Desert Angel (32 page)

Mazie tied the team to the hitching rail in front of the store, and pulled the keys from her pocket. Unlocking the door, she opened it wide and ushered March inside.

“Whew, it sure is good to be out of that sun for a few minutes.” Her smile was reminiscent of the one she had worn when she invited March to do something naughty. “I have a surprise for you … a present, if you will.”

“A present?For me?” March’s eyes widened with astonishment.

With a chuckle, Mazie pulled her toward the back of the store. A large, white pasteboard box with a big pink ribbon sat on the counter used for cutting fabric. March’s fingers shook as she untied the ribbon, carefully wrapping it around her hand, so it could be saved to use later.

Lifting the lid from the box, March was speechless as she looked at the contents. “Oh, Mazie, you can’t mean this for me?”

“And why not, young lady? It’s mine to sell or give away as I see fit, and I can’t think of anyone else in this town or even Tucson who will do this dress half the justice you will.”

Reverently, March lifted out the striped silk dress that had caught her attention the first time she had come to the store. She hadn’t dared to touch it then, and now she marveled at the luxurious fabric, the softness of the velvet trim.

“Let’s get you upstairs, and see if we can’t find some water to wash with, then we’ll see how it fits.”

“Mazie, I can’t wear this.”

“Why ever not?”

“I don’t know how.”

“Then it’s time you learned. I won’t take no for an answer. If you keep arguing, you’re going to make me mad and hurt my feelings.” Mazie grabbed her arm. “Now, no more of your nonsense. When we go back to the picnic, they’re going to think that a princess has decided to honor them with her presence.”

March learned a new lesson … it was difficult, if not downright impossible, to argue with someone, when you didn’t want to win the argument in the first place!

Jim waited as patiently as possible for March to return. He had changed Jamie’s towel, and dressed the baby in a clean gown he had found in the bottom of the bag.

He had combed his own hair, rolled down his sleeves, and put his coat on. He was as nervous as a stallion in rut, he thought. Smiling at his own analogy, he realized it was far too true, though he’d never admit it to anyone other than himself.

The sound of a wagon approaching snapped him from his lusty thoughts. Mazie pulled up beneath one of the trees, and Walt helped the ladies descend.

Jim’s breath caught and held in his chest at his first sight of March. She was beautiful beyond his imaginings. The pink, green, and brown striped dress fit her perfectly, hugging her narrow waist and accentuating her golden coloring. Rather than hiding her full bosom, the high-necked gown seemed to emphasize her feminine roundness.

Her hair had been pulled up to the back of her head, and left to hang in ringlets around her slender shoulders. A perky pink and black hat tilted enticingly over her brow, while a saucy green feather teased her eyebrow.

Mazie had insisted that they leave the bustle off of the dress, stating that, fashion or not, it made March look like she had a deformed backside. The extra fabric flowed in a graceful train behind her.

March felt a combination of embarrassment and pride in herself. No one else at the gathering was dressed even half as nicely, and everyone stared wide-eyed, the men appreciative, the women envious.

She looked nervously around the clearing for the one pair of eyes that mattered the most, and couldn’t have been more pleased at his expression. He held Jamie against his shoulder as his gaze moved slowly from the top of her head to the tips of her new shoes, barely visible at the hem of the gown.

Feeling like a pretender, March slowly walked toward him, her chin held regally high, as she waited for his response. It wasn’t long in coming.

“You are incredibly beautiful, Miss Evans.” Jim took her hand in his and carried it to his mouth. He placed a chaste, social kiss on the work-roughened back, then turned it over and bent again.

This time his actions were those of a lover, as his tongue darted out, circling the center of her palm several times. Gently, so that he caused no real pain, he nipped at the base of her thumb, then laved it to remove the sting.

Startled, March pulled her hand free as her face flamed with pleasure. Curling her fingers into a fist, she savored the impression of his lips against her skin.

“The celebration is nearly finished.” Jim smiled as he noticed her clenched fist. Acting as if the taste of her hadn’t nearly driven him to his knees, he put a hand beneath her elbow and turned her, so that they faced the far end of the clearing. He was relieved that they didn’t have to move from beneath the trees, since he wasn’t sure that his legs would support him if he tried to walk.

March looked, but didn’t see the excitement taking place at the other end of the clearing. Her mind was a swirling eddy of confusion, incapable of registering anything beyond the burning in the center of her palm. She could still feel his tongue pressed hotly against her hand, and had to force herself not to look down to see if there was a permanent imprint.

Good heavens, he had kissed her twice today! But never, ever, in any romantic imaginings she’d ever had as a young girl, had she guessed that something so simple as his lips against her skin would feel so … so … wonderful!

March blushed to the roots of her hair at her thoughts. Even his hand so casually holding her elbow sent a flash of heat up her shoulder. She felt hot, yet shivery, and her breathing was labored, as if she had run to town and back without stopping.

Wondering if she was sickening with something, she swallowed hard. Sure enough, her throat was tight and her head felt light. Maybe it was too much sun or too much excitement. The day had been one emotional peak after another. Perhaps she wasn’t as strong as she liked to think she was. Maybe the meeting with Bud Hamner had been more trying than she had thought.

She blamed her feelings on anything but the real cause. March wouldn’t let herself admit that Jim’s kiss was the culprit. If she did, then she’d have to wonder why it affected her so deeply, and she wasn’t ready to face that answer.

