Desert Angel (31 page)

Licking her lips, March smiled. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever tasted. There can’t be anything in the world that’s even half that good!”

“Walp, there might be a body or two who’d disagree with you on that.” Walt’s eyes twinkled with merriment. ” ‘Course, ever’body’s entitled to his own opinion.”

“Do we have to wait until next summer to have more?”

“Nope, we make it twice a year; Fourth of July and Christmas Eve.”

“Hurry, hurry Christmas!” When other people appeared with their bowls, March wandered away, searching for Jim as she greeted the neighbors she knew and nodded to others who were still strangers.

With something closer to contentment than she had ever felt in her life, March stood beneath the shade of a ponderosa pine and scanned the area, looking for Jim. It had been a perfect day, quite possibly the best in her life.

Instead of standing on the sidelines and longing to be a part of the group, for the first time ever, she felt as if she belonged. It was a heady feeling to know that these people accepted her, even if somewhat begrudgingly.

How she wished that Mama and the younger children could have been here. The little ones would have loved the games and the ice cream. She could almost see their eyes opened wide with wonder at the cold confection.

Regretting that the day was almost over, March knew she was old enough to accept that nothing lasts forever, but still young enough to hope it would go on and on. Everything, good or bad, had to come to an end, but why did it always seem that the good ended a whole lot faster than the bad?

“You filthy, white-trash whore!”

March heard the harsh words as a hand on her shoulder jerked her around. Torn so abruptly from her mood of contentment, she was unprepared to face the snarling, hate-filled visage of the man who held her with a hand on each of her shoulders, his strong fingers digging into her flesh.

She had never seen him before, but she knew immediately that he was the one person she had most dreaded seeing at the picnic. His features were so distorted with his vindictiveness, that she realized he was dangerously beyond reasoning. “You killed my boy!”

“Mr. Hamner, I — “

“You wiggled your tight little ass at him, and when he did what any boy would do, you cried rape!”

“Mr. Hamner, I never — “

“You bitch!” His voice vibrating through the sudden silence as everyone’s attention was caught, he began to shake her with such violence that March feared her neck would snap. “You lying slut! I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget! I’ll make you regret the day you were ever born! When I’m through with you, there won’t be anyone around who won’t know exactly what you are! You’ll be sorry — “

“Let her go, Bud.”

If she could have, March would have sighed with relief at the command in Jim’s voice. Later, she promised herself, she’d remember to thank him for his intervention. For now, she was more concerned with freeing herself from this madman, before he could do irreparable harm. She saw that Walt and a couple of other men had gathered beside Jim, silently offering their help to defuse the situation.

“Stay out of this, Travis, this is none of your damn business!”

“You made it my business when you attacked my housekeeper. Now back off.”

His fingers tightened until March was sure they were drawing blood. “This tramp needs to learn a lesson or two, and I’m just the man to do it.”

“Let me handle this, Travis.” Another voice, deeper, older, broke into the tense silence. “Bud, let the girl go.”

“Leave me alone, Sheriff. I own you, now get outa here.”

“You’re wrong, Bud. You may be the wealthiest rancher around, but you don’t own me, the town council pays my wage.” The click of a hammer being pulled back on a gun echoed through the clearing. “I don’t want to use this on you, Bud. We’ve been friends for a good many years, long before this pig path became a town, but I won’t hesitate, if it means saving that girl’s life.”

“You’re gonna choose a white-trash slut over me?” Hamner released one shoulder, moved his hand to around March’s neck, and turned to look at the sheriff. “You call yourself my friend?” he asked with a sneer.

“I’m the best friend you’ve got, Bud, ‘cause I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Now, let her go.”

“I could break her neck before you can pull that trigger.”

“But you’d still be dead a few seconds later. At this range, I can’t miss.”

“Ain’t got nothin‘ to live for no how, now that my boy’s dead.”

Jim stood with his hands clutched into fists, cursing his inability to save March. He had no doubt that one wrong move, and Bud Hamner would snap her slender neck as easily as snapping a twig.

“Mr. Hamner, I didn’t kill your son,” March said quietly, her voice filled with more composure than she actually felt. “I fell in love with Fred, and thought he wanted me to be his wife.”

“Wife, hah! Why would you think my boy would look twice at the likes of you?” He turned away from the sheriff and looked at his victim.

“I wondered the same thing, but every evening he came by the cafe and walked me home. He talked about you and the ranch and his plans for the future.

“I felt like the luckiest girl in the world, when he started talking about marriage.”

“Marriage?To you? Not likely!”

“I thought so, too, but he did, Mr. Hamner. He offered me all of the things that I’d only dreamed about for most of my life.” March felt his hold on her neck loosen slightly, and took a deep breath. “I found out too late that he had paid my father for the use of my body.”

“You’re lying. My boy was a lot of things, but he didn’t abuse women. I taught him better than that.”

“He didn’t abuse me, Mr. Hamner. He used me, paid my father, and then walked away. He took with him my self-respect and all my dreams for the future.”

“White-trash sluts don’t deserve no future.”

“Even white trash, as you’ve labeled me, is human.” March squared her slender shoulders, pride in every line of her small body. “I hurt, I get scared. And I bleed, Mr. Hamner. If you push a knife in, you’ll discover my blood is as red as yours.

“And always, even when I didn’t have a pair of shoes for my feet or my belly growled with hunger, I still had my dreams. The crudest thing you can do to someone is rob them of their dreams.”

Her voice softened, so that the interested audience had to strain to hear her every word. Her eyes had deepened to a liquid lavender, filled with understanding and pity for the older man.

