Of Men And Angels. Victoria Bylin
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for every minute.
“Papa, I’ve got so much to tell you.” She stepped back and William took a long look at her. Her face was red and near blistering. Baggy trousers hung from her hips, and a sleeve had been torn from her white blouse. Dried blood caked the bandage on her arm.
He grabbed her shoulders. “My God! What happened?”
“The stage crashed in a thunderstorm. There’s a lot to tell, but there are two people you have to meet first.”
William’s gaze roved to the man holding the baby. With his black eyes and black duster, he seemed more like a shadow than flesh and bone. Hard living, and only God knew what else, had etched deep lines in the young man’s face, and he had a thirsty look in his eyes.
William knew the craving when he saw it, and he felt a stab of sympathy for the young man. With his stubbled jaw and bruised face, he looked like a rounder, but the baby turned him into something else. He looked like a father, too, and William dared to hope his daughter had found a diamond in the rough.
The cowboy stepped toward Alex and she reached for the baby. Holding the infant against her breast, she nodded at the stranger.
“Papa, this is Jackson Jacob Malone. He saved my life. Twice.” Smiling, she held up the baby. “And this is Charlie.”
“Who does he belong to?”
“No one right now.”
William felt a twinge of disappointment that the cowboy wasn’t the baby’s father, and he cringed when he saw a light in his daughter’s eyes that reminded him of his wife as a younger woman.
I want another baby, Will.
Any man who had fathered a child by choice knew that look, and most of the time a woman got her way. Peeling back the white cloth shielding the baby’s head, he peered into his tiny face. “He looks brand-new.”
“He is. His mother died giving birth.”
“And his father?”
Alex shook her head. “She never said.”
William watched as the cowboy took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The man was ready to hightail it out of town, but someone had hammered good manners into him, and he didn’t even twitch while he waited for Alex to finish talking.
He had the air of a perfect gentleman, but William saw through him. He was polite because it had been beaten into him, and beneath his hooded gaze, William saw a man who cussed God and took comfort where he could find it.
He had known countless men like Jackson Jacob Malone over the years. He’d prayed with them and even buried a few of them when things went bad. He knew these men in his bone marrow because he had been one himself. Kindness would only make a man like Malone run, so William got tough and mean.
“This kid looks just like you, son. What lies are you telling?”
Anger rose from his black duster like smoke. “Let’s see, old man. The last woman I bedded was a whore in Glenville, and that was a lot more recent than nine months ago when Charlie here got started. Let me think….” Jake rolled his eyes skyward and twisted his lips into an insolent grin.
William saw right through the ploy. The young man wanted to shock him.
“As I recall,” Jake continued, “a sweet young thing spread her legs for me about then, but she was a blonde with big tits and the woman I just buried—”
“Stop it!” Alex glared at them both, then zeroed in on Jake. “How dare you speak like that about someone you—”
“Bedded?”
“I can ignore the language, but not the disrespect.”
William wasn’t surprised when his daughter turned on him next. “Papa, that question was out of line. You have no right to question Jake’s integrity.”
So it was already Jake and not Mr. Malone.
The young man didn’t say a word, and William, who never kept his mouth closed and only rarely regretted opening it, wasn’t at all sorry for riling him. He believed that “fight” and “flight” were God-given instincts, and Jake Malone was a fighter.
“My daughter’s right, Mr. Malone. I have a rude streak a mile wide. I owe you far more than gratitude for saving her life. She’s a treasure.” He stuck out his hand and waited for the man to take it.
William guessed he still wanted to get drunk and throw a few punches, but at the mention of Alex, Jake Malone’s eyes shimmered with a tender light. He took William’s hand with a firm grasp.
“The privilege was mine, sir.”
Alex smiled up at the cowboy, and William saw the precise moment when the fight in Jake Malone turned to flight. His eyes lingered a moment too long on her face. His mouth softened, and in his old bones William felt the young man’s longing for something pure and good.
Glancing at Charlie, the cowboy almost smiled, but instead he tipped his hat to Alex. “Miss Merritt, I wish you all the best.”
Turning on his heels, he walked way.
Alex shot after him and tugged on his sleeve. “Jake! Wait! You can’t just leave. At least stay for supper.”
Malone didn’t stop walking, and William didn’t know whether to respect him for wanting to protect Alex from the likes of himself, or if he despised the man for a lack of courage.
Either way, there was hope for Jake Malone, and once the cowboy found that out for himself he’d beat all hell out of Thomas Hunnicutt as a son-in-law. He knew where the young man was headed, and he wasn’t going anywhere as long as William had anything to say about it.
“I’ve got a bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey with your name on it, son.”
The cowboy stopped dead in his tracks. Dust billowed at Alexandra’s feet, and William prayed he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
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