第 12 页

Before her arrival his whole life had been a shambles. She'd remedied that, and soon she'd remedy the post's organizational problems.

The thought brought with it a quick smile. He did need her, if not as a friend, then at least as a manager in the post; for she alone could revamp the post into a first-rate store.

Oh, he wouldn't like it at first, she knew that without a doubt. Men never did like change. But when she was finished, and everything in his life ran like a well-oiled clock, he'd see the light; he'd realize that he needed her. That they were a team.

Maybe she could even help him find his way back to the human race...

That was it! That's why God had sent her here. She was the one person who could organize Stone Man's life and help him reenter civilization.

She snapped upright, a determined gleam in her green eyes. Whether he knew it or not Stone Man was about to make friends with his partner.

Even if it killed both of them.

Stone Man paused outside the tent, steeling himself for her caterwauling. Hunching his shoulders, he lowered his head into the protective collar of his lightweight coat and opened the door.

Waves of steamy heat greeted him. Entering, he shut the door behind him, inhaling deeply of the sweet, cinnamon-and-berry-scented air.

A dart of movement caught his eye, and he turned toward it. He was just in time to see his partner bounce off the bed. Even from a distance he could see that her eyes were bright and her face, usually so pale, was flushed. He groaned inwardly. She was up to something. Probably wanted windows...

Her small feet hit the floor hard, and she hurried toward him. The dozen or so corkscrew curls that were plastered to her brow jiggled free, nodding up and down with her every step.

"Hello, Stone Man," she said, stopping beside him in a swirl of blue muslin. "May I take your coat?"

He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting at her. He could take his own coat off, but it wasn't worth the hassle. He'd learned that the hard way. If he said no, she'd just run around like a chicken with her head cut off, looking all stupid and wounded. Shrugging his massive shoulders, he eased out of his coat and handed it to her.

She took it eagerly, smoothing away the creases of the day and hanging it carefully on its hook.

He lumbered gracelessly over to the table and sat down. "What's for dinner?"

"Would you like some coffee?" she said quickly, hurrying back to her precious stove.

"Okay." He frowned. Hadn't he asked her a question? Oh, yeah. "What's for dinner?"

She set a pan on the red-hot stove then quickly opened a can of beans and poured the reddish slop into the pot. "Beans and flapjacks," she answered, handing him a steaming hot cup of coffee.

"Good." Even she couldn't screw up beans. Pulling his well-read copy of Oliver Twist out of the bookshelf, he leaned back against the tent wall and began to read.

"More coffee?" she said after a moment.

He glanced down at the dregs in his cup. "Uh-huh." Tilting his face, he watched her as she wrapped a dishtowel around the coffeepot's handle and refilled his cup.

"Thanks."

"You're more than welcome," came her cheerful reply.

He took a quick sip then turned his attention back to his book.

Steam jostled the pot's heavy iron lid, hissing into the humid air. Iron clattered on iron. "You know, Stone Man, I can certainly see why youVe settled here. It makes St. Louis look so drab and colorless."

He lifted his face to study her. She wasn't looking at him, of course. She was dancing with the stove. Stirring, tasting, testing, pouring, flipping. The heat had loosened her tight little topknot even more, and thick strands of rust-colored hair were curling damply across the side of her face.

Her white shirtwaist clung to her curves.

His breathing tripped. He so rarely thought of her as a woman that when he was confronted with evidence of her... femininity, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and looked quickly away. "Huh?"

She laughed softly. "So we're back to grunting, are we?" She started ladling beans onto the plates.

"I thought we'd made more progress than that."

He didn't answer. He couldn't; he had no idea what she was babbling about.

She set the plates down carefully, sliding his across the bright red tablecloth. Then she handed him a glass of boiled and cooled river water. And a napkin.

He shot her a sidelong glance.

"Humor me," she said, still smiling. "Let me pretend you're going to use it."

He bunched the frilly little thing up in his big hand and started eating.

Every once in a while he peeked up at her, just to check, but she was still doing it. Eating counterclockwise, one food item at a time.

