Desert Angel

by Pamela K Forrest

  Smiling at her open-mouthed expression of utter disbelief and confusion, Jim turned away. ” ‘Night, angel. Sleep tight.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Catch, Miss March, catch!”

  Forced into the game of ragtag catch, March smiled at the excited voice, adroitly caught the ball tossed to her by the child, then threw it to someone else before she could be tagged. She chuckled at the squeals of a little girl who caught the ball, then was thrown into the air by her father to protect her from being tagged.

  Children were everywhere. Their smiling faces and happy laughter floated into the summer air in a litany of praise to the perfect afternoon. Beneath a cloudless sky they played games like bobtail run and catch the spider, inventing their own rules as it pleased them, delighted when an adult forgot his dignity enough to join in.

  The sun was a bright yellow ball in the sky, but no one seemed affected by the heat. The day was one of celebration, Independence Day, and everyone was intent on having a good time.

  March leaned against a tree, grateful for the shade it provided. She scanned the clearing, searching first for Jamie and then for Jim. Jamie was being passed from person to person, and was completely at ease with the situation. Jim stood with several other ranchers, and from the frequent gesturing and occasional raised voice, she imagined they were embroiled in a good- natured argument about stock prices, or some other matter important to ranching.

  Allowing herself a brief moment of admiration, she admitted to herself that Jim was a fine- looking man … very fine. His thick brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, hung in gentle waves nearly to his white shirt collar. His tan hat sported a band of woven horsehair with a silver ornament that glistened in the sun. It was pulled low over blue eyes she knew from experience could burn with rage or desire.

  March forced her gaze away from him before anyone could notice that she was staring, but not before she saw the way his tan shirt lovingly hugged his wide shoulders. He had removed his coat earlier in the day, and had rolled his sleeves up over his forearms. Black leather suspenders crisscrossed over his broad back, and seemed to guide her eyes down to his narrow hips and long legs. She blushed as she remembered the muscled virility she had felt in his thighs when she sat on his lap. He was whipcord lean and all muscle, with a strength that could be incredibly gentle.

  Trying to ignore the shiver of awareness as he threw his head back and laughed with genuine amusement at something that had been said, March looked around the clearing and decided that nearly everyone from town, as well as the neighboring ranches and mines, was in attendance.

  Earlier, the tables made from slabs of wood and sawhorses had been piled mountain-high with foods of all kinds. It had rapidly disappeared to the accompaniment of the expected groans of gluttony, and now everyone waited in eager anticipation for the ice cream that Mazie and Walt Wright had promised. March had learned that it was their special contribution to the gathering each year, enthusiastically greeted by children both young and old.

  There were plenty of willing helpers to turn the handles of the churns, and an equal number to offer advice and encouragement. March eagerly awaited the treat. She had never had ice cream before, but had been told numerous times that it was something she would like. Jim had added that Walt was making one batch with peaches, and had teased her that she’d probably like it so much she wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.

  Since that night earlier in the week when Jim had told her of his startling decision that they should get married, March had been leery of him. He treated her as he always had, but there was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  She had attempted to bring the issue up on several occasions but he always managed to change the subject by telling her that they would discuss it again when Hank was better and she wasn’t so tired.

  Yesterday morning she had arrived at the bunkhouse to find that Hank’s fever had broken. Today he was so much improved that she had reluctantly agreed to leave him in the care of Woods and join the party on the riverbank just outside of town.

  She had dressed carefully in a newly made blue serge skirt and a stiffly starched white shirtwaist with a high neck and numerous tiny tucks across the bodice. She had added a wide red sash around her narrow waist, tied in a big floppy bow at the back, and a white straw hat.

  Her appearance was perfectly proper, exactly what a lady should wear to a summer picnic, but March was well aware that clothes did not make a lady, and she had worried about her reception. By now everyone would have heard of Fred Hamner’s attempt to kidnap her and the story of his death at the hands of the renegade.

  She had been surprised when she had been greeted with open friendliness and genuine pleasure, but suspected that Mazie was responsible. She had such a formidable personality that few people could withstand her dictates. Jim had stayed by her side, introducing her to everyone, until he felt her relax.

  Watching the fun and excitement, March was glad she had come. She had never attended a party before, and was amazed that everyone was so willing to do their part to make it a success.

  “Whew,” Mazie fanned herself with a wilted handkerchief as she approached. “Whoever it was that decided Independence Day should be in July, never spent a summer in Arizona.”

  “Who did decide it?” March asked with curiosity.

  “Honey, the history books try to tell us that it was the day we became a country independent of English rule, but I really think that the men back East decided that a summer holiday was necessary, since all the other holidays come in the winter.”

  Mazie smiled at her own nonsense, then leaned closer to March. “Wanna do something a little bit naughty while we wait for the ice cream to finish?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “What if we get caught?”

  “Why, honey, that’s half the fun! Who wants to do something naughty if no one finds out about it?” The wicked gleam in the woman’s faded brown eyes proved that she wasn’t as old as she ought to be, nor as mature as she should be.

