“March, don’t — “
“He’d spent enough money providing for me! I owned three dresses, all of them too small and donated by the good Christians of Oracle. My shoes have holes in the bottom and, until I came to work here, I can’t remember ever not being hungry! The only money he ever spent was on himself and his own selfish needs — “
“March, enough — “
“You wanted the truth, now you have it.” She was unaware that her bitterness was overshadowed by her pain. “My own father sold my virginity for fifty dollars! It could only be sold once, but he decided he could still make forty or fifty dollars a day off of me as a whore.
“The good people of Oracle have called me white trash and a whore. They have looked me in the face and deliberately stepped to the other side of the road, so that they wouldn’t be tarnished by being in close contact with me. I’m not trash and I’m not a whore!” She stood up abruptly and paced to the window. Her own face was reflected back to her on the wavy glass, but she almost didn’t recognize the twisted, hate- filled visage.
“If I ever again see the man who fathered me, I promise you I’ll gut shoot him, then I’ll stand back and laugh as he dies. I want to be the last person he sees before he goes to hell, and I intend to wish him well on his journey!”
Jim looked at her, unsure of what to say or how to offer comfort. It surprised him a little that he wanted to comfort her, to find the words to ease her pain.
The man who had so cruelly taken her innocence deserved to be gelded with a dull knife, but Jim couldn’t think of a brutal enough punishment for a man who would treat his daughter in such a way Jim’s relationship with his own parents had been filled with love and trust, and he hoped to establish the same relationship with his son as he grew to manhood. He missed the closeness he had shared with his parents and still mourned their deaths, knowing that he would always miss them.
March was a fiery, intelligent, beautiful woman. He was appalled that her father had attempted to use her beauty for his own profit by turning her into a prostitute.
“I worry so much about May,” March said softly, almost as if she was thinking out loud. “She’s nearly sixteen, and I can’t help but wonder if Pa will try to use her, now that I’m gone. At least while I was there he didn’t pay much attention to her, but now … She’s such a sweet little thing, and she’s so terrified of him. I don’t know if she has the strength to withstand his abuse.”
“She can come here,” Jim offered.
“It’s too late. She’s so timid and easily frightened that she’d never think about trying to find me again; she’d never consider running away.” Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, March tried to let go of the pain of her father’s betrayal. She told herself that it had happened months ago, and that she should be over it by now, but somehow that didn’t help make her acceptance of it any easier.
And now she waited for Jim to pass judgment. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t care, that his opinion didn’t matter, but she knew she was lying to herself. It did matter, it mattered desperately. That baby laying in his arms had become her child, and she knew it would break her heart to be separated from him.
Maybe if Jim forced her to leave, she could find someway to make enough money so that Ma and the little ones could leave Pa. She didn’t know what job she could do that would support eight people …
She’d become a whore, she thought with a smile filled with sorrow. She’d do exactly what Pa had wanted her to do, only she would keep the money and use it to support Ma and provide a happier life for the others. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to live with them, she wouldn’t let her reputation tarnish the chances of the younger children making something of their lives.
It was a twisted kind of justice, she thought sadly. She’d become the very thing that had made Pa nearly beat her to death for refusing, only he would never profit from it. And she’d be the best whore in the West. Men would come for hundreds of miles, just to spend their hard- earned money for the opportunity to climb between her legs.
And every morning she’d count her money, until she had enough to build a house like this one and could afford decent clothes and schooling for the little ones. And when she had enough money, she’d pay a bounty hunter to find Pa and kill him, slowly, painfully.
And maybe she could fly to the moon on gossamer wings and collect stars in a silken bag, March decided with a resigned sigh. Just the thought of a man touching her intimately made her stomach roll with nausea. If it actually happened, she’d probably vomit all over him, and no man was going to pay money for that!
Jim heard her smothered sob and saw her sad smile reflected in the window. He was in a quandary, unsure of what to do. Convention demanded that he not have a woman with a reputation of low morals in his house, but convention be damned. There was no doubt in his mind that March had told him the truth, and he had no reason to be concerned about her morals.
She might have used better judgment, but he found that he couldn’t blame her in any way for what had happened. She saw an opportunity to improve her life and took a chance. Had she been older and wiser, she might have seen the motives involved, but she was young and innocent. It was a hard lesson, one that was a bitter blow, but she would survive.
He had no doubt that the good people of Oracle would rush to tell him their version of the whole incident, once it became common knowledge that she was living in his house and caring for his son. He could hear them now, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads at the shame. They’d advise him, oh so delicately, that she shouldn’t be anywhere around an innocent baby, that she wasn’t fit for decent company.
And the men would give him a conspiratorial wink and a sly grin. Their questions would be double-sided, when they’d ask if March was taking good care of everything. What they’d really want to know was if she was sharing his bed.
Even if he stood on the steps of the church with a Bible in each hand, Jim knew they’d never believe him when he told them that March’s only job was the care of his son.
