Desert Angel (4 page)

Jim’s gaze flew to the mound of her stomach, and watched as the sheet fluttered with the child’s movements. He closed his eyes with the pain of knowing that the baby might never see the light of day. She was so close to delivering, and yet the child would die, trapped inside his mother’s body.

“Get the doctor, Breed.” Rubbing his tired face with his hands, Jim threaded his fingers through his hair and listened as the door closed quietly. Melanie’s best chance for survival depended on the skill of a man she had repeatedly called a savage. Perhaps his savage ability with a horse would be enough …

The hard physical labor of the roundup the previous day combined with the sleepless night, demanded a heavy toll as exhaustion weighed heavily on Jim’s shoulders, and by noon he sat beside her bed capable only of changing the rags and dribbling water into her mouth.

When she continued to be unresponsive, he began to accept that everything he did for Melanie wouldn’t be enough. She had opened her eyes several times and had stared at him, but there had been no sign of recognition in her unfocused gaze. The only hopeful sign had been the frequent movements of the baby, easily seen beneath the tightly stretched skin of her stomach. But in the last hour or so, even that had ceased.

On the lonely hillside the wind whistled mournfully through the spreading arms of a solitary pine. With his hat clutched in his hands and his head bowed as if in prayer, Jim stared at the newly turned earth at his feet. The hastily constructed white cross would later be replaced with a finely made marker of granite, and soon the elements would cover the harshness of the new earth. Only the stone would distinguish this as the final resting place of a woman far too young to have died.

After her ordeal in the desert, Melanie had never regained consciousness, slipping silently into the hands of death. Now it was too late for him to tell her of his regret that things hadn’t been different. He knew he would live the rest of his life with a burden of guilt that he had caused her death.

He was wise enough to know that he hadn’t chased her into the desert; he accepted that the sun and countless abrasions had taken their toll. But he would never be able to forget that she had given up, had refused to fight. It was easier for her to accept death, than to continue life in the hell he had forced on her.

And for that, for not seeing and understanding that his dream wasn’t hers, he would never forgive himself.

He had made a mistake, thinking that she would fit into his life. It had been a fatal mistake. His dream had been to build a ranch in the growing West. He’d never given a thought to her dreams. Even now, staring down at her final resting place, he couldn’t name one dream that had been hers. He’d told her of his plans, his dreams, but he realized now that he’d never once asked her what she wanted from life.

The untamed West was hard on even the toughest men. Why had he thought that Melanie could adapt? Before meeting him her greatest hardship had been keeping the hem of her gown clean on a rainy day. His selfishness and lack of foresight appalled him.

The decisions had all been his, without consultation with the woman whose life they would effect. He had taken one look at a sweet, gentle girl, and decided that she would make his life complete, without bothering to think whether he could make her happy or not. He had decided to move her to Arizona without considering that she would be a continent away from her family and friends in a land completely different from the gentle hills of Vermont.

“I’m sorry, Melanie,” he whispered. “I know that doesn’t make much difference, but I am truly sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting what I’ve done to you.”

“You did nothing to her.”

Startled by the voice at his shoulder, Jim’s head snapped up, and he turned burning eyes on the man who dared to overhear his confession. Breed’s crystal blue gaze met his without flinching.

“Some people are not meant to live a long span on earth. Their beings are too fragile for this world. From the time of birth, they walk with one foot in this land and the other still in the spirit-land before birth. Their souls wander earth without first disconnecting from the other side, and they are too willing to return to the place of peace.”

“A man of God, Breed?” Jim asked with a smirk in his voice.

Understanding the pain that Jim harbored, Breed took no offense. “The Comanche have many gods, many spirits that do good or bring harm. A man must learn to court the first and avoid the second. If he allows himself to live in regret for mistakes he has made, then his life will forever be plagued by sorrow, if he thinks constantly of those who have departed this world, then his spirit will be joined to them and he’ll miss the joys of life.”

“And if a man does something that causes another’s death?”

Breed shrugged and looked toward the horizon. “If a man spends his time looking at the past, he can see all of the mistakes he has made. The future doesn’t tell us which decisions are correct for ourselves and for others, only the past does that. But a man can’t live in the past, he can only learn from it.”

“I’ve learned that women don’t belong in the West. It’s too harsh, too ruthless for them.”

“It is women that make the homes, bear the children, give a man the gentleness he needs to find peace. If the women don’t come here, it will make the Indian happy, for without women the white men will return to their homes in the East.”

“That’s not going to happen. The white men are here to stay.”

“And so are their women.”

“I’ll never ask another woman to endure this life.” Jim turned and looked at the land spread around him — his land. “This is what I want for my life, but I’ll never ask another woman to make my dreams hers.”

“All women aren’t the same. Some crumble at the slightest difficulty, while others grow stronger. Some scream at the sight of a snake, while others shoot its head off and cook it for supper.”

“For a man who was raised by the Indians, you know an awful lot about white women,” Jim commented.

“Was I speaking of white women?” A slight grin tilted one side of Breed’s mouth. “I thought I was talking about all women, of which I know very little. Any man who claims to know a lot about women is a fool. They are creatures put on this earth to make a man’s life both heaven and hell.”

The sound of an infant’s angry cry drifted on the breeze. Jim’s gaze turned toward the mourners who were gathered at the house. They had moved far enough away to give him some time alone to mourn. Only Breed had dared to infringe upon that solitude.

“She was sent to you for a purpose. Be grateful for the blessing she gave before her death.” In the Comanche way, Breed was careful not to say Melanie’s name. “Right now that purpose sounds unhappy.”

“A life replaced with a life,” Jim said quietly.

“She walked with the spirits, but held onto this world long enough to give you the greatest gift a woman can give a man.”