"You didn't answer me, you know."

His progress ground to a halt. With the fork tip pressing against his lips, he stared at her. "Huh?"

"I said this land was lovely."

"Oh, yeah, you did." He went back to eating.

She cleared her throat. "IVe been out and about a great deal lately, studying the land. I can't wait to see the fall colors."

He rammed a forkful of beans home. "Ish pretty."

Silence fell again, only this time it was strained. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was almost as if they were supposed to be chattering like hyenas over a kill. He shook his head. She had him so twisted around, he didn't know what to expect anymore. Without thinking he wiped his mouth with the napkin and went on eating.

Across the table he heard a sharp intake of breath. He looked up. She was staring at the napkin. A slow blush crept up from his beard, and he could feel the color burning across his cheeks. He felt like the village idiot. "Hellfire," he snapped, throwing the napkin to the floor. "Quit staring at me."

Her gaze dropped back to her plate. She picked up her fork again and began eating. "I ran across the prettiest bird today. He was different-looking, kind of a pale gray-white with a black head and bright red beak. He followed me for almost a half an hour, just sitting on the riverbank, twittering."

"Tern," he said, chomping.

She frowned. "What?"

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glanced up at her. "It's an arctic tern."

"Oh."

Silence again. Blessed silence.

He heard the tinny clang of metal as she laid down her fork. He didn't bother looking up. An audience would only encourage her to babble more.

"I thought you might like to know a bit about me."

His fork didn't slow. "Nope."

She didn't miss a beat. "I came up here because I needed a new start in life. I had my sister, Colleen, but when she grew up and got married, she didn't need me anymore. I felt sort of... lost.

I know it sounds silly, but I thought if I found something I could do well..." Her deep voice caught, quivered. "I don't know, I guess I thought if I were doing something just for me, something I loved, that I wouldn't be lonely anymore. Can you understand that?"

Stone Man put his fork down. Could he understand loneliness? His head came up; their eyes met.

In the green depths, he saw a hint of sadness. A restless longing that mirrored his own.

How could he not understand? He'd been alone and searching all his life. "I understand. That's why I..."He bit back the confession. It wasn't any of her business what he did or why.

"You take pictures. Wasn't that what you were going to say?"

He looked up at her, surprised. "Yeah," he said after a long minute. "I take pictures."

"A photograph," she said softly, "immortality through art. I suppose..." Once she'd started, she kept talking, her voice low and soothing. Her words wove a web of complacence around him. He leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee, listening. A warm, homey atmosphere filled the tent.

After a few moments his head grew heavy and dropped forward. His eyes fluttered shut. There was something so soothing about the sound of her voice...

"Stone Man?"

He jerked his head up. "Huh?"

She was staring right at him, her eyes huge and green in the paleness of her face. She was very close to smiling; he could see it in the tiny quiver at the corners of her mouth.

"Sleepy?" she inquired softly.

He cleared his throat. "Nope. Not at all."

"Do you remember my last question?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably. He couldn't remember a damn thing she'd said all night. Except for something about birds.

"My question was a simple one." Her throaty voice wrapped around him. "Do you think we could be friends?"

He jumped to his feet. Damn her! She'd done it again. Outthought him. And he'd made it so easy.

A few hot beans, a soft smile, a few well-chosen words, and he'd actually listened to her jabberings.

He ought to shoot himself. Now, before it got worse, before he lost his mind completely. "No," he said through gritted teeth. "I told you once: I don't have friends."

"But-"

"Nobuts."

She was beside him in an instant. Without a word she laid her soft, white fingers atop his forearm.

He felt the heat of her skin through the flannel of his sleeve. Her touch was soft, yet firm. Politely demanding.

"Forget I said that." Her voice was so quiet he scarcely heard her. "We've done well tonight. Let's not go back."

He stared down at her. She stared up at him. Her eyes were big and deadly earnest. His throat was so dry he could hardly swallow. "All right," he said scratchily. "Let's forget it."