“You’re going to miss it, angel.” Jim leaned over and whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

“Miss what?” March forced herself not to lean into him, to be closer than was considered proper. In fact, she was having a difficult time remembering what was proper.

“The cannon.” Jim smiled to himself, more than satisfied with her reaction to him. She was finally aware of him in a way she had never been before.

“Cannon? What cannon?”

He fought the chuckle that was trying to force its way free. Knowing he should feel just a little guilty for causing her inattention, he was too pleased with himself to give it much thought.

“Russ Willis always brings his cannon every year, and fires off several rounds at the end of the Independence Day celebration.”

The cannon was Russ Willis’s pride and joy. He had salvaged it from one of the forts that had been abandoned at the end of the war between the states. Several times a year he pulled it out of the shed he had built specially to protect it, and fired several rounds into the air.

The children loved it, but the adults greeted it with mixed emotions. Several of the men had served in units during the war. The sound of the cannon brought back bittersweet and painful memories of the battles they had fought, the loved ones they had lost.

Seeing someone light a torch, Jim leaned over to her. “Here, hold the baby and cover his ears. It gets pretty loud.”

He handed the infant to her, watched as she pulled his head snugly against her breast and covered his free ear with her hand. Knowing what was coming, Jim reached up and covered her ears with his hands.

At the ground-shaking
boom
and puff of smoke, a cheer went up from the crowd. Even with her ears protected, the sound was so loud that March wondered if the men closest to the cannon would become deaf.

Jamie turned toward the sound, his eyes widening with surprise. March worried that he would be frightened, but instead he seemed pleased with the muffled noise.

Again and again the cannon rang through the clearing. Each time, even though she watched them load it, March jumped with startled surprise. A thick layer of gray smoke drifted on the breeze just above everyone’s head, the smell of sulfur was almost overpowering.

When the final round was fired, the men who had done the work turned and bowed dramatically to the crowd. They were greeted with a rousing round of applause and cheers.

Jim removed his hands from March’s ears and slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“That was different, but slightly noisy,” she said with a smile.

“I always imagine what the noise of a battle must have been like.” His voice reflected the lingering regret that he had been born too late to go to war. “Imagine several cannons firing, the sound of rifles, and the screams of the men.”

“And the dying, the suffering, the agony,” she replied quietly. “Why must young men die in battle? Why must mothers mourn the loss of their sons when old men decide to go to war? Is anything so precious that it’s worth dying for?”

“Freedom, March, the right to govern without someone else making the decisions.”

“Seems to me that someone is always making my decisions for me. I don’t think any war ever fought has ever brought freedom for any woman. It’s men who fight the wars and make the deci-

sions. All a woman can do is make the best of what she has to work with.”

“A woman doesn’t need to go to war. She has a man to protect her and provide for her.”

“And beat her, starve her, abuse her,” March mumbled.

“Never, angel.” Jim placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her head. “Never again will anyone abuse you. I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life protecting you from harm.” His fingers were so warm against her chin, his eyes burning with a blue fire of promise. If she let it happen, she knew she could be mesmerized by his voice.

“Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.” She intentionally repeated the words he had used weeks earlier, when she had promised to be a perfect student, if only he’d teach her to read.

“I intend to keep these.”

“Only as long as I’m on your ranch.”

“Planning on leaving?” he asked with a smile. “It might happen someday.” Her eyes turned smoky with sadness at the thought. “You might remarry, and your wife may decide she doesn’t want me around.”

“Oh, I definitely plan to remarry.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

March’s head snapped up with shock. “Soon?” she whispered.

“Very soon.”

Clutching Jamie so tightly that he protested,

March fought to maintain her composure. She hadn’t expected this, nor had she been prepared for the shaft of pain that shot through her.

“I’m … I’m very happy for you,” she whispered. “She’ll be a good mother for Jamie? I guess … I guess I should be looking for another job, another home.”

Jim felt a rush of guilt as he saw the sparkling happiness in her eyes turn to dull pain. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Regretting that he had chosen to tease her in such an inappropriate way, Jim sighed with relief when he saw Mazie approaching. The time had come, and never before had he been so sure that he had made the right decision.

“Can we go home now?” The day had been so perfect that she hadn’t wanted it to end. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get away, to hide in the room she shared with Jamie, to shed the tears that were threatening to overflow.

“The day isn’t quite over, March. There’s one more event planned before everyone goes home.” He took Jamie from her arms and handed him to Mazie. At a nod from Jim, the older woman smiled and walked away. Turning to March, Jim smiled softly and gently stroked her cheek, reaching up to give the saucy green feather a flick.

“Preacher Daves has a final chore to perform, sweet angel,” he stated quietly. “Will you marry me, March Evans?”

TWENTY

Delaying the inevitable for as long as possible, March checked one final time on Jamie, adjusting the light blanket over the sleeping baby. She patted his rounded bottom, marveling at how much he had grown in such a short time. He was developing a personality, talking in a language uniquely his own, and grinning freely with an endearingly toothless smile.

After his final feeding each night, he usually slept until after sunrise. But March had started the habit of leaving a lamp lit, turned down low, in case she had to get up with him in the dark.

Reluctantly, she turned away, her gaze coming to rest on the neatly made bed that had been hers.

Months earlier she had thought she was the luckiest girl in the world to have that bed all to herself. A bed with real sheets and blankets, in a warm room with pictures on the walls and curtains at the windows.

Months earlier, filled with a sorrow that knew no beginning and had no end, she had been forced to leave her family, the only security she had ever known, and come to this castle of a house to care for another woman’s child.