第 16 页

She stared at him in amazement. He thought it was funny. Stone Man, the humorless hulk, thought her sign was funny. The look on her face seemed to make him laugh harder. "Good God, Devon, your mouth is open and nothing's coming out. Now that's a first."

His laughter captivated her, and suddenly it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. The worry lines around his mouth had vanished, and his eyes were crinkled up in the corners and shining brighter than a summer sunrise. She blinked in surprise. Why, he looked... nice.

In that instant her every worry for the winter ahead vanished, and for the first time in years she felt young, free. Laughter bubbled up from her lonely soul and spilled past her lips.

Their laughter mingled and filled the tent with a jubilant, happy sound. Without thinking why, she moved toward him. It felt so good, this companionship. Laying her hand in the crook of his elbow, she tilted her face up to his.

The moment she touched him, Stone Man stiffened. His laughter stopped.

Devon immediately felt awkward. Her own laughter trickled into an uncomfortable silence.

He cleared his throat. "Well, you'd best get that sign up."

Her fingers slid off the warm flannel of his sleeve. She searched his implacable profile for a signal, however slight, that the man she'd just glimpsed was real. It was useless; there wasn't so much as a crinkle left around his eyes, and his mouth was once again a tense slash.

"It has to dry," she said after a long pause.

"Oh. Then I guess I'll be getting back to my plates."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Silence surrounded them as they each headed for their respective spots-he to the counter, she to the table.

She did her usual things: she made coffee, she rearranged the pies and tarts, she dusted. But time and again her gaze returned to the man seated behind the counter.

More than once she thought of Father Michael's words: There's more to Stone Man than meets the eye.

By the next day their awkwardness with each other had passed. They were back to their silent, word-counting but comfortable routine.

Devon glanced around the post. Everything was as it should be, as it had been every day for the past month.

Yet below the surface everything was different.

She felt differently today than she had yesterday. The laughter they'd shared had changed things between them. At least it had changed what she wanted from him. Nonhostility wasn't enough anymore. She wanted that laughter, that moment of caring back.

Maybe, she thought, if she could get him to help her put up the sign, they could find that closeness again.

With that in mind, she stood up.

"Devon, sit down. It's still raining."

She plopped back onto her stool. "I know, but-"

"But you think if you pop up and check every ten seconds it'll stop?" He laughed. "Relax, your sign will go up today. It's only a flash rain. Dollar to a dog turd says it's sunny by two."

She smiled. "You'll excuse me if I find myself without a dog turd, I hope?"

He grinned and turned his attention back to his plates.

She cleared her throat. "I'm bored."

He plopped two matchsticks in the jar, then said, "You wanted to be a post operator."

"Maybe I could hum. That doesn't count as talking."

That got his attention. "No!"

"Well, do you have a better suggestion?"

Sighing, he shoved the plates aside. "How about a few hands of poker?"

"But I don't know how to play."

"Good, we'll play for money. Have a seat. Now, let's start with the rules..."

In the next hour the wind picked up, whistling through the patchy copse of aspen trees that bordered the tent. The rain's fury trebled. Hammerbolts of icy water thumped the post's sagging roof and coursed down its canvas walls. The brownish water of the Yukon River burped and struggled against its banks.

But inside it was warm and dry. The little Yukon stove sputtered and hissed, taking the chill out of the storm-dark midday air. The two partners sat across from each other at the scarred spruce table, their elbows resting on the wooden surface as they studied their respective hands.

"Aha!" Devon gave a short cry of triumph as she lay down two queens.

He frowned.

She leaned forward in anticipation. One by one he lay down his cards. Four, ace, four, six... four.

She tried to act like a good sport about it. "You win. Again." Then she muttered under her breath, "Darn it anyway."

"Notice anything different, Devon?"

She took the cards from him and started stacking them into four neat piles, one pile for each suit. "No."

"The rain has stopped."

