My Angel (58 page)

She carried a child deep inside her. She had so very much to live for, because she wanted this child to be born healthy and happy. She meant to make his life as wonderful as she could.

It wouldn't matter that the boy would not know his father. There were plenty of men in her life, men who would make her son feel wanted. After all, she had Trey, Dakota and her father.

Angela pushed her hair from her eyes and gave Sam Chamberlain a well-deserved smile. "Thank you," she told him.

His grin widened. "I take it you're feeling better.'' He spoke softly, almost as if he was afraid he'd break her.

"Much better." She swung her legs off the bed and tried to rise. Instantly she sat back down.

Sam was beside her. "Stay in bed a little while longer," he said.

"What did you do?" Her words were accusatory.

"I gave you a little something to make sure you'd sleep peacefully."

"I should be very angry with you."

"But you're not. And if that smile on your face means anything, I have no regrets," he said.

"I was a fool," she said, her hand resting on her stomach.

His gaze was filled with love and admiration. "No, Angela. You were hurting. But given your condition I couldn't let you heal on your own or find your own solutions. I had to step in."

Shock ricocheted to her toes. "You know." She didn't need to ask him. She knew the answer.

He nodded, a strange sadness in his expression, but joy in his eyes. "Does Alexi?"

"If he did, do you think for one moment he would have let us leave?" Angela answered. She hadn't told him because she knew he would never have let her go if he'd known the truth. Guilt was not a pleasant emotion. Alexi should know about his child.

"You can write him. We will mail the letter in the next port. In any case, it will give him time to decide how much he cares about you."

"I don't want him to know, at least not yet."

Sam hesitated, his lips thinning to a grim line. "Care to tell me why?" he asked.

''If he comes to
America
again, I want to know he came for me.'' With that said Angela managed to stand without swaying and make her way to the plate of food her father had brought her. She ate until she couldn't stand the sight of the food left in front of her.

Chapter Twenty

Dressed from head to toe in black, his hat sitting low, Devil Blackmoor watched the babe pull himself up and on unsteady legs toddle toward its mother. He counted backward.

Allah, but they'd made love only once.

Pride filled him--then a blinding rage so strong the blood pounding in his head blurred his vision. He could have never foreseen this. Willing his shattered nerves to calm, he absorbed the scene before him.

In motherhood, Angela was even more beautiful than he remembered. She wore her buckskins and a white shirt. He held back the smile that threatened. Still, she courted rebellion. Her hair was braided in one single plait, and at the moment it lay over her shoulder. The knife she'd always kept handy was at her waist, a shotgun rested against the same tree trunk she leaned against, and she wore a pistol she had strapped to her leg.

The baby let out an excited little coo at some new discovery. Alexi smiled, and happiness seeped through him. The emptiness he'd felt for over a year now--almost a year and a half--seemed to be fading slowly, his heart swelling with unbound love.

His child.

At least, he thought, surely the little one must be his. He'd asked questions at the trading post only five miles away. He'd
seen Dakota and Emma for a few hours before continuing his journey. No one had mentioned a child.

The baby was his.

His son plucked a small white daisy. Holding the flower in his grubby little fist, he proudly showed the small treasure to his mama. She laughed. Alexi's heart flipped over.

He wanted to race down the hill and claim his son. He yearned to sweep mother and child into his arms and race off into the sunset, never looking back.

Except there was no setting sun.

And the mama would put up one hell of a fight.

No, that wasn't the way to right all the wrongs he'd committed against his lady. Alexi nudged the horse into the shelter of a thick stand of aspen. He wanted to watch his son a little while longer, needed to look upon the child and the mother, until his racing heart calmed. He loved them both. Allah, but it had taken him a long time to realize his love.

Angela kissed the child's finger. The boy chortled in glee, losing his balance and falling on his well-padded rump. Alexi chuckled deep in his throat, enjoying the play, and the experience of watching his child.

The boy was now on his back, his legs whirling madly in the air, his arms following suit. She tickled him and kissed him, blowing on his tummy.

Alexi's heart lodged in his throat.

From a distance he could hear her croon soft words to the child. She put a diaper on the boy, still murmuring words that made no sense.

Mesmerized by the sight in front of him, he watched her undo her shirt and bare one swollen white breast, crested with a taut nipple. Alexi swallowed hard. His legs tightened around the horse. Jabbar, sensing his master's agitation, shifted. She brought the babe to nurse, and all of Alexi's composure vanished.

He had plans.

This was too soon.

He would not go to her.

He would not.

~ * ~

The fine hairs on the back of Angela's neck prickled. Methodically and with grim purpose, Angela's hand closed over her pistol. Her fingers tightened uneasily. The babe gave a frustrated little wail then latched back onto the nipple she offered him. The clearing was still empty, but her sixth sense had kicked in. Someone was out there, watching.

Perhaps coming to this secluded place had not been such a good idea after all. Her father had not objected, though. The winter had been unusually long, and she'd grown so very restless shut up in the cabin. This sunny day had beckoned her, and she'd decided to ride into the high pasture.

A movement in the distance made her nerves dance with apprehension. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode from the line of trees in front of her. She brought the gun up. His long, lanky stride was all too familiar.

"Devil," she whispered. Her heart set up a frantic pounding. The urge to run swept through her, yet she couldn't move. Her fingers tightened around the child in her arms. Her breath came in short, ragged pants.

Slowly she let the safety off the gun and pulled back the trigger. "Don't come one step closer," she said and prayed he couldn't hear the fear in her voice--and perhaps the desire.

She pointed the gun directly at Alexi's heart.

He stopped midstride. The sun directly behind him shaded his features. He was nothing like she remembered. Yet, he was exactly as she remembered.

Hard. Cold. Ruthless. Had he come back to squeeze the last bit of pride from her soul? If she let him, he could do that to her. His gaze focused on the child.

He'd seen the baby.

God, no!
"Hold it right there." Her shakiness left, replaced by a mother's fear and determination. Instantly she knew he would do anything necessary to take his child. He would not let go easily.

"I don't mean you any harm." His hands were raised high.

He'd called her bluff. "Don't think I won't." Her voice quavered and her determination faltered.

"Not for a minute, angel." He was walking toward her, his hands away from his gun.

He knew she wouldn't shoot. Slowly she relaxed, the gun barrel now pointing at the grass in front of her. Tears she hadn't shed for over a year began to fall from her eyes.

"I hate you."
I love you.

"With good reason.'' He stood by her, his arms outstretched, waiting.

Defeated, she sobbed. Another unearthly wail filled the air as she recognized her greatest fear: out of the blue, Alexi had come for his child.

Not her. Never her.

Her heart shattered into a thousand unmendable pieces. Fumbling with the buttons--and despite a loud howl of protest--she fastened her shirt.

Determined to see this through, she rose to meet him. Her son's tiny mouth nestled against her neck, still pursed and still sucking.