In the bedroom, Jim lowered her feet to the ground, but kept an arm around her slender waist. The room was bathed in the light of the moon, making a lamp unnecessary.
“Monday,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers, gliding whisper-soft against them.
March stood quietly in his arms, slowly spelling the word to herself. It was one she had learned easily, and prided herself on remembering. The touch of his lips on hers was soothingly familiar.
“Tuesday.” Jim traced the shape of her lips with the very tip of his tongue. His hands moved restlessly up and down the slope of her back.
Tuesday wasn’t difficult either. There were only four letters with the word day at the end. His tongue was so warm and surprisingly soft.
“Wednesday.” Jim lifted his lips from hers and pulled loose the ribbons at the bodice of her robe. The silky fabric slid freely down her arms to pool at her feet. With fingers eager to explore new territory, he traced the path of the thin straps over her shoulders.
March closed her eyes, hoping that she could better concentrate if she wasn’t watching the fascination on Jim’s face. Wednesday was a tough word, one she almost misspelled. How could he expect her to get it right when his touch was so tender, his fingertips so warm?
“Thursday.”
Thursday was nearly impossible after he pressed his lips to her neck… .
TODAY’S HOTTEST READS ARE TOMORROW’S SUPERSTARS
VICTORY’S WOMAN by Gretchen Genet
Andrew — the carefree soldier who sought glory on the battlefield, and returned a shattered man … Niall — the legandary frontiersman and a former Shawnee captive, tormented by his past … Roger — the troubled youth, who would rise up to claim a shocking legacy … and Clarice — the passionate beauty bound by one man, and hopelessly in love with another. Set against the backdrop of the American revolution, three men fight for their heritage — and one woman is destined to change all their lives forever!
FORBIDDEN by Jo Beverley
While fleeing from her brothers, who are attempting to sell her into a loveless marriage, Serena Riverton accepts a carriage ride from a stranger — who is the handsomest man she has ever seen. Lord Middlethorpe, himself, is actually contemplating marriage to a dull daughter of the aristocracy, when he encounters the breathtaking Serena. She arouses him as no woman ever has. And after a night of thrilling intimacy — a forbidden liaison — Serena must choose between a lady’s place and a woman’s passion!
WINDS OF DESTINY by Victoria Thompson
Becky Tate is a half-breed outcast — branded by her Comanche heritage. Then she meets a rugged stranger who awakens her heart to the magic and mystery of passion. Hiding a desperate past, Texas Ranger Clint Masterson has ridden into cattle country to bring peace to a divided land. But a greater battle rages inside him when he dares to desire the beautiful Becky!
WILDEST HEART by Virginia Brown
Maggie Malone had come to cattle country to forge her future as a healer. Now she was faced by Devon Conrad, an outlaw wounded body and soul by his shadowy past … whose eyes blazed with fury even as his burning caress sent her spiraling with desire. They came together in a Texas town about to explode in sin and scandal. Danger was their destiny — and there was nothing they wouldn’t dare for love!
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ZEBRA BOOKS KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
for my aunt, Virginia Mikesell, with love
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022
Copyright (c) 1994 by Pamela K. Forrest Ail rights reserved. No part of this book may by reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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First Printing: July, 1994
Printed in the United States of America
One
The sun had yet to clear the horizon, but the golden glow in the east proclaimed its coming as surely as heralds announcing a royal proclamation. In a few brief minutes it would peek from behind the mountaintops and then rise rapidly to dominate the sky. Effortlessly chasing away the coolness lingering from the night, its life-giving warmth would be welcomed by all the creatures beneath it. None who knew of its unforgiving nature, would argue that it was a mighty opponent only the foolish would challenge.
Melanie Travis stood on the veranda, her arms folded protectively around her protruding stomach, and watched as her husband mounted his horse. The cool morning breeze rippled the dark hair, as yet uncombed, that tumbled down her back. Her hastily donned dress, without benefit of proper petticoats, stretched snugly across her expanded middle and hung limply about her ankles.
Hours earlier the rattle of the chuck wagon as it moved out of the yard woke her from a restless sleep. Spring roundup was beginning, and would last for several weeks. It meant that she would be alone, except for a couple of cowboys who’d grown too old to follow the trail. Melanie didn’t consider the two old men as companions. Their rough manners and blunt vocabulary offended her upbringing, back East men were unfailingly polite and indelicate language was not spoken in the presence of a lady.
“I’ll circle around back home in a couple of days.” Jim Travis sat on his horse, a worried frown creasing his forehead as he looked at his wife. “Woods and Hank will be around, if you need anything.”
Melanie rubbed the mound of her belly and raised accusing eyes toward her husband. He had changed so drastically in the two years since she’d come from the rolling green hills of Vermont to the harsh land of Arizona. Gone forever was the gentle gallant who had wooed her with soft promises of a future that would be perfect, if only she’d consent to become his wife. In his place was a man hardened by his surroundings, who expected her to become as hard and brassy as the other frontier wives. Women who rode with their men at spring roundup, who roped and branded while sweat made trails down the dirt on their faces. Women who used the back of their sleeves to wipe away that sweat, and wore split skirts so that they could ride astride.
