Desert Angel Read online

  “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.

  The prospectors were determined and rugged, and the names of the mines they worked were as colorful as the ore they hoped to find: the Apache Girl Mine, the Comanche Copper Mine, the Southern Belle, the Hijinks, the Oracle, which eventually gave its name to the town.

  After months and years of back-breaking labor, some of the mines had proven nearly barren, while others were rich beyond the wildest dreams of the men working them. One of the biggest discoveries was made either by accident or incredible luck, and became known as the Southern Belle.

  Capt. John T. Young had staked his claim and worked diligently to find the elusive ore. His wife daily brought him his lunch and, one day, sat down on a ledge to rest while he ate. A whitish vein meandered through the ledge; using a hairpin, Mrs. Young dug at it until she had loosened several specimens. The discovery was to yield one of the richest strikes in the area.

  Depending on the weather, the main street of Oracle was either a dirt path, or a quagmire of mud waiting to catch the unwary. Since it had been several days without any measurable rainfall, it was now at its dusty best.

&nbs
p; Several horses were tied at hitching rails, and a couple of buggies lined the street. It was deceptively quiet, the calm before the storm.

  Once a month, on payday Saturday, the town would fill to overflowing as miners came down from the mountains to rejoin civilization for a day and the cowhands came in from the ranches to spend their newly earned riches. A few would make the long journey to Tucson, but most found that it wasn’t necessary to ride all those miles, when Oracle offered them ample opportunity to be parted from their wages.

  Jim pulled up to the mercantile and climbed from the buckboard. Taking the baby from March’s arms, he held his free hand up to her. Although her eyes pleaded for a last-minute reprieve, he ignored her as he helped her from the wagon.

  “You have a good look around, while I take the horses to the livery. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “I’d rather stay with you,” March stated quietly, forcing her voice not to quiver.

  Jim climbed back on the buckboard and released the brake. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Go see what you can find to spend your money on.”

  Watching the buggy disappear down the road, March felt deserted and vulnerable. She couldn’t believe that after forcing her to come to town, he had then deserted her and left her to face her worst fears alone.

  With chin up and the baby clutched against her chest, March opened the door. Even the knowledge that she had money in her pocket that she could spend in any manner she chose, did nothing to lighten her spirit.

  The store was surprisingly well stocked. Knowing that his customers could make the journey to Tucson to purchase their needs, the store owner kept a good supply of nearly everything, thereby keeping the money in his hands rather than in the hands of the merchants of Tucson.

  On the left a long counter stood in front of shelves filled with canned goods, flour, blocks of salt, and sugar. In the back was another counter for the sole purpose of providing room to view the many bolts of fabric, ribbons, and laces. In between were displays of shovels, buckets, seeds, saddles, and boots. The far side of the store was set aside for ready-made clothing, mostly for men, but with a few things for the ladies.

  A few customers, mostly women, wandered through the aisles or gathered in small groups to talk. Hoping to hide behind the displays until Jim arrived, March was drawn to a dress displayed on a form. Her gaze riveted to the lovely creation, she missed the interest her arrival had produced. Curious eyes watched her as she marveled at the garment.

  The dress was made of shot silk striped in colors of rose pink, green, and brown, and trimmed with black velvet bands on the hips and shoulders. White lace trimmed the bodice, the wrists, and the hem. The front of the skirt was elaborately draped to emphasize a tiny, corsetted waist, while the back jutted out with an enormous bustle.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” a feminine voice asked from behind her.

  Blushing, March turned and met the gaze of Mazie Wright, whose husband owned the store. Tall and bone-thin with a tiny bosom, steel-gray hair, and posture so straight she looked like she’d break if she bent over, Mazie didn’t appear to have a kind thought in her head. Hands shaking uncontrollably, March tightened her grasp on Jamie until she hesitantly met the warm brown eyes staring kindly into her own.

  “It’s beautiful,” she replied quietly to the older woman.

  “My husband said it was utterly ridiculous to order something like it for a store like ours, but I said that just because we lived out in the middle of nowhere, didn’t mean that we had to forego fashion. One does get tired of simple, homemade clothing, and occasionally longs for French fashions.”

  Mazie’s gaze traveled down March’s simple blouse and skirt, then returned to the straw hat she wore for protection from the sun. “We have some wonderful bonnets in stock, if you’re interested.”

  “I’d like to just look around a little first,” she said hesitantly. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, I don’t mind, dear. You wander around to your heart’s content. But remind me to show you our newest line of ladies’ stockings.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You won’t believe it … we’ve some in black and some with lace inserts and even stripes. They’re sinfully naughty and delightfully wicked!”

  “Thank you . .

