Victoria Bylin - Of Men And Angels

The angel’s skirt swished near his face. He stood up and she sighed. “I’ve never seen someone die before.”

“I have.”

She gaped at him, and he felt like Clay Allison and Jesse James rolled into one. The corners of his mouth curled upward. He wasn’t in the same class as the James Brothers, but with his black duster, two black eyes and a three-day beard, any sensible woman would have crossed the street at the sight of him. He could have scared her even more with the truth. He’d shot a man, and depending on Henry Abbott’s stubbornness, Jake was either a free man or wanted for murder.

“Death isn’t a pretty sight,” he finally said.

She went pale. “My father is ill. I have to get to Grand Junction. Could you take us there?”

If he didn’t take her, the baby would die. Was there even a choice here?

There’s always a choice, Jake, and you’re making the wrong one. Lettie Abbott’s angry face rose up from the hot earth, shimmering with accusations, and he didn’t answer.

The angel was close to begging. “I have to get home as soon as I can. I know it’s out of your way, but I could pay you.”

He considered taking her up on the offer, but the stash in his saddlebags gave him a rare opportunity to be charitable.

“There’s no need,” he replied. “Can you ride?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t sat on a horse in ten years, Mr….?”

“Call me Jake.”

“I don’t know you well enough to use your given name.”

“You will soon enough.” With four dead mules and one horse, they’d be sharing a saddle and he’d be pressed up against her shapely backside for hours. With a lazy grin, he added, “Lady, you and I are going to be intimately acquainted before nightfall.”

Her eyes went wide, and beneath her thick lashes he saw dark circles of exhaustion, sheer terror and rage. Her loose hair caught the sun, and her eyes hardened into agate. “I doubt very seriously that’s going to happen.”

“Are you afraid of horses?”

She answered him with a glare and Jake eyed the bay, wondering how the animal would feel about the extra weight. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shift the baby and reach into her pocket, probably for a handkerchief to wipe away the day’s sweat. He pushed back his hat and blew out a hot breath as he turned to look at the angel.

“Do you think you can—”

A muddy Colt Peacemaker was aimed at his chest. Hell, she had hidden it in her pocket and he hadn’t noticed.

“Get out of here, or I swear I’ll shoot,” she said.

“Go right ahead. It’ll be a short trip to hell at this range.”

Her eyes flickered, and he knew she couldn’t possibly send a man to his death, let alone eternal damnation.

“Leave! Now!”

“I don’t want to.” The angel’s challenge pulled him in like a moth to a flame. “Lady, it’s just plain stupid to stay here. You might make it for a week or two, but Charlie there won’t.”

The baby was pressed to her breast, his head nestled at her throat. She looked up at Jake with frightened brown eyes and his common sense kicked in.

Lady, you and I are going to be intimately acquainted before nightfall.

His eyes settled on the angel’s face, and he wondered why on earth he had said something so stupid to a woman stranded in the desert.

The baby’s lips went crazy against her neck, and he knew why. The angel was beautiful. She radiated goodness, a kind of light that made his heart ache. He adjusted his hat so that she could see his face.

“I won’t hurt you, miss. You can call me Jake, or Jacob, or Jackson or even Mr. Malone if it makes you feel better.”

“Jacob…” Her voice went to a whisper, and she lowered the gun. “I’ve always hated that name.”

He felt insulted, but if the truth be told, he hated his name, too. Jake the rake, Jake the snake, Jake the fake. She seemed to like formalities, so he tipped his hat. “Jake Malone at your service. And you are?”

“Alexandra Merritt. Alex for short.”

A man’s name. It didn’t fit the dark-haired angel staring at him with those sweet brown eyes.

“Well, Miss Merritt, I don’t like your name, either.”

“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.