  Unable to resist Mazie’s sparkling mood, March nodded and then followed the older woman as she led toward the river.

  “I’ve looked forward to this all day.” Obviously prepared for the event, Mazie plopped down on a log, pulled a buttonhook out of her pocket, and started unhooking her shoes. “Only time of year I can do this and get away with it.”

  “What are you doing?” March watched with amazement as first one shoe and then the other was kicked free.

  Mazie looked over her shoulder to be sure they were still alone, then reached beneath her skirt and rolled down her stocking. “Why, sweetie pie, as soon as you get your shoes and stockings off, we’re going wading.”

  “Wading?”

  “Come on, it’s fun. And it sure will feel good.”

  “But, Mazie, I can’t swim.”

  “Ah pooh, that don’t matter none. The water here is only a few inches deep, not even up to your knees.” Mazie reached over and began unhooking March’s shoe. “No one will see us.” March didn’t want to argue anymore. It sounded like fun, and there was no denying that the cool water would be refreshing. But more than that, for the first time in her life, someone was inviting her to share in the fun of friendship.

  Shoes and stockings were soon neatly set aside. March followed Mazie into the water, holding her skirt up to her knees and safely out of harm’s way.

  “Careful you don’t step on a slippery rock or you might find yourself a mite bit damp.”

  “This is fun!” March smiled happily, her eyes glowing with pleasure. “I’ve had more baths in a river than in a tub, but they were a necessity.” Mazie looked at the younger woman, a smile of pleased fondness crossing her face. “Ain’t you never done this before?”

  “Not in a long, long time.” March wiggled her toes and watched the sand float up from the bottom. “When I was a kid, there just wasn’t time. I always needed to help Mama with the little ones. And when I got older, somehow it just didn’t seem to b
e something I wanted to do.”

  Enthralled with the tiny fish that darted between her legs, March missed the look of pity that crossed Mazie’s face. “Walp, I’d say it’s about time somebody taught you how to play.”

  “I know how to play,” March replied in surprise. Mazie raised her leg and kicked at the water, laughing at March’s amazed expression when it sprinkled in her face. Responding in kind, March splashed water back at the other woman. Soon they were both laughing, and very wet.

  Looking down at the once carefully starched and ironed shirtwaist that now hung limply against her breasts, March shook her head. “I think everyone is going to know what we’ve been doing.”

  “They’ll just be envious that they didn’t think of it first.” Mazie bent and splashed water on her face, pushing hair from her eyes that had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. “Besides, we’ll be dry in just a few minutes, and then they can only try to guess what we’ve been up to.”

  “Having fun, children?” Jim called from the riverbank. He had been searching for March for several minutes, and had been drawn to the river by the feminine laughter. He’d watched the graceful and enticing display of legs as the two women had played, and had felt his own body heating up beyond the natural warmth of the day.

  Mazie turned with a grin, while March tried to decide whether to lower her skirt and protect her modesty, or leave it raised and protect the skirt.

  Leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched with appreciation as March battled with her decision. He wasn’t at all adverse to her leaving the skirt exactly where it was. It gave him a very nice view of her shapely legs.

  “You’re wicked, Jim Travis,” Mazie said, trying, but failing to sound stern.

  “Yep,” he replied without moving his gaze from March.

  “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, staring like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “How long you gonna stay there?”

  “As long as the view stays this fine.” Pushing his hat to the back of his head, he grinned. “And it sure is a mighty fine view … mighty fine.”

  “Purely wicked!”Mazie’s chuckle was equally as wicked as she walked out of the water, allowing her skirt to fall when she reached shore. She wasn’t concerned with Jim seeing her legs, he had yet to take his eyes off of March.

  March turned crimson at his continued stare. Naturally it had to be him, who had discovered her cavorting in the water like a child. Nearly a hundred other people of various ages were just out of sight, but, of course, it was Jim who found her with her skirt hiked up to her knees and her blouse soaking wet. So much for proper, she decided with a silent sigh.

  “You’re gonna miss the ice cream, if you stay in there much longer,” Jim told her. “And the last time I saw him, Jamie was starting to get riled up. He’s probably wanting his mama.”

  “Go away.”

  “I will.”

  “When?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Just as soon as you come out. I have to stay and make sure you’re safe.”

  Neither one of them noticed when Mazie grabbed her shoes and stockings and walked away. Neither one of them heard the laughter up on the hill, or the sweet song of the bird in the tree above Jim’s head. Neither of them saw the beauty in the sparkling creek, or felt the sun on their heads.

  Both were too aware of the other.

  “Come here, angel,” Jim called softly.

  With a will of their own, her feet carried her to shore and into his open arms.

  Her hair had slipped loose from the knot she had so carefully fashioned it into, and hung in golden strands around her face and down her back. Her blouse was wet, the fabric clinging faithfully to the cotton chemise beneath it. A large water drop clung to an eyelash, and Jim couldn’t resist reaching up to catch it on the tip of his finger.

  “Lord, but you’re beautiful, angel.” His voice was a husky whisper, filled with a longing that both scared and thrilled her.

