silver Plume interested him. And this sight downright intrigued him.

The rider wore skirts. Four inches of lace-edged drawers showing beneath blue sateee proclaimed her to be a woman, as did the long mane of honey-blond hair stream­ing wildly in the wind.

"Marshal!" Devlin heard her cry. She was targeting the man with the badge on his vest as he walked past the gen­eral store opposite the hotel. "Marshal Lockwood!"

She drew her horse to a plunging stop before the mar­stud in a spurt of dust, with a gasped plea of "Wait!" She was breathing hard, Devlin could see, while her tone was frantic.

The marshal touched his hat politely but remained on the boardwalk, safely out of range of the snorting horse. "Mornin', Miss Jess. What can I do for you?"

She had trouble catching her breath, and her full breasts rose and fell with the effort. Devlin studied the effect ap­preciatively, with the eye of a connoisseur.

She was wearing a wrapper—the kind of loose gown in­tended to be worn only at home—made of lustrous, dark blue sateen, without a bustle. Her tresses were tumbled en­ticingly as if she'd only just risen from her bed. Which perhaps she had, Devlin thought, enchanted by the provoc­ative sight. She looked a bit younger than he'd first as­sumed from her luscious curves. Maybe twenty. From so far away, he couldn't make out the color of her eyes, but he could see well enough that her face was flushed with anger, or perhaps fear.

"Riley's been shot!" she gasped out finally.

"What in thunder?" The blank look on the marshal's face turned to a startled frown. "Your pa's been shot?"

She managed to nod but her voice shook when she an­swered, "Shot in the back. He was up at the mine . . . going over the books."

She pointed frantically up at the rugged mountains be­hind the store, making Devlin momentarily lift his gaze. The spectacular granite peaks dominated the earth and sky, towering over the townsite and the deep canyon where Sil­ver Plume nestled. From his vantage point, Devlin could see the numerous mine dumps that littered the slopes, as well as the tortuous trails that zigzagged up the steep sides and seemed to disappear in the vast vault of blue sky.

"A guard from the Silver Queen found him and brought him home," Devlin heard her say. "He's in a bad way. If he hadn't been found when he was, he might be dead by now. The bleeding's stopped, but he's still not out of dan­ger. I'm afraid . . . he may still die." Her voice caught on a sob, but then she swallowed hard. "I've already fetched the doc. He's on his way."

The marshal apparently was still trying to take in the events. "Who in tarnation would do such a thing?"

"You know very well who! Burke's hirelings, that's who."

"Now, Miss Jess, you don't know that—"

"I do so know it! And I want to hear what you're going to do about it."

"I'll go up to the Wildstar and take a look around."

She clenched a slender fist in a gesture of frustration. "Whoever did it will be long gone by now. Why don't you arrest Ashton Burke? He's behind the attack, I know it."

Ashton Burke. Devlin recognized the name. Burke was a rich English capitalist who owned this hotel, a dozen sa­loons and gaming halls in three towns, and any number of mining interests.

"You got any proof of that?"

"He threatened us last week when Riley wouldn't sell him the Wildstar. What more proof do you need?"

"Now, Miss Jess, you know I can't just go around arrestin' people without proof. Besides, an upstanding fig­ure such as Mr. Burke would never resort to such violent means."

Her scoffed answer was drowned out by a petulant, se­ductive voice behind Devlin.

"Garrett, honey, I'm gettin' mighty lonesome. Why don't you come back to bed?"

He didn't glance at the sultry, ebony-haired beauty in his bed. Lena was a dealer for the Diamond Dust Saloon next door. She was also occasionally a lady of pleasure, with emphasis on the word pleasure. She chose her clients with discrimination, and she'd latched onto Devlin the first night he'd sat at her faro table.

Devlin was accustomed to such immediate attention. With his sable hair, smoke-gray eyes, and stunning dark looks, he'd always attracted women without the slightest effort. Sometimes it was a nuisance, the way women ran after him. But in this case it worked to his advantage. His suave, sophisticated appearance allowed him to pass for a gambler, while furthering his acquaintance with Lena Thorpe allowed him to find out more about the town with­out drawing undue attention to himself.

For the moment, though, he ignored Lena's seductive plea, more interested in hearing the conversation across the street.

"Did Riley see who did it?" Marshal Lockwood was asking.

"No, I told you," the young woman he'd addressed as "Miss Jess" snapped. "Some lily-livered coward shot him in the back. How could he possibly see who did it? All I know is what the guard said. There was a stranger nosing around up there this morning. He had a scar over one eye and he was riding a roan."

Devlin's interest shot up ten degrees. A scar above his eye. Riding a roan. He leaned forward, his gray eyes nar­rowing. In the three days since his arrival, he'd made little progress in locating the man he'd come to

find. This was the first good lead he'd had since the train robbery two weeks ago.

"You should be arming a posse," the blond beauty ac­cused. "Preventing law-abiding citizens from being shot down in cold blood, instead of standing here defending Burke and his hired guns. But then maybe you're on his payroll, too."