Of Men And Angels. Victoria Bylin

He gazed at the curve of her neck where her blouse gaped, and he could see a line where her white skin ended and a fiery sunburn began. She was on the verge of blistering, so he tugged her blouse higher on her neck. She tensed beneath his fingertips. “What are you doing?”

      “You’re starting to look like a tomato.”

      His fingers brushed her skin, not by accident, and she sat straighter, as if her backbone had grown back.

      “I’ll be glad to get home,” she said.

      “Must be nice to have a home to go to.”

      Her voice softened. “Where are you from?”

      “Nowhere in particular.”

      “You must be coming from somewhere,” she probed. “What do you do?”

      It was the kind of thing a woman would ask at a dinner party. “You don’t want to know.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      He grumbled at her. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to ask questions?”

      She didn’t answer, and he felt bad for scolding her. The woman made him prickly all over, and he gave in to a strange wave of pity. “I pretty much go where I want.”

      “Where were you headed when you found us?”

      “California,” he replied.

      “Do you have family there?”

      She was like a child rummaging through a box of puzzle pieces, looking for ones that fit, excited at the prospect of a pretty picture. Irritation leaked into his voice. “What I do isn’t anyone’s business but mine.”

      “Maybe not, but Charlie and I are alive because you stopped. I won’t forget what I owe you.”

      “You don’t owe me anything except an apology.” Her cheeks flushed, and it charmed him enough to be kind. “It’s not smart to kiss a man and then knock him on his butt.”

      “I guess I had a sudden urge to kick death in the teeth, or something like that,” she said with dignity. “I am sorry, though. I behaved badly.”

      “No offense taken.”

      Alex turned in the saddle and looked at him with those rich brown eyes and sunburned face. With a sweet smile, she said, “You’re a good man.”

      He wasn’t anywhere close to being good. His eyes drifted to her pink lips. Lightning shot to his groin and ricocheted to his chest. Pure lust would have been easy to put in its place, but Jake knew his reaction wasn’t that simple. Yes, he wanted to show Alex a thing or two about kissing a man, but he also wanted to keep her safe, to be someone she would want to know.

      But he was on the run. He had no business lusting after an angel, even if he had kissed her and seen need in her eyes, curiosity, and the hunger that comes with a child’s first taste of sugar. Even if she asked him for more, he had nothing to give except a glimpse of pleasure, and that wouldn’t be enough. She deserved more from life, and so did the baby in her arms.

      His jaw tightened as he thought back to Lettie and the baby she was carrying. He didn’t love her, not even a little bit, and the child would be better off without having a son of a bitch like himself for a father.

      Charlie was propped on Alex’s shoulder. Patting his back, she crooned a vaguely familiar melody, and with a dim ache behind his eyes, Jake recognized the hymn she had been singing when he found her. The baby’s face was red, and his wispy hair, the same dark brown as Jake’s, was damp and matted. His eyes were blue slits, glassy with tears, and needy enough to make a grown man cry.

      It was more than Jake could stand. He would take Alex to her family in Grand Junction, then he’d find a saloon, order a bottle of whiskey and drink himself senseless. He had plenty of money. He could drink all night if he wanted, and maybe even find a woman to share the pleasure.

      The miles passed quickly once he had a plan. The trail dipped through a canyon full of sage and scraggly junipers until the ravine widened into a thrusting desert plain. Grand Junction rose in the distance, and Alex stretched to see the rows of buildings.

      Charlie let out another wail, and Jake sighed. He could already feel the whiskey tickling his throat.

      “We’re here!”

      Her joy flowed through him. He really had saved her life, and he wondered if saving an angel made up for the rest of the misery he’d caused through the years. He even let himself wonder what Gabe would have said about his little brother riding into town with a woman and a baby.

      With the thought of Gabe, his good mood soured like old milk. His brother would have told him he was a fool. He would have called him a drunk and a cheat and told him to keep his dirty hands off of Miss Merritt’s slender waist, to mind his manners, brush his teeth and get a job.

      Jake was scowling when they reached the middle of town where Waltham’s Emporium was doing a brisk business. A large man with silver hair walked down the steps toward a loaded buckboard.

      “Papa! Papa!” Alex cried.

      She squirmed like a kid at Christmas, and the old man froze in his tracks. Jake saw shock in his eyes, then a blossom of pure joy. He half expected the man to break into a run, but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to work any faster.

      The bay chuffed, and Jake reined him in at a hitching post. Sliding out of the saddle, he reached for Alex. She shoved Charlie into his arms and slid off the bay. Half staggering with her arms spread wide, she ran to the silver giant of a man.

      “Oh, Papa! You won’t believe what happened.”

      The old man hugged his daughter like there was no tomorrow, and Jake stood by the horse with Charlie squalling in his arms.

      He needed that drink worse than ever.

      Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

      William Merritt was a man of great emotion on even a quiet day, and having his daughter home at last was enough to make him shout with joy. It had been five years since he had seen her and more than ten since she had lived at home. It had been her mother’s idea to send Alex to live with her aunt in Philadelphia. William had fought the idea, but Kath insisted on giving their daughter a taste a taste of Eastern sophistication, including the opportunity to meet educated young men and wear stylish dresses. As always, Kath had stood her ground, and he’d given in.

      And so he and his daughter had written letters, and because of the strange intimacy of paper and pen, William knew his daughter better than she knew herself. He had an uncanny ability to read between the lines, and for the past six months, he’d been worried about her engagement to Thomas Hunnicutt.

      But those worries could wait. He squeezed her shoulders and something between a laugh and a roar ripped from his throat. She leaned back, her hands still in his, and he saw a thousand questions in her eyes.

      “I’m fine,” he said. “Just slowing down a little.”

      But the dark circles under his eyes went beyond a man feeling his years, and if the truth be told, the pounding of his heart at the shock of seeing her scared him just a little.

      More time…more time…more time…

      Dear God, he’d be grateful for every minute.

      “Papa, I’ve got so much to tell you.” She stepped back and William took a long look at her. Her face was red and near blistering. Baggy trousers hung from her hips, and a sleeve had been torn from her white blouse. Dried blood caked the bandage on her arm.

      He grabbed her shoulders. “My God! What happened?”

      “The stage crashed in a thunderstorm. There’s a lot to tell, but there are two people you have to meet first.”

      William’s gaze roved to the man holding the baby. With his black eyes and black duster, he seemed more like a shadow than flesh and bone. Hard living, and only God knew what