Desert Angel (18 page)

“Breed fired him and escorted him off of my property. The others have all been given warnings that they are to treat you with the respect you deserve, or they’ll meet the same fate.”

“I think Breed did a little more than just fire him,” she supplied.

“According to Breed, the man was still breathing when he dumped him outside the gates.”

“Thank God. I don’t want anyone killed because of me.”

“If anyone tries something like that again, that is exactly what might happen. I won’t have you threatened in your own home.”

“But it’s not my home.” She was unaware that her voice was filled with longing, but Jim heard every nuance of a craving so deep it was bottomless.

“As long as you’re in my employ, this is your home,” he said gently. “I want you to treat it as such, and feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here. Safe and protected. It’s a wonderful thing not to have to worry about anything except burning your dinner.”

“I want you to always feel that way. I, and the men who work for me, will see that your safety comes first … or they won’t work here long.”

“Thank you,” she whispered softly. “I’ve never had anyone give me a gift half so great. I may just have to stay your housekeeper until Jamie is ninety-five years old.”

“I believe that would probably make you the oldest housekeeper in the world.”

March looked into the darkness, and her voice became dreamy. “What do you think it’ll be like in a hundred years?” She spread her arms wide to encompass the area. “Do you think all of this will still be here?”

“Of course, but I imagine there’ll be a few changes.” It didn’t surprise him when she abruptly changed the subject. She never seemed to dwell for long on something she couldn’t change.

Jim rocked back on his heels and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Why, I expect by then that the fishes will talk, snakes’ll have legs, and man will fly to the moon.”

“Fish will talk?”

“Yep … it’ll take all the pleasure out of going fishing. When you pull one up on the bank, he’ll lay there flopping and yelling at you to throw him back.”

“Snakes’ll have legs?” she asked with a skeptical giggle.

“Umm … at least ten of them.Five on each side. He’ll have to take care that he doesn’t trip over his own feet.”

“And you really think that man will fly to the moon?” Her chuckle filled the night air with joy. “I think you were out in the sun too long today.”

Jim delighted in the sound of her laugh as it swirled warmly around him. It was something that he knew he could grow to like … too much.

“And I think you’d better go back to bed, or you won’t get any sleep tonight. My son is an early riser.”

“I think you’re right.” She turned toward the door leading into his office. The mellow glow of golden light was inviting as she stepped into its glimmer. “Good night, Jim, and thank you.”

“For what, angel?”

“For everything… for making this my home, for trying to eat my dinner, but most of all for not taking your rage out on me.”

His stomach turned with disgust as he realized that others had abused her in their anger.

“You’ve nothing to fear, March. I’d never hit a woman.”

“I know, and that’s a wonderful bit of knowledge.”

“Sleep tight, angel,” he whispered as he watched her disappear. “No one will ever hurt you again. I promise.”

“What do you have planned for today?” Jim leaned his elbows against the table, a cup of coffee cradled between his hands. It had taken her a month, but finally the brew was exactly as he liked it, strong enough to grow hair on a tortoise.

He watched appreciatively as March worked efficiently around the kitchen, her flower- printed skirt flowing gracefully around her ankles. Because of her diligent effort, her wardrobe now consisted of several simple skirts and shirtwaists.

It had become their habit in the evening after the daily chores were finished, to sit together in his office until Jamie’s last feeding. Jim usually did paperwork, compiling records or replying to correspondence. Sometimes he indulged in his passion for reading, while March sat across the room quietly sewing or, on a rare occasion, reading. He had discovered that she was a delightful conversationalist; sometimes witty, sometimes thought-provoking, and oftentimes maddening, as she looked at the world from a feminine point of view.

He was pleased that she had begun to trust him enough to freely express her opinions without concern that she would anger him. In fact, some of their most enjoyable evenings had been when they’d argued a point nearly to death, each trying to get the other to see a different angle. Always, no matter how heated the discussion became, when it was time for bed, March would smile and wish him sweet dreams.

Jim had come to look forward to the evenings with her, but too frequently lately, his dreams had been far too sweet, and when he woke in the morning, he was aching with a fierce need.

As he sat at the table, the sky turned from black to misty gray. He could hear the sounds of activity outside, telling him that the men were already at work. Breakfast was over, it was time to get the day started, and yet he found himself reluctant to move.

“So, what are you doing today?” he asked again.

“Not much.” March folded the kitchen towel and hung it over the back of a chair to dry. “I washed shirts and pants yesterday, and I plan to iron them this morning, before it gets too warm to be messing with the irons. And I need to wash Jamie’s towels, but I do that every day. And I noticed last night that nearly all of the lamp chimneys need to be cleaned. I’ll probably trim the wicks, too.

“As soon as Jamie wakes up and gets fed, I want to get some bread rising, and maybe I’ll make a pie or two. And then this afternoon, after the sun goes down a little, I thought I’d go out and work in the garden for a while. The seeds Hank got for me in town are really starting to sprout, but then so are the weeds.”

“That’s not much?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“I reckon it’ll keep me busy,” she replied with a grin.

“I reckon . . Jim stood up and carefully pushed his chair beneath the table. “Do you know what day this is?”

March’s brow furrowed as she gave the question serious thought. She didn’t keep track of the days, usually letting one flow into another and rarely wondering which day of the week the current one was. In one town they had lived in, she had gone to church every Sunday, so she had been very careful to mark off each day. But they hadn’t stayed there long, and she hadn’t bothered paying much attention to the days since. “Tuesday?” she guessed.

“Wrong … not even close. It’s Friday.”

