“I told you — cactus. Fried, prickly pear cactus.” Jim’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Ranching in Arizona provided its own special problems; the lack of water, rattlers the size of a man’s forearm, and thorny plants that were waiting for the unwary to pass too close.
Was it too much to expect, at the end of a long day, for a man to come home and find a good meal waiting for him?
This was it, the final thing that destroyed his tightly reined control. He pushed back his chair with a violent shove that frightened Jamie into a whimper, and rose to tower over March.
“Lady, since I moved to Arizona, I’ve chopped down cactus, kicked them out of my way, and even picked them out of my butt, but I don’t — I repeat — I don’t eat them!”
ELEVEN
With the utter stillness in his office broken only by the occasional ruffle of a piece of paper, Jim had no difficulty hearing the quiet closing of the back door. He knew it was his restless housekeeper. He’d heard her quiet steps as she’d come down the stairs.
Hours ago, she had brought him a cup of coffee, offered him something to eat — which he had gruffly refused — and then said a quiet good night.
As he had watched her walk out of his office, he’d felt the desire to call her back and apologize, explain to her that his outburst had nothing to do with her choice of meals. But watching the gentle sway of her skirts had forcibly reminded him exactly what had put him in a foul mood.
How could he explain to her that it wasn’t eating cactus that had caused his explosion? Granted, the prickly pear cactus had been so sour he would have refused it at any time, but it wasn’t what caused his explosion of temper. Hearing her soft voice, seeing her gentle smile, watching the femininity in every movement, had needlessly pointed out to him that she was a desirable woman.
And damn it, he was horny!
Jim smiled at his own description. Accurate, but crass, he thought. A gentleman did not apologize to a lady using that as an excuse for his bad manners. In fact, he doubted that March would even know the meaning of the word. And then he’d have to explain it to her. He chuckled as he pictured her face turning scarlet with embarrassment.
His chuckle turned to a frown, as he thought of the fear that would replace the embarrassment when she finally understood that he wanted the same thing from her that the young cowboy had wanted this afternoon. He wanted her, but not at the expense of her fear. She’d had enough of that in her young life.
A shadow crossed by his window, and Jim rose to his feet. There was no moon to light her path, yet her steps didn’t falter. Using the door in his office, he walked outside to join her restless prowl.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly, taking care that he didn’t startle her.
March looked up, watching warily as he approached. “Just planning my garden,” she offered lamely.
“There have been many nights when I couldn’t sleep. I always found it relaxing to walk in the dark. There’s something peaceful about being alone, while others are asleep.”
“My sister May is afraid of the dark.” Crossing her arms over her waist, March shook her head sadly. “She could never understand how I could venture out alone at night. As soon as it began to get dark, she’d dart for the light of the fire, but not me. I liked the night, I could hide from other eyes and think my own thoughts.”
“Privacy.”
Surprised that he understood, March nodded. “With a family the size of mine, there was never the time or the place to be alone, except in the dark where no one could see me.”
“What did you think about?” Coming to a stop beside her, he detected the floral scent of her skin. Even dressed in clothing suitable only for the rag bag, she always smelled clean and fresh.
“Oh, things of great importance.” March smiled softly. “Depending on my age, of course.”
“Things like the color of a hair ribbon or a dress for a new doll?” he teased.
“No.” Her single word reminded him that she’d had very few hair ribbons, and he wondered if she’d ever had a doll. He wanted to give her the things that she’d never had. She was a little old now for a doll, but he could shower her with hair ribbons of every color of the rainbow, new dresses, and ruffled petticoats, shoes without holes, and frilly bonnets that served no purpose other than to make their wearer happy.
“Things like how many stars were in the sky, and why did I only see them in the dark. And what fish do at night, how do they sleep while they swim. And more important things, like do all daisies have the same number of petals, and what does an ocean look like.”
Jim refrained from telling her the answers to all of her questions, deciding instead to encourage her to read the books that would give her the answers. He was aware that she’d had little formal schooling, but her vocabulary and manner of speaking belied that fact. With a little self-help, few people would ever question her lack of education.
But no book could describe an ocean; only a person who had seen one and traveled one could do that.
“An ocean is all colors of blue, from the palest blue green to nearly black. It goes on forever, until it seems to touch the sky with waves of water that swell until they burst into bubbles of white.”
“You’ve seen an ocean?” Her voice was filled with curiosity.
“Seen it, and traveled to Europe and back on it.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“Only once.” He paused, remembering the very real fear he had felt as the ferocity of the wind clashed with the power of the water in a vigorous contest neither could win, while almost destroying the insignificant ship caught helplessly in the battle.
“What happened?”
“We were in the middle of the Atlantic, and ran into a storm they call a hurricane.”
“What’s a hurricane?”
“That’s a wind that blows so hard, it makes waves into mountains of water taller than the masts of the ship. You look up and up and up, and still can’t see the top of the mountain, and then suddenly the ship rides the shoulders of the giant, and you’re on top instead of the bottom. But when you get up there, all you can see is the next wave and the next.
