Читать книгу Of Men And Angels - Victoria Bylin - Страница 11

“How long have you been out here?” the stranger asked.

“Almost two days. A storm washed out the road. I don’t know what happened to the drivers.”

“They’re dead.”

Coming from the man Alex had taken for the Angel of Death, it was a statement of fact. When she looked up from between Charlotte’s legs, she had seen a black ghost sent to take a life, a messenger from the darkness that came with the raging waters that had sent Charlotte into labor.

On the first day, the pains had lasted from dusk to dawn, but then they’d stopped as suddenly as they had started, except for a mushy ache that made Charlotte moan in a fitful sleep. Last night, the baby changed his mind again and decided to come into world. Charlotte woke up screaming, clutching her belly and begging God for mercy.

Alex had stayed calm until she’d seen this man silhouetted against the sky, a crow in black, with wings that billowed as he climbed off the bay and walked in her direction. Only when she saw his face, with two black eyes and a purple lump on his jaw, had she realized he was a man and not a hallucination brought on by heat and fatigue.

Even now he didn’t seem quite real, but she could see he was tall and lanky, loose jointed in a way that suggested he was quick on his feet, perhaps because he had to be. She was tall herself, and her eyes just reached his shoulder. His nose was straight in spite of the puffiness across his cheeks. His lips had a masculine thinness, and black stubble covered his jaw. Wisps of soft dark hair grazed his frayed collar. He needed a haircut, badly.

He was staring back at her. “Have you eaten anything?”

Alex shook her head. “Our food baskets got soaked in the flood. We lost everything except a few apples.”

“Then you need to eat.” The outlaw strode to his horse and came back with jerky and a canteen. “Take this,” he said, opening the jug and handing it to her.

She reached for it with one hand, but the weight was too much and he didn’t let go as she guided it to her lips. The brackish water trickled down her throat like melted snow. She tilted her head and guzzled.

“Don’t overdo it. You’ll get sick.” His eyebrows knotted as he closed the canteen and handed her a strip of jerky.

“Chew it slow. It’ll do you more good.”

The dried meat tasted wonderful, rich and brown like her mother’s gravy. She sighed with pleasure.

Satisfied that she wasn’t going to faint, the man looked from her face to the top of the baby’s head. It was still caked with blood and birth fluids, and a gamy smell rose from his skin.

“Is he okay?” he asked.

“I think so. He’s pink and angry. That’s a good sign.”

The outlaw handed her the canteen. “You need more water.”

The jug was lighter now, but she had short fingers and she couldn’t hold it steady with just one hand.

“Here, let me help you.”

He tilted it to her lips, and she drank until she couldn’t hold another drop. Thanking him with a smile, she said, “I feel better.”

“That’s good, because we’ve got to get going. There’s going to be another storm this afternoon.”

Alex glanced at the western sky. A wall of clouds towered in the distance. “I need to get a few things for the baby.”

“I’ll do it.” He left her standing with the canteen and began gathering the clothing spread on the rocks. The fine silks and lacy unmentionables belonged to Charlotte. The cotton drawers and everyday skirts were hers.

“Which stuff is yours?” he asked, picking up a red silk petticoat and holding it up for inspection.

Irritated, Alex shook her head. “Just take cotton things for the baby.”

As he picked up her plain drawers, a night rail, and a white petticoat, his lips quirked upward.

No man in the world had seen her underthings until now, and her skin prickled. “You seem fascinated by my wardrobe, Mr. Malone. I take it you’ve never seen a lady’s undergarments before.”

“Actually I have. Quite a few as a matter of fact.” He brushed right by her and stuffed the clothing into his saddlebags. “I’m not bothered if you’re not.”

She shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters at this point. Some compromises in life are necessary.”

“That’s true,” he said, tightening the buckle with a jerk. “We can be in Grand Junction tomorrow if we start out now. Of course that’s assuming you don’t mind sitting in my lap for a long ride.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I? Of course we’ll both ride your horse,” she answered steadily.

“Fine, but you can’t wear that skirt. The bay’s too skittish.”

“Is that so?”

“God’s truth. I won him in a poker game last week. He’s not fond of me, and I don’t want to find out what he thinks of your skirt chasing after him.”

Alex didn’t like it, but glancing at the bay, she suspected he was telling the truth. He went back to the clothing on the bushes and selected a pair of striped britches that looked far too wide in the waist for her.

“Those belonged to the driver,” she said.

“They’re yours now. You can change behind the coach.” Stifling a smile, he added, “I won’t peek, miss. I promise.”

