Desert Angel (10 page)

Yes, sir,” she replied meekly.

“Good, now that that’s settled, let’s go to my office and get better acquainted.” He turned and headed down the hall, assuming that she would follow.

March grabbed the lamp and slowly trailed behind him. Hesitant to intrude even at his invitation, she stopped at the doorway to his book- lined office. A lamp burned brightly on the corner of his desk, and she watched as he struck a match and lit the stack of kindling waiting in the fireplace.

When it was burning merrily, he stood and stretched, trying to work a few of the kinks out of his tired back. His spurs jingled as he unbuckled them, throwing them carelessly onto the top of his desk. With a sigh, he lowered himself into the massive chair behind the desk.

“Come on in, girl. Don’t just stand there like you’re afraid that something in the room will bite.”

Setting the lamp down on a table, March sat on the edge of a wing-backed, leather chair, her hands folded primly in her lap.

“Had any problems with the boy?” Jim asked. “None, he’s such a good baby, complaining only when he’s hungry or needs his towel changed.”

“Good. I guess you’ve had some experience with babies, if that crowd of kids I saw were any indication.” .

“Quite a bit.” March’s voice trailed off as she waited for his next question.

Jim was reluctant to ask about her health, feeling that a woman’s time was her personal business, but he needed to know that she was capable physically of taking care of the baby.

“You’re … ah, recovered?”

Blushing at the memory of her bloody dress, March nodded. “I’m much improved. I still get tired easily, but it’s only been a week. I should be nearly normal by this time next week.”

A week! Good lord, he thought, how long does her time last each month? The only woman he’d ever been around on a regular basis had been Melanie, but she always recovered in less than a week. He had never thought that it might be different for each woman, and that for some the process was much longer.

“Well, just take it easy, no need to push.” Jim noticed her reddened cheeks and felt his own face flush with warmth.

“I rode past the line shack this afternoon,” he said quietly, anxious to change the subject, but wondering how she’d accept the news that her family was gone.

“They’ve packed up and left,” March supplied before he could continue.

Jim nodded confirmation. Sighing, she pleated the fabric of her dress. “Papa had heard about gold being discovered in Brodie. He’d been talking about heading there for months.”

“He won’t find anything but trouble. Brodie was played out a couple of years ago. The big strike was in ‘78, and ‘bout the only thing there now is a couple of hurdy-gurdy halls and some old-timers who are too tired to move on.”

“It doesn’t matter, gold mining is hard work, and Papa isn’t going to stick with anything that involves work. He’ll hang around awhile and then move on.” March looked toward the lamp and watched the flickering flame. “I just wished he would realize how hard it is on Mama and the little ones, always having to pack up and move when he gets a spur under his blanket.”

“I know you’ll miss them.”

“Not Pa.” Realizing that she shouldn’t degrade her father, March looked at her employer. “Pa was … well, he was ornery on his good days and just plain mean the rest of the time. And I can’t say that I’ll miss Jan and Feb, they’re too much like him, even though they were never mean to me. I never saw them do anything illegal, but I have a feeling when they’re away from home they don’t remember some of the lessons Ma tried to teach them. But I’ll miss Ma and the little ones.”

“I appreciate your honesty, and I hope it will continue,” Jim said quietly, recognizing her discomfort.

“Mama always said it was better to tell the truth. When you lie, you have to remember who you told what, and it can get you in real trouble.”

“Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She is.” Her voice lowered and filled with pain. “No matter what Pa did to her, she never forgot that she was raised a lady. No matter where we lived, she expected certain standards of behavior. We lived in a cave one winter up in Colorado, and every time we’d come in from outside she’d make us wipe our feet, so that we didn’t track in snow.”

Even though March held the memory as a fond one, Jim shivered at the thought of living through a Colorado winter in a cave. March was well spoken, far above a lot of people who had never suffered as she had done. He knew that she owed that to her mother.

“Do you think you’ll be happy working here for me, or would you rather search for a job in town?”

“Oh, no, I like it here. This house is like a castle, and Jamie is an angel.”

Remembering the nights he had walked the floor carrying the crying child, Jim decided that her definition of an angel vastly differed from his.

“Your duties will be those pertaining to the house. I expect you to cook my meals when I’m here. When I’m on the range, I’ll eat at the chuck wagon. There will be several nights when I won’t get back, but Hank and Woods are always available, if you have a problem while I’m gone. They also take care of preparing meals for the wranglers. You’re to keep the house clean, do the washing and ironing, and any other domestic chore that arises. But mostly you are to see to the care of the baby.

“In exchange you’ll be provided with room and board and ten dollars a month, paid at the end of the month.”

“Ten dollars?” March’s eyes widened incredulously. She had never had more than a couple of pennies in her life, and those she had carefully hidden from her father.

“It’s yours to spend or save; it doesn’t make a difference to me. I can’t offer you a day off as I do the wranglers, since there’s no one to care for the boy, but I’ll take you to town once a month and let you spend your money if you want.”

March had only been to town a few times lately, but she remembered the reactions she had received. “That’s not necessary. I’ll be content to just stay here.”

“No, I insist, it’s only fair.” Jim leaned back, propped his feet up on the edge of the desk, and crossed his hands over his stomach. “I spend most evenings here in my office reading or doing paper work. You’re welcome to join me. After a day spent with the boy, you’ll probably need to see and talk to another adult. Bring your sewing or make free with my books. They’re here to be read.”

If only she could, March thought as she looked with longing at the many volumes. “Thank you,” she murmured, as if he had given her a gift.

