第 26 页

Not now, not with her lips mere inches from his own.

Her tongue darted out from between her pink lips, leaving a trail of glistening wetness in its wake. "I have something -j for you. A Christmas gift."

She shoved a little red-wrapped package at him.

It fell in his lap with a muffled thud. He wanted to touch it but couldn't. His fingers were shaking too badly to function.

She laughed nervously. "You don't have to open it. It's just my old copy of Dickens's A Christmas Carol. It's one of my favorites, and, well, I thought you might identify-"

"I didn't get you anything." He knew his voice sounded strained, harsh, but he couldn't change it. It felt like he was being strangled. "I've never given... or gotten a present. didn't even think-"

"It's all right." She laid one small, warm palm against his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Cornelius." And with that, before he had time even to mutter thank you, she was gone.

As his fingers trailed reverently across the bright red paper, a huge, desert-dry lump lodged in his throat.

A present. For him. Dear God, it was going to take all the willpower he possessed not to take her in his arms tonight. Every damn scrap.

Several hours later Devon stacked the last plate. Back-handing the sheen of moisture from her forehead, she dried her wet hands on her apron.

The table had been disassembled, the red wool blankets folded and put away. The children and their parents had long since gone home. Only the miners were left, and they were sitting around in small huddles, reminiscing. Not a man in the room wanted to leave.

Well, she amended, maybe one.

Her gaze went to Stone Man. He was sitting all alone in the cabin's corner, half asleep. Her heart skipped a beat. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed. Almost vulnerable.

Without thinking she took a step toward him.

"Hey Devon!" came a boisterous male voice from the crowd of men at her left.

She swore under her breath. Stone Man's eyes blinked open, and their gazes locked. In that split second before he became fully awake, she saw in his eyes what she'd been looking for. Tenderness.

She flashed him a bright smile.

He immediately scowled. She didn't care; she'd seen the softness, and it gave her new hope for the rest of the evening. Maybe she could find a way to bring that look back into his eyes. She turned toward the boys.

"Yes?"

Cornstalk staggered forward. The men closed in around the boy, pushing him forward.

"Mish Devon, we go' sumthin' for ya."

His boozy breath almost knocked her over. The smile froze on her face. She tried not to breathe.

"Me, an' Digger, an' Midas, an' Joe, an' a bunch o' the boys, we go' together an' go' ya sumthin' for Cristmas. Ish our way o' sayin' th-" He hiccuped loudly. "Thanks."

Digger wrenched the pint-sized green bottle out of Cornstalk's hand and shoved it at her. "Crissakes, kid, talk like a human. Here, miss. This is for you. From us."

Emotion squeezed Devon's throat. "I... I don't know what to say..."

"Don't say nuthin', just drink it," hollered someone from the back of the crowd.

She examined the bottle's dirty white label. In elaborate black script it read Farino's Very Dry Champagne. Spirits! She winced. "I-It's a lovely gesture. Truly. I'll save it-"

"Ain't she gonna drink it?" someone else yelled.

"Course she's gonna drink it. Ain't ya, miss?" Digger said. "Joe Ladue carried that bottle all the way from home."

It took willpower to keep the grimace off her face. As a lady, of course, she'd never tasted spirits, never wanted to. "Now?" At their collective nod, she gulped.

"Here, miss, you can use my cup." Cornstalk swallowed the last dregs of hootch in his battered tin cup then wiped the inside clean with his dirty sleeve and handed it to her.

She suppressed a shudder. Digger grabbed the bottle and the cup and with great ceremony poured the champagne.

Devon's eyes widened. "Oh! You needn't pour it all-"

"Nonsense, miss. Champagne don't keep."

She forced a smile. "Naturally."

When the cup was full to the brim, he handed it back her. A dozen pairs of eyes bored through her. She trapped. It would be the height of rudeness to refuse to drink.' She took a dainty sip of the liquid. "Why, it's good!" exclaimed.

A hearty cheer rose from the men, and they set ab clapping each other on the back.

As they congratulated themselves Devon took several ladylike sips, finding the tart taste extremely pleasant. The way it bubbled all the way to her stomach was most delightful.

