“But it will just take me a few more minutes.”
Jim looked at the golden brown biscuits, smelled the inviting aroma of the bubbling coffee, and noticed that her dress pulled snugly against her milk-engorged breasts.
“I’ll eat at the bunkhouse,” he repeated, forcing himself to pick up his hat and spurs. Damn, she was going to be trouble.
“Is something wrong?” She thought that the expression on his face resembled someone in pain, and worried that he might be sickening with something. “Do you feel poorly? Does your stomach hurt? Are you suffering with a fever?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not sick.” Jim plopped his hat on his head and grabbed his spurs. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts had taken, and he had to get away from her before he said or did something that would offend them both. “I don’t have a fever, my stomach is growling with hunger, and for a man near to starving to death, I feel just fine. I’m just not hungry for ash biscuits or that brown water you call coffee.” Turning, he grabbed his jacket from the hook by the back door and stamped out of the kitchen. The gentle morning breeze cooled his thoughts, and as he slipped on his jacket, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of the new day.
He scanned the horizon in each direction, alert for anything that looked out of place. For as far as he could see, the land was his, and there was no place on earth he’d rather be. He intended to spend the remainder of his life on the Falling Creek Ranch, and now that he had a son, he knew that his labors wouldn’t be in vain.
The few men who hadn’t travelled north with the herd were beginning to rustle around, nodding quiet greetings as he passed. In the past Jim had always gone on the cattle drive, but the members of the new ranchers’ consortium had voted to share the duties, and each year different owners would go on the drive. That way no one man would have to be gone for several weeks in the spring, and then again in the fall to see to the safety of his herd. Jim had sent the majority of his men to help out, but had kept enough on the ranch to continue its day-to-day operations.
He spied Breed and decided that now was the perfect time to tell his foreman about March. As word spread there would be more than one saddle tramp looking for a good time, and Jim had no intention of letting March be frightened by a woman-hungry drifter.
“We need to talk before you head out,” he said as he watched Breed saddle his horse. “Let me grab a cup of coffee first.”
Breed nodded, lightly tossing the heavy saddle onto the back of his Appaloosa stallion. “I’ll wait.”
Jim headed for the bunkhouse and the thick brew that waited, looking forward to the start of a new day.
March left the biscuits on the table, pulled the coffee from the fire before it could become as thick as mud, and climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Jamie. Moving quietly so that she didn’t disturb the sleeping baby, she found her stockings and shoes and a comb for her hair. Since he would sleep for at least another hour, she had time to make herself a little more presentable and enjoy a quiet breakfast.
Back in the kitchen, March sipped at her coffee as she forced the snarls from her hair. Twisting it deftly into a knot at the back of her head, she secured it in place with two long sticks that her brother Jan had whittled for her and had given her as a present on her last birthday She tried not to dwell on the fact that they were the last gift she would ever receive from her oldest brother; the final gift from her family After nursing Jamie, March washed some of his dirty towels and hung them out to dry. With the baby sleeping peacefully on a quilt in the shade, she took advantage of the quiet to work on the skirt she was making. Finished except for the hem, the polished cotton fabric was the same deep green as the forest that had sheltered her family for so many months in Colorado. Memories engulfed her and tears made her vision waver. The sound of the younger children’s laughter seemed to fill her ears, then intermingle with the memories of their whimpers as the winter winds blew and hunger clawed at their empty bellies.
No longer delighted with the skirt that had brought such bitter images to mind, she put it aside as tears made her vision waver. Resting her head on the back of the chair, March looked up to the clear blue sky. Soon it would be summer and almost unbearably hot. Already the late afternoons were hinting at the heat that would become a daily reality.
She would spend the summer in the coolness of the house, with plenty of water when she was thirsty and shade from the sun when it was at its peak. She couldn’t help but wonder if June had shoes to protect his feet, or if little September would spend the summer covered in a rash because of the heat. Were they hungry? Did they have a safe place to sleep? Did Mama still cry herself to sleep each night, trying desperately to hide the sound of her weeping from the others?
Standing abruptly, March carried the skirt inside and laid it across a chair. Grabbing the sling she used to hold Jamie, she picked up the sleeping baby and cradled him securely against her chest.
Anger grew as she thought of Jim’s dissatisfaction with her coffee, and his look of disdain as he explained the workings of the stove. Sure, he liked his coffee thick, she thought, but he’d never had to go without because there was no money for luxuries like coffee or tea or sugar. Who could worry about trivialities, when faced with the very real concern of whether or not there would be enough food for even one meal each day?
Who would spend money on something like a stove, when there was a child who needed a pair of shoes so that he didn’t have to worry about cactus thorns or poisonous spiders? Who could take pleasure in having rugs on the floor or pictures on the wall, when a child might die because there was no money to pay for a doctor when he got sick?
And why was she the one who would have a soft bed to sleep in and plenty of food to eat, while her little brothers and sisters suffered because of the selfishness of a father too lazy to provide for them?
She would have allowed her father to sell her body time and again, if it had meant that her family would have the bare necessities of life. But she knew from past experience that the money would have been spent on whiskey and gambling, rather than food and clothing.