“But you know that, don’t you, Mr. Hamner? You had dreams … so many, many dreams, for your ranch and for your son. But someone robbed you of those dreams, someone took the very soul from your body and shredded it into tiny little pieces. Now you need to make me suffer, as you are suffering.

“As God is my witness, I didn’t kill Fred.” She watched as the expressions chased across his face, from blinding fury to heartrending sorrow.

“If my death at your hands will help you to accept that he is gone, then go ahead, do it. I can’t stop you.” She motioned to the men behind him. “They can’t stop you, the deed will be done before either one of them can react.” Tears clouded the old man’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “Damn you, God damn you,” he whispered in a choked voice. “You took away everything I had to live for.”

She felt his hand slide from her neck and briefly closed her eyes in a silent prayer. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Hamner,” she said softly.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand against his cheek. “I know that no words can ease the pain of losing your child.”

“You can’t know that! You can’t know what it’s like to wake up every morning and know that you’ll never hear his voice, that it’s just one more day to get through without him.”

“I lost my baby, she came too early. I never saw her face or heard her voice, but my grief is no less than yours,” March replied gently.

He raised his head, his cheeks wet with tears. The single word, a question, was forced through a throat choked with pain. “Fred’s?”

“Yes … his daughter.”

“Oh God.” Bud Hamner forgot that the entire town looked on with avid interest. He forgot that he had come to make this girl suffer. He forgot that just moments ago he had threatened to kill her, had fully intended to kill her.

Suddenly, his loss was doubled. He was torn by a pain so great, he felt as if his heart would break.

Jim stiffened when Bud reached out again to March, then relaxed slightly as he pulled her into his arms. Need met need, and March did what she had always done … she gave of herself. Putting aside her own agony, she gave to a man who was suffering beyond what he was capable of handling.

March wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and held him as he cried. Tears clouded her own eyes, as she shared his suffering, his loss. She had lost her baby, but he had the double loss of his child and his grandchild.

She knew she would someday have more children to love, would perhaps suffer greater losses and learn to accept the things she couldn’t change. But never again would anything affect her quite as deeply as being a part of Bud Ham- ner’s pain.

“I loved him,” Bud muttered, clutching to March with painful intensity. “He was all I had, and I gave him everything. He was a bit spoiled, but he wasn’t a bad boy.”

He pulled away from March, staring into her eyes. “He wasn’t a bad boy. He had some wild oats to sow, that’s all.”

March nodded, keeping to herself the memory of Fred’s final actions that caused his death. There was no reason to share that with Bud; no reason to inflict further pain.

“I’d like to have seen her,” he said quietly. “My granddaughter.”

“Me, too.” March smiled gently. “My Mama said she had a head full of dark hair, and was as tiny and dainty as a little doll. She said she was a real beauty.”

His tear-rimmed eyes studied the delicacy of her face, the golden hair that curled riotously every which way, the wisdom and understanding in her gray eyes. He tried to clear his throat, but his voice was little more than a harsh whisper. “She’d a’had to have been, if she looked anything like her mother.”

Bud released her abruptly, dropping his hands to his sides. “I ain’t apologizing for none of this, and I hope we never cross paths again. I won’t be able to look at you without thinking of my boy … but I’ma thinking we both missed out on something special, because we didn’t meet a whole lot sooner.

“Your daddy might be nothing but white trash, but you… you’re a lady who deserves better than you got.”

With a nod at her, ignoring everyone else at the clearing, Bud turned and walked away. March folded her hands together and watched until he was out of sight, tears for his loneliness and sorrow dampening her face.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Never had an invitation been so welcomed or more readily accepted. Jim took her into his arms and held her tightly against him. He felt her slowly relax, her arms coming to rest around his waist.

“I was so scared,” she whispered.

“I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.” Jim rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “You are the most giving person I’ve ever known. Bud was intent on causing you pain, and you turn around and offer him understanding and sympathy!”

“He’s so desperately hurt.”

The observers moved away, most discussing March’s gentle strength and understanding, some clearly disappointed that the ending had been so sedate. Several of them looked at her with new respect, and more than a few decided that maybe they had been too harsh in their original judgment of the girl.

A wagon pulled up beside them and March looked up, surprised to see Mazie holding the reins. “Come on with me, sweetie pie,” the older woman called. “Let’s make a quick trip into town, and get you spruced up just a little.”

“Mazie, I’m fine.” March pulled away from Jim, but still kept one arm around his waist. “A little worse for wear, but so is everyone else by this time of day.”

“Go with her, angel,” Jim coaxed. “By the time you get back, everybody will have forgotten most of it, and will be anticipating the finale of the day.”

“Jamie?” March looked toward the quilt, relieved to see the baby snuggled contentedly in experienced arms.

“He’s fine. Go on now, get away from here for a few minutes.”

“This is ridiculous, you’re both acting like I’m some delicate maiden, who’s going to swoon any minute.” Letting Jim lift her into the wagon, March settled beside Mazie.

Sitting with her hands in her lap, she was surprised to discover that they were shaking. Maybe it was a good idea for her to leave the picnic for a few minutes. The trip into town and back wouldn’t take more than a half hour. By the time she returned, she was sure that she would be in better control of herself.

Reluctant to let her out of his sight, Jim watched as the wagon pulled away. He and Mazie had made some hasty plans, one of which was to get March into town for a while. Now it was his turn to handle his assigned tasks. His eyes narrowed as he searched the clearing until he located the man he needed.

With a satisfied nod, Jim headed in his direction.