第 13 页

She snapped upright. "What does it look like I 'm doing?"

Snorting in disgust, he grabbed the rope and hauled the toboggan into the tent. It bumped across the uneven plank flooring, and at every seam the sound of rattling glass rang through the air.

"Stop!" she screamed as a whole layer of lightning jars swayed precariously to the left.

He kept moving. Glass clinked in his wake.

She lunged after him and grabbed the rope, yanking hard. She gave a second good pull, and Stone Man let go. She flew backward, landing on her fanny in a puff of muslin. Dust poofed around her, insinuating itself into her throat and nostrils. She sneezed loudly.

Stone Man's hearty laughter filled the tent. "Sorry I didn't sweep today. It must have slipped my mind."

In spite of herself, Devon felt a small smile tug at her lips. His laughter sounded so good, so genuine. It was almost enough to make her forget he was laughing at her. Almost.

He offered her his hand. "Come on, get up."

Pointedly ignoring his hand, she clapped the dust from her palms and stood up. "Now-" She stopped midsentence to extricate a strand of hair from her mourn. Lifting the wayward lock off her forehead, she shoved it back into her tight little roman knot, and then continued. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

Stone Man almost felt sorry for her. She was trying so hard."Are you sure you want an audience?" he asked softly.

She glanced at Bear. "Him? He's not an audience, he's the tasting panel."

Stone Man's smile faded. "I'm the judge."

"I thought you'd like some... opinions from shoppers. When I expressed this thought to Bear, he seemed more than happy to help you out. In fact he said something about a 'fair fight.' "

"Oh, he did, did he?" Stone Man shot his friend a wry glance. "You're kind of old to be putting on armor, aren't you, Bear?"

Bear's grin expanded. "Just trying to help out a couple of friends."

Stone Man grimaced. Christ, if he didn't know she couldn't cook, he might actually be worried.

As it was he was just plain irritated. Theatrics weren't something he enjoyed.

"All right," he said gruffly, "what have you got?"

She smiled triumphantly. "Food."

"What kind of food?"

Disappointment flickered across her face. "You don't seem very pleased."

Bear chuckled. "No, he sure don't."

"But don't you think food is a good idea?" she asked seriously. "It's sure to draw business."

"Your food wouldn't draw flies."

Something flashed in her eyes. Anger? Triumph? Relief? He wasn't sure; but whatever it was, it made him uneasy. "What are you looking at?"

This time there was no mistaking her mood. She was happy. In fact, she was goddamn thrilled.

Her face had gone all rosy, and her smile was as big as a barn. Even her dusty little hands were joined in a gleeful clapping.

"Stand still," he ordered. "You're making me dizzy."

She settled down. "Sorry."

Her growing smile said otherwise. Stone Man groaned. He was going to regret asking this, but he couldn't help himself. "Okay, why are you smiling?"

"I... misled you a bit," she said.

"Misled me?"

"I cooked badly just to bother you."

Stone Man's heart came to a dead stop. She'd done it again; she'd outsmarted him.

Before he could utter a word, she swept her skirts aside as if they were a magician's cape, revealing her treasures. The well-packed toboggan seemed to grow, filling the small tent with its ominous presence.

"What is it?" he said dully. She ran one efficient finger along the jars' metallic lids.

'Preserves, jams, sauces, chutneys." She paused for emphasis then added, "Sixteen blueberry tarts and four canned peach pies."

A groan started deep in Stone Man's throat and slowly rattled upward. "God..." He'd been set up good.

In the blink of an eye she was beside him, her small, pale hand resting lightly on his flannel-covered forearm. "The miners will stand in line for this food. Especially come winter, when they're tired of beans and flapjacks. Just think," she said, using her voice to its utmost, "fresh blueberry preserves on your biscuits in January."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the obvious. He'd made a bet-and he'd lost.

"Stone Man?" Her voice held an edge of nervousness.

She was waiting, he could feel it. Waiting to find out what kind of man he was. His eyelids lifted slowly, revealing eyes that were dull and dispirited. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to stick to the deal?"

