Desert Angel (16 page)

Stark pity crossed her face as she glanced again at her attacker. Clutching Jamie securely against her, March walked away. Behind the closed door, she waited for some sound, some indication of what was happening. It wasn’t long before the impact of flesh against flesh drifted quietly into the room.

After placing more wood in the cook stove and adding water to the beans, she climbed the stairs. She couldn’t help but wonder why men always seemed to feel the need to prove their strength. First Jim, on an animal so powerful it was frightening, and now Breed, with enough strength at his command to reduce her attacker to nothing in short order.

And why did some men think that anything they wanted was theirs for the taking? Why did some of them bully anyone smaller or weaker than themselves, while others thought it was necessary to protect those who didn’t want or need protection?

She had found that there was no predicting what a man might do or not do. He could be kind and gentle or mean and rough. His voice could scare the leaves from a tree, or be soft enough to soothe a frightened child. With a formidable strength, he could deliver the harshest punishment or the gentlest caress. Laughing and teasing one minute, he could become a killer with the blink of an eye.

Men … a mystery she doubted she’d ever live long enough to solve.

At first March wasn’t sure what woke her. Jamie still slept in his bed, and there were no unnatural sounds from the house.

She hadn’t intended to take a nap, but as she fed Jamie his midday meal, her eyes had grown heavy with sleep. A gentle breeze had ruffled the curtains at the opened windows, soothing her with a serene whisper and an invitation to rest. Lying down, she promised herself that she’d only close her eyes for a few minutes, and then get up. Now she had no idea how much time had passed or what had caused her to wake, but she sensed that something wasn’t right.

Standing up and stretching, her nose wrinkled as the smell of something burning drifted up the stairs.

“Dinner!” Skirts flying, March rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen. A layer of gray smoke floated lazily near the ceiling of the room, while a thin stream drifted out of the cracks around the oven. Opening the door, she stood back, eyes burning as smoke billowed out.

Fanning the air in front of her nose, March rushed to the back door and opened it wide. After doing the same with the windows, she reached into the oven and pulled out the roast that was now little more than an unidentifiable, charred lump. She discovered that the water had cooked away, and the beans were a gooey, gray mass burnt permanently into the pot.

Coughing fiercely and eyes tearing so heavily that she could barely see, March grabbed a kitchen towel and carried first the meat and then the pot of beans outside. The air smelled delightfully fresh as she took advantage of the towel in her hand to wipe at her eyes.

When the coughing was under control, she peeked into the kitchen and saw that the layer of smoke had dissipated, but left a heavy, burnt smell. Reluctantly, she forced herself to return to the scene of her culinary disaster.

“Easy to use once you get the hang of it,” she misquoted with a disgusted smirk, as she eyed the stove with great distaste. “I either better get the hang of it real quick, or go back to the fireplace. At this rate we’ll be in real danger of starving to death.”

The sun was lowering in the sky and it wouldn’t be long before Jim returned to the house — if he returned. For all she knew, the horse could have thrown him somewhere in the desert, and he was making the long walk home.

But if he came home, and she suspected that he would, he would be hungry and wanting to eat. She doubted that he would care to listen to the reasons that there was no meal on the table. And if there was one thing she didn’t care to see, it was his condescending expression when she explained about burning his dinner.

She needed to make something — quick! There was no time to soak beans and allow them to cook. The roast had been one that Woods had brought over from the bunkhouse, and she could hardly ask him to replace it. For all she knew, it was the final piece of meat available on the ranch.

Staring through the open window at the withering blooms of the cacti that grew in such profusion, March was grateful for the gentle breeze that would help clear out the lingering smell. Running her hand through her tangled hair, she asked herself the age-old question of what to fix for supper.

Stopping on the back porch, Jim unbuckled his spurs and beat his hat against his dusty pants. His mood was far from pleasant, after the discussion he’d just had with Breed. The foreman had stopped him on the way to the house and told him about the confrontation earlier in the day. He was glad that Breed had been there to prevent March from getting hurt and that he had fired the man, but Jim regretted that he hadn’t been the one to take care of the problem.