The men waited patiently for her to finish the champagne (which took a shockingly short amount of time), and then filed past her to the door. One by one they solemnly shook her hand, said thank you, and then left.

The second-to-the-last one to say good night was Midas. He shuffled up to her slowly, his pinched face unreadable. She tensed, waiting for his hatred to resurface now that the party was over.

He surprised her by taking her hand in his. "I done you wrong, and I'm sorry. This here was the first Christmas dinner IVe had in twenty-five years, and I can't tell you how-" His gravelly voice dropped an octave. "How good it felt."

Tears sparkled in her eyes. "Oh, Midas..."

His face remained earnest as he looked up at her. "Don't let no small-minded old man rattle you again-you belong here as much as any of us. Maybe more." Before she could say a word he bolted out of the door and disappeared.

She turned, instinctively wanting to share her joy with Stone Man.

He was standing in the corner with his parka and mukluks already on. His face was grim and unreadable.

"Let's go."

Her balloon of happiness popped. Reality smacked her in the face, wiping away her smile. She may have won a small skirmish with Midas, but the war was still to be waged with Stone Man. Wordlessly she put on her parka and boots and followed him out the door.

They hadn't gone more than ten steps when the champagne kicked in. A flurry of bubbles burst to life in her head. She started giggling and couldn't stop.

"Oh, for God's sake," he muttered. "I knew I shouldn't let you drink that."

She tried to catch up with him, but her feet seemed huge, and her skirts kept tugging at her ankles.

He grabbed her hand, steadying her.

She grinned up at him. "Thanks."

Stone Man couldn't help himself. He smiled. She looked A HANDFl/L OF HEAVEN like a wood sprite, all tousled and flushed and vulnerable. "Don't mention it."

Another giggle erupted. "I already have."

"That's my Dev," he said quietly, "a logical drunk."

My Dev. The words brought Devon to a dead stop. She looked up at him in wonder. "Stone Man, I was thinking..."

"Don't!" he said sharply.

She started to ask "Don't what?" then stopped. "Oh, my goodness," she breathed, "my head is buzzing."

He bit back a smile. "That's not your head. Look up."

She did as she was told. A million stars littered the blackest sky she'd ever seen. The moon shimmered against the jet backdrop like a perfect pearl.

A deep, brooding silence fell across the valley, and it seemed for a heartbeat as if they were the only two souls in the world.

Slowly Devon became aware of a strange, formless presence in the night sky. The stars rose and separated, dancing in a thousand specks of light against a billowing silver background. She blinked.

"Are you seeing that?" she whispered. "Or is it the champagne?"

"It's the Northern Lights."

A queer electric crackle rent the stillness, and in an instant bands of shimmering color erupted across the sky.

Devon sucked in her breath, staring in awe at the light show above her head. Every color imaginable flashed across the sky, darting in and out of the darkness like multihued lightning.

It ended as quickly as it began. Within seconds the midnight blue half darkness of a moonlit night returned.

Devon looked up at Stone Man and found him gazing down at her as if he hadn't been watching the Northern Lights at all. The look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat, and suddenly she knew: the lights were a sign from God. Tonight was the night to reveal her well-thought-out, sensible plan to Stone Man.

She had to act before the spell was broken. Warily, as if he were a wild beast ready to bolt, she lifted her hand to his face. The coarse, cold leather of her glove formed to the stubble-coated planes of his cheek. The champagne had made it impossible to school her features into an emotionless mask. She felt too good to veil her feelings. Everything she felt for Stone Man and everything she wanted from him filled her eyes.

"Devon..." His voice was a quiet growl.

Her glove slid to his lips, silencing his protests as she snuggled against his hip. Pressing up to her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He saw the kiss coming and was helpless to resist it. As her lips touched his he groaned, a sound that was part pleasure, part pain, part defeat. His hands slid around her waist. "Ah, little Dev-"

"Quit talking an' kish me some more. I like it."

Abruptly he released her. "Christ. Let's go inside. You're drunk, and I'm freezing my ass off."

