Wildstar

"I was in town looking for a good game, and he was able to provide it."

The slight grimace Jess made was accompanied by a note of disapproval in her tone when she spoke. "You're a gambler?"

Devlin gave another shrug, but this time his glance held amusement. "Among other things. You've got something against gamblers?"

In fact, she had a great deal against gamblers, almost as much as she had against wealthy silver barons. In her opinion, they were lazy no-accounts who lived off other men's misfortune and lack of skill. Garrett Devlin proba­bly fit that bill, too—but it would be highly impolite to de­ride him for his profession after what he'd just done for her. Her confrontation with Burke could have been a disas­ter. If Hank Purcell had managed to sneak up on her and take away her only protection, she would have been made to look like a fool, instead of walking out of there with her point made and her dignity intact. No, she was grateful to Mr. Devlin, no matter what or who he was.

Jess turned to look out over the street. It was a quiet night, and blessedly peaceful, with a big half moon shin­ing overhead, bathing the town in a silver glow and cast­ing the surrounding Rockies in rugged silhouette. The mountains were beautiful at night, with a raw majesty that vanished in the stark light of day. At night you couldn't see the ugly mine dumps that scarred the rocky slopes, or hear the loud milling operations on the outskirts of town.

At the moment, the saloons and dance halls along Main Street were mostly silent. The only noise was the low hum of the crowd inside the Diamond Dust. Jess herself re­mained silent, even when Devlin moved to stand beside her at the rail.

"I have no objections," he admitted, "to sitting at a table with a man, as long as he's honest."

"Oh, Ashton Burke is honest at cards," she said bitterly. "A man like him has no reason to cheat when he has so many other ways to get rich."

"I take it Burke has made a practice of getting wealthy off men like your father?"

"You take it right, Mr. Devlin. Burke has always grabbed whatever he's wanted from this town, never mind who got hurt. Everybody knows he's unscrupulous, but no one's ever been able to prove it. But he won't get away with it this time!"

At her quiet vehemence, she felt Devlin's gray gaze drift down her body to the shotgun she still held. "You think your warning will make him hold off?"

"Maybe not. But he wouldn't take any threat from me seriously unless it was backed with lead."

Devlin slanted a glance of sympathy tinged with admi­ration at the young woman beside him. He had a pretty good idea what she was feeling. Anger, frustration, con­cern for her father, fear. She hadn't wanted to march into that saloon of gamblers and fancy women and face Burke alone. But she'd done it. And it had shaken her, he was certain. Not only had he heard the husky rasp of tears in her voice when he'd followed her out here, but she'd been trembling, he would swear it. You aren't as tough as you pretend, are you, sweetheart?

He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and tell her that she wasn't alone, that everything would be fine. But he knew precisely where such a damn fool action would lead. He would kiss her till she was limp and breathless, which would make him want her more than he already did, and then he'd be tempted to seduce her. . . . And he wasn't prepared to let things go so far between them. Lovely innocents like Jessica Sommers only spelled trouble for a man like him. Nor was he at all sure that he wanted to take on her battles for her.

"Do you know how to use that scattergun?" he asked, gesturing at the weapon she held.

"Well enough. My father taught me. I'm handy with a six-shooter, too, but one gun won't be enough against Burke and his gang. It would take an army." She sighed, then went on as if thinking aloud. "I'll at least have to hire an armed guard for the mine, find somebody who isn't be­holden to Burke. That two-bit town marshal is too yellow to stand up to him—and the Clear Creek County sheriff is hardly any better. They both owe their jobs to Burke's sup­port. As do half the men in this county—" She stopped suddenly, glancing up at Devlin with speculation.

Devlin's guard went up instinctively. He knew that look—the kind of calculating expression a woman got when she wanted something from a man and was figuring out the best way to get it. On the Sommers woman, the calculation wasn't as hard and mercenary as some he'd seen, but it was calculating all the same. Ah, sweet Jessie, just what scheme do you have in that pretty head of yours? He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"You aren't beholden to Burke," she said slowly.

"No," he agreed, his tone wary.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in the job."

"Job?"

"Of armed guard for our mine. I could pay you"—she took a deep breath—"two hundred dollars a month."

Her offer surprised but didn't impress him. The wage was a staggering one around these parts, but Devlin often made more than that in a single day.

When he didn't answer, she went on quickly, the eager­ness she tried to hide tugging at his heart. "The job would come with room and board, too. I serve the best meals you're likely to find this side of Denver."

Does the room come with you included, little firebrand? If so, I might be inclined to accept.

Devlin shook his head, disciplining his wayward thoughts. Miss Jessica Sommers was a respectable woman, he had no doubt about it. He'd known enough of her kind to recognize the signs and to steer clear. She was the mar­rying kind, the kind whose father came after a man with a shotgun if he thought his daughter's reputation had been besmirched. He wasn't about to get tangled up in a web like that. Besides, there was no sense in getting himself killed in a petty squabble.

On the other hand, he'd already made an enemy of Burke, so he had nothing to lose there. And hooking up with Jess Sommers would bring him a step closer to his goal. Putting himself squarely in the middle of the mine feud would give him ample reason to ask questions about a man with a bullet scar over his right eye. Wasn't that why he'd come here in the first place? To find an outlaw and the organized gang that had robbed the Colorado Cen­tral Railroad of sixty thousand dollars in cash and silver bullion and killed the engineer and fireman in the process?

Other than the description of the scar and the roan horse, Devlin's only lead was a snatch of conversation one of the wounded robbery victims had overheard: ". . . get back to the Plume."

He'd come here intending to lay low and sniff around, but had found the trail cold. That is, until Riley Sommers had been shot.

"It would be honest work," Jess added, obviously still intent on persuading him.