His words said one thing, but his eyes another, and Alex forced herself not to care about something as small as modesty. “Can you hold the baby while I change?”

His eyes twitched, and he shook his head. “I’ll pack up, but you’re on your own with Charlie.”

He’d named the baby after its mother, and tears pressed behind her eyes as she walked to the stagecoach, knelt behind it and set the baby down in the shade. His tiny face puckered, and an angry squall cut through the air as she stepped out of her skirt and pulled on the baggy pants. The length was tolerable, but the driver had been as round as Charlotte, and the waist was a foot too wide.

Pulling the drawstring as tight as she could, she tied a sturdy knot. Then she tucked in her blouse and knelt down to pick up the baby.

She would be holding him for hours, and so she took one of Smitty’s huge shirts off the impromptu clothesline. Laying the baby in the folds, she fashioned it into a sling. It wasn’t ideal, but the baby would be secure against her chest.

“I’m ready, Mr. Malone.”

He was waiting by the horse. “I’ll lift you up.”

She had no idea that horses were so tall. “He’s big, isn’t he?”

“Just average. Now take the horn with your left hand, hold the baby with your right, and put your foot in the stirrup.” His face knotted as he whispered to the horse. The bay was every bit as skittish as he had said.

“Here we go,” he said. “One—two—three.”

He flung her right leg over the horse’s rump, and she landed in the saddle with a thump. A second later he was behind her with the reins loose in his hands.

She felt like jelly spilling out of a jar as she clutched the baby with one hand and the saddle horn with the other. The animal seemed ready to take flight, like Pegasus shooting through the sky.

“We’ve got to get out of this gully,” Jake said. They were headed west into the sun where dark clouds were billowing near them.

“It’s going to rain, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

Alex nestled the baby closer. How would she keep him dry? Her heart lurched. She’d shield him with her body as best as she could, but soon he’d lose the resources God gave a newborn, and he’d need milk to survive. At the mercy of the elements and Jake Malone’s good graces, she could only pray they’d reach Grand Junction in time.

The baby whimpered, and the heat of his pink skin soaked through her blouse.

“Can’t you make him shut up?”

“I’ll try.”

Alex hummed until the baby settled against her chest, soaking the last bit of strength from her bones. She had gone without sleep for two days, and the bay swayed like a rocking chair. She couldn’t keep her eyes open, and she slumped against the outlaw.

Jake Malone squeezed her waist and she jerked awake.

“I won’t bite, miss. Just lean back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Even as she spoke, Alex knew it was wishful thinking. Sheer exhaustion had robbed her of the ability to sit up. She was a little girl again, a sleepy child being carried to bed by strong arms, and she curled against Jake Malone’s chest.

His forearm rested on her hip, and she could feel his fingers just below her breast. With the slightest pressure, he held her in the saddle. She felt every inch of him pressing against her back, every twitch in his arm, and the strength in his thighs as he nudged the horse into a faster walk.

It was the closest she had ever been to a man. She had kissed Thomas on the lips, but they had never been hip to hip, knee to knee. She had no idea if Thomas’s muscles were hard or soft, if his back was straight or slightly curved, if his waist was thick or narrow.

But she knew all these things about Jake Malone. There wasn’t a spare inch of flesh around his middle, his thighs were long and lean, and his forearms were all muscle. She could also smell his breath, a sour whiskey odor she remembered from a bad time in her childhood, and she knew he could change as quickly as the weather. Safe one minute, dangerous the next.

Alex stiffened. She wanted to push his hand away from her waist and sit up straight, but she was exhausted beyond the strength of her will. She sagged against him, and with his arm holding her steady, she closed her eyes to the orange sun and faded into a dream.

She heard Charlotte’s cries, the baby’s wail, the roar of thunder, the rush of flooding water. A whimper rose in her throat as a raindrop jarred her awake. They were out of the gully, on a plain dotted with boulders, and a silvery curtain of water was racing toward them. She clutched the baby against her chest.

The outlaw pulled the horse up short. The bay almost bucked, but he settled the animal with his voice.

“I’ve got a slicker.” He reached behind the saddle and untied the rawhide laces holding a black oilcloth. She scooted forward to give him room to maneuver, but it was a mistake. The bay sidestepped.

“Stay still, dammit.”

She didn’t know if he was talking to her or the horse. She had seen what angry men did to their wives and children, and she remembered the night she learned that monsters sometimes wore familiar faces.

With a grunt, he unfurled the slicker, draped it over her legs and held up the center. “Put your head here,” he said.

