Marshal Lockwood turned red in the face—whether from anger or guilt Devlin wasn't sure—and made a blustering denial. "There's no call to say such things, ma'am. I was elected law officer fair and square, and I don't cotton to insults about my integrity."
Miss Jess squared her shoulders. "And I don't cotton to seeing my father shot while the culprit goes scot-free. I'm warning you, Marshal, if you won't do something about Ashton Burke, I will. I mean to fight back. I'll hire my own gunslingers, if necessary. Burke will never get the Wildstar, as long as there's a breath left in my body! Now, I've got to get home to Riley. The doctor may be there by now."
She wheeled her mount to leave, but as she turned, her gaze raked the hotel window where Devlin stood. For an instant as she looked up, her eyes locked with his, then took in his sleek muscular frame, exposed to her view. Her reaction to his nudity amused and charmed him: she flushed and ducked her head before kneeing her horse into a gallop.
"Miss Jess, don't you go doing anything foolish!" Marshal Lockwood hollered after her, plainly alarmed by her threat to take matters into her own hands. "You hear me?"
"What's all the ruckus about?" Lena asked as she came up behind Devlin. The scent of expensive perfume and the pure smell of woman enveloped him as she slid her arms around his lean waist.
Devlin gestured with his head at the street below.
Lena glanced out the window as the blond rider galloped off. "What's she in such an all-fired hurry for?"
"You know her?"
Lena shrugged and yawned, the fingers of one hand teasing the dark, curling hair on his chest. "Name's Jessica Sommers. Runs a boardinghouse for miners to keep food on the table and her pa outfitted with gear. Riley Sommers always did have his head in the clouds. He's been working his claim for nigh on six years, but it never amounted to much."
"He was shot this morning." "You don't say."
She didn't seem surprised by the violence, Devlin noted. But then, here violence was a part of life. Silver Plume was a typical Western mining town: rowdy, lusty, and raw around the edges. Here men lived and hustled and hoped, scrounging for dreams in the hardrock earth, sometimes discovering wealth beyond their imaginations, sometimes finding death.
"How is Sommers connected to Ashton Burke?"
"Oh, Riley's been feudin' with Ash since time began."
Suddenly feeling a tickling sensation below his waist, Devlin glanced down to see Lena drawing a vivid red feather boa across his taut abdomen, through the crisp black hair of his groin.
"Sugar," she whispered huskily in his ear, "don't we have better things to do than talk about some old mine feud?" Pressing her nude voluptuous body against his bare back, she moved suggestively against him.
He felt himself hardening in response. Lena made a sensual sound of approval deep in her throat, while unerringly her fingers found the shaft that was swiftly becoming long and swollen and thick. Intimately caressing, she explored and fondled his burgeoning erection. "I do declare, you're a magnificent fella."
His laugh was low and very male, but he remained still, enjoying her play and the feel of warm, stroking fingers curling around him.
Pressing harder against his buttocks, Lena rotated her hips in invitation. "I want you to take me again, darlin' man."
Fully aroused now, he turned with a virile, wicked smile. "My pleasure, ma'am. I'm always willing to accommodate a beautiful lady."
"My, what a smooth-talkin' fella you are."
"Who's talking?" he murmured as he slid his hands down her back, beneath the smooth mounds of her buttocks. Unhurriedly he lifted her, in one easy motion wrapping her open legs about his flanks and angling so her back was pressed against the wall.
Lena cooed and clutched at his naked shoulders, the feather boa forgotten. When she arched against him, he bent his knees and glided into her slick warm flesh, thrusting deep. Her throaty gasp turned into a hot little whimper.
Lifting her hips high and hard against his, Devlin took her for the third time that morning, but part of his mind remained divorced from the pleasure. That part contemplated the conversation he'd overheard just now about a stranger with a scar over one eye—and planned what he would do about it.
He had every intention of making the acquaintance of
Miss Jessica Sommers. In the meantime, though, he might as well enjoy what was left of the morning.
Six blocks away, in the kitchen of a small miner's cottage, Jess clenched her fingers till they ached as she watched Doc Wheeler dig the .44-caliber bullet from her father's back. At least he couldn't feel the pain. Unconscious, Riley Sommers lay on his stomach on the hard supper table, his blood dripping onto the yellow hand-woven cotton rug. The crimson splotches looked obscenely vivid in the bright pool of sunshine streaming through the window.
Jess didn't realize that the strangled sob she heard belonged to her until her father's partner and best friend, Clem Haverty, patted her arm in clumsy affection.
"He's bad hurt," the wizened old mule skinner said in a hoarse whisper, "but I ain't never seen Riley give up without a fight. He'll make it, Jess."
"Oh, Clem," she said shakily, then swallowed, trying to get hold of herself. Going to pieces wouldn't help her father keep his tenuous hold on life, or help her face this horrible situation any better.
How had it come to this? Riley had worked so hard to get where he was, and look what he had to show for it. A bullet in the back. She couldn't bear to see it.