Desert Angel (19 page)

The prospectors were determined and rugged, and the names of the mines they worked were as colorful as the ore they hoped to find: the Apache Girl Mine, the Comanche Copper Mine, the Southern Belle, the Hijinks, the Oracle, which eventually gave its name to the town.

After months and years of back-breaking labor, some of the mines had proven nearly barren, while others were rich beyond the wildest dreams of the men working them. One of the biggest discoveries was made either by accident or incredible luck, and became known as the Southern Belle.

Capt. John T. Young had staked his claim and worked diligently to find the elusive ore. His wife daily brought him his lunch and, one day, sat down on a ledge to rest while he ate. A whitish vein meandered through the ledge; using a hairpin, Mrs. Young dug at it until she had loosened several specimens. The discovery was to yield one of the richest strikes in the area.

Depending on the weather, the main street of Oracle was either a dirt path, or a quagmire of mud waiting to catch the unwary. Since it had been several days without any measurable rainfall, it was now at its dusty best.

Several horses were tied at hitching rails, and a couple of buggies lined the street. It was deceptively quiet, the calm before the storm.

Once a month, on payday Saturday, the town would fill to overflowing as miners came down from the mountains to rejoin civilization for a day and the cowhands came in from the ranches to spend their newly earned riches. A few would make the long journey to Tucson, but most found that it wasn’t necessary to ride all those miles, when Oracle offered them ample opportunity to be parted from their wages.

Jim pulled up to the mercantile and climbed from the buckboard. Taking the baby from March’s arms, he held his free hand up to her. Although her eyes pleaded for a last-minute reprieve, he ignored her as he helped her from the wagon.

“You have a good look around, while I take the horses to the livery. I’ll be back shortly.”

“I’d rather stay with you,” March stated quietly, forcing her voice not to quiver.

Jim climbed back on the buckboard and released the brake. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Go see what you can find to spend your money on.”

Watching the buggy disappear down the road, March felt deserted and vulnerable. She couldn’t believe that after forcing her to come to town, he had then deserted her and left her to face her worst fears alone.

With chin up and the baby clutched against her chest, March opened the door. Even the knowledge that she had money in her pocket that she could spend in any manner she chose, did nothing to lighten her spirit.

The store was surprisingly well stocked. Knowing that his customers could make the journey to Tucson to purchase their needs, the store owner kept a good supply of nearly everything, thereby keeping the money in his hands rather than in the hands of the merchants of Tucson.

On the left a long counter stood in front of shelves filled with canned goods, flour, blocks of salt, and sugar. In the back was another counter for the sole purpose of providing room to view the many bolts of fabric, ribbons, and laces. In between were displays of shovels, buckets, seeds, saddles, and boots. The far side of the store was set aside for ready-made clothing, mostly for men, but with a few things for the ladies.

A few customers, mostly women, wandered through the aisles or gathered in small groups to talk. Hoping to hide behind the displays until Jim arrived, March was drawn to a dress displayed on a form. Her gaze riveted to the lovely creation, she missed the interest her arrival had produced. Curious eyes watched her as she marveled at the garment.

The dress was made of shot silk striped in colors of rose pink, green, and brown, and trimmed with black velvet bands on the hips and shoulders. White lace trimmed the bodice, the wrists, and the hem. The front of the skirt was elaborately draped to emphasize a tiny, corsetted waist, while the back jutted out with an enormous bustle.

“Isn’t it lovely?” a feminine voice asked from behind her.

Blushing, March turned and met the gaze of Mazie Wright, whose husband owned the store. Tall and bone-thin with a tiny bosom, steel-gray hair, and posture so straight she looked like she’d break if she bent over, Mazie didn’t appear to have a kind thought in her head. Hands shaking uncontrollably, March tightened her grasp on Jamie until she hesitantly met the warm brown eyes staring kindly into her own.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied quietly to the older woman.

“My husband said it was utterly ridiculous to order something like it for a store like ours, but I said that just because we lived out in the middle of nowhere, didn’t mean that we had to forego fashion. One does get tired of simple, homemade clothing, and occasionally longs for French fashions.”

Mazie’s gaze traveled down March’s simple blouse and skirt, then returned to the straw hat she wore for protection from the sun. “We have some wonderful bonnets in stock, if you’re interested.”

“I’d like to just look around a little first,” she said hesitantly. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, I don’t mind, dear. You wander around to your heart’s content. But remind me to show you our newest line of ladies’ stockings.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You won’t believe it … we’ve some in black and some with lace inserts and even stripes. They’re sinfully naughty and delightfully wicked!”

“Thank you . .

Mazie patted March’s hand. “You have a good look around, feel free to ask if you need help or want to try something on.” She gazed at Jamie sleeping peacefully. “I’d be delighted to hold the baby for you while you shop.”

“No!” March blushed at her reply, fearing she had insulted the lady. “I mean, thank you, but no. He’s no bother.”

“New mothers!”Mazie smiled warmly. “They just don’t want to let the little darlings out of their sight … not that I blame them. If Mr. Wright and I had been blessed, I doubt that I’d ever have let someone else hold mine either. But if you change your mind, I’ll be around.” March felt a little guilty as she watched the woman walk away. She’d seen the longing and quickly veiled disappointment when she’d refused Mazie’s offer to watch the baby.

But she wasn’t entirely sure what the woman thought of her. She’d been friendly enough, but Mrs. Wright was nearly a stranger. March knew that Mazie was aware of her past. They had never been introduced to one another, but she’d passed the woman on the street several times and had served her when working at the cafe.

But Jamie unknowingly gave March a feeling of security, and she wasn’t ready to relinquish him to someone else.

It was a pleasant surprise to March when the people in the store ignored her. Several women nodded, but none made an effort to engage her in conversation. Mazie worked at the back measuring fabric for a customer, while her husband was filling an order for a miner.