It seemed to her that Jim made no effort to understand that she couldn’t change, couldn’t become something that she was not. Five years ago, when he’d left her in Vermont to come ahead and build their homestead, he had seemed content with the woman that she was. But Melanie had seen the difference in her husband from the day of her arrival. The years of separation had changed him into a stranger .. . after two years he was still a stranger.
“Melanie?”
Jim noticed the distracted glaze in her eyes and guilt stabbed through him. This situation could not continue, but he didn’t know what to do to change it. Far too late he had realized that the woman he’d admired and fallen in love with back East, was too gentle for the harshness of the west. The very things that had attracted his attention in Vermont, the exquisite femininity and retiring propriety that were eminently suitable for an Eastern drawing room, were a liability here.
He would send her back if he could, but both her parents had died in a flu epidemic last spring, and her only brother was in the cavalry stationed somewhere in eastern Texas.
Jim took off his h
at and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Maybe when roundup was finished, he could spend more time with her. By then the baby would be here, and even though she showed less and less interest in its arrival, it would give her something to fill the long hours while he was gone.
The new house he had built for her was complete, with the ordered furnishings arriving almost daily. He looked at the white monstrosity so out of place in the foothills of the Santa Catalina mountains. Built with lumber brought down from the mountains at a tremendous expense, the two-story structure with its sweeping veranda and two-story ballroom was a recreation of the home she had left. He was well aware that its many glass windows and wood construction made it almost indefensible, but in his desperation to please her he had overlooked the many reasons that it shouldn’t be built.
“Melanie?” he called again, biting back the need to defend himself for leaving her alone.
She looked at the man who had become a stranger, and let her thoughts drift to the man who had courted and won her. Of all her suitors James Travis had been by far the most handsome. With his coal-black hair and sky-blue eyes, he’d caught her attention at a party hosted by mutual friends. He’d been so incredibly gentle, holding her with infinite care as they swirled around the ballroom. She was half-a-head taller than most of her friends, but he made her feel tiny and feminine.
“Remember the dance, James?” Lost in memories, she missed the concerned look that crossed his face. “We danced and danced, until the matrons were whispering behind their fans in shocked dismay. Mama finally made me refuse to dance with you again.” She raised sparkling eyes to him, swaying to the music playing through her mind. “Do you remember? I wore my new green velvet, and you said it paled when compared to my eyes.”
“I remember …” Jim studied her, alarm squeezing his chest. “Melanie, are you all right?”
“Of course, James.” Her laughter splintered the early morning silence. “Did I bring that dress with me? Mama said it would be too heavy to wear out here, but I couldn’t leave it behind.” Her brow wrinkled in concentration. “Now where did I pack it?”
Turning, Melanie walked back into the house. She didn’t notice her husband’s troubled gaze following her as she climbed the stairs toward the attic. Torn between the urge to reassure himself that she was all right, and the necessity to head out where the men waited to begin the roundup, Jim turned his horse away from the house. He’d see that everything was underway, he decided, and do his best to return home tonight. It would probably be after dark, but it was the best he could do.
Jim stopped at the front of the bunkhouse, where the two old men rested in the shade. Their only chores were menial ones, feed the horses that weren’t taken out that day, repair an occasional broken strap, and keep an eye on the place.
“Sure don’t miss roundup,” Hank lied, as the yearning in his eyes screamed the truth.
“Man hankers for a little easy time when he gets to be my age,” Woods agreed, the longing in his voice belying his words.
“Sure ain’t gonna miss all them days in the saddle, with blisters on my butt the size of a silver dollar.” Hank turned his gaze to the open plains.
“Sleepin‘ on the hard ground and wonderin‘ if a sidewinder is gonna be sharin‘ your blanket come morning.”
“Keepin‘ an eye out for the youn’ens ‘til they get old enough to get smart.”
“Coffee so thick you hafta cut it with your knife,” Woods added.
“Yes, sir’ee, a man my age has earned a little relaxation.”
“Man your age better watch that his relaxation ain’t at the bottom of a six-foot hole with a marker on top,” Woods snorted.
“Hell, you’re older then me! You’ll be a’smel- lin‘ the underside of a cowpie long afore I even give it a thought!”
Jim had inherited the old men when he had bought the ranch several years earlier. Their wisdom and experience more than repaid the cost of food and the small wages he paid them. Normally he would have smiled at the word play between them, but this morning too many problems rode his shoulders.
“Keep an eye on her for me,” he stated bluntly. “Now’s not the time to leave her alone, but I don’t have any choice.”
“Women get kinda funny when they’s breed- in’.” Woods spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dust at his feet.