  Mazie patted March’s hand. “You have a good look around, feel free to ask if you need help or want to try something on.” She gazed at Jamie sleeping peacefully. “I’d be delighted to hold the baby for you while you shop.”

  “No!” March blushed at her reply, fearing she had insulted the lady. “I mean, thank you, but no. He’s no bother.”

  “New mothers!”Mazie smiled warmly. “They just don’t want to let the little darlings out of their sight … not that I blame them. If Mr. Wright and I had been blessed, I doubt that I’d ever have let someone else hold mine either. But if you change your mind, I’ll be around.” March felt a little guilty as she watched the woman walk away. She’d seen the longing and quickly veiled disappointment when she’d refused Mazie’s offer to watch the baby.

  But she wasn’t entirely sure what the woman thought of her. She’d been friendly enough, but Mrs. Wright was nearly a stranger. March knew that Mazie was aware of her past. They had never been introduced to one another, but she’d passed the woman on the street several times and had served her when working at the cafe.

  But Jamie unknowingly gave March a feeling of security, and she wasn’t ready to relinquish him to someone else.

  It was a pleasant surprise to March when the people in the store ignored her. Several women nodded, but none made an effort to engage her in conversation. Mazie worked at the back measuring fabric for a customer, while her husband was filling an order for a miner.

  Relaxing slightly, March spent long minutes pleasantly occupied by the multitude of buttons on display. There were so many different kinds and colors, some made of wood and others of bone. She delighted in the knowledge that, if she wanted to, she could even buy some that struck her fancy.

  Suddenly the small ten-dollar gold piece weighed heavily in her pocket. She could buy nearly anything she wanted in the store; even something frivolous, something totally unnecessary, bought simply because she wanted it. She could pretend to be a lady of great wealth, in town for a day of leisurely shopping with nothing more important to do than to decide how to spend some money.

  Torn between sparkling pink buttons made of bone and wooden ones painted to resemble a lily, March was startled by the voice she had dreaded to hear. Pretense crashed around her heels as reality took voice.

  “Well … well … well, what have we here? I thought you’d skedaddled out of town with the rest of that white trash you lived with.”

  March turned and came face-to-face with the man who had, in more ways than one, so brutally taken her innocence. A shiver of fear raced down her spine, closely followed by one of outrage, hate, and disgust. This was the man who had betrayed her trust, who had destroyed her self- respect.

  “Leave me alone,” she said quietly “I have nothing to say to you.” She returned to the display of buttons until a hand fell on her shoulder, and she was rudely jerked around.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, bitch. I wasn’t through talking to you,” he snarled. “You’ve become pretty uppity for someone who ain’t nothin‘ but a white-trash whore.”

  “I asked you to leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you, nor do I wish to hear anything you might say.”

  “Now ain’t that too bad.” The hand on her shoulder kept her from turning away, and she knew she had no choice but to hear him out.

  “You always did talk pretty, and you sure did clean up good.” His lecherous gaze moved lin- geringly down her body. “You thought that I’d take one look at you and want to marry you?” His laugh filled the store, heightening her embarrassment. “Well, honey, you’re thinkin‘ wrong. I done popped your cherry, and you ain’t got nothin‘ that I want. My wife ain’t going to be no white-trash whore. But I might cons
ider tossing up your skirts, if you asked me real nice-like.”

  Knowing that everyone in the store could hear this loud-mouthed braggart, March’s humiliation overpowered her common sense. “Your crude, boorish behavior attests to your limited intelligence, and leaves one wondering who helps you to put on your clothes each morning. I wouldn’t stoop to asking you to spit on me if I was on fire.”

  March saw the callous anger darken his eyes,

  and could have bitten off her foolish tongue. She had been determined not to cause further talk, but now he’d not settle for a quiet exit. Dread filled her that once again her involvement with him would become a topic for discussion.

  “Just ‘cause you got somebody else filling you, don’t make you nothing more than a white-trash whore. Well, just remember, bitch, I already been where he’s going, and I got there first.” His gaze lowered to the infant in her arms, and an evil grin crossed his handsome face. “I heard tell that you was goin‘ to have my bastard. Is that it? Let me get a look.”

  March turned as he reached for the baby, prepared to use any defense necessary to protect the child. She could tolerate him for herself, but he wasn’t getting anywhere near Jamie.

  “This is not your child,” she stated in a level voice laced with the strength protecting Jamie had given her. “Your daughter died at birth. At least she was fortunate enough not to have to live with the knowledge of the man who fathered her.”

  She realized that she had finally pushed him too far when he doubled up his fist and drew back his arm. March braced for a blow that never landed. She sighed silently with relief as his arm was captured by a hand much stronger than his. Turned around so abruptly that he staggered to regain his balance, he came face-to-face with an opponent of superior size and strength.