The Promise of Jenny Jones (29 page)

That was true. Nearly two hundred years old, the city ofChihuahuarose like an oasis among roses and orange groves. Gone were the mining shacks and narrow lanes of the Colonial era. Now the city boasted broad, clean streets and an aqueduct three miles long. A profitable trade system flourished betweenChihuahuaandTexas, which had contributed toChihuahua's growth and importance. By comparison,Durangowas a mere whistle-stop.

"The cousins are going to dog us all the way to theRio Grande, aren't they?" Jenny murmured, closing her eyes.

"The way I figure, the worst is behind us. When you can travel comfortably we'll take the train toEl Paso,then change to the Southern Pacific. The Southern Pacific will take us all the way toSan Francisco. We'll buy a wagon and team inSan Franciscoand two days later we'll be drinking coffee in my mother's kitchen." He paused. "You don't have to go all the way, Jenny. You can say good-bye inEl Paso."

She made a snorting sound, then gasped and placed a hand against her waist. "You know better than that. I'm sticking until the end. I'm not saying good-bye until I hand the kid over to your sainted brother. Besides, there's nothing for me inEl Pasoanymore."

"Good," he said softly, his eyes clear and intense in the early light.

Good? That was a change. Turning her face to the window, Jenny pretended to peer outside, but slid her gaze back to the cowboy. Just looking at him turned her insides to liquid. He sat wide-legged, one hand on Graciela's back, the other hooked on his belt. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. Far from being unappealing, the new whiskers hardened his features and made him look dangerous. Her lower stomach tightened, and she remembered his mouth hot on hers. Lordy. How could she be hankering when she was hungry, weak, and wounded?

Being kissed—really kissed—must have knocked loose some kind of craziness in her brain. All day yesterday and first thing today, the only thing she could think about when she looked at him were those wild erotic kisses in the moonlight. All of her life she'd laughed at romantic notions of moonlight and endearments and something as stupid and awkward as a kiss. But that was before. Now it was after.

She licked her lips and saw his jaw tighten as he watched. "All right, I can't stand it. Why did you say 'good' when I said I'm staying until the end?"

His hard gaze devoured her, moving slowly over her face and throat. "Because I'm not ready to let you go," he said in a husky voice. "You and I have unfinished business."

A light shiver of dread and anticipation trailed down her spine, and she bit her lower lip, staring at him, trying to catch her breath.

Suddenly, she knew it would happen. Her and Ty. It wouldn't matter that in her heart she knew sex was nothing more than three minutes of dry pain and disappointment. It wouldn't matter that she was scared to death of catching a baby. She met his gaze and felt her heart lurch, and sensed an emptiness she'd never known before. Filling that emptiness was tied to him, and it would drive them both loco until they gave in to it. And they would, because the hankering quivered and flashed between them like lightning sizzling along invisible wires. Unless they answered the hankering, the lightning would burn them both to crisps.

"I'm hungry," Graciela said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes with both fists.

Jenny held Ty's narrowed gaze for another minute, then turned to Graciela with relief.

* * *

From the window of their hotel room, they could see the twin spires of theChurchofSan Franciscorising above the rooftops ofChihuahua. The street below was broad and lined with fragrant orange trees. In addition to the usual wagon traffic and burro carts, a smart black carriage spun over the cobblestones.

Jenny let the curtain drop and turned back to the room, casting longing eyes toward the two beds. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep.

"When will Uncle Ty come back?" Graciela sat on one of the beds and bounced up and down, testing the resiliency of the mattress.

"He returned to the depot to fetch our horses. Since we've decided we won't need them again, he'll arrange with a stable to sell them." The water in the painted pitcher on top of the dresser was cool, and she filled a tumbler. She couldn't seem to drink enough water. "Get off the bed. I need to lie down."

"I'll help you take off your boots."

Jenny blinked in surprise. "Well, that would be right nice." Sitting on the mattress with a sigh, she extended her feet and Graciela tugged off her boots. Jenny wiggled her toes and sighed. "Feels good."

"What can I do now?"

