Wildstar

She took three minutes to change into an outfit rugged enough to withstand a long trail ride—Spanish-style leather riding chaps worn over men's trousers, a white shirt and bolero. A flat-brimmed hat, a bandanna, gloves with flared gauntlets, and riding boots completed the cos­tume. She took three more minutes to throw some food and cooking utensils into knapsacks and fetch her father's ten-gauge.

When Devlin entered the kitchen, she was almost ready. He eyed her attire with approval, even if he didn't con­done her reason for wearing it. He didn't try to stop her, though. He wasn't fool enough to argue with a woman packing a shotgun. The weapon Jess carried would tear a hole in a man that was big enough to drive an ore wagon through.

He had belted on his guns, and now he checked the chambers of his pistols and the magazine of his Winches­ter. Then he set his black, flat-crowned hat on his head, slung the provisions over his shoulder, and followed Jess to Riley's room.

She bent over her father's bed, giving him a farewell kiss on the cheek.

"Jess, dadgummit, I don't want you doing

this!" Riley declared, trying one last time.

"I know. But it has to be done. Don't give Flo too much trouble while I'm gone."

When she turned away, he looked after her helplessly, then gave Devlin a pleading look. "I'd be obliged if you'd take care of my girl," he said in a voice made rough by worry.

Devlin nodded soberly. Then, turning to follow, he and Jess set out.

Chapter 8

The high country to the north of Silver Plume was a maze of rocky peaks and rugged wooded slopes. Jess and Devlin rode over little-used tracks toward the distant mining town of Empire, asking at the scattering of mines along the way about three armed riders, especially one mounted on a roan horse. It would have been easier to take the stage route that ran from Georgetown through Empire to Central City, Jess knew, but then they would likely miss their quarry. A man could hide out for months in this rugged terrain.

It was a warm, glorious deep-summer day, at odds with the deadly purpose of their journey. Each time they topped a ridge, the wide expanse of the Colorado Rockies stretched before them . . . a majestic array of bold summits and windswept gulches and narrow mountain passes.

The golden air was sweet and pure, redolent with the scent of life. The slopes were cloaked in towering ponderosa pines and thickets of aspens, whose white trunks stood out in striking relief to the riot of deep greens surrounding them. The meadows were carpeted with the colorful wild-flowers of late August—mountain pinks and lavender harebells and yellow paintbrush. In shaded places along the edge of the woods, vivid blue columbine swayed on slender, aristocratic stalks.

Both Jessica and Devlin scarcely noticed. They spoke little during the entire day, except to comment once or twice on their dispiriting lack of progress. Their quarry seemed to have eluded them. Around noon they came across a mine shack where the mine foreman remembered seeing a roan horse pass by earlier—only there had been two men, not three.

As the day wore on, a burning frustration filled Jess, eating at her stomach like acid. The same frustration seethed in Devlin; the knowledge of having failed in his responsibility to protect the Wildstar filled him with a des­perate anger.

Matching Jess's mood, Devlin remained grimly silent. A few times as they rode along the rocky trail, he felt an it­chy sensation between his shoulder blades, a sense of be­ing watched. But each time the feeling passed quickly. He decided it must be wild animals, a cougar or a bear, maybe, but his vigilance increased.

They made camp at sunset, off the track near a black-green forest of pine. Devlin picketed the horses on a patch of grass and took care of the saddles and bedrolls, while Jess fried some bacon and. warmed up some biscuits for supper. A curious whisky-jack flew down to investigate her preparations, but Jess shooed the fearless camp thief away.

The sun was flaming red, turning the mountain range crimson, as they settled down to eat. Jess merely picked at her food. "Do you think we'll find them?" she said finally, asking the question that had preyed on her mind all day.

"It's becoming less likely." There was another long silence.

"Devlin?"

"What?"

"You didn't deserve this, being dragged all over the mountains. I'm sorry I ever got you involved in our fight."

Devlin gave her hard glance. "It's my fight now."

Her gaze meeting his, Jess saw the cold determine-ation in his gray eyes and realized he meant it. He wasn't in this just for the money anymore, or even for her. For him, the feud had turned personal the minute Burke's gunmen had attacked the Wildstar while it was under his protection. Jess smiled faintly in gratitude. It gave her a welcome feeling of relief, knowing Devlin was truly on her side.

He turned to stare out at the distance and resumed his meal. Involuntarily, Jess's scrutiny increased. He didn't look like a city slicker just now. In his denims and leather vest and red-checkered bandanna, a chambray shirt that was well worn and faded, a full day's growth of black beard shadowing his face, he looked rough and capable and dangerous as sin.

The unbidden thought made Jess flush, while the mem­ory of what had occurred between them yesterday—Devlin's stunning kisses in her kitchen—came flooding back to haunt her. No matter how firmly she'd resolved to remain unaffected, she hadn't been able to withstand his devastating charm; no flesh-and-blood woman could have. With scarcely any effort, Devlin had made her body hot and her blood race. After that intoxicating embrace, she should have felt nervous around him today, but what she felt instead was an intimacy of common purpose.

Still, she wasn't immune to him by any means, even when he wasn't putting himself out to be charming or se­ductive, or provoking her to lose her composure. At the moment his face looked as cold and hard as any stranger's, but it still had the power to make her think hot, forbidden thoughts.

Realizing how vulnerable she was to him, Jess fell awk­wardly silent.

The long shadows of the pines enveloped them, while the rose-amber light of evening turned to blue gloom. Af­ter finishing her bacon sandwich, Jess wiped the plates and frying pan clean and set them aside for tomorrow's break­fast. Devlin had arranged their bedrolls side by side near the fire, with their saddles for pillows. Jess climbed into hers and lay there staring up at the darkening sky.

She listened while Devlin built up the fire and laid some sticks close to hand, then settled on his own bedroll. He had left on his gun belt and laid his Winchester within easy reach.