Desert Angel (39 page)

March laid a gentle hand on his brow and sighed with relief to find it was cool. The temptation to accept his offer was too great, the need too demanding, to refuse. She climbed into the bed beside him, snuggling up to his uninjured shoulder.

“Is Jamie all right?”

March had to smile. He had regained consciousness several times, and each time had asked the same questions. “Yes, Jamie is fine. I’m fine. Your cows are fine.”

“They aren’t cows, they’re cattle,” he corrected.

“Whatever . . . “

Jim tried to move to a more comfortable position, and bit back a moan as pain slashed through his shoulder. There wasn’t a comfortable position. Every muscle and bone in his body ached. He remembered being told that he had been shot, but knew little else of the past several days.

“How long — “ he began, only to be interrupted by his smiling wife.

“This is the fifth day. You’ve asked that same question nearly every day since it happened.”

“How?”

The smile left March’s face, as a shudder raced through her. “Pa,” she stated bluntly. “He must have heard about our marriage and decided that living here was preferable to digging for gold.”

Jim’s only reply was to pull her more tightly against his side.

“He’s dead,” she said quietly.

Jim nodded, but again he didn’t comment. “Your mother and the children?”

“Breed’s gone to get them.”

“Good, they can stay here.”

“I thought, maybe, if you were willing, they could stay at the adobe.”

“I thought, maybe, if you were willing,” he said gently, “they could stay here.” He knew of her fondness for the smaller house, and heard the hesitation in her voice when she mentioned them living there. “I’ve never been too fond of this house. It’s out of place. It should be in some small town back East, not here in the middle of the desert.

“If you’re willing, we could move into the adobe, and give this place over to your mother and the kids. I have a feeling those kids will give this monstrosity a life of its own.”

March sat up and looked down into her husband’s smiling blue eyes. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t mind leaving here?”

“Are you sure you want to live in a smaller house?”

“Oh, Jim, I love the adobe. It’s a home. It’s warm and friendly and inviting … “ Her voice drifted away, and she looked at him beseechingly. “Could I take the stove?”

Jim closed his eyes as exhaustion forced him to rest. There was so much he needed to know, so much had happened, but it was beyond his ability to stay awake for long. The answers would come later, much later.

“What will your mother cook on?” he asked sleepily.

“Oh . . . “ The single word was filled with disappointment.

“Come here, angel, just let me hold you for a while,” Jim urged her back to his side, sighing with contentment when he felt her settle against him. “We’ll just have to go see if Walt has another stove in stock.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

It was beyond his ability to answer, as sleep drifted quietly over him. But he heard her voice, if not her question, and knew that she had been the one responsible for pulling him back to life all those times, when it would have been easier to give up.

His unconscious mind had known what he hadn’t been able to see. March was the other half of his soul; his reason.

Maybe, if he lived another fifty years, he could even find a way to tell her of his love.

TWENTY-FOUR

March stood with her hands clasped firmly at her waist, watching Jim and four of the hired hands manhandle the heavy cast-iron stove into the kitchen of the adobe house. Walt didn’t keep cooking stoves in stock, so it had been special ordered and shipped out of Kansas City. Slightly smaller than the one in the big house, it was painted dark gray with bright yellow trim.

The flue had been installed weeks earlier and as soon as the stove was in place and attached she could begin cooking … that is, if they ever got it into the house. If muttered four-letter words and snarled hisses had been of any help, it would have been inside over an hour ago!

Once again, the men set the monster stove down, wiping the sweat from their eyes. The doorway, already expanded once, still remained too narrow.

“Angel, go over and check on Jamie,” Jim ordered in an uncharacteristic demand.

“The older girls have him,” she reassured. “He’s just fine.”

Jim walked around the stove to approach his wife. Taking her by the arm, he led her away from the men.

“You don’t understand, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “The men are uncomfortable with you here. They’re getting frustrated with this durn contrary contraption, and would really like to say a few things to it, but they feel it would be improper to use such language in front of a lady.”

“Oh …”

“Yes, oh!” Jim smiled and tapped the end of her nose. “Go check on our son, talk with your mother, plan wonderful menus; just get away from here. I’ll let you know when it’s in place.”

“Just promise me you won’t do too much. You’re still weak, and I don’t want you to overexert.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled indulgently. During the last couple of weeks he’d become accustomed to her concern, and had grown to like it. It gave him a warm feeling to know that someone cared … that March cared. “If you’ll go away, I promise I’ll be a good boy. I won’t do anything, but stand back and add to the colorful language.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. You haven’t been a good boy in your entire life.”

“Well … I’m really good at being bad.” His wicked grin was the perfect foil for his less than innocent comment.

With a knowing smile, March squeezed his hand and headed toward the big house. She had no doubt that as soon as her back was turned he would be in the thick of things. She just hoped that he used some common sense as well as brawn. It had been only four weeks since he’d left his sickbed. His strength increased with each passing day, but since Breed had left two weeks ago, Jim had been pushing himself to the maximum to complete the tasks around the ranch.

Breed’s leaving had been bittersweet for March. She had grown fond of the taciturn man, the hours spent together caring for Jim had forged a strong bond of friendship. He had left after receiving a letter from Tim Hansen, the man who had helped him make the adjustment from the Comanche lifestyle to the white world. March wasn’t sure what problems had arisen, since as usual he hadn’t seen a need to confide in anyone, but she understood Breed’s desire to help out his friend.

