Of Men And Angels

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?”