Of Men And Angels. Victoria Bylin

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

      Chapter Two

      “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