Another unexpected surprise, Devlin discovered during that first week, was the physical discomfort of being rejected by a beautiful woman. He'd never reacted to any­one with such immediate attraction—downright lust, actually—as he had with Jessica Sommers, nor had he ever been held at such arm's length. The frustration of be­ing around her for several hours a day and not being able even to touch her, let alone make love to her, proved a se­vere exercise in self-restraint.

His schedule began to assume a routine. He spent each night from nine p.m. to seven a.m. up at the Wildstar, until Clem and the miners showed up for work. Then he rode down to the Sommerses' small house and ate the huge breakfast Jess had waiting for him—steak or ham, fried potatoes, hot biscuits with homemade jam, flapjacks with molasses or maple syrup, and anything else he wanted. Usually she served the meal in Riley's room so he could keep her invalid father company—or perhaps so Riley could keep an eye on him. Riley didn't quite trust him yet with his daughter, Devlin suspected, although he did seem resigned to the necessity of a guard for the Wildstar. Each morning when they discussed how the night had gone at the mine, Riley would always toss in some personal ques­tions about Devlin's past. Devlin answered patiently and in most cases factually, withholding only the truth about his vast wealth. Afterward, Devlin turned in and slept until Jess woke him in time for supper.

To save her the trouble of carting his supper over to him like she did for her father each evening, Devlin usually walked the short block and a half to her boardinghouse at six o'clock and ate with the miners in the communal din­ing room. Jessica hadn't been boasting in the slightest when she'd claimed to be an excellent cook. She made fried chicken that was mouth-watering, a venison stew that was the best Devlin had ever tasted, a Cornish meat pastie that her boarders loved, and a rhubarb pie that the miners couldn't seem to get enough of.

He only wished she could afford to hire more help. The Chinese couple she employed worked like fiends, but the chores were never-ending and Jessica seemed always to shoulder the major burdens herself.

Devlin met Kwan Chi An and his wife, Mei Lin, the first night at supper. Like most other Chinese, they wore long plaited pigtails, straw hats, and shapeless wide-sleeved tunics over straight trousers. And, like most other Chinese, they were fiercely resented in the West, not as much for their differently shaped eyes and yellow skin as for their cheap labor and willingness to do the menial jobs no one else would touch. Having supervised gangs of Chi­nese laborers on his father's railroads, though, Devlin had learned to admire their dependability and capacity for hard work. He particularly appreciated the Kwans because of their devotion to Jessica.

It was because, Jess told him, years ago her mother had rescued Mei Lin from a life of prostitution in one of Silver Plume's illegal opium dens.

At that story, Devlin raised an eyebrow. "Mei Lin served in an opium den?"

Jess grimaced. "So I understand. And she was no more than a child. It must have been horrible. Places like that shouldn't be allowed to exist. But no matter how many times they get closed down, they always come back. Georgetown is rumored to have an opium den, too, al­though no one likes to admit it. I'm afraid we have as many vices as the big cities."

Devlin wasn't surprised that Mei Lin had once been condemned to such a squalid fate. The pretty young Chi­nese woman would no doubt have been in great demand, with her delicate Oriental features, flawless yellow-toned skin, and lustrous black eyes. The wonder, however, was that Jenny Ann Sommers had been compassionate enough to take in a wretched foreign prostitute at a time when the rest of the citizens of the West were driving the Chinese out by force, and when self-respecting ladies would go to great lengths merely to avoid walking on the same side of the street as a soiled dove.

Florence O'Malley was someone else Devlin found himself liking. Jessica's buxom widowed neighbor drawled with a pure Western twang, but she claimed Irish roots and approved of Devlin because he was a countryman.

"Devlin is a good Irish name," Flo observed upon meeting him. "My Paddy was Irish, God rest his soul, and a better man you'll never find."

Florence was nearly as hard a worker as the Kwans were, but the three combined couldn't provide Jessica the help she needed. It disturbed Devlin that she scarcely had a minute for herself. Between running her boardinghouse and caring for her father, the only time she had a chance to sit down was in the evening after the supper dishes were done, when Clem visited and kept Riley occupied playing cards. Even then Jessica would usually have to referee their game. Riley wasn't allowed to sit up yet, and Clem, who had to play the hands for both of them, tended to cheat. More than once Jess had to put a halt to the shouting matches that erupted between her father and the ornery mule skinner.

