Wildstar

"Nothing close. We can't even afford any com-pressed-air drills—we still use hand steels."

"What about Haverty? You said he was a partner?"

"Oh, he doesn't really own any of our claim. He gets twenty percent of the profits, if there are any—which isn't often."

They kept moving, past two side tunnels that Devlin could see played out quickly. Some thirty feet into the mountainside, the main tunnel ended in a vertical shaft that accessed the lower level. There Jess came to a halt.

Overhead was a hoist—a pulley-and-cable system— attached to an iron bucket the size of a large barrel. The bucket would carry ore up and men and tools down. Dev­lin recognized the setup from experience, since he'd once worked a gold mine in the Black Hills not so different from this one. And yet these conditions were much more primitive. The hoist was a hand-crank operation, for exam­ple, instead of steam-driven. And riding the bucket was far more dangerous than the more advanced metal cage de­signed to hold men.

"Do you want to go down?" Jess asked as she leaned over to peer down the shaft. She sounded reluctant, per­haps a bit afraid.

Devlin moved closer to inspect the shaft. Along the right side metal rungs had been driven into the rock at in­tervals to form a ladder, but he had no interest in exploring further. "No, not tonight. Where does Burke come in?"

"Right after my father started the Wildstar, Burke bought the adjacent claim at a sheriff's sale, just to spite us. That had to be the reason. None of the rock around here ever yielded anything but low-grade ore. Yet two years ago Burke began expanding the Lady J, and he's al­ready developed three levels and blasted a dozen crosscuts. It's a waste of good money, if you ask me, but he has enough to throw away."

She straightened just then, only to collide with a hard male body. "Oh!" Her soft exclamation was one of dismay and nervous awareness as she found her breasts thrust against Devlin's chest, her thighs pressing fully against his.

Flinching, her senses screaming at the sudden shock, Jess tried to back away and nearly dropped the lantern. Reflexively Devlin reached up to steady her, which only prolonged the potent contact. Jess suddenly could think of nothing but the feel of him . . . the heat, the hardness, the vital maleness.

He must have felt something, too, for his grip on her arms tightened momentarily, as if he found it difficult to let her go, and he swore softly.

"Ex-excuse me," Jess stammered.

"My fault," Devlin replied in a voice huskier than he would have liked. The feel of her lush female form press­ing against him had elicited an instant reaction in his body, but this was a hell of an inappropriate place to become aroused.

Gritting his teeth, he untangled himself and stepped a safe distance back. Gratefully, Jess turned away and un­steadily retraced her steps along the tunnel, not caring at the moment if Devlin followed her. She couldn't stop thinking of their accidental embrace, or the weak, feminine way it had made her feel.

She was still shaken when she entered the cabin. To think she had to spend the entire night with this man. . . .

"You can have the bed," Devlin said from behind her as he shut the door.

Jess's glance involuntarily went to the narrow cot and she froze. She would be alone with this man and that bed. Nervousness made her tone sharp when she retorted, "I suppose an Eastern dandy wouldn't deign to sleep on poor furniture like that."

"An Eastern dandy would never have come up here in the first place," he replied mildly as he lifted one of the chairs and placed its back against the far wall, so it faced the door.

Jess wished she could bite back the words. She hadn't forgotten what she owed Devlin. It was just that his mas­culine self-assurance disturbed her; he disturbed her. She'd never been tempted by a man before him. Never wanted a man to tighten his arms around her and hold her close. Never wondered what it would be like if he bent his head and kissed her. Back there in the mine she'd wanted Dev­lin to do just that.

In agitation, she clasped her hands in front of her and went to the shuttered window, feeling trapped and uneasy. Maybe she had made a mistake in hiring Devlin. Certainly she had made a mistake in planning to stay up here with him.

Behind her she could hear him settling into the chair.

When she ventured a glance, she saw that he'd stretched his long legs out in front of him, with his Winchester rest­ing easily across his thighs. His Stetson was lying on the table, and his black hair shone softly in the glow from the lamp. He was watching her with something that looked like amusement in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about the poor accommodations," Jess said in a tentative apology.

"I'm not complaining . . . though I do admit having a preference for softer mattresses than that one. I'll be mag­nanimous and let you have it all to yourself."

His tone was lazy, disarming, with a hint of teasing hu­mor in it. It only made Jess more nervous.

"Why don't you go to sleep?" he asked. "There's no use in us both staying awake."

Jess glanced again at the small bed. She was not about to lie down with Devlin so near. She wouldn't be able to sleep a wink.

"I'm not going to attack you, Miss Jess."

"I didn't think you would," she lied hastily.

"I won't even touch you . . . unless, of course, you want me to."