"Something quiet. All I know is that I need to lie down and rest." The trip from depot to hotel had been short, but carriage wheels bouncing over street stones had shaken her so badly that she'd worried her stitches had broken loose. Pulling up her blouse, she checked for wetness on the bandage, relieved to discover the wrappings remained dry.

"I don't have anything to do," Graciela said in a whiny pout. "I wish you'd tell me a story."

"I'm too tired. Go look out the window." Crawling beneath the blanket, Jenny pushed her face into a soft feather pillow. Pillows were the epitome of luxury. If she could sleep on a soft pillow every night, she'd think she was living the life of a princess.

She was almost asleep when she felt a slight pressure on the mattress. When she opened her eyes. Graciela's face was only a few inches from hers. The kid knelt beside the bed, her arms folded on the sheets. She rested her chin on her hands, studying Jenny.

"What the hell—dickens—are you doing?"

"I own you."

"What?" Jenny sat up and stared. "Nobody owns me."

"Yes I do," Graciela insisted solemnly. "Uncle Ty explained it."

After Jenny heard the story, she frowned. "I knew a Chinaman inDenverwhen I was working in a wash-house, and he never said anything about owning someone if you saved their life."

"It's true. Uncle Ty said so." Graciela fluffed the pillow, and told Jenny to lie back down. Jenny stared,then did so. "I saved your life all by myself, so now I have to take care of you until you die. Owning someone means youhave to be responsible for them. Do you know what responsible means?"

"Kid, I know more words than you will ever know in your whole life," Jenny said in disgust. "And you don't own me, and you aren't responsible for me." Graciela continued to kneel beside the bed, observing her. "Stop looking at me."

"You and Uncle Ty own me too. Because you saved my life."

"Now listen." Jenny sat up again. "Nobody owns you either, and they never will. You own your own self. You're responsible for yourself, and you take care of yourself. You can't depend on anyone but yourself."

Her words hung in the air, giving her time to reach the appalled conclusion that they were not true. She and Ty had depended upon each other almost from the minute they had joined forces. She had depended on Graciela to stitch her up and stop her wound from bleeding.

"All right, sometimes you have to depend on other people," she amended feebly. After years of being totally self-sufficient, she was suddenly depending on others. The realization shocked her. How had this happened?

Graciela wore the superior little smirk that Jenny hated. What did she know? She was a kid. Kids had to depend on adults for everything.

"It's time we changed this bandage," Jenny decided. "Find your nightshift in the saddlebags, and we'll tear up some more strips. And bring me our little mirror. I want to see these stitches."

When she peeled off the old bandage, carefully, painfully, she noted there had been some seepage, but no serious bleeding. That was good. She rested a minute against the headboard of the bed, then, when she thought she could stand the sight, she lifted her blouse and adjusted the mirror against her waist.

"Well, that's some cut all right," she said finally. Graciela waited with an expectant expression. "You did a good job. Those are nice neat stitches. If I didn't know better, I'd think you made a living sewing people up."

Pride glowed on the kid's face, and her eyes sparkled brightly. "This one was the hardest." She pointed to the last stitch.

Jenny smiled. "The way I remember, the first one was the hardest."

Instantly Graciela's face caved in on itself and tears swam in her eyes. "I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered.

A thumb pressed on Jenny's heart. They'd traveled a long way from Graciela asking God to strike her dead. A long, long way. An embarrassing dampness pricked the back ofher own eyes.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," she murmured when she could speak past the lump clogging her throat. She hesitated,then patted the bed beside her. "Come up here."

Graciela climbed on the bed and leaned against her shoulder. "It was so hard, and I was scared. There was all that blood!" A shudder trembled along her body. "And the train was shaking."

Jenny put her arm around Graciela's small shoulders and held her. "Sometimes you have to hurt someone to help them. And you're right. It's awful hard. But you did it, and I'm proud of you. It looks like you really did save my life." She paused. "But you don't own me." Resting her cheek on the kid's head, she inhaled the warm dusty scent of her hair. It was a nice scent, a uniquely kid scent. It surprised her how much she enjoyed holding Graciela, smelling her hair.

"Jenny?" Graciela murmured against her chest. "Sometimes I like you."