There it was. The big question. He shot an uneasy glance at the toboggan. The hold on his arm tightened; he felt the tension in her fingers. The grayed fabric walls closed in around him.

The answer to his dilemma was so simple. He knew it. She knew it. All he had to do was laugh in her face. This was his valley, his post, his life. Not a man alive would blame him for reneging on his bet. Not even Bear.

Not a man, that was, except the one in the mirror.

"Stone Man?"

With a heavy sigh he flipped open his pocket watch. It was an unconscious gesture, one he often repeated when under stress. Somehow the steady march of the tiny hands calmed him. He studied the watch's movements for several agonizing seconds, and as he did so, the canvas walls receded.

His head cleared. He'd lost the bet, that much was clear. Now it was time to cut his losses.

"You win." They were the most difficult words he'd ever spoken.

She jumped straight in the air, squealing. "Oh, Stone Man, I just knew you were a man of your-"

"Hold it."

She froze, her hands stopping midclap. "But-"

"But nothing. You win, I'll give you that. Now it's your turn to give something back."

She eyed him. "What do you mean?"

"You can work the post eight hours a day, on one condition."

"What condition?"

"You limit your gabbing to ten words a day. The moment word eleven pops out of your mouth, your shift is over."

"That's impossible!"

He smiled. "Look at it this way, you won't have anyone to talk to. How difficult can it be to keep quiet, under the circumstances?"

Her eyes narrowed, focused hard on his. "And if I don't agree?"

"Then you'll win an empty bet. I'll close down the post, pack up my supplies, and move on."

Her mouth dropped open. "That's not fair."

"Nope."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

She popped a thumb between her lips and began to gnaw on the stubby nail.

He watched her, fascinated. He could almost see the tiny wheels turning in her mind. She was thinking it through, carefully and from every angle.

When he could stand the wait no more, he said, "Deal?"

She yanked the thumb from her mouth. "One hundred words."

His eyes widened in surprise. The little miss was bargaining! "Twenty."

"Sixty."

"Forty."

"Done," she said grimly.

A sigh of pure relief slid past his lips. He could live with forty, and if he played his cards right, he could trick her into spending them all before noon. "Good."

"Don't get too relaxed, mister. We're not through yet."

Bear's chuckle floated up between them. "Well," he said, pushing to his feet, "I gotta go. It looks like a fair fight to me."

"Thanks, Bear," Devon said to the big man as he shambled through the flaps and disappeared.

"Yeah, Bear," Stone Man called after him, "thanks a whole hell of a lot."

The moment they were alone Devon turned on him again. "Okay, now here are my terms."

"You don't get terms."

"I do if you want me to keep my 'trap' shut."

He thought about that for a minute. He'd pay a high premium to keep her quiet. "Okay. What do you want?"

"You let me organize and clean the post. Every day."

"And if I don't agree?"

"I'll stay longer. Maybe even through next summer."

"You couldn't take it."

One perfectly arched eyebrow shot upward. "Really? Try me."

He groaned inwardly. She could do it, and she would, just to spite him. "Fine, goddamn it," he growled. "Do whatever you want. You always do anyway. Just keep your mouth shut while you're doing it."

She smiled. "I will."

Stone Man groaned, watching her unload her precious toboggan. It was going to be a goddamn long winter...

The next morning Stone Man flipped open his pocket watch and stared dully at the little black hands. It was nine o'clock. Frowning, he re-pocketed the timepiece.

The day yawned before him, a grinning, gaping mourn that alternately laughed at him and threatened to swallow him. They'd only been working together one hour, and already he felt sick.

Already he had a headache.

"You know, Stone Man..."

An inward cringe clutched him. God, how he'd come to loathe that sentence since he'd met Devon. It was invariably followed by a suggestion on how to improve his nature or his appearance. Or both.

He gritted his teeth and studiously ignored her. As usual, his efforts went unnoticed.

"I could help you rearrange your photograph collection."

He shot her a back off, lady glare.