She would miss him, that quiet man whose mere presence could intimidate lesser men. Her lips twitched with a smile when she remembered learning his white name. She had asked the same question months before and he had refused to tell her, but for whatever reason, this time he chose to answer; Gideon Hansen. Gideon had been given to him by Tim, and he had adopted Hansen in honor of his friend. The name seemed to fit the tall, Norwegian-looking man who would probably always walk a narrow line between two worlds.

The sound of laughter floated to her, as she climbed the hill. At the crest, she stopped and watched as her brothers and sisters played in the backyard near the well. Since moving into the big house the children had opened like flowers after a rain, their natural vitality no longer hidden behind a veil of fear. Their childish laughter had become a common and much- welcomed addition.

The house, once so quiet and empty, had become crowded and lively with the addition of seven children. March had longed for the day when Jim was well enough to move, delighting when less than a week had passed before he insisted he could travel the short distance to the adobe. It was heaven to be alone with him and Jamie in the smaller house.

Watching the girls jump rope while the boys played with a hoop, she thought of their arrival a month earlier. Breed had gone after Virginia Evans, but she had refused to come with him.

And he had refused to accept her answer. Instructing May to watch the younger children, the man who had been raised to be a Comanche warrior bound the older woman with rope, threatening to place a gag in her mouth to still her protests, and gently placed her on his horse.

March grinned at the memory of her mother’s face when Breed had carried her into the house and set her carefully onto a chair. Once untied and left alone, their reunion had been tearfully poignant.

The children had loved the house, soon making it into a real home. May had sighed with total enchantment at the frilly pink and white bedroom. The fussy room seemed to be made for the feminine girl, who was rapidly becoming a young woman. Seeing her sister’s longing and understanding the desire to have something pretty, March had arranged for her to have the room to herself.

Several days after their arrival, May had taken March aside and filled her in on the things that had happened during their separation. Tears had filled March’s eyes when she learned that her mother had turned her back on her the day she had left with Jim, because of the anguish she suffered through her inability to save her oldest daughter. After that day, Virginia Evans never again spoke directly to her husband.

Now Virginia’s smile was a common thing, as was her beautiful voice raised in song, filling the air with heart-wrenching melody. Woods, whose fiddle playing had come as a surprise to March, had started joining in for impromptu sessions. The lovely music filled the desert with a different kind of peace.

Leaning against a tree, time slipped away unheeded, as March thought of the many changes in her life. Some things were still unsettled. Her mother refused to live at the ranch without finding a way to earn her keep, but so far a solution hadn’t been found. The children needed to attend school, but the town school was too far away. George Evans’s death had been reported to the sheriff and declared a justifiable homicide, but the years of his abuse had taken their toll on his children, who still weren’t comfortable in the presence of the men of the ranch.

It would take time and patience to undo the damage, but time was now one thing they could plan on.

“Daydreaming?” Jim slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

Leaning her head back against his strong shoulder, March sighed with contentment. “Now my daydreams come true.”

“I want all of your dreams, day or night, to be fulfilled.” He bent slightly and kissed the soft skin just beneath her ear.

“Like the stove?” she asked, turning her head just enough to give him room to explore further.

“Like the stove … and the new, bigger window in the kitchen.”

March turned in his arms, leaning back to look at him. “Bigger window?”

Jim shrugged and smiled a devilish little-boy grin. “It wouldn’t go through the door. One of the men suggested we either leave it outside — which I knew you wouldn’t like — or tear down a wall. That window will be real nice, once we get glass in it.”

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes heavenward. “Is brute force always your answer for everything?”

“Hum . . . “ Taking advantage of the opportunity, he sampled the taste of her lips. “Right now I’d like to use some of that brute force to carry you off to the desert, and make passionate love to you until the sun forgets to rise.”

“Too many cactus.” March did some exploring and tasting of her own.

“Then we’ll head to the woods.” His hands slid down to the rounded curves of her bottom. As he pulled her firmly against him, she was left with no doubt about his building desire.

“Too many pine cones.” Her own needs were growing apace with his, and she tried to tell herself that this was neither the time nor the place, but somehow that did nothing to stem the rising tide.

“Then we’ll just have to steal these few minutes alone.” The mood of his embrace changed, his kisses gentled, his caresses stilled. “Have I thanked you for calling me back when it would have been easier to let go?”

March’s expression showed her perplexity. “When the fever raged in me, there was more than one time that I was tempted to let go, to see what death offered. But each time, you were there. Your voice called to me, begging me to fight to reach you.”

His voice softened as he looked into her velvety gaze. “It was so filled with love and longing, that I knew I had to come back to find out the truth.”

“The truth?”

He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, expelling it with his question. “I need to know if you could ever learn to love me, as much as I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes and slid gently down her cheeks. The sun found the strands of gold in his hair, and made it gleam with warmth. The hollows beneath his cheeks had filled out, and the gray beneath his eyes had been replaced by his usual deep tan. He was once again the picture of health, a man in the prime of life.

“I was so scared. You were so sick, I didn’t know if you would live or die. I sat beside you day after day, night after night, and watched you battle the fever. And everyday you seemed to get just a little weaker.” She leaned her head against his chest and fought back a sob.

“I love you so much, and I didn’t think I’d get the chance to tell you.”

Jim’s chest expanded as he gulped in badly needed air. He had waited forever to hear her words, and relief flooded through him. “Tell me again, angel. Don’t make me wait.”