Oh God. The admission made Jenny's throat close, and she thought she might be strangling.

"Do you like me sometimes, too?"

"Sometimes I do," she conceded in a strange, thick voice. "Not too often, but sometimes."

That's how Ty found them, snuggled together on the bed, sound asleep.

Graciela woke when he entered the room and he placed a finger over his lips, tipping his hat brim toward Jenny. Graciela nodded, then carefully eased away and slid off the bed.

"How is she feeling?" Ty asked quietly.

"Tired," Graciela whispered. "I think the wound still hurts her."

He stepped to the bed and gently placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Her skin felt hot but dry, feverish. Careful not to wake her, he raised her bloody blouse and inspected the wound. He'd seen worse. The edges were a little red, but his niece had placed the stitches as well or better than he could have. He thought a minute,then motioned Graciela toward the door.

She hesitated, looking back at Jenny. "Where are we going?"

"I never met two females who lost as many clothes as you two. We're going to go buy you both a new rig." Immediately Graciela brightened and placed her hand in his, ready to go.

She led him from shop to shop, spending his money as happily as a full-grown woman, buying so much for herself and Jenny that he had to purchase a trunk to pack it in. Then she imperiously announced that he needed new clothing, too, and they embarked on another round of shops and leather stores. By the end of the afternoon, Ty decided that a day in the saddle rounding up strays was less exhausting than shopping with a female, even a six-year-old.

After he threw up his hands and announced that he'd had enough, he took her to a café for orange juice and a slice of sweet Mexican pastry.

A dazed feeling stole over him as he watched her daintily pick the frosting off the pastry and eat it a crumb at a time. When he'd come throughChihuahuaon his way to Verde Flores and the no-name village, he hadn't noticed any family places like this one. He'd stayed the night in a low-ticket dive, and he had passed the evening drinking beer in a rowdy cantina on the rough side of town off the far end of the plaza.

That night seemed a lifetime ago, his thoughts so different from his attitude now, that he might have been a different man. Since then, he'd covered a lot of ground. He'd bought four horses, killed two men, and—this amazed him—he'd purchased women's undergarments and outerwear, and he was sitting in a café with a child instead of tossing back beers in a cantina, and—this also amazed him—he no longer saw only a Barrancas mistake when he gazed at his niece. When he looked at her now, he saw a beautiful child with eyes as blue-green as his own. He saw her spirit and her smile and the absolute trust when she placed her hand in his.

And there was Jenny. The stranger who had earlier ridden throughChihuahuahadn't known women like Jenny Jones existed. That man had seen women as soft vacuous creatureswhom a male courted to satisfy a physical need. That man would have laughed at the idea of respecting a woman for qualities such as courage, loyalty, or integrity. He would have sneered in disdain if someone had suggested that he'd ache for a woman who could outcuss and outfight him, and who could hold her liquor like a man.

He sensed that this trip, which had begun as a grudging favor to his brother, would end by changing his life. Frowning, he realized he was never again going to see things the same as be had before he undertook this journey. Something was happening to his perspective. Long-held ideas and opinions were sloughing off like flecks of rust.

"Uncle Ty?" She had finished the juice and pastry and impatiently waited for him to emerge from his reverie. "We should check on Jenny now. We've been gone a long time. She might need us."

What worried him was the suspicion that he was beginning to need them .

* * *

Jenny slept until the first delivery boy pounded on the door. After that, deliveries arrived every few minutes and she gave up trying to sleep. During a lull, she ordered a bath and something to eat. After bathing, she opened packages and let her mouth drop in amazement at the array of clothing she found, holding up petticoats and shimmys and stockings and nightgowns and skirts and blouses and two traveling ensembles complete with matching hats and string bags. She had never owned such fine clothing in her life.

Graciela had made the selections, of course. Jenny doubted Ty knew anything more about women's clothing than she did herself. Her guess was confirmed a minute later when she beganunwrapping the parcels containing Graciela's new apparel.

She sat hard on the side of the bed clutching a miniature version of the same traveling ensemble she'd just held against herself to check for size. The small ensemble was the same cut and color as the adult version.