“And the wind blows until you’re sure that the poor, feeble ship won’t survive. It blows so hard that the rain comes at you sideways.”
“You’re teasing me,” she accused with a chuckle. “Everyone knows that rain falls straight down.”
“Not during a hurricane. I swear to you that it comes sideways.”
“You were scared?” March was amazed that he so freely admitted to feeling fear. It was her experience that few men would admit to fearing anything.
“That’s putting it mildly I swore that if I ever got back home, I’d never venture out on the sea again.”
“Have you?”
“No. Maybe that’s why I chose to settle in the desert. It’s as faraway and as different from the ocean as anything in the world.”
“Have you traveled much?”
“Enough.” Jim shoved his fingers into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to gather up the threads of March’s hair that blew in the gentle breeze. “I took a grand tour of Europe after I finished my education. And I’ve seen a lot of this country, enough to know that this is where I want to live until I’m an old, old man.”
“If I had my way, I’d never move again,” March mumbled.
“You moved around a lot?” he asked quietly.
“We were always packing up to move on to someplace new. We’d no more than get settled, before we were on the go again. I never had many friends, because by the time I met girls my own age, Pa was thinking of moving on. After a while, I just quit trying. Why go to all the work of meeting people, when I knew we’d only be there until we got run out, or until Pa heard of a better place and wanted to go.”
It was a statement of her childhood, spoken without rancor, while asking for neither pity nor sympathy. Yet Jim felt sorrow for the young girl who had never had a chance to be a child,
to experience the carefree existence inherent to childhood. But he couldn’t regret that that same little girl had grown to become an intelligent, generous, and sometimes exasperating young woman.
Stars hung overhead, looking close enough to touch. In the distance, a coyote howled and was answered by others of its kind. A gentle breeze danced over the sand, and a poor-wili whispered its mournful cry.
“I’m sorry about losing my temper earlier,” Jim said quietly.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have served you cactus, but when the roast burned, I knew I needed to fix something else, and that seemed to me to be the quickest thing.”
“I thought I detected the distinct aroma of burnt something,” he teased gently.
“It wasn’t just burnt,” March chuckled, as she thought of the roast. “It was charred beyond recognition. I think we’d all eat better, if I confine my cooking to the fireplace rather than the stove. Next time I might burn down the house.”
“As I told you, it just takes some getting use to.”
“So does starving!”
Jim enjoyed her sense of humor, but never more than when she laughed at herself. Melanie had never even smiled at her own mistakes, and had sometimes pouted for days because she had done something humanly stupid.
Melanie had been blessed with every advantage in life; loving parents, financial security, and an excellent education. While March had been denied those same things. Yet it was this tiny little bit of a woman-child who so readily accepted the things she couldn’t change, and smiled even when life was at its worst.
He hated the constant comparison he seemed to make between his dead wife and March. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and yet he seemed incapable of stopping. He remembered times when Melanie had been happy and carefree, but even then she hadn’t had the sparkle of life that so easily rode March’s thin shoulders.
The differences between the two women, not only physically but in outlook, was night and day. Melanie had suffered through life, March embraced it.
“In spite of the disaster of your first experience with the cook stove and your choice of substitute menus,” Jim continued gravely, “I deeply apologize for my behavior. I have never eaten cactus before, and really would rather not again.” He shuddered dramatically at the thought of the bitter taste of the prickly pear.
“I thought you kinda liked the mescal and the tumbleweed,” she commented innocently, too innocently.
“I still can’t believe that I ate tumbleweed,” he shook his head with amazement. “I guess they weren’t bad, but the other one . . . “
“It just takes some getting use to.”
“I’d rather starve!” His smile gleamed momentarily in the darkness, then became more serious. “That wasn’t why I exploded.”
“No?”
“No! ” He reached over and tapped her button nose. “I wasn’t in the best of moods, because that horse and I had trouble coming to an agreement. And then when I finally got back to the ranch, Breed had a story to tell.”
“I wondered if he’d mentioned that little incident.”
“Being accosted by a man in what should be the safety of your own backyard, is hardly a little incident.”
“Nothing happened,” she reassured him. “Breed rode… ah, walked, to the rescue.”
“But what would you have done, if he hadn’t gotten there in time?”
“Screamed so loud that the owls would have woke up, kicked like a mule, and if necessary, bite any place available.”
“Your self-defense techniques are admirable, but the whole thing should never have taken place. You deserve to feel safe in your own home, and I won’t have a man on this ranch I can’t trust.
“Breed fired him and escorted him off of my property. The others have all been given warnings that they are to treat you with the respect you deserve, or they’ll meet the same fate.”
“I think Breed did a little more than just fire him,” she supplied.
“According to Breed, the man was still breathing when he dumped him outside the gates.”
“Thank God. I don’t want anyone killed because of me.”
“If anyone tries something like that again, that is exactly what might happen. I won’t have you threatened in your own home.”
“But it’s not my home.” She was unaware that her voice was filled with longing, but Jim heard every nuance of a craving so deep it was bottomless.
