Of Men And Angels. Victoria Bylin

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