Desert Angel by Pamela K Forrest

you’ll want me out of here. If you’ll allow it, I’ll wait until Jamie is settled in the morning, and then leave.”
    “Jamie? Leave?” Jim stopped at the end of the table and looked down at her.
    “Jamie, your son.” March had never felt as guilty as she did when her eyes came to rest on the empty can sitting accusingly in front of her.
    “Who named him that?”
    “You … me … us …” Shrugging, she pushed her hair from her face. Freed from its usual bun at the nape of her neck, it hung in a cascade of living gold around her shoulders and down her back. “Yesterday, when I asked his name and you said he didn’t have one . .
    Fascinated by the firelight playing through her hair, Jim forced his attention back to his housekeeper. “Why do you want to leave?”
    “I don’t want to leave! You don’t understand. When I tell you what I did, you’ll demand that I pack up and get out.”
    Eyes narrowed, Jim reassessed her. “What did you steal? Most of my money is in the bank in town, but there’s always some around for emergencies. Did you find Melanie’s jewelry? I suggest you admit to your crime and return everything to me. It’ll save us both embarrassment, when the sheriff gets here.”
    “Steal? Steal! I wouldn’t steal from you or anyone else. I may be a nobody who owns nothing, but I don’t take things that aren’t mine.” She moaned as her gaze moved to the empty can. “Well, I mean … I don’t take valuables … I mean I wouldn’t take your money . . . “
    Jim crossed his arms over his chest, his blue eyes icy as he stared down at her. “Don’t think that because you’re female that I’ll let you just walk out of this house with my money. I’ll strip you buck-naked and search every inch of you until I find it.”
    “I didn’t steal your money!” March jumped to her feet and began to pace. “I wish I had, because then I could just lay it on the table and be done with it.”
    Her long hair moved like something with life of its own, flowing with gossamer tendrils with each agitated step. Jim noticed that the dress she wore was the same one that had caught his attention yesterday. It was too short, too tight. . . too enticing.
    “What did you take, girl?” His steely voice demanded an answer.
    “Well … that is … ah, you see . .
    “Spit it out!”
    “Peaches!”
    “Peaches?” Prepared for nearly anything, Jim was stunned by her revelation.
    Her shoulders bowed with guilt, March nodded slowly. “I fed Jamie and put him to bed. And I went to bed myself, only I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see that can of peaches. I found them when I was exploring the kitchen.” She raised her head and looked beseechingly at him. “I didn’t nose through the rest of the house, just the kitchen, because I couldn’t cook without knowing where things are, and I had to open the cabinets and drawers to see where everything was and . . . “
    Jim nearly smiled at her hurried reassurance. Her honesty stood out as clearly as the gold hair webbing around her shoulders. He didn’t know how she could be so ethical with her father as an example, but he didn’t doubt that she had her own measure of morals.
    “The peaches?” he encouraged her to continue her story March closed her eyes, but the picture of what she had done was so clear that she decided it was better to see him than the peaches. “I came down to the kitchen, and they were sitting on the shelf where I’d found them earlier. At first I just sat at the table, holding them and looking at the picture.
    “I don’t even remember getting up or searching for the punch for the can. Suddenly it was in my hand, and I was poking it through the lid. When it was open, they smelled so good! And I thought since it was opened, it wouldn’t hurt if I just tasted the juice … just a sip of the juice.” A smile lingering deep in his eyes, Jim picked up the empty can and turned it upside down. “Just a sip?”
    “I ate