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Wildstar

Page 49

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"You wound me."

"You aren't wounded—" A sudden suspicion struck her. "Your ankle isn't really hurt, is it?"

"It smarts a bit."

"I'll bet." She was now certain he'd only pretended to twist it in order to give her something else besides their predicament to worry about.

"Devlin?"

"What, angel?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here with me." She was profoundly grateful he was here. She couldn't have held off the terror without him, couldn't have borne the long hours of uncertainty that stretched ahead of her, not knowing if they would be res­cued in time, if she would even be alive tomorrow. The possibility that they might die was easier to bear with him holding her.

She felt his hand move to her cheek, gently stroking. "My pleasure."

It was a gentle gesture, one meant to reassure. And it did momentarily make her fear recede. More unaccount­ably, it made her remember the last time Devlin had touched her, had held her intimately. Her heart skipped a beat. She drew a shallow breath, waiting to see if he would take his caress any further. But he seemed content merely to hold her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked sometime later.

"Not much."

"We'll save the biscuits for breakfast, then."

"You should eat. You didn't get any supper."

"Don't mother me the way you do your boarders, Jess. It won't hurt me to skip a meal." He patted his stomach la­zily. "I'm liable to get fat on your cooking as it is."

They were quiet for a time, and Jess managed to keep her most dreadful thoughts at bay. They weren't going to make it: she knew it. But she could face the terror more calmly now. And trying to stay calm was all she could do.

At least the piercing headache began to ease, and her skull quit pounding quite so fiercely.

"I am a bit thirsty," she said after a while.

"I'll go get some water. We can use it to wash with. And I'll find some of those rawhide bags to make us a bed. We might as well get some sleep as long as we can't go anywhere."

She didn't want him to go, but she didn't want to seem cowardly, either. She didn't protest when Devlin untangled himself from her. He lit the candle, then rose and made his way back along the tunnel. Without limping, Jess noticed, her mouth curving in a bleak smile.

He was gone for a long time. Jess began to miss not only his warmth but the reassurance of his presence. She hated being alone down here in this dark underground hole. It was too easy to believe the Wildstar mine was a tomb from which she would never escape. Without Devlin, she couldn't keep the specters at bay.

She could see the flickering light of his candle farther down the tunnel, but it seemed as if he had paused in his search.

"What is it?" she called out. Her voice echoed hollowly, holding an edge of fear.

"Nothing."

He returned a few minutes later carrying a dozen raw­hide bags and a covered water bucket. While Devlin spread the bags on the floor, Jess drank gratefully from the dipper, then tore another strip from her petticoat to sponge off her face. Devlin followed suit, assuaging his thirst and washing the dust off. Finally settling beside her again, he carefully unwound the bandage from around Jess's head and examined the gash on her temple.

"The bleeding's stopped," he observed as he used the wet rag to wipe the dried blood from her cheek. "You'll live."

Her troubled gaze met his. "Are you sure about that?"

"Entirely."

He kept his tone light, she noticed. Rising to his knees on one edge of the makeshift bed then, he grinned and bowed from the waist. "Your pallet, milady." When she hesitated, he reached for her hand.



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