Her hands stilled. Her gaze shot skyward. "It has!" She jumped to her feet and raced over to the counter for her coat. Bundling herself up, she grabbed her petticoat, snagged a hammer and nails, and headed for the flaps.

"Ah, Devon?"

She stopped. "What?"

"Do you remember the day you arrived?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Do you recall being up to your ass in mud?"

"Oh, no."

"Don't worry. We'll get the damn sign up." Grabbing hold of the old table, he hauled it over to the flaps and shoved it through the opening. It immediately sank about six inches into the mud. He waited until it stopped sinking, then he tested it for balance.

"That feels pretty good. Climb up."

She eyed the lopsided table warily. "Are you sure?"

He held his hand out for her. "Trust me."

Devon laid her hand in his callused palm. His fingers curie around hers, the work-roughened skin abrading the soft fles on the back of her hand. His skin felt warm, comforting.

"Here goes." Hiking up her skirt, she jumped onto table.

The table immediately started bucking and wobbling neath her as it settled deeper into the mud.

She clung to St Man's hand until the movement stopped.

When the table had steadied, she took a deep breath let go of his hand, then pushed up to her tiptoes. Stabbing nail through the waistband of her petticoat, she nailed side of the sign in place.

She spun around to ask Stone Man's opinion. At the shift ing weight, the table bucked. Before she could scream was flying through the air.

She hurtled into Stone Man's chest. The impact sent him reeling. He landed flat on his back in the mud.

Devon landed face-first on top of him. The force of the blow rattled her head and knocked the wind out of her. She lay stunned.

Slowly her world righted itself. Blinking, she wiped mud from her face. "Oh, my..." She caught sight of I eyes staring up at her. That was all she could see-just eyes. The rest of his face was smeared with mud.

She couldn't help herself. She giggled.

"You think this is funny?"

"N-No, it's just that, well..." She tried to school her face into a sober expression. "No."

His hands lifted out of the mud with a sick, hollow sound She glanced at the two huge balls of black goo then look back at his face. Beneath the layer of mud, she detected a shifting of the lips.

A smile.

"Then you'll find this hilarious." His hands clamped ontd her shoulders. Mud squirted through his fingers and sir downward, plopping onto her skirt.

Her eyes bulged. "Why, you-"

"Hey now, this is funny." Warm fingers cased in wet, cold earth crept up her neck. The contradictory sensations made her shiver. Then his finger was at her mouth, breezing across her lips.

She licked her lips and immediately tasted mud. "Okay, okay, it's not funny."

A low rumble of laughter started deep in his stomach. His muddy beard shifted, tilted, and a dazzlingly white smile broke through the darkness.

It was like the sun breaking through the clouds. Devon smiled back, and before she knew it, they were both laughing like schoolchildren.

"Get... up," he said between fits of laughter. "I can't breathe."

Moving was easier said than done. Her legs had slipped apart, and one was on each side of Stone Man's body. She wiggled, trying to wrench her legs out of the mud.

When wiggling didn't work she planted her hands on his chest and pushed upward, unconsciously grinding her pelvis against his hips.

His laughter died abruptly. "Don't move."

The harshness of his command made her freeze. Hands bolted to his heaving chest, legs clamped to the sides of his body, she stared down at him. His breath was coming harder and faster.

Her own breathing quickened in response. She felt the hot weight of his stare on her lips, and suddenly all she could think about was the time he'd kissed her.

She leaned closer until her chin was almost resting on his chest. Her every perception seemed heightened; she could feel the rapid working of his lungs beneath her breasts, she could taste the warm, tobacco-scented rush of his breathing.

She smiled dreamily, thinking about the way his lips had felt on hers. "Are you thinking about our kiss?"

The next second she found herself sitting alone in the mud with him towering over her. She crossed her arms and blinked uPat him in confusion.

"Let's get that damned sign up before the rain hits again."

She scraped the mud off her skirts and struggled to stand.

I guess that means you're not," she muttered under her breath.

He shot her a stunning glare. "You're damn right I'm not That kiss didn't mean anything. Don't start acting like a cow-eyed schoolgirl about it."