“As long as you’re in my employ, this is your home,” he said gently. “I want you to treat it as such, and feel safe here.”
“I do feel safe here. Safe and protected. It’s a wonderful thing not to have to worry about anything except burning your dinner.”
“I want you to always feel that way. I, and the men who work for me, will see that your safety comes first … or they won’t work here long.”
“Thank you,” she whispered softly. “I’ve never had anyone give me a gift half so great. I may just have to stay your housekeeper until Jamie is ninety-five years old.”
“I believe that would probably make you the oldest housekeeper in the world.”
March looked into the darkness, and her voice became dreamy. “What do you think it’ll be like in a hundred years?” She spread her arms wide to encompass the area. “Do you think all of this will still be here?”
“Of course, but I imagine there’ll be a few changes.” It didn’t surprise him when she abruptly changed the subject. She never seemed to dwell for long on something she couldn’t change.
Jim rocked back on his heels and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Why, I expect by then that the fishes will talk, snakes’ll have legs, and man will fly to the moon.”
“Fish will talk?”
“Yep … it’ll take all the pleasure out of going fishing. When you pull one up on the bank, he’ll lay there flopping and yelling at you to throw him back.”
“Snakes’ll have legs?” she asked with a skeptical giggle.
“Umm … at least ten of them.Five on each side. He’ll have to take care that he doesn’t trip over his own feet.”
“And you really think that man will fly to the moon?” Her chuckle filled the night air with joy. “I think you were out in the sun too long today.”
Jim delighted in the sound of her laugh as it swirled warmly around him. It was something that he knew he could grow to like … too much.
“And I think you’d better go back to bed, or you won’t get any sleep tonight. My son is an early riser.”
“I think you’re right.” She turned toward the door leading into his office. The mellow glow of golden light was inviting as she stepped into its glimmer. “Good night, Jim, and thank you.”
“For what, angel?”
“For everything… for making this my home, for trying to eat my dinner, but most of all for not taking your rage out on me.”
His stomach turned with disgust as he realized that others had abused her in their anger.
“You’ve nothing to fear, March. I’d never hit a woman.”
“I know, and that’s a wonderful bit of knowledge.”
“Sleep tight, angel,” he whispered as he watched her disappear. “No one will ever hurt you again. I promise.”
“What do you have planned for today?” Jim leaned his elbows against the table, a cup of coffee cradled between his hands. It had taken her a month, but finally the brew was exactly as he liked it, strong enough to grow hair on a tortoise.
He watched appreciatively as March worked efficiently around the kitchen, her flower- printed skirt flowing gracefully around her ankles. Because of her diligent effort, her wardrobe now consisted of several simple skirts and shirtwaists.
It had become their habit in the evening after the daily chores were finished, to sit together in his office until Jamie’s last feeding. Jim usually did paperwork, compiling records or replying to correspondence. Sometimes he indulged in his passion for reading, while March sat across the room quietly sewing or, on a rare occasion,
reading. He had discovered that she was a delightful conversationalist; sometimes witty, sometimes thought-provoking, and oftentimes maddening, as she looked at the world from a feminine point of view.
He was pleased that she had begun to trust him enough to freely express her opinions without concern that she would anger him. In fact, some of their most enjoyable evenings had been when they’d argued a point nearly to death, each trying to get the other to see a different angle. Always, no matter how heated the discussion became, when it was time for bed, March would smile and wish him sweet dreams.
Jim had come to look forward to the evenings with her, but too frequently lately, his dreams had been far too sweet, and when he woke in the morning, he was aching with a fierce need.
As he sat at the table, the sky turned from black to misty gray. He could hear the sounds of activity outside, telling him that the men were already at work. Breakfast was over, it was time to get the day started, and yet he found himself reluctant to move.
“So, what are you doing today?” he asked again.
“Not much.” March folded the kitchen towel and hung it over the back of a chair to dry. “I washed shirts and pants yesterday, and I plan to iron them this morning, before it gets too warm to be messing with the irons. And I need to wash Jamie’s towels, but I do that every day. And I noticed last night that nearly all of the lamp chimneys need to be cleaned. I’ll probably trim the wicks, too.
“As soon as Jamie wakes up and gets fed, I want to get some bread rising, and maybe I’ll make a pie or two. And then this afternoon, after the sun goes down a little, I thought I’d go out and work in the garden for a while. The seeds Hank got for me in town are really starting to sprout, but then so are the weeds.”
“That’s not much?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
“I reckon it’ll keep me busy,” she replied with a grin.
“I reckon . . Jim stood up and carefully pushed his chair beneath the table. “Do you know what day this is?”
March’s brow furrowed as she gave the question serious thought. She didn’t keep track of the days, usually letting one flow into another and rarely wondering which day of the week the current one was. In one town they had lived in, she had gone to church every Sunday, so she had been very careful to mark off each day. But they hadn’t stayed there long, and she hadn’t bothered paying much attention to the days since. “Tuesday?” she guessed.
Desert Angel Page 13