“The West is hard on a woman,” Hank agreed. ” ‘Specially someone as gentle-like as Miss Melanie.”
“Don’t be worrin‘ none about her, boy. We’ll keep our eyes open.”
Jim’s gaze moved to the house in the distance, an eerie, sensation of alarm creeping up his spine. Trying his best to ignore the warning that leaving her now was the last thing he should do, he nodded to the men and moved toward the open range.
By the time she had climbed the long flight of stairs to the attic, Melanie was breathless. Leaning against the door, she stopped to rest, rubbing the gnawing pain low in her belly.
If she had been another month along in her pregnancy, she would have been concerned that it was the first sign of labor. But she vividly remembered the night the child had been conceived, and knew that she still had three or four weeks of waiting before its birth.
A shiver of distaste at the memory of the last time Jim had used her body to satisfy his male needs made her move away from the wall. Not for the first time, she thanked God that Jim seldom demanded his husbandly rights. He had not bothered her once since the babe’s conception and already she dreaded its birth, because it would free him from that restriction. Mama had warned her that it was a duty she must allow, but she hadn’t been thorough enough in her explanation. Surely if a woman knew exactly what was expected of her, she’d never consent to marry!
With a shudder, Melanie opened the door. So newly constructed that it was nearly dustless, the huge attic was bare except for a few boxes and traveling cases. She searched for the trunk that was filled with the many ball gowns she had insisted on bringing to Arizona.
Kneeling in front of the heavy case, she unbuckled the straps, and threw open the lid that had remained closed since it had been packed two years earlier in Vermont. Tissue paper crackled as she freed one gown after the other from their confinement.
“Oh,” she whispered, “I’d forgotten this one.” She pulled out a ball dress of striped pink and white satin. The gauzy overskirt with its gathered flounce was made to drape over a tiny bustle. “I wore roses in my hair that night. Remember, Mama, how you fretted over those pink roses, because they wouldn’t stay where you wanted them to?” Melanie smiled to herself. “You got so frustrated that you said a naughty word, and it startled us so much that we got the giggles and I was nearly late for the party”
The added weight of her pregnancy making her ungainly, Melanie grunted as she climbed to her feet. Holding the dress to her, she swirled around the empty room to the music only she could hear, smiling at the shadowy partner visible only in her mind. She batted her eyelashes coyly and lowered her head.
“My fan! Where’s my fan, Mama?” Dropping the dress, Melanie dug through the trunk until she found the fan made to match the dress. Snapping it open, she held it in front of her face, just at chin level, and smiled sweetly “Why, Mr. Granger, whatever would people say if we were to dance together again … Mr. Holland, you turn a girl’s head with your sweet words … oh, Mr. Walters, you flatter me . . . “ Lost in her fantasy world, hours drifted by and the attic grew warm as Melanie flirted with her imaginary lovers. Gowns of every imaginable color turned the floor into a rainbow of silk and satin.
Finally the heat and her own cumbersome body forced her to sit down on one of the boxes. She looked at the dresses scattered over the room and relived the memories from each.
“I’ll miss the spring cotillion,” she muttered, as her irrational thoughts carried her further into the past. “There’s barely time to have a gown made! Why, I might have to accept a readymade.” A shudder of distaste shook her. “Mama, you can’t let that happen … me, in a rea
dymade at the grandest event of the year! Never! Whatever will people think!”
Climbing to her feet, Melanie hurried out of the attic and down the stairs. “We’ll go to town today, Mama. I saw the prettiest piece of yellow satin … well, of course, I can’t wear yellow with my complexion … overskirt of green? No, I never thought of that … “
Melanie left the house, her slippers no protection against the rocks and thorns of the desert floor. Before she was out of sight of the house, her feet were bruised and several thorns were imbedded in the tender flesh.
. . just the smallest train, such a problem when I’m dancing. Mama, do you remember last year when Alice Orson lost the entire back of her skirt, because Peter Simmons stepped on it?”
A ripple of inhuman laughter floated into the clear afternoon sky. The sun, a giant, blazing yellow ball, burned away the gentleness of the spring afternoon. Without the protection of a hat, the fair skin of her face soon showed signs of burning.
“I will not dance with him! Mama, how can you ask that of me!”
Melanie stopped and stamped her foot, unaware of the pain of multiple lacerations. Somewhere along her wandering path of hallucination, she had lost a shoe and was heedless of the bloody trail that marked her way.
“… My hair! What will I do with my hair? Leave it down again … something like the style Mary Ann wore last Sunday, only with flowers … no, pearls!” She fluffed her mahogany hair. “Pearls will be so dramatic …”
Catching her breath, Melanie looked around the desert and saw the town of her youth. She smiled graciously at the people who passed, the men tipping their hats in respect. She listened to the rumble of carriages and the voices raised in argument or amusement. Breathing deeply, she smelled the odors of food cooking and the fragrances from the perfume shop they passed, but above all was the scent of spring.
Desert Angel Page 1