  “I’m a mess,” she replied, finally remembering to release her skirt.

  “A beautiful mess.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward, his lips gently settling on hers. His tongue flicked out, never staying for long in any one spot as he learned her taste.

  March discovered that his lips were surprisingly soft and shockingly warm. He teased her as he repeatedly rubbed his mouth lightly over hers. She wasn’t aware when she leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  But Jim was.

  He felt the heat from her breasts, so soft against the hardness of his chest, and savored the touch of her hands on his skin. With one arm around her narrow waist and the other buried beneath her hair at her neck, he pulled her tightly against him.

  The world and everyone in it disappeared as he slowly deepened the kiss, until a fire sparked and threatened to become a flame. Careful not to frighten her with a need that was rapidly growing out of control, Jim slowly raised his lips from her, pressing his forehead against hers.

  Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and tried to regain some kind of control. All he wanted to do was lay her on the ground and merge his body with hers. This was neither the time nor the place, and she had already had that kind of experience. He wanted her first time with him to be as perfect as possible, but lord, it sure wasn’t easy pulling away.

  Whoever said life was easy, Jim thought to himself with a grim smile, as he raised his head and reluctantly stepped back.

  “When we make love, we’re going to light the world on fire.” His voice was husky with suppressed desire.

  “Make love?” She blinked with surprise, her face so filled with innocence that he smiled.

  “Yes, sweetheart, we’re going to make love, and I promise you that you’ll never regret a minute of it. Behind a closed door, a lady can do anything she wants with her husband.”

  “Jim, I think — “

  “Don’t think, March.” He tapped her nose and turned away. “Get yourself back together and I’ll go fetch Jamie. This will be a nice private place to feed him, and then we can go eat some of Walt’s ice cream.”

  Flustered, March nodded in agreement and watched as he walked out of sight. Sitting on the log, she grabbed a stocking, but left it dangling between her hands instead of putting it on.

  So that was a kiss, she thought, a real kiss. It was wonderful. It was exciting. It was thrilling.

  It was as scary as hell!

  She had been so involved in feeling, that Jim could have done anything to her and she wouldn’t have resisted. All of her resolve to be a moral, proper lady had shattered at the sound of his voice. With the simple touch of his lips against hers, she had flung respectable out the window and grabbed for more of his forbidden pleasure.

  When he returned, March had one stocking in place, but was just staring at her shoe, as if she didn’t know what to do with it. He smiled to himself, pleased with her befuddlement. If he could keep her that way long enough, he’d have her married before she realized what was going on.

  A decision had been made, one he hadn’t even been aware of considering, as he placed the baby in her arms.

  “Feed this monster, while I put your shoes and stocking on.”

  “He isn’t a monster!” she defended the fussy baby. “He’s hungry. And you can’t put my stocking on.”

  “Why not?” He held up the white cotton garment.

  “Because you don’t know how.”

  “Sure I do … feed that kid before someone comes to see if we’re hurting him!” Jamie’s full- volume scream left no doubt that he was tired of waiting for supper.

  Keeping a leery eye on Jim, March unbuttoned her blouse and lowered her chemise. He dutifully kept his eyes away as he rolled the stocking and slipped it on her foot.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, as he rolled the stocking up her leg. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. So many places to look and touch. So much soft white skin within reach, and he had to act like this was the most n
atural thing in the world. It was a tortuous agony no man deserved.

  March blushed as his fingers came to rest briefly just above her knee, but he was so mat- ter-of-fact about it that she relaxed as he pulled her skirt down in place.

  Slipping her feet into her shoes, Jim found that it was a difficult job hooking the leather thongs over the buttons without a buttonhook, but it kept him occupied while she nursed Jamie. He was very much aware of the sounds his son made, of the flesh barely hidden from view, but he forced himself to concentrate on his chore.

  When he finished his chore, March was still feeding Jamie. He had seen her embarrassed flush when she had freed her breast, and knew that she wasn’t comfortable with him being there. But he wasn’t about to walk away and leave her there alone. Earlier, someone had broken out a few bottles of whiskey, and the miners and ranch hands were starting to get a little rowdy. Normally, they were extremely respectful to a woman, but with a few rounds of rotgut under their belts, they’d been known to act first and apologize later.

  He couldn’t endanger March by leaving her alone, neither could he continue to sit at her feet like a worshiping slave. A few more minutes of seeing her exposed flesh, and he’d be more of a danger to her than any of the miners.

  Jim rose and walked over toward the river. He was oblivious to its serenity, wondering with something akin to disgust, when he had started to think like a sixteen-year-old after his first time with a whore.

  His physical relationship with Melanie had been far from satisfying, in fact she usually made him feel like he had defiled her body with his infrequent attentions. He couldn’t remember ever wanting her the way he wanted March. And lord, but he wanted her!

  Marriage was the only answer. He wouldn’t treat her as she had been treated by Fred, using her body for immediate satisfaction. But if she was his wife, then he could provide protection for her, while enjoying the privileges of marriage.