Desert Angel by Pamela K Forrest Page B

humorous response when he teased her, and had found it a pleasant change from the whining he had become accustomed to from Melanie.
    “Everything done?” Jim watched as she wandered over to the bookshelves and opened a door. Her fingers lovingly caressed the bindings, tracing the impressed titles with a longing that was visible.
    “You’re welcome to read any of them,” he offered. “Pick one and join me. I’ve still got some paperwork to do, but I’d welcome your company.”
    March carefully pulled a book from the shelf, holding it reverently and wondering what wonderful words the printed letters inside told. “Jamie will be awake soon wanting to be fed .. .”
    “John,” Jim corrected, knowing that it was a battle he had already lost. The boy’s name would be Jamie, which he really didn’t oppose … except that he enjoyed arguing with his housekeeper.
    “Whoever he is,” March continued, hiding a grin, “will be wanting to be fed, and I’ve got a dress started … there was so much fabric, I had trouble deciding which to use . . . “
    “March, sit down, put your feet up, and rest a little. You’re always working, the house is spotless, my shirts have never been so well ironed, and your coffee is improving. You’ve earned some time to rest.”
    “Well . . . “ She carried the book over to the wingback chair and sat down in its comfortable depths. Curling her feet beneath her, she opened the first page of the book.
    Jim watched her for several minutes, liking her presence in the room. She looked so young and innocent, so enticing and sensual, as she turned the pages. A frown of concentration creased her brow, and he wondered what was troubling her to cause it.
    “What are you reading?”
    Feeling like a fraud, March raised her eyes from the circles and lines on the pages. “I’m not … I think I’m discovering that I can’t sit and relax, when I know I’ve got work to do,” she improvised. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she couldn’t read. She was pleased when she recognized an occasional letter her mother had taught her long ago, before so many responsibilities had taken away the time necessary for lessons.
    Jamie’s wail drifted down and March sighed with relief at the excuse to leave. Jim pulled out his pocket watch, noted the hour, and smiled broadly.
    “Right on time,” he chuckled as he put the watch away and climbed to his feet. “It’s been a while since I’ve done it, now that you’re here, but I think I can remember how to change his towel.”
    “I’ll do it, that’s what you pay me for.” March stood up and hastily replaced the book on the shelf.
    “You fix his bottle, while I take care of him,” Jim stated as he left the room. “I haven’t seen much of him in the last few days. Hard to believe, but I’ve missed the boy. Guess he kinda grows on you.”
    Fix his bottle, March thought, as she went into the kitchen and looked at the many cans on the shelves. She couldn’t begin to guess which one held the milk, in fact, wasn’t sure if there even was any. She’d nursed the baby since her arrival, and hadn’t worried about any other kind of feeding. She dug out a bottle and nipple from the cabinet and set them on the counter. Walking back to the office, she knew that the time had come to confess that she couldn’t read. Jim would have to find the milk, or she’d have to nurse the baby.
    “You’d think this boy hadn’t eaten in a week, from all the noise he’s making,” Jim said as he carried the crying baby into the room. “Where’s his bottle?”
    “I couldn’t find the milk,” she admitted reluctantly.
    “Are we out? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” His large hand swamped the baby’s small back as he patted it soothingly. “We’ve got a starving youn’en here, and nothing to feed him. I know from experience that he can keep this up all night.”
    “I’ll feed him.” March reached over and took the infant from his arms.