Wildstar

She and Riley might not be rich in monetary terms, but they had a lot more than most families she knew, because they shared a wealth of love. Material things weren't im­portant if you had that. Her mother had strongly believed in that philosophy. Jenny Ann had never once complained about their lack of luxuries or Riley's extravagant dreams. Riley had always done his best for his wife and daughter, and was always apologetic that he couldn't do more. Jess would have let herself be stampeded by wild horses before she allowed one reproachful word against him to pass her lips.

"Not all the money in the world," Jess said ardently, "is worth one ounce of real love. Burke could never under­stand that. His kind never has learned that you can't buy everything you want."

"What do you mean, 'his kind'?"

"Rich men like him."

Hearing her scornful tone, Devlin appraised her for a moment. Jess knew nothing of his vast wealth, he remem­bered. She still thought of him as a gambler.

He shifted uncomfortably on his bedroll. Now was probably the time to tell her about his background. She'd given him an opening. And he really had no good reason to hide the truth from her any longer . . . nothing except long and bitter experience that told him what to expect. Once she knew his net worth, Jess would change toward him. It was inevitable.

He didn't want to watch it. He didn't want to see the same glint in her amber eyes that he saw in other wom­en's: the calculation, the coy flirtation, the greed . . . as if she were estimating the extent of his wealth, the size of his cock, and speculating how to turn both to her own advan­tage.

That was reason enough not to enlighten Jessica about his financial status.

"I take it you don't like rich men any more than you do gamblers?" Devlin said instead.

"I despise rich men. They're every bit as bad as gam­blers. They both live off other men's honest sweat and blood—" She stopped, as if recalling his profession. "Pres­ent company excluded, of course."

"Of course," Devlin drawled. He didn't care at all for her characterization of "his kind," or being lumped in the same category as Burke, even if she wasn't aware she was doing it. "Not all rich men are alike," he said in his own defense.

"All the ones around here are. Burke just happens to be the worst. Not only is he greedy and heartless, he's made it his personal goal to use his power against my father. For the past twenty years, he's done everything he could to make it hard on Riley. The other silver kings aren't much better, though. They've made their money off all the poor people who work for them. You should see how the big mine owners treat their employees. They don't give a sin­gle thought about safety. If an accident occurs, it's your fault. If you get sick, you're out of a job. They let men die; they watch them get maimed all the time without rais­ing a finger to help. They turn whole families out of their homes—"

Realizing how strident she sounded with her fervent ar­gument, Jess took a calming breath and lowered her voice. "At least Riley doesn't run our mine that way. That's one of the reasons he never has been successful. Profit isn't the only thing he cares about."

Devlin drew his lips together in a frown. Unwilling to believe that she truly put so little value on wealth, he ref­used to let the subject drop. "What would you do if you were rich?"

"I'd make sure Riley had the capital to work the Wildstar until he made his big strike," she answered with­out hesitation. "And I'd fight Ashton Burke on his own terms—keep him from hurting all the little people around here."

"And after that, what then?" Devlin prodded, intent on proving she was no different from all the other women he'd known. "You wouldn't want anything for yourself?"

"Oh, yes. I'd pay off the mortgage on our boarding-house."

"That's it? Is that all you want out of life? Just to run a boardinghouse?"

"No, that's not all. I'd like to have a family someday." "Marriage and children." His tone held scorn.

"Yes." She glanced at him curiously. "You don't want a family of your own?"

He didn't answer right away. Once, naively, he'd wanted the same things she did, marriage and family. But he no longer was sure marriage was even possible for a man in his situation, at least not the kind of marriage he wanted, one that was strong and enduring, based on mu­tual love.

Enduring love. He'd never had that in his life. Not from his mother, or his fiancée, or any of the countless, nameless women in his past, either ladies or ladies of pleasure. A few might have been able to see past his bank account and the dazzling prospect of becoming Mrs. Garrett Devlin, million­aire, but he'd never given them a chance. Perhaps he was overly mistrustful, but the one time he'd given his heart openly, it had been sliced to ribbons. He wasn't about to lay himself open to that kind of pain again.

"I've never met the woman whom I'd want to bear my children," he said finally in answer to her question.

Jess was a bit surprised by his soft vehemence, and his lack of interest in having a family. But then the things a man put store in weren't the same as a woman's choices.

"You really don't want to be rich?" she heard him ask in a doubting tone.

"Well . . ." She pursed her lips in thought. "It might be nice to have a fine house in Georgetown like Burke has . . . and maybe go to the opera sometimes and keep a car­riage. But I'd settle for hot running water in the kitchen and bathroom." She gave a small laugh. "I'd have a giant tub with a pound of perfumed bath salts and no interrup­tions and nothing to cook for an entire day. I swear I would sit and soak until I turned into a prune."

Giving her an odd look, Devlin suddenly leaned across the short stretch between them to capture her hand. When Jess would have drawn back in surprise, he refused to let go. Assessingly, he turned her hand over, palm up, tracing the calluses and rough lines in her skin.

"Your hands are red and raw. You should take better care of yourself."

Jess flushed in the darkness and pulled her hand from his grasp, linking her fingers in her lap to hide them from his critical gaze. "I don't have time to pamper myself."

"You should make the time. You could be quite beauti­ful."