Rain was already beading on the oilcloth. Eager to cover the baby, she shoved her head through the opening and spread the garment as best she could over herself, the baby and the outlaw’s knees.

“You’re going to get wet,” she said.

“It won’t be the first time.”

Lightning slashed the sky, thunder shook the air, and a burst of rain drenched her hair. The baby howled with misery. She wanted to feed him mother’s milk and wrap him in a clean diaper. She would have given a year of her life for shelter for them all, even Jake Malone.

She had prayed for an angel to rescue them, but God had sent her a flesh-and-blood man instead, a man who was dark, worn-out and dangerous. Hours had passed since they had buried Charlotte, but she could still smell liquor on him. He wore a revolver on his hip and carried a rifle in a leather scabbard. And then there had been that remark about seeing men die.

He hadn’t intended to stop, either. Jackson Jacob Malone wasn’t a hero, and probably not much of a gentleman. But an unseen force had compelled him to watch as Charlotte gave birth, and another force, something sad and human and decent, made him put down the mule and dig the grave.

Alex could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back. She believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt her, but she could hear her fiancé’s words, too.

You’re far too trusting, Alexandra.

Thomas may have been right, but her faith had always been rewarded. She sowed seeds of trust with her orphans, her friends, everyone she met, and not once had she been lied to or betrayed. It was her gift, this special kind of encouragement, and Jake Malone was no different from any other needy soul.

Except she was sitting in his lap, and he was a grown man and not a child. Except he owned two guns, had two black eyes and smelled like whiskey. Except his hand was too close to her breast, and the dampness of his shirt had soaked through to her own skin.

The rain gave him a strong musky scent. She could smell the baby’s dirty diaper, and she hoped the slicker would keep the odor away from the outlaw’s nose. His patience seemed thin to start with, and the tension in his body told her it was getting thinner by the minute.

As suddenly as it started, the rain stopped and the clouds blew apart. The sun turned the earth and sky into orange glass, a hot sea of glistening light.

“Oh my,” she whispered, squinting in the fiery glare. Perspiration poured from her skin, and the baby wailed.

“Can we stop?” she asked.

“If you’d like.”

He maneuvered the horse toward a boulder and climbed down from the bay. She pulled the oilcloth over her head and handed it to him. The cool air felt like a damp cloth, and her skin tingled.

“Hand me the baby,” Jake said. “Your legs might not hold you.”

As he lifted the tiny thing with his hands, she saw shock in his eyes, then something dark and clear as he cradled the baby against his chest. Holding him with one hand, he spread the slicker and a petticoat by the boulder, put the baby on its stomach and came to help her.

“Swing your leg back like I did.”

She tried, but her knee wouldn’t move. The bay shifted its weight. She could have sworn it growled, but she knew that was impossible. A second later she felt Jake’s hands around her waist, lifting her, pulling her close as he dragged her away from the skittish horse.

He set her on her feet, but her legs buckled and she fell against him. Her knees wouldn’t straighten, and she wondered if he would have to carry her. She was facing him, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his wet shirt sticking to his chest and dark hairs curling at his throat.

She looked into his liquid blue eyes and froze at what she saw. It was the same hard light she saw every day in the eyes of hungry children, the need for something so basic she couldn’t put it into words, a need she had never known because she had always been loved and cared for, safe and fed.

The darkness in his eyes made her shiver. She didn’t believe in lost souls, loneliness or pain that couldn’t be chased away by love as easily as dust disappeared with a broom. The darkness of night always turned into dawn. It was the unfailing truth of her life.

Until now. Until the baby’s needy wail clawed at her insides and she had no way to feed him. Until her own hunger blurred her vision and made her shake. Until her wet clothes chafed her skin and she could barely stand. Until she thought of her father and his failing heart and of Charlotte buried in the desert by strangers. Until the terrible truth that she was wet and hungry and lost took possession of her.

Tears welled in her eyes and her lips trembled. She pressed her dirty hands against her cheeks to hold back the flood, but it was too late. The pressure built to a throbbing ache that exploded in a throat-tearing sob.

Wrapping his arms around her, the stranger pulled her close. His breath echoed in her ear, and she smelled the rain and whiskey on his skin. She struggled to hold her breath, but she couldn’t hold back the tears.

When her knees buckled, Jake Malone did what no man had ever done for Alexandra Merritt. He held her while she cried.

Jake needed a drink.

The angel was crying her eyes out, the baby was bawling along with her, and between the noise, the dark spots floating in his eyes, a headache, and the misery in his groin that came from rubbing up against her, he was in a sorry state.

He knew how to comfort most women. You let them cry, then you kissed him and said you had to leave because you weren’t good enough for them.

