Desert Angel by Pamela K Forrest Read Free Book Online Page B

what to say, Jim looked around the baby’s room. “This is my son’s room. You can share it with him. When you feel up to it, I’ll show you the kitchen and such, but for now maybe you should rest.”
    “Where’s the baby?”
    “When you passed out on me I carried you up here and decided to leave him be for a time. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll go get hin?.”
    March wondered if she’d ever be ready to hold someone else’s child in her arms. Her heart ached for her own baby, and yet there was a relief that the child wouldn’t have to suffer as she had suffered. She’d had nothing to offer her daughter except a heart full of love, but love wouldn’t fill an empty stomach or warm a cold body And love wouldn’t protect her when someone called her white trash or whore.
    “I’m ready,” she stated softly.
    “Maybe you should … ah, clean up a little.” Her blond hair was hanging in snarls down her back, and she was still wearing the bloody dress. It embarrassed him that she would have let such a thing happen, or that he would have to draw her attention to it.
    He nodded toward the pretty yellow and white pitcher and bowl sitting on the dresser. “There’s warm water in the pitcher. I’ll go get the boy, and you come on downstairs when you’re ready.”
    March nodded, watching as he left the room. Unbuttoning her dress, she pulled it over her head, horrified at the large bloodstain on the skirt. A lady was never careless enough to let blood get on her skirts, even if it was three days after giving birth. She’d never be able to look him in the eyes again. Knowing that he must be thinking all kinds of terrible things about her, March moaned in despair.
    A thick cotton drying towel and smaller washing cloth hung on the rail beside the sink. Dipping the washing cloth into the water, she scrubbed as much of herself as possible. It had been months since she’d had an all-over bath. It was too cold to wash in the river during the winter, and they didn’t have a bucket large enough to sit down in. As soon as it was warm, she decided, she’d find a creek and take a nice, long bath.
    Putting on her only other dress, she carefully wrapped her stained clothes in a bundle and put them on the floor, taking great care that they didn’t touch the rug. She would have to wash them and hang them out to dry, since she had nothing else to wear.
    As she came slowly down the stairs, Jim noticed that the clean dress was badly wrinkled, and if anything, smaller than the one before. Her legs were visible several inches above her ankles, but it was obvious that she’d made an attempt to wash her bare feet. He tried not to notice how shapely her legs were or how the dress clung lovingly to every curve. She was tiny, but well filled out, and he forcefully reminded himself that she was just a girl and here to take care of his son, not him.
    Her gaze glued to the bundle in her employer’s arms, March forgot her earlier embarrassment. Her heart beat painfully hard as she reached out to pull the blanket away from the baby’s face.
    “How old is he?” she whispered.
    “Ten days.” Jim looked down at his sleeping son. “His mother didn’t survive his birth.” He saw no reason to tell this child about the horror Melanie had gone through.
    Longing with every fiber of her being to take the baby into her arms, March clasped her hands behind her back. “What’s his name?”
    Jim looked up at the girl and then back down at the baby. In all the confusion, the work and worry, he’d never given thought to giving him a name.
    “He doesn’t have one,” he finally admitted. “What?” Her stunned expression made him feel sadly lacking. “Everybody’s got to have a name. What have you been calling him?”
    “Mostly just boy.”
    “You’ve got to give him a name, Mr. Travis.”
    “Jim,” he corrected. They didn’t stand on formality at the ranch.
    “Jim,” she seemed to roll the name around on her tongue. “That’s a good