Riley's growing frustration at being bedridden was an­other burden for Jess to bear. To relieve her, Devlin took over reading to the invalid whenever he had a spare minute. He managed to overlook Riley's grumpiness and complaints about being helpless, and used his not-inconsiderable charm to soothe the wounded man's ill tem­per. At the end of the week, when Devlin was invited to join a card game, he correctly interpreted Jess's worried look about his skill as a gambler and carefully lost his stake of matchsticks. The smile of relief Jess gave him af­terward made up for any affront his reputation might suf­fer.

Otherwise, for perhaps a half hour each evening Devlin had Jessica alone. Usually he sat talking with her in the parlor until it was time to ride back up to the mine and re­lieve the evening guard. She'd employed a needy miner she trusted to take the four-hour shift from five to nine p.m. and Saturday nights as well, so Devlin could have some time off.

The only stylish room in the Sommers house, the parlor was small and modestly furnished, boasting two over­stuffed velvet chairs with footrests, a matching settee, and a rocking chair. Lace and crocheted doilies decorated the two spindly tables, glass figurines and knicknacks covered all the flat surfaces, and sepia-toned photographs in oval gilt frames graced the plaster walls. Those parlor sessions were a strange, formal affair, with Devlin probing for per­sonal details about her life and Jess politely keeping her distance. She wouldn't permit him close enough even to touch her. Certainly she refused to let him massage her shoulders again or take down her hair.

Jess thought she had good cause for wariness, though. Devlin seemed more interested in finding out about her and her father's long-standing feud with Ashton Burke than in guarding the Wildstar. And having him in the small house, in such intimate proximity, made her nervous as a cat. A novice at knowing how to handle a man like him, she frequently resorted to spouting the polite phrases for conversing with gentlemen that she'd been taught at fin­ishing school—which immediately brought a teasing glint to Devlin's eye, as if he knew she was trying to erect de­fenses against him.

Flo liked Devlin, though, calling him a smooth charmer and "a gorgeous fella." Jess thought him smooth, all right. Smooth enough to charm the skin off a snake, which was too smooth, in her opinion. As for gorgeous, she thought Devlin altogether too handsome for his own good, with his almost patrician features and his lean, muscular physique. Flo, however, sighed with envy when she learned Jess had spent the entire night with Devlin up at the mine shack.

"Makes me wish I was thirty years younger," the widow said dreamily.

"Why?"

Flo left off peeling potatoes to stare at her. "Are you se­rious, Jess? I know you never think about men, but by now you gotta feel some kinda urge about love and courtin'."

"Devlin isn't the kind of man to come courting. Especi­ally someone like me."

"Maybe not, but it sure would be fun seein' how far you could bring him."

"Ho!"

"Well, it would

. And if anybody could use a bit of fun, it's you. Lord have mercy, gal, if I was your age, I'd be all over him like a tick on a bloodhound."

Jess sighed. She didn't doubt Flo meant it. No doubt other women found Devlin totally irresistible. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit she did too. It was impossible to ignore Devlin's casual, disarming charm, or the blatantly suggestive spark in his gray eyes, or the maddening undertone of laughter in his rough-velvet voice. And he knew what kind of power he had over the members of the frailer sex, Jess was sure. For all his lazy seductiveness, there was a shrewdness, a cool intensity in his teasing gaze. She'd seen the amazement in those eyes when she'd used his gun to stop him from kissing her. She was probably the only woman who'd ever said no to him.

"If he thinks I'm going to fall all over him like every other woman," Jess returned as she picked up another spud, "he can just get that notion out of his head."

"Well, I think you're missing your big chance. You got a man like that right under your nose, you should take ad­vantage of it. 'Course your pa might have something to say about it." Flo grinned. "I'll bet he cut up something fierce when he found out you were up at the mine all night with that gorgeous fella."

"He did," Jess replied wryly.

Jessica might not be willing to take advantage of the proximity, but Devlin certainly was. He did his best to break through her defenses, without success.

Tags: Nicole Jordan Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net