March had thoughtfully set a pitcher of water and a bowl on a handy table. He poured water into the bowl, then sluiced it over his sweaty face and the back of his neck, appreciating the coolness on overheated skin. Drying his hands and face, he pulled open the door and instantly identified the odor of burnt food.

The door of the oven still stood open, and the fireplace burned brightly. Obviously, her first attempt at cooking on the stove wasn’t a success.

Jim felt his belly gnaw at his backbone, and wondered if his supper would be a can of cold beans. When he had tried to run the ranch while taking care of his son, he’d eaten enough of them to know that he’d be happy to never eat another can. He’d grown accustomed to March’s cooking, and her hearty, simple meals were filling and tasty.

But if she was anything like Melanie, she’d be upstairs pouting, and her burnt attempt would not be replaced by something else. From past experiences with his wife, he knew that if he wanted something to eat, he’d have to fix it himself.

He was hot, tired, and irritable. That damn horse had run until Jim had begun to fear that it would drop dead rather than accept a rider. When the animal had finally come to the end of his immense strength, they’d been miles from the ranch. The trip back had been considerably slower, and as the horse had regathered his strength, Jim had been forced to constantly stay on the alert for an unexpected move.

The horse was intelligent, fast, and one of the most stubborn creatures he’d ever encountered. If he ever got the animal broke to the saddle, Jim knew he’d be a worthy, dependable mount. But he wondered if they would kill each other before that had a chance to happen.

With a tired sigh, Jim ventured further into the room. He discovered that the kitchen table was set for dinner, and heard March’s soft voice as she descended the stairs. He wasn’t surprised when she entered the room with Jamie propped up against her shoulder.

He stared at the lovely picture she made with the babe in her arms and a welcoming smile on her face. Her golden hair had been tamed into a sedate bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore clothing he’d never seen before. Since he was aware that her wardrobe consisted of the two well-worn dresses, he easily guessed that she had made the dark green skirt and white shirtwaist that she wore.

“You look lovely,” he said quietly, wondering if the cowboy who’d accosted her had found her as attractive as he now found her.

Delighted that he’d noticed her new clothes, March smiled, unaware of the impact it had on the man watching her. His shoulders stiffened, and his eyes narrowed as she approached.

“Thank you.” March twirled in a graceful pose. “I’ve never had anything this pretty.”

Jim didn’t like the effect her innocent smile or fluid whirl had on him. He wasn’t happy about noticing her ankles as her skirt had drifted up, nor was he pleased that the only shoes she had to wear were the worn-out leather ones. In fact, he wasn’t pleased at all that he noticed her as a woman.

“Very nice,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “But I’d be a whole lot happier to see supper on the table.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re tired and hungry, and here I am showing off my new clothes, while you wonder if you’re going to starve to death.” Her smile lost some of its gaiety, as she took Jamie from her shoulder and handed him to his father. “Hold your son for a few minutes, while I get everything on the table.”

“I didn’t mean to growl.” Her sad smile had torn at his heart. Of course she was thrilled with new clothes. While every other woman he had known had expected clothing as their due, to March they were a wonderful treasure. He felt guilty that he had denied her the excitement. Damn, he was tired of feeling guilty.

“You didn’t growl,” she replied gently. “But be patient just a few more minutes, and you can eat.”

Feeling even more guilty because of her compassionate response, Jim pulled out a chair and sat, his son in his arms. He watched as March leaned over the fire, pulling out first a skillet and then a dutch oven. The appetizing aromas drifted to him, and his mouth watered at a glimpse of golden brown biscuits… and her shapely backside.

As she had promised, within minutes the table was set with well-filled bowls and plates. She settled the baby on a pallet of blankets near her end of the table, and sat down.