He grabbed hold of the drooping petticoat, stretched it to the other support post, and nailed it down. Then he jammed the hammer into the waistband of his pants and stormed back into the tent.

"I liked you better when you were laughing," she said sullenly, following him.

"And I liked you better when the wind was knocked out of you."

After they'd both cleaned up Devon and Stone Man returned to the post and to their respective routines. She, sitting at the table; he, standing behind the counter. By outward appearance, Devon was sewing; but in fact she hadn't made a stitch in nearly an hour.

She was thinking, analyzing, and probing her strange response to Stone Man's body. Obviously she needed to reread Dr. Cowan's The Science of a New Life. Especially that section on "Amativeness: the use and abuse of amorous behavior."

What had made her think about that stupid kiss? And whatj in God's name had made her question him about it?

She groaned inwardly. Whenever she thought about he question, she wanted to slap herself silly.

What had pos-I sessed her? She could practically hear herself murmuring the words, Are you thinking about our kiss? Oh, God...

"Well, well," came a familiar voice, "if it isn't me two favorite people. How be ye both?"

Devon's head snapped up. "Father Michaels!" She! dropped her embroidery hoop and raced to his side. "How are you?"

The gnarled little man let himself be guided to the table. "Fit as a fiddle, lass, I am. Thanks for askin'."

She poured him a cup of hot coffee and handed him a canned peach tart.

He shoved the little tart back across the table. "Why lass, I can't pay for this, ye know. Ye'd best be savin' the goodies for yer payin' customers."

Sitting on the stool beside him, she took his hands in hers. "Take one, please."

"It wouldn't be right."

"They're our tarts, Father, and we'll give them out as we see fit. Isn't that right, Stone Man?"

"Sure, Father, we'd like you to have one... or two."

A current of pure electricity careened down Devon's spine. She bolted upright. He'd said we. We, as in my partner and I. "Thank you, partner."

He nodded. Across the tent their eyes met. Almost involuntarily she rose. She moved toward him, her skirts swishing softly atop the plank floor. Her steady gaze never left his face.

She stopped in front of the counter. "You know, Stone Man-" She thought she saw him flinch, and she frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

She tried again. "We can make this partnership work."

"I said the priest could have a tart. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"It's more than that, and you know it. You said we."

"It was a slip."

"No."

He shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes and sighed."Okay, I said it; I meant it. Don't make me sorry about it."

A smile hovered around her lips."I won't. In fact, I intend to make you very, very happy."

He groaned. "That's what I was afraid of."

Just as she started to turn around she noticed that the little glass jar alongside the scales was empty.

Her mind swept through the events of the day. Between the sign and the poker game, she'd said hundreds of words. She glanced up at Stone Man."Where are the matchsticks?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Gone."

"Gone? What do you mean?"

"I mean gone, goddamn it. IVe gotten used to your blabbing. But if you make a damned opera out of it, I'll start using them again."

Devon heard Father Michaels's cackle in the background. She had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from grinning. Through sheer force of will, her face remained impassive; not a hint of triumph glinted in her green eyes. She couldn't risk embarrassing him, not now when things were going so well.

"I won't," was all she said.

Chapter Twelve

Midas Magowin stared up at the billowing petticoat, his beady gray-black eyes narrowed in concentration. Fresh pies, cakes, biscuits. Free tart with $10... He frowned. What was that word?

His pointy features pulled into a grimace. "Damn woman," he muttered under his breath. Who did she think was reading her sign-a bunch of uppity schoolmarms like herself?

"Come on, boys," he hollered to Digger and Cornstalk, "let's have us some fun."

The three men burst through the tent flaps and headed straight for the warm stove, their bootheels clicking a steady beat across the wooden floor.

Midas grabbed hold of the nearest stool and yanked it toward him, planting his scrawny backside on the wooden surface. His eyes did a quick sweep of the place, but he didn't see hide nor hair of the little woman. Must be out paintin' more pink signs on her underwear.