Desert Angel (7 page)

Jim grabbed the Colt, blew out the lamp, and walked toward the door. He opened it slowly, grimacing when it squeaked. Staying near the wall, he stepped into the hallway and waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Another sound drew his attention to the bottom of the stairs. There was someone in the house, someone who didn’t want to be heard.

Finding the stair rail, he tried to move soundlessly down the stairs, muffling a curse when he stubbed a bare toe on a step. Hobbling, he followed the sound of the steps toward the back of the house, narrowly avoiding a chair, only to collide with the kitchen table.

“Who’s there?” a feminine voice called.

“It’s me, damn it.” Recognizing March’s voice, he lowered the Colt and rubbed his thigh where it had banged into the corner of the table. “What in hell are you doing down here at this time of night?”

March was glad for the darkness, as she felt her face flame. “I needed to find the … ah … necessary.”

Not so shy, Jim shook his head. “There’s a chamber pot under the bed.”

“Yes, well, ah … yes . . . “ March stood helplessly, embarrassed down to her toes. “It was dark and …”

“Why didn’t you light a lamp?” Did she have no more sense than the old mule out back?

“It’s dark-“

“We’ve already established that,” he interrupted.

“I didn’t know where the matches are.”

“Oh … well, light a lamp now.”

Jim waited for her to comply, beginning to wonder if she was a little dimwitted. “You do know how to light a lamp?”

“Yes, Mr. Travis,” she stated, feeling the beginnings of anger. “I know how to strike a match and light a lamp.”

“Then do it, girl.”

“I assume that there is a lamp down here somewhere, and matches, but you’ll have to tell me where, or we’ll be here all night while I feel around for one!”

Feeling more than a little foolish, something he hoped wouldn’t become a habit around his new housekeeper, Jim felt for a lamp on the sideboard, laid down the Colt, and found the matches in a small wooden box.

As he adjusted the flame, March saw that he was dressed only in his trousers and was unwillingly fascinated by the play of muscles over his strong back. She watched as the muscles bunched in his arms when he picked up the lamp and turned her way. There was so much latent strength in him that she backed away, realizing that he could overpower her without any effort.

“Here, girl,” he stated gruffly, seeing her sudden fear and not understanding it. “Take the lamp and go do what you got to do. I’m going back to bed.”

Setting the lamp on the table, Jim picked up the Colt, turned, and headed back to his room, muttering about his throbbing toe and women who wandered around in the dark.

March returned from the outhouse and carried the lamp up to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and realized for the first time that it didn’t have a lock. Surely he didn’t intend to bother her, she thought, as she put the lamp on the dresser. He needed someone to tend to his infant son, but in the kitchen it had become glaringly clear to her that they were alone in the big house.

Her past experience with men had given her more than enough reason to be suspicious of his intentions. Now that she knew that pretty words and small gifts led to other things, she had no intention of getting involved with a man ever again.

Except maybe this one, she thought with a smile as the baby squirmed in his bed, bringing her attention to him. At his first mewing squeak, she turned him over and set about changing his wet towel.

“Hungry, little man?” she whispered. “Don’t be so impatient, let me get you dry and you can eat.” She smiled as his fist accidentally found his mouth and he sucked hungrily.

When he was changed, she wrapped him in a warm blanket and carried him to the rocking chair set in front of the window. Opening the front of her dress, she freed one of her breasts and his eager mouth latched onto her nipple with greedy ferocity. It was such a new experience for her, that it startled her as he pulled, his tiny hand batting against the swollen skin.

She blinked back tears, because she had never held her own baby against her breasts, giving her nourishment from her body. Swirling the long hair on the top of his head into a curl, she thought how strong he was, how eager to live.

“So, what do you think, Jamie? You need a mama and I need a baby. Do you think we’ll do all right hitching up together?” She smiled as he grunted like a little piglet. “You sure aren’t shy about where you sit down to dinner.”

When one breast was drained, she patted his back to relieve the gas and then moved him to the other one. She had taken care of babies since she was little more than one herself. Her mother had a new one every year or so, and there was always a towel to be changed or a back to be patted. But she’d never before experienced the serenity of holding an infant to her breast and knowing that she was providing him sustenance.

In the quiet darkness, a bond was formed between the motherless child and the childless mother.

The sun was barely over the horizon when March woke to the sounds of the baby. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she climbed from the bed and mechanically changed his towel. Deciding that there was no reason for her to be up yet, she was still too weak to do anything, she carried him back to the bed. Holding him so that he could nurse, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Other than the throbbing toe, Jim woke feeling more rested than he had in weeks. He climbed from bed and dressed. Strapping on the Colt as he walked down the hallway, he wondered what magic March had performed during the night. He hadn’t heard a sound from his son’s room.

Since the door to the nursery was still closed, he decided to let her sleep in. He’d make sure that he got home this evening with enough time to explain her duties to her. All he had done yesterday was to throw the baby into her arms and head out the door, hardly a friendly welcome.

Knowing that Hank would have the coffeepot on the fire and fatback frying, Jim headed for the bunkhouse. He’d breakfast with them and tell them about the new housekeeper. They had witnessed her arrival yesterday and would be concerned.

“How’s the little missy this mornin‘?” Hank asked as he handed Jim a steaming cup of coffee.

“Still sleeping, thought I’d let her get a little extra sleep today.” The coffee was strong enough to dissolve a spoon, just the way he liked it. “She was doing all right last night though.”

” ‘Bout time you got somebody, I was gettin‘ mitey tired of playin‘ nursemaid.” Hank grabbed a plate, scooped the eggs and fatback onto it, and handed it to his boss.