Knowing that there were no answers to her questions, March stepped off of the porch and headed toward the noise at the corral. After a lifetime of always being surrounded by her family, she was suddenly desperately lonely Kissing Jamie’s soft cheek, guilt overwhelmed her as she wondered why she had been given heaven, while her family was still suffering hell.
March was unaware of the appreciative male glances that watched as she approached. Most were respectful, a few were openly admiring, and a couple leered blatantly. One pair of silver eyes filled with all of the warmth of a winter blizzard, watched not the woman, but rather for the reactions of the other men. The two whose gazes were so filled with lust that they were aware of nothing beyond the bulge beneath their own belt buckles, would be gone before the sun began lowering in the sky. The others would be given a warning; only one. Breed never gave anyone a second chance.
Feeling secure surrounded by so many, March never gave a thought to the fact that her presence might be unwelcomed. She smiled as the men tipped their hats and then turned their faces back toward the action in the corral. Instinctively aware that she must tread carefully until they became accustomed to her, she stopped beside Hank and smiled warmly at the old man. “What’s everybody looking at?”
Hank gave the onlookers a censorious look, as March’s soft voice drifted through the sudden quiet. Turning toward her, he tipped his hat and motioned with his hand toward the corral.
“They’re waitin‘ to see if’en the boss has learned his lessons or not.”
March could see a pair of dusty boots from beneath the horse. “What lessons?”
“Breed’s been a’teachin‘ Jim how to break a horse the Comanche way. Some of the boys figure that only an Indian can gentle-break a horse, and they’ve got bets goin‘ on how soon he’ll be pickin‘ hisself up from the dust.”
The massive horse glowed a fiery red in the sunlight, as t
he soothing sound of Jim’s voice danced around the nervous animal. Tail and mane as black as a crow’s wing flickered with restless anticipation. March watched as Jim rhythmically stroked the animal, his hands never completely leaving the muscular body.
“Do you think he’ll do it?” she asked, mesmerized by the gentle sounds and touches.
“Hell, ah … durn, missy, that horse ain’t never held a rider. Ain’t no reason for him to start now, lessin‘ he’s of a mind.”
“But do you think he’ll do it?” Her gaze remained glued to the man and horse, as she waited for Hank to answer.
The old man studied Jim’s quiet actions. “Ain’t but one other man who’d ever get more than a leg up on that critter, and he’s the one who’s been a’teachin‘ the boss.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s got as good a chance as a snake findin‘ water in the desert.” Jim carefully placed a saddle blanket over the horse’s broad back. Its ears briefly lay back, then slowly resumed their normal position at Jim’s continued soft words and gentle caresses.
“Bet he don’t talk that sweet to a whore, when he’s trying to get between her legs,” one of the men said with a smirk.
Critical glances were sent first in the man’s direction, and then became apologetic as they looked toward March. She carefully controlled the expression on her face, keeping her eyes on the excitement in the corral. She realized that this really wasn’t the place for a woman, and that the men had become quiet since her arrival. If she hadn’t wanted to see what was going to happen so badly, she would have turned around and gone back to the house, but her curiosity was greater than her embarrassment.
His voice never changing in pitch, Jim lowered a saddle onto the horse. As if familiar with its weight, the animal never changed his stance. Every muscle, every sinew, every tendon stood in stark relief beneath the sleek copper skin, as he seemed to wait for the next move from the man at his side.
March caught her breath as Jim reached underneath the animal and grabbed the cinch strap. She wondered if she was the only one aware of Jim’s vulnerability in comparison to the powerful strength of the horse. Jamie squirmed and cooed softly, as if agreeing with her that his father was in grave danger.
“Open the gate.” Jim’s voice never rose in pitch, and yet several men hurried to comply to his soft request.
Biting her tongue to hold back a natural request that he be careful, March watched as he mounted the horse. In a fluid, graceful motion, he and the animal became one. For a heartbeat the horse stood still, then became a storm breaking around the cheering men. After several bone-shaking bucks that failed to dislodge his passenger, the horse did as Jim had hoped he would, he headed for the open gate and the promise of freedom.
“I’ll be gol-durned! He did it!” Hank slapped his hand against a fence post and chuckled with glee.
“But I thought you said he would?” March watched until man and horse were little more than a cloud of dust on the horizon.
“I just said that sos you wouldn’t worry none, but, missy, there ain’t nobody that ever mounted that animal afore.”
“No one?”
“Hell … ah, shoot … that is the meanest critter on four legs. The boss been workin‘ with him all winter, just to get the saddle on him. Never figured that one would let anybody on his back.”
“When will he be back?” Concern clouded her eyes.
“When the horse and man are as one.” March turned toward the deep voice behind her.
The sun shining behind his head turned his blond hair to a mystical aura of white light. She was aware of his size and strength, and a gentle presence that gave her a feeling of protection. It was a strange sensation, one she had never experienced before. She knew that she was as safe with this man as Jamie was in his sling against her breasts, and yet he gave an outward impression of such fierceness that common sense told her to take caution.
“You are Breed.”
“They call me that.”
“Do you have another name? I would rather call you something that you are comfortable with.”