Jim felt his temper begin to simmer again, when he realized that the man who had done this to her would be completely forgiven. After all, he was young, sowing his wild oats. He’d still be accepted in the best homes in town, and if he was from the wealthy family that March suggested, then mothers everywhere would be trying to interest him in their eligible daughters.
No one would turn their heads away when he walked past, or talk about him behind their hands. In Jim’s opinion, the man was guilty of a crime worse than rape, and yet he would feel none of the social degradation that would be imposed on March whenever she set foot in town.
Jim just didn’t know if he wanted to buck the people who were his friends and neighbors. He felt sorry for March and was angered at the thought of what had been done to her by both her father and this unnamed man, but he didn’t know if he wanted to take on more responsibility. He’d been visited by the local dignitaries when he had hired Breed as his foreman. They had done their best to get Jim to fire him, simply because the man had been raised by the Comanche, but he’d refused to be swayed by their ridiculous accusations.
Did he really want to go through that again?
He looked over at the woman standing at the window. She looked even smaller than usual, as if she had pulled into herself for protection, preservation. Her proud shoulders were bent with humiliation, her sparkling eyes dulled with misery.
Damn, if he forced her to leave, he’d feel like he had kicked a puppy. She was as innocent and as easily pleased as a puppy. He thought of her honest delight in a can of peaches. If he made her leave, he knew that he’d never again be able to eat a peach without thinking of her and feeling guilty.
Hell, he liked peaches too much to give them up because of a little bitty girl who was too trusting for her own good.
He’d known her for a little over a week and had been gone most of that time, but he’d found her to be honest to a fault. And there was
no doubt in his mind that she adored the baby. In fact, it was hard to separate her from the child. She was constantly carrying him around, talking to him, touching him with loving hands.
He could see all kinds of problems that could be avoided, if he sent her on her way. If she stayed, her life wouldn’t be easy, and he’d probably bust a few knuckles protecting her. Already he was impatient to get his hands on the boy that had done this to her.
It would be smarter to give her some money and put her on a train to anywhere. It would be easier to look for someone else to care for the baby. Since when, he wondered, had he ever taken the easy way out? With a sigh, Jim made his decision. There wasn’t much of a choice, and he’d known it from the beginning.
He looked down at his tiny son, who stared at him with unblinking, deep blue eyes so like his mother’s. Jim thought of the many mistakes he had made with Melanie. From the very first, he’d been wrong time and again about her. Guilt weighed on his conscience; Melanie would probably still be alive if he had done things differently. He knew he couldn’t handle more guilt, and if he fired March, more guilt was exactly what he’d have to live with.
“I’ll be damned,” he mumbled, stroking Jamie’s cheek with a gentle finger.
Startled, March turned. “What?”
“He’s got eyelashes.” Jim’s voice held such amazed awe, that March couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face.
“Well, of course, he does.”
“And eyebrows. They’re so light that you can barely see them, but he has eyebrows.”
“And ten fingers and ten toes.” March had done a thorough inventory on the baby and knew that he possessed the correct number of everything. “What did you expect?”
“He needs you.” Jim looked at her, his gaze gentle with understanding. “He’s already lost one mother, I don’t want to be responsible again for him losing another.”
March tried to find the answer in his face, but was afraid that she was seeing what she so desperately wanted to see. She folded her hands in front of her and waited for him to spell it out. “It won’t be easy, girl. You might be happier far from here, where no one knows the truth. Every time you go into town, someone is going to take great delight in spreading the gossip.”
“I want to stay, if you’ll let me.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I just won’t go into town; I’ll stay here on the ranch.”
“No, you’re not going to hide here like you’ve done something you’re ashamed of. What was done to you was not your fault, and you won’t hide here like you’re guilty. It won’t be easy, but in time they’ll find something — or more likely someone — else to talk about.”
“You believe me?” she murmured, as a glimmer of tears clouded her eyes. “You really believe me.”
“Yes, March, I believe you, and I wish there was some way I could wipe it all from your mind, erase the memories and let you start over again, but I can’t. You’ve been treated very unfairly, but there is nothing I can do to change that, except to let you know that the job of caring for my son is still yours if you want it.”
“Oh, I want it, Jim. More than anything in the world.”
He nodded briefly, then turned to the baby who was beginning to wiggle fretfully. “I think his good mood is running out. Maybe you’d better finish his supper so that he can go to bed.” Tears coursed down her cheeks as March took the baby from his arms. She held the small, warm body against her own, and wondered how to thank Jim for believing in her.
“I apologize for forcing you to feed the baby in front of me earlier.” He watched her cuddle her precious burden and knew that he’d made the right decision. Let the people in town rant and rave, he’d protect her to the best of his ability. “I realize that it embarrassed you, but I want you to know that it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you … for everything.” Her voice was so filled with emotion that there could be no mistaking her gratitude.
“Go feed my son, March,” Jim replied gruffly. “And come back down if you want to.”
“I think, if you don’t mind, that I’ll just go on to bed.”