“Need you to keep an eye on her for me.”

“Ain’t she big ‘nough to keep an eye on herself?” Woods asked between bites of food.

“Just make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Leastways she’s easier to watch than that youn’en, and don’t have to worry ‘bout her drip- pin’ like that boy done. I swear, I ain’t never seen no kid that leaks like that’en.” Hank sighed with relief. It had been a strain on his tolerance to watch over the baby, and he was delighted that it was over.

“I’ll try to get back a little earlier this evening.” Jim stood and grabbed his hat. “We’ll be in the south branch of Falling Creek.”

“Water’s still running pretty high,” Woods offered.

“Gonna have a whole bunch of ‘em bogged down.” Hank referred to the calves who got stuck in the mud and were too weak to pull themselves free. If not found in time, they would starve to death.

Jim left the bunkhouse, a feeling of freedom carrying him toward the barn. It was good to have things back to normal.

With the baby in one arm and her dirty clothes in the other, March stood at the bottom of the stairs with her mouth hanging open. Last night in the dark she’d had an impression of the size of the house, but now the morning light showed her exactly what she hadn’t been able to see.

“It’s a castle, Jamie,” she whispered to the baby. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Stepping slowly off of the highly polished stair, she didn’t know where to look first. Through the double doors to her right was a room twice the size of the shack she’d been living in with ten other people. The fireplace was large enough to roast a steer, and the green patterned rug stretched on forever. Large boxes and crates sat in the middle of the room, but she didn’t dare enter to peek.

March looked into each room where a door stood open. She was disappointed that most of the rooms were empty of furniture, carpeting, and drapes, but just the size was staggering. She didn’t open closed doors, afraid that somehow Jim would find out that she’d been nosing around and would get angry.

Wandering down a long hall, March found one room that was more magnificent to her than all the others combined. Spellbound, she stood in the doorway until the squirming baby attracted her attention.

“Look, Jamie,” she whispered in awe. “Just look at all the books. Aren’t they beautiful?” She kissed the baby and readjusted him in her arms.

“I’m gonna read them, Jamie. Someday I’m going to know every word in those books. Someday all those funny lines and circles are going to make sense to me.

“Before I die, I’m going to learn to read.” It was a promise and a prayer. “Even if the learning kills me.”

FIVE

The kitchen was a big, square room with windows facing the east. A smooth oak table, flanked by eight chairs, occupied the middle of the room, while endless shelves, cabinets, and work space lined the walls. March marveled at the hand pump that drained into a tin-lined sink, making endless trips to the well a thing of the past. She pumped it several times and grinned as the cool, clear water splashed into the sink and then down the drain hole.

Out of necessity, she had discovered that the door at the back led outside, but in spite of curiosity that was nearly painful, refrained from opening the other two doors in the room. Her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding her that the only food she’d eaten yesterday had been at breakfast.

“What am I going to do with you, while I try to find something to eat?” she asked the sleeping baby in her arms. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone upstairs.

Returning to his bedroom, stopping frequently to admire all the delightful things that surrounded her, March grabbed the soft blanket from his bed. She carried it to the kitchen, folded it into a thick pallet near the table, and carefully laid him in the center.

Feeling like a thief in search of hidden treasures, March opened one cabinet door after the other. They were filled with such marvelous treasures that her thoughts of food were forgotten in her desire to determine what was in each. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t being nosey. After all, she couldn’t cook without knowing what the kitchen contained, could she?

One entire cabinet section was filled with dishes. March carefully picked up a plate and traced the delicate flowers and vines painted on the white surface. She discovered a small chip along the edge, but it in no way detracted from the beauty of the china.

The sunlight through the open window sparkled on the edges of cut-glass bowls, reflected onto the white walls, and turned them into a tapestry of rainbows. Struck by the incredible beauty, she put her hands behind her back so that she wouldn’t be tempted to touch, afraid that she would accidentally drop something and break it.

She found more cooking utensils, wooden bowls, and stoneware jugs than she had ever seen in her life. The shelves closest to the fireplace held iron cooking pots and skillets, while still others held foodstuff in bags, boxes, and cans. Some of the labels had a picture of the product inside, but most were just written words, and she felt denied of some of the magic because she couldn’t read the label. What wonderful treat was stored inside the tinned can? Some new and exotic treat? Something as common as beans? Short of opening the can, there was no way for her to know.

Shaking the cans did little to help determine their contents. The picture on one drew her like a magnet. Picking it up reverently, her mouth watered and she licked her lips, her finger lightly tracing the picture of a bright pink peach.

“Oh, Jamie, they’re wonderful,” she whispered to the sleeping baby. “I had one once, and it was better than a peppermint stick. It was so sweet, the juice ran down the side of my chin.” With a sigh, she reluctantly replaced the can on the shelf, but turned the picture so that she could see it whenever she looked up. “They’re so expensive. I’m sure your pa wouldn’t be pleased if I ate them.”

Kindling had been laid in preparation for the morning fire in the fireplace, a marvel of modern convenience. The andirons held a generous amount of wood, and two hooks could be moved so that the cook wouldn’t have to reach over the fire to stir a pot.

A removable iron rack sat a comfortable distance above the wood, the perfect place for keeping things warm or for something that needed to cook slowly. And wonder of wonders, in the stone wall was an oven for baking bread and cakes.

Excitement rippled through her. This was so much better than cooking out in the open in all kinds of weather. She wouldn’t have to worry about lighting a fire with wet kindling or keeping it going when rain threatened to smother it. No more trying to keep warm when winter winds blew up her skirt, or worrying about a stray spark blowing away and starting a grass fire.