He hesitated briefly, as if fighting with himself before he answered. “I have been called many things by many men. One is as good as another.”
“No,” she argued gently. “A man should be called by his name, not by a word that is meant to lower him in the eyes of others.”
“A wise woman for one so young.” A smile broke his face, and March caught her breath at his masculine beauty. “Breed is an insult to them, but to me it is a reminder of all that I am. I am white by birth, Comanche by fortune. Truly a half-breed, since I am not accepted by the people of my birth, and denied the people of my life.”
The excitement done, the men slowly moved away from the corral and back to their chores. “This is not the place for a lady,” Breed stated quietly. “The little one grows restless. I will escort you back to the house.”
March looked again toward the desert, but saw only the things that belonged there. “Will he be all right?”
“A man will do what he must, to hide behind a woman’s skirts weakens him in his own eyes and the eyes of others.”
“So I’m not supposed to worry?”
“Worry is a woman’s job, but it should be done so that her man is not aware of it.”
“He isn’t my man.” March raised her chin defensively.
“Then why do you worry?” Breed grinned and reached for her elbow.
“Because it’s my job?” She looked at him and matched his grin. “He really isn’t my man, but if something happens to him, then who will raise his son?”
“He will return.” His deep voice, so confidently sure, denied any other possibility.
“Ah, but will he be in one piece or many?”
“That we will have to wait to discover.”
At the front steps of the house, Breed released her arm. “If you are in need of anything, Hank or Woods will be near.”
“You sound like it might be days before Jim returns,” she stated with alarm.
“The horse is one of the most powerful I’ve ever seen. It may take that long before he accepts what he can not change.” He nodded, turned, and walked away.
The day dragged by, March searched for ways to keep occupied. She had to force herself not to watch continuously for Jim’s return. Deciding that he would be hungry after his adventures, she lit the stove and began preparations for the evening meal — a meal he might not return to eat.
Once the roast was in the oven and beans bubbling gently on the stove top, she carried Jamie outside. She had never seen any of the men around the back side of the house, so she felt no concern about nursing him as she wandered around in the shadows afforded by the structure.
She decided that the perfect place for a garden was just outside of the kitchen door, protected from the burning rays of the afternoon sun. Plenty of morning light would reach the plants, but the house would provide shade when the sun was at its highest peak. It was only a short walk from the well, making the necessary job of watering much easier.
Visualizing neat rows of corn, beans, and peas, March was startled at the long, slow whistle of appreciation that interrupted her thoughts.
“I ain’t never seen nothing so pretty as that tit that young’en suckin‘ on.” Lust-filled eyes rested on March’s bare breast. “Why don’t you just pull him off of it, so I can show you just what it was made for?”
TEN
Without taking her eyes off of the intruder, March attempted to cover her breast from his leering gaze. Cursing her own foolishness for exposing herself to his threat, she looked briefly toward the house. She knew it was just a few short steps to the door and safety, but it looked as faraway as the moon. Even as she accepted the fact that he’d reach her before she reached it, fear made her wonder if she should give it a try.
The glow in his eyes warned her that he would relish the chase, and his swaggering arrogance proved that he had no doubt who would win. March’s only choice was to hold he
r ground … and scream loudly enough to waken the dead if it became necessary. Surely someone would hear her and come to investigate.
Since escape to the house was impossible, and reluctantly deciding that it would be a poor choice even if she could get to it since it would give him the advantage of privacy, March changed directions and backed slowly toward the corner of the structure.
“That’s far enough, missy.” His smile was so filled with his intent that she cringed. “I like it hot and hard and with just a little pain to make it more excitin‘, but I don’t need no witnesses. The boss might think you’re his special territory, and we don’t want no one tellin‘ him that I mounted his favorite mare while he was gone, do we?”
As she listened to his boasting, March felt anger slowly replace her fear. She had heard all of the threats, all of the crudities, before. She had lived before in fear that every man who saw her would insist on using her. Not again, never again! No one could live in constant fear, no one deserved to.
As anger grew to rage, she knew that she’d never back down from this arrogant man who, like a spoiled child, believed anything he wanted was his for the taking.
Squaring her shoulders, knowing that half of her breast was still exposed to his gaze, she refused to cower. “Turn around and walk away, before you live to regret it,” she advised firmly.
“Now, little lady, you don’t want me to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But then you’d be missin‘ out on the best lovin‘ in your life.”
“What you have in mind is as far from loving as chocolate cake is from loco weed.”
“Honey, I’m a’bettin‘ that tit of yours will taste better than any chocolate cake, and will drive me out of my mind surer than loco weed.”
He advanced several steps closer, forcing March to back further away. “I done told you not to move. You’d best be careful that you don’t make me mad. You wouldn’t like what I’d do to you, if I get mad. That pretty face of yours wouldn’t look so pretty, when it’s been beat up a little.” She smiled bitterly at the memory of beatings so severe that she’d been unable to walk, of bruises so deep they had taken weeks to fade. Misinterpreting her smile for one of derision, the cowboy clenched his hands into fists as anger reddened his face. No one — especially a woman- laughed at him!
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