Most women bought that line without a fight, and he suspected they were relieved to see him go. He was sure that deep down, Lettie was glad to see him leave even if she said otherwise, even if her brother had other ideas.

But the situation with Alexandra Merritt was entirely different. She expected comfort from him, and he wanted to comfort her, simply because he could. For all of her courage and confidence, she was a garden rose in the desert. She needed him, at least for a while, and it felt good in a deep, silent way.

She was sobbing like a train, all force and steam against his chest. Her fingers were digging into his arms but her legs had yet to take her weight. Holding her close, he learned that she had a man’s name and woman’s body. She was as soft as any woman he had ever held, and judging by the way her breath touched his bare throat, she was far too innocent to be held by someone like himself.

Jake wasn’t a patient man, but he didn’t move a muscle until her sobs turned into steady breaths. She shifted in his arms, but he didn’t let her go. Instead he reached into his back pocket for his bandanna and wiped her face.

God, she was a mess. Her cheeks were sunburned and dirty, and the tears had left streaks that glistened in the light. Her nose was running, too. She wasn’t the kind of woman who cried pretty, meaningless tears, and Jake wasn’t at all surprised when she straightened her back and stepped away from him.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her own filthy handkerchief. She was shaking, and he kept his hand on her shoulder as she blew her nose, loudly and without apology. “I don’t usually fall apart,” she said simply.

“You’re safe now. That’s usually when the shakes hit.” She looked pained, and he felt a strange urge to make her smile. “There’s no need to apologize. I’ve made lots of women cry.”

She gave him a serious look that told him she wasn’t used to flirting, then she nodded, as if making women cry was a confession she heard every day. Her loose hair grazed his knuckles. It was far softer than it looked, even dirty, wet and unbrushed.

“Can you stand now?” he asked. “I think Charlie needs some cleaning up. I can handle gunshot wounds and dead bodies, but the diapers are up to you.”

Blood must have rushed to her feet, because she managed to stumble to the baby. “Can you get something clean from the saddlebag?”

Jake pulled out a white petticoat and tossed it to her. “We’ll camp here tonight. My horse needs rest.”

“All right,” she answered, deftly wrapping the baby in the cotton and cradling him in her arms. She held him close to her chest, sharing her body heat.

Jake made a fire, cooked coffee and opened his last can of beans. He hadn’t been prepared to leave Flat Rock. His stash had included some jerky, a few canned goods and a flask of whiskey, most of which was gone.

As soon as the can was warm, he handed it to her with his only spoon and poured coffee into his only cup.

“You go first.” He was about to say Save me some, but the ravenous look in her eyes made him bite his tongue. She barely got out a polite thank-you before she nestled Charlie in her lap and reached for the can.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Their fingers touched as he maneuvered the hot pad into her palm. Even before he could stand up straight, she was shoveling beans into her mouth. She closed her eyes as if she were dining on pheasant, moaned with pleasure, swallowed and licked her lips.

All over a can of beans.

There wasn’t a doubt in Jake’s mind he’d go hungry tonight, and if it meant listening to the angel sigh with pleasure, he’d do it gladly. Night fell as he unsaddled the bay, set his gear near the fire and slouched against the saddle with his hat pulled low. He heard the spoon scrape against the tin can, then it stopped with a rattle.

Alex cleared her throat. “I’ve saved half for you.”

“I’m not hungry.” But his wayward stomach chose that moment to growl.

She must have heard his hunger pangs, because she was holding back a smile. “If you’re not hungry, I’ll put the rest out for the birds.”

“Finish it,” he said. “You haven’t eaten for two days.”

She shook her head. “You’re a lousy cook. I don’t want it.”

She was dangling the can in front of him like bait, and she looked as if she’d die if he didn’t eat something. His stomach rumbled even more loudly, and she smiled. “Please, Jake. I really can’t eat any more.”

His name rolled gently from her lips, and he liked it.

“All right then.” He reached across the fire and took the can in his bare hand. The metal was cool now, but still warm where her fingers had been. As the angel picked up the baby, he polished off the meal in four bites and poured coffee.

Charlie was squeaking like a kitten, and Jake washed down an unfamiliar lump of worry with the dregs from the pot. “Is he all right?”

“Just hungry. Can you hand me the canteen?”

He picked up the flask, stretched his arm as far as it would go and he handed it to her. She took it in both hands, tore off a piece of the petticoat, twisted it into a teat, and soaked it with water. Tickling the baby’s chin, she slipped the cotton into his mouth.