“Is that dress and the other one your only clothes?” he asked bluntly.

March nodded. She didn’t need to be told that they were both too small and badly frayed. She had one other dress in similar condition, but had left it with her sister May, who would need it worse than she did.

“There’s all kinds of fabric in one of the spare rooms upstairs. Enough to make you a different dress for every day of the month. Feel free to use whatever you need for dresses, nightshifts, and other necessaries.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Well … well, it’s just not right, that’s why.”

“The fabric was purchased by my late wife, and I assume she intended it for dresses and such. There’s no reason for it to just sit there and rot when you can use it. You do sew?”

“Of course, but . . . “

“March,” he sighed and slowly shook his head. “Right now the men are out rounding up the cattle, but within a few days they’ll be back here. I realize that you’re young, but as attractive as your legs are, I don’t believe that they should be placed on public display. Neither of your dresses is fit for rags, and I’ve got a room full of cloth. I can’t think of one reason why you shouldn’t use it, can you?”

“No, but-“

“Now about the boy,” he continued, ignoring her objections.

“His name is Jamie,” she said firmly.

“Ah, yes, his name.” Jim leaned his head back and stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. “I’m not sure that’s what he should be called. His mother favored Bartholomew.” He stopped, grinning at her wrinkled nose. “I see that you feel the,same way about that name as I do.”

“That is not a name for a little boy.”

“True, but he won’t stay little for long.”

“That’s not a name for a man, either.”

“Agreed.” He chuckled at her adamant expression. “However, I’m not sure I want my son to be called Jamie. It sounds rather … prissy to me.”

“Jamie now, Jimmy when he starts school, Jim when he’s grown.”

“Got it all figured out, do you?”

“He needed a name,” she replied with a shrug. “You didn’t seem overly concerned about it. Seems to me that a man’s first son should be named after him.”

“He’ll be my only son,” Jim stated firmly. “I have no intention of remarrying. This land is too hard on a woman.”

March thought about his wife and knew that the bitterness in his voice was from losing her. How he must have loved her! And how hard it must have been on him to watch her die, while she struggled to give life to his child. Many women died in childbirth, and his wife’s fate could have been the same even if she had lived in a big city, but obviously he chose to place the blame on the West.

“All the more reason to name him after you,” she said quietly.

“I believe that I like the name of John better. That’s what we’ll call him.”

“John is a fine name, but Jamie is better.”

“March, he is my son.” Jim slid his feet off of the desk and leaned his arms on its smooth surface.

“I can’t argue that.” She stood, pushing back the hair from her face. It had been a long day, filled with new impressions and excitement. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her slender shoulders, and she longed to stretch out on the soft bed and sleep, but it would be a while yet. Jamie would soon be waking and demanding to be fed.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re agreeing with me now, but have no intention of calling him John?”

“I can’t imagine why you’d think that,” she replied, her face so filled with innocence that Jim had to bite back a chuckle. “If you want him called John, then that’s what he’ll be called.”

“I’ll get breakfast over at the bunkhouse for the next couple of mornings so that you can sleep in, but next week I’ll expect you to have it ready and on the table by five.”

“That’ll be fine.” March stifled a yawn as she moved toward the door. “Will you be here for supper tomorrow night?”

“No, don’t plan on seeing much of me until after roundup. Spend the time sewing and getting settled in.”

She nodded and turned to leave. “Good night, John … ah, Jim.”

“Good night, brat,” he replied with a chuckle. “Sweet dreams.”

SEVEN

As the mid-morning sun blazed down on her head, March regretted not taking the time to search out a hat. Wiping the beads of perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, she checked to assure herself that Jamie was protected from the burning rays by the sling that held him against her chest. It had been her intention to climb a small hill a short distance from the house, but now she wondered if she wouldn’t be smarter to save her exploration for another day.

Puffing slightly, March finally managed the last few steps up the incline. Looking back at the house, she realized that it was only a short distance away, but it felt like she had walked for miles. She couldn’t believe how easily she tired, and wondered how much longer it would be before she regained her strength.

Gazing down at the infant snuggled against her, March was saddened to realize that she hadn’t thought of her own baby in several days. She had never held her daughter, in fact had only caught the briefest of glimpses of her before she was whisked from sight. The memories of her own child were actually little more than the remembrance of the pain of childbirth and a lingering sadness.

Each time Jamie drew nourishment from her breasts, the bond between woman and child grew stronger. Her memories of him multiplied daily, while her daughter dimmed into a shadowy keepsake of a time better forgotten.

Gently stroking Jamie’s cheek, March realized that the hardships of her past were slowly slipping away. After living at the Falling Creek Ranch for over a week, she was beginning to feel at home. She had discovered that the wooden crates stacked in the various rooms held furniture. Jim had promised her that as soon as roundup was done, he’d find the time to help her unpack them. Dying to know what wonderful things were hidden in the boxes, she had been tempted to do it by herself. Only the fear that she’d accidentally break something kept her curiosity under control. But, oh, it was so tempting!

That temptation had driven her out of the house and given her the impetus to explore her surroundings. Turning away from the homestead, March let her gaze roam over the cactus- covered hills. In the far distance, purple-tinted mountains rose majestically, while closer mountains beckoned with the promise of coolness on their tree-covered slopes.

March’s startled gaze came to rest on an adobe house set in the base of the hill. She knew immediately that it was uninhabited, its general appearance being one of neglect and disuse.

This house, with its flat roof and walls nearly the same color as the sand, seemed to be a part of the land, unlike the castle Jim now called home. Following the well-worn path down the hill, March eagerly explored the old building.