Again the infant’s cry drifted to them. “Thank you, Melanie,” Jim said quietly, this time not concerned that another heard his words. “Thank you for the gift of my son.”

THREE

“You gotta do somethin‘,” Hank stated firmly. Jim climbed from his horse, tired, dirty, and hungry. The sound of crying filled the evening silence. Roundup was well underway, in spite of the fact that he was spending more time at home than on the range. He knew that he owed it to Breed that things were going so smoothly. If only the foreman was as handy with a newborn!

“Get a woman in here or somethin‘. I ain’t no mammy,” the old man grumbled.

“See if you’re still a wrangler,” Jim replied with little sympathy. “Take care of my horse, and I’ll see about the baby.”

“Hell yes, I’m still a wrangler,” Hank bristled. “I may be old, but I ain’t dead yet. There ain’t a horse around that I can’t handle.”

Jim climbed the steps to the house and found Woods walking around in big circles in the kitchen, the baby cradled awkwardly in his arms. If he hadn’t been so tired, Jim would have smiled when he realized that the old man was humming a song that Jim recognized as one the cowhands sang at night to the cattle. It worked well to soothe the cattle, but didn’t seem to be having any effect on his infant son.

” ‘Bout time you got home, boy. Where the hell you been?” Woods sounded so much like a disgruntled wife, that this time Jim had to smile.

“Been looking for strays,” Jim offered. “What have you been up to today?”

“This youn’en of yores will be makin‘ me deef, if’en I gotta listen to him much longer. You got to get someone to take care of him, boy. Me and Hank is too old for this none-such.” Jim threw his hat on the table and took the child into his arms. The pitifully crying baby blinked deep blue eyes up at his father, and Jim grimaced at the wetness dripping onto his hand. “When’s the last time you changed his towel?”

“I ain’t changing no dirty towel, that’s Hank’s job. I feed him his slop and beat him ‘til he spits, but Hank does the towels.”

Shaking his head, hiding a grin, Jim carried the baby up to his room. He discovered that the baby’s towel, gown, and blanket were wet, and it was necessary to change everything. The stack of clean towels was vanishing at an alarming rate, and he knew that neither Woods or Hank would volunteer for the job of washerwoman.

Picking up the now dry baby, Jim walked back down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. A row of dirty baby bottles lined the dry sink, like bottles set up for target practice.

Balancing the baby on his shoulder, Jim opened a tin can of Murdock’s Liquid Food, and poured it into one of the remaining clean bottles. Prying the rubber nipple onto the bottle was a two-handed job that he managed to do with one hand, an elbow, and the corner of the sink.

“We got problems coming, boy.” Jim sat in the rocker in the corner of the kitchen and held the baby in the crook of his arm. The infant grasped greedily at the nipple placed in his mouth, sucking hungrily. “I got you to worry about and roundup going on. Pretty soon there’s going to be branding, worming, culling. How am I supposed to do it all?”

Looking up with big, blue eyes, the baby blinked as if in response. “Breed says those nesters are still down in the south line shack, a whole family staking a claim to my land. I’m going to have to go tomorrow and convince them to move on.”

The baby squeaked in protest when Jim pulled the nipple from his mouth and raised him to his shoulder. Patting him gently as the doctor had instructed, Jim waited until the child had burped. Jim had found out the hard way, with a night spent walking the floor while the baby screamed in his ear, what would happen if he failed to accomplish this task.

“You’re not in danger of starving, youn’en,” Jim muttered, returning the crying baby to the crook of his arm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that this is as close to magic as it comes. All I got to do to stop your noise is shove this nipple in your mouth.”

The baby sucked noisily, smacking his lips as he gulped. “So, what am I going to do? Doc’s had the announcement posted in town for a housekeeper since the day you were born, but nobody’s interested in coming way out here. You’re about out of clean drawers, roundup is going on, the nesters are nesting, and Hank and Woods are threatening to find another place to sit around all day. We got us a real problem, and all you can do is gulp your dinner.”

The blue eyes batted with sleep. “That’s right, boy, sleep on it. Maybe a solution will come about midnight, when you decide it’s time to eat again. You’ve been here for ten days, and I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since then. How one little bitty boy can cause such a ruckus is beyond me.”

Jim set the bottle on the table and put his son against his shoulder. He lightly patted the tiny back as he made his way up the stairs. Satisfied that the child had expelled the built-up gas, Jim laid him on his stomach as the doctor had instructed. He watched indulgently as the baby squirmed until his knees were beneath him, his padded bottom in the air. Placing a light blanket over him, Jim left the room.

Exhaustion had become a part of his life since the night of Melanie’s disappearance. It had him dragging his feet by bedtime each night, and still dragging them when he got up in the morning. He knew that things couldn’t continue like this, but he wasn’t sure what to do to solve the problem.

Everyone for miles around had attended Melanie’s funeral. He was sure that most of them came out of respect for him rather than fondness for her, but he appreciated their concern. Some, he knew, had come out of curiosity, wanting to get a good look at the new house he had built for his Eastern bride. He had made it clear to everyone that he was in need of a housekeeper, but no one had applied for the job.

Last Sunday a childless couple who lived in town had made the long drive out to the ranch. They wanted to adopt the baby, promising to love him like one of their own. Jim had turned down their offer, but with every day that passed he began to seriously reconsider it. Unless something changed soon, he wouldn’t be able to take care of the ranch and his infant son.

Forcing his feet down the steps, Jim walked back into the kitchen. There was a couple of hours of work facing him before he could consider going to bed. Baby bottles and nipples needed to be washed, and then cooked in boiling water to sterilize them. The doctor had been very specific in his instructions on the care of the newborn. He had given Jim enough examples of the horrible fate that awaited the child if the directions weren’t followed, that Jim was careful to do every thing exactly as instructed.