“All right, it’s been a long evening for you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jim watched her walk away, the baby clutched lovingly in her arms. Yep, he decided, he’d made the right decision, but damn, it sure was going to cause some excitement when word spread. He expected that a few of his own men would be the first to cause trouble.
A wicked grin crossed his face as he decided that he would tell the whole story to Breed. That was one man few would want to cross. One look at the ice in those silvery eyes, and anyone with the common sense of a cactus would turn around and head the other way.
Jim was unaware of the expression in his own blue eyes, but anyone seeing it at that moment would have thought more than once before saying anything about her in his hearing. He wasn’t a man looking for trouble, but he was the one who would finish it.
NINE
“Woman, what in hell are you doing?” Jim dropped his hat and spurs on the kitchen table, and watched as March struggled to lift a heavy cast-iron pot from the hearth.
March jumped in surprise, the heavy lid of the dutch oven barely missing her bare foot as it clanged to the brick floor. Eyeing the layer of fine ashes that coated the tops of the golden biscuits, she turned to Jim with a look of disgust.
“I hope you don’t mind ashes with your biscuits. I’m sure jam would be tastier, but you’ll have to settle for what you get.”
“You’ve got it hot enough in here to cook them on the tabletop.” He looked meaningfully at the merrily burning fire, exaggerating slightly about the temperature of the room, since the spring mornings were still cool.
Picking up the pan, March carried it to the work counter and blew gently at the tops of the biscuits. Most of the ash drifted away, but some clung stubbornly to the warm dough.
“Do you know of another way to cook?” Pushing the hair from her flushed cheeks, she turned the hot bread onto a plate and carried it past him to the table.
It was bad enough that she had overslept, taking the time only to pull on the dress she had worn the day before, then rushing to get breakfast started. Now she felt foolish with her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt, and her hair hanging in a golden snarl down her back. She had intended to get a filling breakfast on the table and escape to her room before Jim got downstairs. So much for good intentions!
“Why don’t you try the stove?”
“Stove?” March halted in mid-stride.
“Stove — that black thing over against the wall.” Looking at the large black cabinet on legs, she felt her cheeks tinge with embarrassment. Of course, it was a stove, she thought, mortified that she hadn’t recognized it sooner.
“You have seen a stove before, haven’t you?” Jim watched the expressions cross her face, and wondered why he hadn’t realized that all of her cooking was done in the fireplace.
“They had one at the cafe,” she admitted. “But it didn’t look much like that one. It was red and a whole lot bigger.”
“They cook for a whole lot more people.” Jim moved to the stove and opened the fire door. The kindling he had put in several days earlier was still there. “Come here, and I’ll show you how it works. It takes a little getting used to, but you’ll like it once you get the hang of it.”
March watched with fascination as he told her how to regulate the heat, how to adjust the damper, and when to add more wood. It seemed amazing to her that an entire meal could be cooked without bending over a fire. The heat was evenly distributed, so that nothing would be overcooked on one side, while still raw on the other.
“It’s getting too hot to be cooking over an open fire.” Jim reached up and playfully tugged at her tangled hair. “And it would be a sin if this got in the way and was singed.”
“Too late.” March held out a strand that was scorched and discolored by the heat.
Jim reached up and captured the shriveled tendril. Unconsciously rubbing her silky hair between his fingers, he stared down at her and suddenly wished that she was younger … or older … or as ugly as the old maid schoolteacher who had delighted in whacking the back of his hands with a ruler every time he had done something she didn’t approve of, which was most of the time.
But she wasn’t. She was beautiful with hair of gold and stormy gray eyes. Her skin was lightly tanned by the sun, giving her a healthy dose of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her voice was as soft as a new morning, and her mouth was made for smiling … or kissing.
And she was nearly nineteen, old enough …
The harshness of her childhood hadn’t removed the innocence from her expression, or dulled the sparkle of life from her eyes. Her too small dress emphasized the body it sought to hide, needlessly reminding him that she was a woman … and he was a man.
I should have sent her away while I had the chance, he thought, his grip unknowingly tightening on her hair. I should have given her some money and put her on the train in Tucson. She’s trouble just waiting to happen.
March watched his eyes darken, as she tried to free her hair from his painful grasp. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, and prayed that he hadn’t changed his mind about letting her stay on at Falling Creek. In spite of her audacious decision to become a lady of the evening, she knew that she’d never have the determination to see it through. But without an education or any real work experience, there was nothing else she could do to support herself.
“Please let me go.” Her quiet plea snapped Jim from his thoughts. He saw the fear in her eyes, and realized that he had wrapped her hair firmly around his hand. Carefully releasing it, he watched as she backed away from him.
“I’ll … I’ll have your breakfast ready in just a few minutes.” March pushed her hair over her shoulders and bent to retrieve a skillet from a shelf.
“I’ll eat at the bunkhouse.” Knowing that he had frightened her, his voice was harsh with regret.
Desert Angel Page 10