Relaxing slightly, March spent long minutes pleasantly occupied by the multitude of buttons on display. There were so many different kinds and colors, some made of wood and others of bone. She delighted in the knowledge that, if she wanted to, she could even buy some that struck her fancy.

Suddenly the small ten-dollar gold piece weighed heavily in her pocket. She could buy nearly anything she wanted in the store; even something frivolous, something totally unnecessary, bought simply because she wanted it. She could pretend to be a lady of great wealth, in town for a day of leisurely shopping with nothing more important to do than to decide how to spend some money.

Torn between sparkling pink buttons made of bone and wooden ones painted to resemble a lily, March was startled by the voice she had dreaded to hear. Pretense crashed around her heels as reality took voice.

“Well … well … well, what have we here? I thought you’d skedaddled out of town with the rest of that white trash you lived with.”

March turned and came face-to-face with the man who had, in more ways than one, so brutally taken her innocence. A shiver of fear raced down her spine, closely followed by one of outrage, hate, and disgust. This was the man who had betrayed her trust, who had destroyed her self- respect.

“Leave me alone,” she said quietly “I have nothing to say to you.” She returned to the display of buttons until a hand fell on her shoulder, and she was rudely jerked around.

“Don’t turn your back on me, bitch. I wasn’t through talking to you,” he snarled. “You’ve become pretty uppity for someone who ain’t nothin‘ but a white-trash whore.”

“I asked you to leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you, nor do I wish to hear anything you might say.”

“Now ain’t that too bad.” The hand on her shoulder kept her from turning away, and she knew she had no choice but to hear him out.

“You always did talk pretty, and you sure did clean up good.” His lecherous gaze moved lin- geringly down her body. “You thought that I’d take one look at you and want to marry you?” His laugh filled the store, heightening her embarrassment. “Well, honey, you’re thinkin‘ wrong. I done popped your cherry, and you ain’t got nothin‘ that I want. My wife ain’t going to be no white-trash whore. But I might consider tossing up your skirts, if you asked me real nice-like.”

Knowing that everyone in the store could hear this loud-mouthed braggart, March’s humiliation overpowered her common sense. “Your crude, boorish behavior attests to your limited intelligence, and leaves one wondering who helps you to put on your clothes each morning. I wouldn’t stoop to asking you to spit on me if I was on fire.”

March saw the callous anger darken his eyes,

and could have bitten off her foolish tongue. She had been determined not to cause further talk, but now he’d not settle for a quiet exit. Dread filled her that once again her involvement with him would become a topic for discussion.

“Just ‘cause you got somebody else filling you, don’t make you nothing more than a white-trash whore. Well, just remember, bitch, I already been where he’s going, and I got there first.” His gaze lowered to the infant in her arms, and an evil grin crossed his handsome face. “I heard tell that you was goin‘ to have my bastard. Is that it? Let me get a look.”

March turned as he reached for the baby, prepared to use any defense necessary to protect the child. She could tolerate him for herself, but he wasn’t getting anywhere near Jamie.

“This is not your child,” she stated in a level voice laced with the strength protecting Jamie had given her. “Your daughter died at birth. At least she was fortunate enough not to have to live with the knowledge of the man who fathered her.”

She realized that she had finally pushed him too far when he doubled up his fist and drew back his arm. March braced for a blow that never landed. She sighed silently with relief as his arm was captured by a hand much stronger than his. Turned around so abruptly that he staggered to regain his balance, he came face-to-face with an opponent of superior size and strength.

“I don’t hold with a man hitting a lady, boy,”

Jim stated quietly. “I think it’s past time for someone to teach you some manners, Fred Ham- ner.”

“And you think you’re the one to do it?” he asked with a sneer.

“I’m the one.”

Fred didn’t know much about Jim Travis, other than that he was well-respected by the local ranchers. The man kept to himself, but from the look on his face he was a law unto himself. Fred knew that Jim wasn’t the least bit impressed with his father’s money or influence.

“She ain’t no lady, Mr. Travis, and don’t need your protection. Me and her got a little unfinished business to attend to. She ain’t nothing but a flip-skirt filly who needs to be taught to respect her betters.”

Fred didn’t notice the narrowing of Jim’s eyes or the tightening of his jaw. Maybe if he had, he would have turned and walked away. But the younger man could not accept that the girl who had once openly worshiped him now looked at him as if he were something lower than a snake’s belly.

“Listen close, boy. I want to be sure you understand everything I say.” Jim’s voice lowered to an angry snarl. “The
lady
is my housekeeper, and the child in her arms is my son.”

“Your housekeeper?” Fred asked with a nervous snicker. “You sure know how to pick ‘em. Get a whore to clean your house while you clean hers!”

“Fred, I think we need to go out back and have a little talk.” Jim shoved the younger man toward the doorway.

“Jim?” March hesitantly called.

Jim turned to her and grinned in spite of the rage that bubbled through him. This was going to feel good, he thought. At last he’d found some way to relieve some of his frustration.

“I won’t leave a body, angel. Pick out your buttons and give your shopping list to Walt to fill. We’ll go find us some dinner when I get back.”

“Take care, Jim,” she replied softly. “He isn’t worth a drop of your blood.”

“No, he isn’t.” His gaze warmed as he studied her to reassure himself that she had come to no physical harm. “But you are.”

March watched him push Fred out the door and was torn between a desire to run and hide from the curious bystanders and an almost overpowering need to witness Jim’s savage form of retribution.

“Men!”Mazie took March’s hand in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “I swear, they’re all just overgrown boys! They think everything can be made right by fighting. Lord love ‘em, they come in all battered and bruised and expect their women to think they’re wonderful.”