"Thank you," she said with a small sigh. Releasing his arm, she smoothed the tight curls off her face and cleared the table.

As she started washing the dishes, he heard the gravelly, off-key strains of her humming. She was humming "I'm only a bird in a gilded cage." Strangely her voice seemed to lessen the strained silence in the tent.

He groaned. He was in big trouble if her humming didn't bother him. "Do you have to hum?" he said harshly.

She shot him an impish smile."Would you rather I sing?"

"Couldn't you just think about humming?"

"Why, Stone Man," she said teasingly, "that was a joke. Who'd have thought you had a sense of humor?"

"I don't."

"Maybe you just think you don't. Could be you're funny as a stitch inside."

"Unlikely."

"Still... you did smile at me-and make a joke. You'd better watch out. You just might be starting to like me."

He squelched a smile just in time. "No chance of that."

Chapter Nine

Stone Man stared at the slow-moving shadow outside the post and slowly shook his head. She was doing it again, trying to ride that damned bicycle.

Click, thump. The shadow lurched forward. The circular shadow of the bicycle's front wheel rammed hard into the muddy, rutted earth and stopped cold. The rider's whole body flew toward the handlebars. When she hit, the little bell bolted beside her left hand tinkled gaily.

"Ouch!"

Stone Man couldn't suppress a smile. He waited, knowing she'd try again. If there was one thing he'd learned about Devon, it was that she never gave up.

She didn't disappoint him. After a few seconds the shadow repositioned itself on the saddle, stiffened, slipped a foot into the rat-trap pedal with an audible click, and lurched forward.

Thump. The wheel hit again, only this time she was able to power through the rut. The last he saw of her was a flash of red bicycle and black wheels as she hurtled past the open flaps.

"Thank God," he muttered. As long as she was riding that stupid contraption, she wasn't cleaning, or-God forbid-teaching herself how to cook.

Stone Man was still smiling the next day. Any minute he'd get to say the magic words: you lose. Stone Man could hardly contain his building excitement. The words were burning on the tip of his tongue. Any minute now-hell, any second now-Devon was going to walk through those flaps with her inedible foodstuffs.

He smiled. Damn, he felt good.

For the first time since she'd shown up at the post, he had the upper hand. All he had to do was take one bite of her food, and she'd lose the bet fair and square. The men in the Yukon weren't desperate enough to eat her slop.

He flipped open his pocket watch and glanced at the time. Seven o'clock. She was late. Probably tasted her own food and passed out cold.

"Hello, Stone Man."

He looked up. She was standing just inside the flaps, and she didn't have a single jar of food with her. He grinned broadly. She'd probably had to throw the whole mess out. "Forget something, Devon?"

"No. In fact I brought something extra." She peeked out the flaps and yelled, "Come on over."

Bear ambled into the tent. "Morning, Devon," he said, tipping his battered felt hat at her.

"Morning Cornelius."

"Come to watch the little lady lose, Bear?"

Bear shuffled over to the table and sat down. "Reckon I'll see somebody eatin' crow," he answered with a good-natured grin.

Devon beelined for the flaps, her dull blue skirt swirling gaily around her feet as she scampered through the opening.

After a moment the flaps parted. A flash of blue appeared. She was coming through butt first! He stiffened, shock widening his eyes as he stared at her softly rounded bottom. There it was again, that unmistakable proof of femininity. Who'd have thought the skinny little thing would have such a nice butt?

Her back and shoulders came into view slowly. She was tugging hard at something, trying to drag whatever it was into the tent.

His gaze traversed her slim, hunched shoulders before sliding down the curve of her spine to the rounded curves of her backside. She wasn't wearing one of those damn things- what were they called, a buttle, bustle? Whatever, she wasn't wearing one. The skirt fell over her little body just as God intended it should.

She started wiggling again.

His response was immediate and unwanted. "Christ," he muttered under his breath, striding toward her and yanking the flaps open to reveal a long, heavily laden toboggan. "What in the hell are you doing?"