He brushed past her, striding angrily toward their tent. He didn't wait for her or even acknowledge her presence behind him.

She shrugged, unperturbed by his rejection. The champagne made her feel invincible. Jabbing her hands into the big pockets of her parka, she tottered behind him.

Stone Man listened to the quiet crunch, crunch, crunch of her boots in the snow. Each step reverberated through his mind, reminding him of the scene that was coming.

He'd been watching her during the Northern Lights, and he'd seen her expression change. God help him, she'd gotten that "rational idea" look on her face.

He knew precisely how it would happen. The minute they hit the tent she'd launch into it- whatever "it" was. She'd sit primly in her chair with her white hands clasped in her lap and tell him she'd reached a decision.

He winced. She'd probably start off with "You know, Stone Man," and then she'd lay it all out.

Her carefully considered, supremely logical plan. He knew it was a doozy-he could tell by the look on her face-and he also knew he didn't want to hear it.

Inside the tent he immediately set about the tasks of building a fire and making coffee. Anything to keep some distance between them.

She sat down at the table. "You know, Stone Man-"

"Not yet," he growled. "Wait till the coffee's ready. I'm not listening to anything you have to say while you're half-drunk."

"All right."

Christ, he thought, she must be drunk. She's listening to me.

He knew what he should do. If he had the guts God gave a rabbit, he'd run for the door and never come back. But, God help him, he couldn't leave her again. He was like a child, scared to death of fire and yet drawn irresistibly to stand in its warmth.

So what did he do? Wait until the flames consumed him?

He tried to think but couldn't. He never had been able to think when she was around.

He glanced over at her and almost groaned aloud. She was so damn beautiful...

Pouring two cups of coffee, he walked over to the table and sat down as far away from her as possible.

She immediately scooted close. "You know-" A loud hiccup severed her words. Belatedly she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Horror spread across her face, and Stone Man almost laughed aloud. The champagne had saved him. In her condition she couldn't string a sentence together, let alone lay out her precious plan.

Settling deeper into his chair, he relaxed. Now that she wasn't a threat tonight promised to be entertaining.

Devon stared at her partner, blinking rapidly. His face swam before her eyes. She shook her head, trying vainly to rectify her sloppy vision. It was useless. The tent had begun a slow, lopsided spin.

Goodness, she wished she hadn't drunk that blasted champagne. She had a lot of important things to say to him, and right now she could barely remember her name.

Oh, well, she'd simply have to cheat. She maneuvered unsteadily to the armoire and lifted a long, rectangular sheet of paper from its hiding place at the bottom of her shirtwaist stack. Stumbling back to the table, she plopped onto her seat. With slow, exaggerated motions, she smoothed out her Campbell's soup label.

She glanced up and was momentarily disconcerted to find Stone Man smiling at her. "Now then, IVe something to say." To her own ears her voice sounded perfectly crisp and clear.

"Huh?"

She frowned, perturbed. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Is that..." What was that word? Oh, yes. "Acceptable?"

"Sure." He craned his neck to look at her advantage/ disadvantage list.

She clamped her hand down on the paper so hard her palm stung. "Now then, I was thinking-"

His mouth twitched. "I'm sure you were."

"Quit interrupting."

"Sorry."

She stiffened. He didn't sound sorry; he sounded amused. Shrugging, she scanned the list. The words were a teeny bit difficult to decipher. Odd, she thought distractedly, usually her penmanship was flawless.

"Now then." She shut her mouth. How many times had she said that in the past minute? She made a mental note not to repeat it. "Now then, I've been thinking, and I've decided that we've a long winter ahead of us."

"Take you long to figure that out?"

She gritted her teeth then added in a meaningful tone, "A long winter in a small tent and an even smaller bed."

"Yep. Digger and Cornstalk were complaining about the same thing at the party. You'll get used to it though, we all do."

It was not going well. She took a sip of coffee. The brew's bitter warmth seeped through her blood, dispelling some of the champagne-induced confusion. Eagerly she took another sip, and then another, until the cup was empty. When she was finished she felt better, more in control.