“With a little luck, he’ll figure this out,” she said.

The baby’s lips moved in that birdlike way, and he started to suck. Jake breathed a sigh of relief.

As Charlie’s jaws worked the makeshift nipple, Alex rocked him. “He’s fairly big for a newborn.”

Jake looked doubtful. He’d seen plucked chickens with more meat on their bones. Curiosity loosened his tongue and he sat higher against the saddle.

“Isn’t it kind of crazy for a woman to be traveling when she’s so far along?”

“It is, but she didn’t have much choice. She was stuck in Leadville for weeks because of the bridge being out over the gorge. If the train had been running, we would have reached Grand Junction a month ago.”

“Do you know anything about her?”

“Only that her last name was Smith and that she was a widow from Chicago. She mentioned starting a restaurant with her sister in California, but we talked mostly about the weather and the miserable ride. She seemed like a very private person.

“Being a widow named Smith sounds pretty convenient to me,” Jake said.

“I thought so, too.”

Charlie started fussing, and Alex dipped the cotton in the canteen. The baby made tiny sucking sounds, and the angel started humming, a lullaby he recognized in some hidden depth of his soul. The sun was gone, and in the firelight he watched the baby fall asleep in her arms.

Her eyelids were drooping too, and he kicked himself for noticing the thick lashes that shadowed her eyes. With thoughts of warmth and sweetness nipping at him, Jake stood up and spread his bedroll near the fire. “You and Charlie can have the blanket.”

“I’m not cold.” She pulled the baby closer and scooted against a rock.

Jake dropped the blanket over her shoulders, but she shrugged it off. He glared at her. She was making things more difficult than they had to be. “You’re either stupid or a liar. Which is it?”

“I’m too polite for my own good.”

“Then you’re both.”

She grinned at him, and he saw both truth and humor in her eyes. “Actually, I’m neither, but you’re still wet and I’m dry enough to be comfortable by the fire.”

He left the blanket lying in the dirt. For a man who didn’t have a considerate bone in his body, he was acting like a fool. He should have taken the blanket, gotten his whiskey from the saddlebag and concentrated on forgetting the past two days, but this woman made him irritable.

“You like to argue, don’t you?” he finally said.

“It’s a family trait.” Her eyes darkened. “How soon before we get to Grand Junction?”

“A day or so.”

“I’m already a month later than I wanted to be.”

“What’s waiting for you?”

“Family,” she said. “My parents. I haven’t seen them in five years.”

The baby was quiet, and Alex was on the verge of sleep. In less than a minute her head rolled forward and her breathing blended into the deep rhythms of the night. He spread the slicker on the ground and urged her down so that she was on her side with Charlie cradled in her arms, then he covered them both with the blanket.

As for himself, he had other ways to keep warm. Crouching by his gear, he pulled the whiskey flask out of the saddlebag. It was half-empty, but it was enough to help him sleep.

Behind him, the angel rustled beneath the blanket. Smoke from the fire wafted to his nose. Lowering the flask, he turned to make sure she hadn’t rolled too close to the coals. Still curled around the baby, she was staring at him as if he’d grown two heads. A nightmarish fear beamed in her eyes. No matter how thirsty he was, she looked like she needed it more.

“Do you want a swallow? It’ll help you sleep.”

“No, thank you.” She closed her eyes and blew out a lungful of air. He could almost see her measuring her next breath, taking it in, and forcing the fear out with it, until she went back to sleep.

The flask dangled in his hand as he breathed in the night air and its peculiar mix of smoke and emptiness. The baby cooed at her side, and a familiar stone shifted in his gut. He would have given ten years of his life, hell, all twenty-five years, just for five minutes of that kind of peace.

The flask grew warm from the heat of his hands. He had never cared for the taste of stale whiskey, and the dregs had been cooking for two days now. He heard the angel sigh in her sleep, saw her feet twitch, imagined her dreams of a fiery red desert and a baby being born.

And then he had thoughts of his own, of the crimes he’d committed, of Lettie, and his brother Gabe, of the last night in Flat Rock. He had been close to vomiting for two days now, and he knew if he took even a swallow of the warm liquor his guts would spill at his feet. He’d shame himself in front of her, and she’d be on her feet in a heartbeat, holding his head while he puked up his guts.

He couldn’t bear the thought of the angel hearing him vomit, so he put the whiskey back in his saddlebag and walked into the darkness. Stopping at a boulder silhouetted by the moon, he rolled a cigarette, slipped it between his lips and struck a match.

The tip glowed and faded, an orange flower blooming in the darkness, too bright to be real and too beautiful to last.