第 8 页

His hold tightened. His mind whirled. What now? Knock her unconscious? That sounded good.

Really good. No, too temporary.

The seconds ticked by. They stood inches apart, staring into each other's eyes, his fingers anchored in the softness of her shoulders. Their breath mingled into a harsh, loud duet in the tent's thick quiet.

"Oh, hell," he muttered finally, releasing his hold. He didn't want to hurt her. He just wanted her to shut up. "Just quit the goddamn humming," he added as a pride-soothing afterthought.

"All right."

He tensed immediately, waiting for the follow-up. With her there had to be a but. He waited and... nothing. A relieved smile curved his lips. He'd done it; he'd won a round.

When he glanced over at her, she shot him a bright smile- and broke into a rousing, ear-jarring, rendition of "When the corn is waving, Annie."

He stared at her in amazement and slowly started shaking his head. He couldn't help feeling a grudging respect for her gumption. She was smart. "All right," he capitulated. Hum, dance, do card tricks. Just stop that godawful singing."

She practically skipped over to her bucket and plucked it up. "Don't mind if I do."

Devon took a deep, satisfying breath. It was done. The store was spotless. Everything was in its new place; the shelves were orderly and organized.

She dropped the soggy rag into the bucket, wincing as grayish water sloshed over the sides and slopped across her freshly scrubbed floor. Sighing, she pushed slowly to her feet and walked toward the door.

She flipped open the flaps and peered out. "What time is it, Stone Man?" It was the first time she'd spoken in four hours.

He didn't answer.

Turning, she caught sight of her partner and smiled. "You can take the earmuffs off now," she yelled, stomping hard on the floor to get his attention. "I'm done humming."

"Promise?" he shouted. At her swift nod he pulled off the beaver fur muffs.

"What time is it?" she asked again.

He checked his watch. "Five o'clock."

She glanced back outside. "It's so beautiful here," she said, more to herself than to him. -It was still full daylight outside. The only hint of the hour was the strange pinkish haze that outlined some of the faraway trees.

"You think so?"

For once Devon detected no sarcasm in his voice. She turned around, facing him. Their eyes met.

"I think it's one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. It's so wild, so free. I can see why you'd want to photograph it."

His face seemed to relax, and he almost smiled. "Not many people understand what I see in this land," he confessed in a quiet voice. "I don't think the wildness will last long. So many people are coming in, trampling-"

Suddenly someone rammed into Devon, and she found herself stumbling backward. She caught sight of a dirty tan mackinaw and got a good whiff of body odor laced with whiskey.

"Well, well, ain't this a cozy little scene?" said Midas Magowin when he came to a stop in the center of the tent.

Righting herself, Devon stared at the hunched-over little hobgoblin, her smile fading. The little man was looking at her over his shoulder, studying her contemptuously.

She stifled a sigh. The last thing she needed right now was to face the old man's hatred. It had been a hard day.

"So, Stoneyman," he said, still staring at Devon."I guess we lost our bets. The bitch is staying."

Devon felt a flash of anger. She waited pointedly for Stone Man to say something. He didn't.

"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" she demanded of her partner.

Stone Man shrugged. "You want protection? Get a dog."

"Why, you..." She clamped her mouth shut. Silently counting to ten, she regained composure then focused a steady stare on Midas. "Are you here for a reason?"

Midas turned his back on her. "Stoneyman," he said pointedly, "I need some soup."

"So, get it."

Midas's banty legs moved like eggbeaters as he stomped over to where the soup used to be. "What the hell . Where's the damned soup?"

Devon hurried across the tent.

Stone Man followed Midas. "Just because the place is a little cleaner, Midas, doesn't mean..." His words ground to a halt. He stopped dead, his eyes widening, scanning the counters. "What the hell? It's supposed to be here."

Devon could hear the rumble of anger in his voice, and she flinched. Some people didn't like change-at first. She figured Stone Man was one of those people. "H-Here it is," she said, pointing to the last row of shelves.