Other than the biscuits, Jim wasn’t able to readily identify the foods he put on his plate. There was a golden fried chunk that could have been meat, a mashed vegetable that could have been potatoes except for the color, and something green that resembled snap beans.

It appeared to him that, not only had she taken the time to dress nicely for him, but she’d worked hard on the meal. As he heaped his plate to overflowing, Jim knew a feeling of appreciation. It had been a long time since someone had been concerned about him.

“Would you mind if I planted a garden?” March asked as she filled her plate. “There’s a good spot right behind the house where the plants would be protected from the sun the hottest part of the day, and it’s not too far from the well, so I could water it easily.”

Jim picked up the biscuit melting with butter and bit into it. “Are you sure you want to go to that much trouble? We’ve always gotten fresh vegetables in town, and the mercantile has a big stock of canned goods.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” she hastily reassured him. “I thought I’d find a place where the baby would be protected while I work, so that he’d get plenty of sunshine and fresh air. All I need are some seeds. I’ll do all of the work of planting and harvesting.”

“It’s fine by me, but I’ll have one of the men plow the ground up for you.”

“That’s not necessary. I can do it.”

“I realize that, Miss I-Can-Do-It,” he replied, irritated by both her independence and determination not to be a bother. “However, you won’t. I’ll put one of the men on it in the morning.”

He scooped up some of the mashed vegetable and looked dubiously at it. “I thought at first that this might be potatoes, but now I’m sure it isn’t.”

“Give it a try, I think you’ll like it.”

“Care to tell me what it is first?” His eyebrow rose questioningly.

“Don’t you trust me?” she teased, eating the vegetable in question.

He watched her mouth open and saw her small, very white teeth close on the prongs of the fork. Her eyes smiled merrily, and just the tip of her tongue came out to catch a dab of white on the corner of her mouth.

In spite of himself, Jim noticed that the ruffle at the top of her shirtwaist accentuated her slender neck, and the multitude of tiny tucks at the yoke pulled at the fullness of her breasts. She looked extremely feminine with wisps of hair escaping the bun at her nape, and a rosy glow about her cheeks.

He tasted the vegetable, surprised at its pleasantly sweet flavor. It reminded him of the pineapple he’d had once while he was still living back East.

And he wondered if she’d taste that sweet…

Squirming slightly as his breeches tightened uncomfortably, Jim forked some of the bean- looking things into his mouth. He was again surprised by an unexpectedly strange but pleasant taste.

Realizing that she had failed to serve the coffee, March rose hastily from the table. Jim couldn’t fail to notice how well her skirt hugged her narrow waist and flowed around her shapely hips. He watched the gentle sway of the dark fabric, as she rushed back to the fire.

Hell and damnation, he thought with an irritated sigh. Hiring her hadn’t been a good idea. No, sir, not a good idea at all. She sure wasn’t the young girl he had thought he was getting. She was a woman … all woman. Her new clothes would have pointed that fact out to a blind man. And she was sweet. Lord, but she was sweet. She was so gentle with the baby, a man would pay anything just to have five minutes of that gentleness for himself.

A new hunger, a familiar masculine hunger, began to gnaw relentlessly at his gut. He wanted her, all of her, with an intensity that was alarming.

“I’m sorry I forgot all about the coffee.” March’s full breast inadvertently rubbed against his shoulder, as she leaned over him to pour his coffee.

As if burnt by the steaming liquid, Jim flinched as he felt the feminine firmness against him. He had thought himself too old, too jaded by the realities of life to ever be susceptible again to a female. Yet here he was, near to bursting, like a young boy just discovering another use for the appendage at his groin.

“Mind telling me what I’m eating?” Cutting into the only untasted thing on his plate, Jim regretted that his voice was a growl as he fought back his thoughts. It had been a hell of a day, first with the stubborn horse, then with Breed’s problem with the young cowboy, now he had to put up with his own body betraying him.