Free Desert Angel by Pamela K Forrest Page B

moved his family west. The plantation in Georgia was purely fictional, as were all of his other claims to wealth.
    March leaned against the porch railing and stared unseeing into the distance. She could barely remember ever loving her father. As a child she had felt guilty, because she disliked and feared him so much. A child should run to her father for protection, instead March had run from him, frequently spending the entire night hiding from his terrifying rages.
    She remembered all of the things he had done, things even a child recognized were illegal or immoral. They never stayed in one place long enough for the law to catch him, often slipping away in the dead of the night. She had lived with equal parts of hope and dread that he would be found out. When it happened, and it would someday, how would Mama support herself and all of the little ones?
    A shiver ran down March’s spine, and an unknown snarl crossed her face when she remembered the night her dislike for her father had turned to unadulterated hatred. For the rest of her life, she’d never forget or forgive.
    Jamie mewed softly, snapping her from her thoughts. The snarl on her face gentled as she looked down at her tiny charge. This time Papa had unknowingly done something for her instead of to her. He had sent her to live in a castle, caring for a little boy who needed her as badly as she needed him.
    Jamie opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness. He nuzzled against her breast, his tiny mouth searching for the source of nourishment.
    “Are you hungry, again?” March asked, the baby’s whimpers his only response. Turning, she walked into the house and climbed the stairs to his room. By the time she had changed his towel for a dry one, he was crying pitifully.
    Sitting in the rocker and opening her dress, March smiled when his cries ceased as his mouth latched onto her nipple. She smoothed down his rumpled gown and caressed his tiny head.
    “Remind me to thank Papa, if I ever see him again. I want him to know how happy he made me when he sent me here,” she said quietly to the nursing baby.
    “Then I’ll gut shoot him, and stand back and watch him slowly bleed to death.”

     
     
     

SIX
    First one problem then another had risen to prevent Jim from returning to the house until after dark. His frustration grew as he left the barn after unsaddling his horse and saw that the house was dark, even the baby’s room was without light.
    “Damn,” he mumbled. He had wanted to interview his new housekeeper. The baby had been in her sole care for two days, and he didn’t know anything about her. Hiring her had been a spur-of-the-moment decision necessitated by desperation.
    By now she could have dug through every crook and cranny in the house looking for valuables to steal. Hell, he thought, as dark as the house was, she could be long gone, leaving the baby to fend for himself.
    At the thought of his infant son being alone, possibly for hours, Jim rushed his steps, entering the house through the front door. He took the stairs two at a time, his spurs clinking against the wood.
    The door to the baby’s room was cracked open and he pushed it violently, making it bang noisily against the wall. Startled whimpering from the crib drew a sigh of relief from Jim, as he moved more quietly into the room. He gently patted his son’s back until the baby slept once again.
    There was no sign of March in the room, but the evidence of the child sleeping quietly told him that she hadn’t left during the day, which meant that she could still be around somewhere.
    When a quick search of the upper floor didn’t produce the girl, Jim made his way downstairs. The light from the coals in the fireplace illuminated the kitchen enough to show her sitting at the table, her head resting on her folded arms.
    March heard him behind her and dread filled her as she slowly raised her head. Wetting her suddenly dry lips, she gathered together her trembling courage. “I know