“And tomorrow’s Saturday and the next is Sunday, and then the week starts all over again. Thank you, but now that we’ve established that fact, if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do, and so do you.” She pointed toward the door and smiled sweetly.

“Not quite yet, angel. Do you know what else it is, besides Friday?”

A squeaking sound drifted down the stairs. It was less than a cry, but loud enough to let the adults on the floor below know that Jamie was awake, and ready to demand attention in any manner necessary to achieve his goal.

“I know that in a very few short minutes, your son is going to attempt to scream the house down around our ears.”

Knowing that Jamie had never missed a meal, mostly because of the amount of noise he could make, Jim grinned as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “It’s payday.”

With a dexterity that would make many a small boy envious, he flipped it to her. With a quick snap of her wrist, March caught it. She stared in wonder at the shimmering coin, a ten- dollar gold piece with its aristocratic eagle on the back.

“Mine?” Her voice was filled with awe, as she savored the feel of the metal still warm from his touch.

“Every penny.” Putting his hat on his head, he walked past her toward the door. “What are you going to do with it?”

Her expression turning serious, March leaned her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Angel, you can ask me anything, anytime.” Clutching the small coin in her hand, she hesitated. “How much does a house like this cost?”

“Is that what you want to do with it, buy a house?” he asked softly. At her nod, Jim smiled gently. “Honey, if you worked for me for the next twenty years, and never spent a penny of the money you made, you still couldn’t afford a house like this.”

“Oh … I’d hoped, I mean …” Disillusionment bowed her shoulders.

Jim forced himself to turn his back to her, trying to ignore the urge to take her into his arms to soothe her disappointment. “Get the baby fed,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, and we’ll head into town.”

“No!”

Stopping with his hand on the door latch, he looked over his shoulder at her. “You haven’t been away from the ranch in all the weeks you’ve been here. It’s time to stop hiding, March.”

“Jamie’s far too young, yet.” March squeezed the coin, until she felt it bite into her palm. “I think it would be better if we wait until he’s a couple of months older before he makes the trip.”

“He’s almost two months old now. He’ll make the trip just fine.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to go this time.”

“Don’t make me force you to go, angel.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she stated, but her voice shook with the barely hidden fear that it was exactly what he would do.

The squeak from upstairs became a full-blown wail of distress. “Feed my son, March, and then pack whatever’s necessary for him to be away from home for a few hours.”

“Please, Jim … I don’t think this is a good idea.”

March found herself talking to the door as it closed behind him. Like an old woman who had long ago lost the vigor of youth, she slowly climbed the stairs, Jamie’s cry increasing in volume with each step she took.

The baby waved his hands and kicked his feet, his face red with exertion. His thick eyelashes were matted into spiky points, and tears ran down his chubby cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry,” March crooned as she picked him up. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but your father is being every bit as stubborn as you can be.”

March efficiently changed his wet towel as he continued to cry plaintively. Unbuttoning her dress, she sat down in the rocking chair by the window and freed her breast. As his lips closed on her nipple, his tears ceased, only an occasional hiccuping sob and his spiky lashes gave testimony to his displeasure.

“What am I going to do, Jamie?” March smoothed his hair, noticing absently that the ends were getting long enough to curl. “I can’t go into town, I just can’t. The people there all give me dirty looks, and they talk about me like I’m both deaf and dumb and can’t hear them when they call me bad names.”

March sighed and leaned her head against the back of the chair. “Your daddy is just beginning to accept me, and to forget all the bad things he’s heard. If we go into town, everyone will break their legs rushing to him to tell him the worst about me.

“And then he might change his mind.” A lone tear slid silently down her cheek. “What’ll I do if he does? Oh, sweet baby, what’ll I do if he sends me away?”

TWELVE

March sat on the buckboard on the trip to town, concerned with her reception when they arrived and Jim’s reaction to it. She didn’t see the beauty of the towering ponderosa pines, or the colorful poppies and mariposa lilies that carpeted the ground. She was immune to the cheerful songs of the birds and the waving of lush grasses.

As they rode closer to the town, March was consumed with a fear so great that nothing else made an impression, even the baby cuddled in her arms barely registered.

She had done everything she could to convince Jim that she didn’t want to go to town. Fighting tears, she had pleaded to remain at the ranch, and had even gone so far as to point- blank refuse to make the trip, but Jim would not be deterred. With the remnants of her shattered dignity drawn tightly around her, she climbed into the wagon and faced the dreaded trip.

With tight-lipped determination, Jim guided the horses toward Oracle. The two-hour trip had never before seemed so long. He usually enjoyed the solitude and the beauty of the road, but now all he could see was March’s face when he had given her no choice but to accompany him. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to cave in to her pleading.

But her fight to hold back her tears was almost his undoing. Actual tears would not have affected him as much as her steely determination not to cry.

In spite of his best efforts to get a conversation started, she had remained stoically quiet. As the silence lengthened, his guilt at his own highhanded manner had turned to frustration, and then anger. If she wanted to sit and pout the entire way into town, so be it. He was finished with trying to make the trip pleasant. She’d soon discover that her fears were groundless, that few if anyone would remember an event that had happened a year earlier which hadn’t directly involved themselves.

The storefronts of unweathered wood, freshly painted signs, and a variety of canvas tents, all proclaimed that the town of Oracle was still in its infancy. It was a rough-and-ready place, having sprung up to service the many men who worked in the area mines. It provided everything from a shave, haircut, and warm bath to store- bought clothes, a companion for the night, and everything in between.