Both men walked over to where she was standing. They couldn't seem to keep their eyes off the perfectly organized, spotlessly clean expanse of shelving that lay between them.

Stone Man stared down at her. His whole face seemed clenched. "What is it doing over here?"

He was going to like it. He was. Once he got used to the system...

"Answer me!"

She wet her lips nervously. "Waiting to be purchased."

"What was wrong with the soup waiting where it was?"

"It was hard to find."

"Not to me. Or my customers."

"Well, it'll be easier for everyone from now on."

Stone Man slammed his beefy arms across his chest."And why is that?"

Devon couldn't contain her proud smile. "Because everything is in its place. Alphabetically."

A hoarse laugh shot out of Midas's mouth.

"Alphabetically?" Stone Man's voice was a low growl of disbelief. "You organized my store alphabetically?"

A frisson of discomfort crawled up Devon's spine. Why didn't he look pleased? "Y-Yes. It'll make things ever so much easier," she said, knowing she was beginning to babble but unable to stem her words. She always babbled when she was nervous. "You see, the soup is between the soap and the snow glasses. How could it be any simpler? Of course, it was difficult to decide whether the glasses belonged with the G's or with the S's, but I decided-"

"Most of my customers can't read! They wouldn't know a G if it rose up and bit them on the butt."

Devon's mouth dropped open, and her hand flew up to cover the opening. "Oh, my God, I never thought..."

"Get out!" The words were a lion's roar.

She forced her chin higher and squared her shoulders. "No. I made the mistake, and I'll rectify it. All I have to do-"

"Now." "No."

His cheeks reddened. His eyes bulged. In one move he swept Devon into his arms and barreled for the tent flaps. "Stay here, Midas," he flung her over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Midas cackled gleefully. "Okay, Stoneyman. I'll start writin' the ABC's on the walls while you're gone."

Devon kicked and screamed in his arms as he lumbered across Front Street. At their tent he snagged the latchstring in his big hand and yanked. The door flew open, hitting the side support beam with a resounding thwack as he barreled through.

She pummeled his hard chest with her fists. "Darn you," she cried, "let me down."

"I'd be glad to."

Before she could find a breath to answer, she was flying through the air like a sack of potatoes. She hit the bed hard, sinking deep into the worn mattress. Dust poofed up from the filthy sheets, stinging her eyes, tickling her nose. She scrambled to her knees, crouching. Every instinct in her body screamed for primal release. She wanted to smack his leering face, to scratch his eerie gold eyes out. Her hands curled into hooks as she glared up at him, her eyes narrowed, angry, her breath coming hard and fast. "You-" she hissed.

He swooped down on her, taking her wrists in his hands. Her words died in a gasp. His hold burned, twisting her fingers until they relaxed. "Don't even think of doing battle with me," he said harshly, his eyes glittering like topaz shards. "I'm not like the men youVe known in St. Louis. I don't follow society's stupid rules." His voice dropped to a hush. "And I step on people who do."

His words were like a bucket of icy water on the fire of her anger. He meant it, she realized grimly. He would step on her, and up here no one would care.

It was sobering and frightening to realize how powerless and alone she really was. She was a woman unused to being afraid, a woman used to being in control. With effort she forced down her pride. This wasn't the time to react on a gut level. She needed to think, to analyze her predicament and devise a reasonable compromise.

"All right," she said shakily. "I won't do battle with you. I concede your greater strength. Now would you please let goof my wrists?"

His fingers flipped open. She jerked her hands back then laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap.

Her neck bowed. Staring at her hands, so small and white against the wrinkled cotton of her apron, she took a deep, fortifying > breath.

"Devon?"

She didn't look up. She wasn't ready to meet the mocking triumph in his eyes.

His forefinger found the hollow triangle beneath her chin and forced her chin upward.

The look in his eyes wasn't what she'd expected. He looked old, and infinitely sad. And almost sorry. Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help feeling a spark of hope. But then, she reminded herself, it never had taken much to give her hope. She'd always been an optimist-even during the bad days of her childhood.