"I haven't seen them, of course," she went on, either blithely unaware or supremely unconcerned about his feelings on the matter. "But I imagine they're... disorganized."

He plucked up twenty-three matchsticks, bundled them together, and placed them in a little jar next to the gold scales. The thin wood stems tinkled against the rounded glass sides. Seventeen to go, my little general. The thought gave him some solace.

"If you so much as touch my photographs," he said calmly, "I'll cut your lily-white fingers off."

She blanched. "Well, you needn't be so-"

He picked up another six matchsticks.

"Hold on!" Her gaze shot to the matchsticks in his dirty grip. "That's only five words. Needn't is a contraction. A contraction is only counted as one word."

"Need not. Two words." He plunked the matchsticks into the jar. "I'm not going to count your argument-it was a legitimate dispute. So, you've got a few words left." He leaned forward. "Want to use them now?"

She clamped her mouth shut and went back to the shelves she was organizing.

He watched her line up a row of Campbell's split-pea soup with perfect, military precision, and a quick smile hovered at the edges of his mouth. "Why are you putting the split pea next to the tomato?"

She smiled up at him brightly. "I'm so glad you asked. It was a difficult decision, because-"

"Stop." The word boomed through the tent, severing her sentence. He carefully chose eleven matchsticks. "That's forty. You're done."

"Oh! You!" She glared at him. Stamping her foot down hard on the plank floor, she swept her skirts in her hands and marched out of the tent.

When she was gone Stone Man let out his breath in a long sigh. A slow, easy smile crinkled his eyes. He'd done it. He'd outsmarted her. She was gone for the day, and it wasn't even nine-thirty in the morning.

Damn, it felt good to have the upper hand.

* * *

Two days later, standing in front of her carefully aligned soup cans, Devon pursed her lips. Hard.

She'd almost said, "Done."

She'd caught herself in time and compressed her traitorous lips into a straight line. She wasn't about to let herself be suckered again, certainly not by the likes of him. It didn't sit well to have been outsmarted by a man just slightly smarter than an earthworm.

Still she had to give credit where credit was due. He'd outthought her. He'd used her own weakness for talking against her, and two days in a row no less. Yesterday she'd lasted until ten-thirty.

She grimaced at her own stupidity. At the rate she was going, she wouldn't be working a full shift until spring.

He wouldn't outsmart her today, she vowed silently. Today she'd be the best, quietest partner imaginable. Sooner or later he'd have to see that she was an asset to his business. Maybe he'd even lift the talking restriction.

Glancing around the post, she allowed herself a satisfied smile. Everything was perfect. Orderly and spotless. Her pies were arranged in an eye-appealing half circle on the crates behind the old Yukon stove. The tiny tarts bordered the pies on either side, forming a neat rainbow of golden-crusted moons.

The shelves were dustless, level, and the items for sale were displayed with mathematical precision. It was still alphabetical, of course, but with Devon working every day, what did it matter? The men didn't have to know how to read; they simply had to know how to ask.

Now all they needed was a customer.

No sooner had Devon had that thought then the flaps fluttered open and in walked Cornstalk and another man, whom Devon didn't recognize.

"Cornstalk," she cried happily, clutching up her skirts and hurrying toward him. In the background she heard the tiny clink of a matchstick hitting glass. Her smile weakened.

Cornstalk swept the tired old felt hat from his head and crushed it to his chest. " 'Morning, Miss Devon." He swallowed hard as a telltale blush crept up his knobby throat.

She nodded, letting her eyes speak for her.

"This here's my friend, Digger Haines." Cornstalk cocked his head toward the wiry, black-haired man at his side."He's gonna take me to Circle City for some fun."

Devon turned her attention to Digger. The monkey-faced little man grinned up at her, showcasing a mouthful of chipped, yellow teeth. His gray eyes, sunken in a gaunt, wrinkled face, had the burning gleam of a longtime gold seeker.

"Howdy, miss."

Devon felt a genuine welcome in his warm smile and bright eyes. "Hello, Mr. Haines."