Of Men And Angels

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 fiancе’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.”