"Devon," he said softly, "don't make us any worse enemies than we have to be."

She looked directly into his eyes, seeing for the first time the tiny mahogany flecks that darkened the amber orbs. "Why must we be enemies at all?"

The sadness in his eyes vanished, and they once again turned cold and distant. "It's my way. I don't like people."

She answered without thinking. "That doesn't make sense. I don't like beets, but when my Aunt Edna used to serve them on Thanksgiving, I ate a whole plateful."

He jerked his finger back as if burned. "/ don't make sense?" he asked incredulously. "I don't even know what you're babbling about half the time."

Devon realized her error instantly. Darn! What was it about him that disconnected her brain every time she opened her mouth? If she wanted to get through to him, she had to jam lots of meaning into a few well-chosen words. Babbling about Aunt Edna's beets was definitely a tactical error.

"I don't care whether you choked on every one of your aunt's slimy beets at Thanksgiving. I just want you to shut up. Is that asking so much?"

A question! He'd actually asked her a question. Now they were getting somewhere. She beamed. "Well, since you've asked, let me answer. You're my partner and my... tent-mate; we can't spend seven months in total silence. I rather enjoy talking, and..." She stopped. He was looking at her as if she were a rabid dog.

"Keep away from me, Devon, and keep away from my store. In fact, if you take one dainty little step into my post again, you'll find yourself swimming in the Yukon River. Am I understood?"

She gritted her teeth. Enough trying to be polite and civilized. It was time to set down some ground rules. "I understand you, Stone Man. The question is, I imagine, whether you understand me."

"Understanding things is your game, lady. I don't give a shit whether life makes sense. All I want is to be left alone."

"You're right, I do like things orderly, and if you think a few sharp words and bed-tosses will allow you to set the tone of this relationship, you're sadly mistaken."

"Relationship?" The word popped out of his mouth like an unexpectedly lost tooth. He stared at her for an interminable second, his eyes glittering dangerously. His mouth opened, and he pointed at her accusingly; then his mouth slammed shut. "Forget it. You're not worth the trouble."

Spinning on his heel, he stormed out of the tent.

"Go ahead and run, darn you," she muttered after him, jumping off the bed. "You can't go far enough."

She stomped her foot in frustration. They'd come close, that moment when his eyes had been so sad, so lost. If only they'd been able in that second to say the right things to each other.

She was normally so good at communicating. Everybody said so. At home people had come for miles just to get her clearheaded advice.

That was the root of the problem, she decided. She was used to understanding people, and she couldn't make heads nor tails of Cornelius "Stone Man" MacKenna. Why was he so angry all the time? It didn't make any sense for him to hate her so. In truth she was the one with the grievance.

She was the one who'd traveled thousands of miles to share a filthy hovel with a man who never bathed and talked less than a cedar tree.

She was the one who ought to be mad, darn it.

He'd gotten what he wanted. He had a partner and one more capable and trustworthy than most.

What had he expected when he placed the advertisement? Had he thought a partner wouldn't change his life at all?

Suddenly everything became clear, the way it always did when she reasoned a problem out. She was taking the wrong tack. She would never get through to Stone Man by being calm and logical, because he didn't respond to reason. It was instinct that guided his life and his actions.

The answer was simple. All she had to do was make his life a living hell. Make him beg for a compromise.

A smile curled her lips. He was like a reluctant mule, and everyone knew a mule would move sooner or later. You just had to get his attention.

Chapter Six

Devon's scream of pain bounced off the sagging canvas walls. Cursing, she threw her hammer. It spiraled through the air, end-over-end, and cracked into the rough-hewn spruce table, leaving a deep, half-moon-shaped indentation in the wood before it clattered uselessly to the floor.

She stared at her battered thumb. Pain shot in streaks up to her wrist.

It was all his fault, she thought grimly. For the past week she and Stone Man had lived like soldiers in an armed camp. Silent, hostile, wary.