Wildstar

Her thoughts occupied, she almost didn't notice Dev­lin's surprise when they passed the boardinghouse.

"We're not going in?"

"No. Our home is just a bit farther." She'd done some fast thinking while she'd waited for Devlin to change clothes. Her original plan to put him up in her boarding-house would never work, she realized now. A man like Devlin was accustomed to far fancier lodgings than a small plain room with a bed and a washstand, and a com­munal dining room shared by two dozen miners. He might even be insulted, maybe enough to quit. But she could take him home with her. Not only were the accommoda­tions nicer, but he could sleep there during the day and keep an eye on Riley if she wasn't there to look after him. "I thought maybe you would be more comfortable at our home."

They turned right at the next corner, then walked for an­other block, before Jess came to a halt in front of a small dwelling. It was a typical miner's house—one story with a clapboard exterior—but had been spruced up a bit. The fresh coat of white paint boasted blue trim, while potted geraniums adorned the front porch and bay window.

"We don't live high on the hog," Jess said apologeti­cally as she tied the horse.

"I'm not too choosy."

The smile he gave her in response to her skeptical glance took Jess aback. She didn't believe for one minute that Devlin wouldn't mind the lack of luxury, but it was kind of him to say so.

She held a finger to her lips as she led Devlin inside. "I don't want to wake Riley," she whispered.

The front part of the house was dark, but a light shone from somewhere down the narrow hall. Jess lit a lamp and gestured at the darkened room on the left as she passed. "That's the parlor, if you want to read or . . . my mother never let anyone smoke in the house, but you can if you want. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, the privy's out back, through the kitchen. I'm afraid the only running water we have is cold, but I'll be glad to heat some when­ever you need it."

As she spoke, she moved down the hall, past a tiny sit­ting room, to the third door on the right. Obediently, Devlin followed her into the small bedroom. The furniture was plain, consisting of a brass bed, an iron washstand, a pine bureau and clothespress, and a rocking chair. But an obvious effort had been made at relieving the starkness. A thickly quilted yellow cotton spread covered the bed, lace curtains hung at the window, and a colorful braided rug decorated the wood floor. In all, the effect was comfort­able, cheerful, and quite feminine, Devlin noted with cha­grin.

"Will you be okay in here?" Jess asked. He heard the uncertain note in her voice and turned to meet her anxious gaze. "This is your room, isn't it?" "It's yours now."

"Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me." She flashed him a bright smile as she whisked the hairbrush and comb off the bureau. 'There's a pull-out cot in the sitting room next door. It will do fine for me. And it's closer to Riley. I can hear him better if he should wake in the night. Now, I'm sure you'll want to get settled, and I have to go check on my father. I'll see you in a few minutes." She backed out of the door­way before he could argue, leaving him the lamp.

Devlin looked around in disgust. If there was a cot in that closet next door, it could only be a mattress on the hard floor. But Jess Sommers was willing to sacrifice her own comfort—and even let him smoke in her house—so he'd have no reason to leave her employ. Clearly she des­perately wanted to please him. But it grated against every chivalrous instinct he possessed to turn her out of her room. He had been raised a gentleman, and despite his rough living the past ten years, he still maintained a pre­tense of good breeding. And to sleep in her bed . . . Dev­lin's gray gaze strayed to that bed. How soft and feminine and virginal it looked. The sheets probably smelled sweet like her, too—

Get your mind on business, Devlin. He shook his head sternly. He had a job to do.

He dumped his carpetbag on the bed and began arrang­ing shaving gear and clothes. A few minutes later, he heard light footsteps pass his room, then the murmur of voices. After waiting a bit longer, Devlin followed the sound.

He found Jess in the kitc

hen, sitting at the table and ar­guing in low tones with a grizzled, bearded old fellow who looked like he'd spent the last half century out of doors being weathered by the elements. The old man wore the loose woolen shirt and overalls of a miner.

Both of them glanced up at Devlin's entrance.

"Clem," Jessica said carefully, "this is the man I was telling you about. Mr. Devlin, this is Clem Haverty. He's my father's partner in the Wildstar Mine. Clem handles all the pack mules and drives the ore wagon."

Clem's black-eyed glare could have shriveled a rattle­snake. When Devlin touched his hat in polite acknowledg­ment, the mule skinner leaned over and spat a stream of tobacco juice in the spittoon at his feet. "Jessie ain't never brung a fella home afore, not even fer supper."

"Clem!" She threw an embarrassed glance of apology at Devlin. "I didn't bring him home for supper. I mean, of course I mean to feed him supper, but that's just in ex­change for his acting as guard. We have a business deal."

The older man's fierce expression didn't let up one bit. "I hear tell Jess got herself into a shooting scrape with Hank Purcell and you pulled her out."

Devlin shrugged. "I merely impressed him with the ne­cessity of dropping the gun he had aimed at her back."

For the first time, Clem took his eyes off Devlin to look at Jess. The mouth half buried in the shaggy gray beard twisted in a sneer. "Fancy talker, ain't he?"

"Yes, but he's a good man with a gun, Clem," Jess an­swered. "We need him."

Clem ignored her claim. ""You a stranger in town?"

The smile Devlin gave him could have charmed a griz­zly. "Do you know me?"

"Cain't say as I do."

"Then I guess that makes me a stranger."