After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

Frustrated, Johnny stepped away from the door and helped Tía drag it open. “Where you staying?”

  “At the Occidental.” Tía hoped she didn’t regret telling him that, but he looked determined enough to find her if he wanted to. She gave him one last look and stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the musty odor: leather and dust predominated, smelling like the dried-up mouse she had found under their house in Tubac.

  It was a store, but Tía wondered if she were seeing things. A dozen men in the back of the store appeared to be in various stages of undress. She blinked rapidly, but the men—painted like savages—were still there, shouting and laughing as if they enjoyed a wonderful joke. They hadn’t noticed her yet. She turned to leave.

  “Hey!” called a female voice. “Were you looking for me?”

  Turning back, Tía searched the dimness for the source of that sweet voice.

  “Are you looking for me?” Closer this time. Finally Tía spotted the owner of the voice. It was the young woman in the white gown who had stopped in the doorway of the hotel dining room.

  “No, I’m looking for Mr. Montgomery, the owner.”

  “He’s not here. I told him I’d look out for things. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to see about getting a horse.”

  “For how long?”

  “Not long, I hope. I’m going to the Burkhart…” Forgetting the name of either the ranch or the mine, Tía paused.

  The girl laughed. “Then you are looking for me. I placed that ad in the newspaper. Are you applying for the position?”

  “I don’t think so…” Tía paused, confused.

  “I’m Judy Burkhart. I placed the advertisement for the housekeeper.”

  Tía’s heart lurched, and a pulse beat high in her throat. This sophisticated, aggressive young woman might be her sister. “I was going to the Burkhart ranch,” Tía said.

  Judy laughed. “No one’s there. We’re all in town preparing to greet an unwelcome visitor.”

  Tía’s heart sank. “Is this part of the welcome?” she asked, looking at the men smearing paint on themselves and each other.

  Judy grinned. “I can hardly wait! Señorita Garcia-Lorca is in for a little surprise.”

  Tía’s heart flipped so hard she coughed.

  “Hey! Don’t look so stricken,” Judy said merrily. “She’s a tenderfoot. We’re just going to give her a good old-fashioned Tombstone welcome.”

  “Are they going to kill her?”

  “Lord, no. We’re just going to scare her all the way back to Albany, where she belongs.”

  Tía avoided Judy Burkhart’s eyes by pretending to study the men solemnly smearing paint on themselves and one another. Now that she had adjusted to the dimness, she could see the men were as brown as savages. That puzzled her. Most men were only brown at the face and arms.

  “Are they real Indians?”

  “No, silly. There’s a tub over there. They soak in tea water. That makes them brown as little berries.”

  “Oh.” Tía frowned. “Was the one who just left…is he going to be an Indian, too? I mean, he was so…”

  Judy smiled knowingly. “That was Johnny…Johnny Brago. He is brown…all over.”

  As Tía blushed, Judy giggled, enjoying the reaction her outrageous admission caused in the younger girl. “Johnny won’t help. He thinks it’s mean to scare her, even if she is an interloper. Probably because he’s part Cherokee…one-fourth, actually. He’s always felt like an interloper himself, I guess,” she ended airily. Suddenly she looked sharply at Tía. “Hey, don’t go getting any ideas about Johnny. He belongs to me. And I don’t share.” She laughed. “Not that it matters. Johnny’s been in love with me for years and years. I couldn’t run him off with a bullwhip.”

  Ignoring Tía for the moment, Judy engaged the men in merry, teasing exchanges. Nodding her acceptance, Tía tried to smile, to overcome her surprise at this unexpected encounter. This self-assured young woman was her half sister. How incredible. A sister she had never even known about…as closely related as Andrea and still a stranger. And brave enough to watch grown men with their clothes half-off. She felt a little put off by Judy and her attitude about “interlopers,” but in spite of her misgivings, a warm admiration tugged at Tía’s heart for the girl…a feeling of kinship that had started back at the hotel, a kinship that made her feel proud that Judy was so pretty and friendly, even sophisticated. With her quick wit and obvious spirit, she was probably the kind of sister Andrea had always wanted—a lady.

  Up close, Judy’s beautiful white gown appeared to be crisp organdy, trimmed at the neckline and sleeves in brown niching that perfectly matched her dark eyes. Her gown was expensive and flattering, showing off slender curves and high breasts to excellent advantage. Judy was obviously enjoying herself, and her high spirits were infectious. Somehow it didn’t matter that she was up to her eyebrows in a plot to run Tía off; the mere fact that her half sister was the mischief maker made it seem almost acceptable.

  “Johnny’s loved me since the day he rode up to the house looking for board and beans,” Judy continued, smiling with open friendliness, her brown eyes sparkling.

  “You’re lucky to have a man who loves you,” Tía said, torn between her desire to feel genuine happiness for Judy and her confusion at Johnny’s advances toward her. If Johnny belonged to Judy, what had he been doing kissing her that way in Tubac? Tía had overheard Mama and her friends tell stories of men who were unfaithful or had a wandering eye, but she had never understood their anger until now. Maybe this knot of pressure in her chest was the sort that caused women to talk so bitterly about men cheating.

  Judy giggled—an infectious, lilting sound like notes climbing and descending a scale. “I know it. Hey! You’re nice. What’s your name?”

  “Tía.”

  “I’ll level with you, Tía. I have a problem. My father, or the man I thought was my father, used his will to announce to the whole world that I’m not his daughter—” Her voice broke, and her passionate brown eyes filled with tears she brushed at impatiently. “Anyway, that isn’t important anymore. The problem is, she’s Mexican, and all the household help is Mexican. I want someone on my side. Otherwise even the hired help will turn against me.”

  Tía realized Judy spoke out of hurt and embarrassment, not maliciousness. The part of her that had felt abandoned and betrayed by her papa, too, urged Tía to take Judy in her arms, to protect her from women like the one at the hotel dining room. Tía forgot her own problems, even who she was. “I’ll be on your side,” she said impulsively.

  “Thanks,” Judy said. Dragging in an exasperated breath, she gave another impatient, apologetic swipe at her eyes. “I hate sniveling, especially mine.”

  “Don’t,” Tía said gently. “It’s a hateful thing to be treated badly by someone you’ve always loved.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned away, trying to hid them.

  “Hey, Tía, are you crying, too?”

  Blinking, amazed at herself, Tía sniffed back tears.

  “Hey, you are!” Judy patted Tía’s shoulder, then put an arm around her and hugged her.

  “Hey, aren’t we something?” Judy asked shakily.

  Tía sniffed. “Something,” she agreed. Confused, mostly, she reflected:

  “Hey, Tía, do you want that job? It’s yours if you do.”

  “Uh, I don’t know. What would I have to do?”

  “Head housekeeper, over three bossy Mexicans. Just keep an eye on them and be sure they don’t gang up on me when Steve’s new sister tries to lord it over me. Just look out for me. You speak any Mex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great! You want it, it’s yours.”

  Tía did not know exactly how she had gotten to the point of considering a job as housekeeper for Judy Burkhart. Nor could she figure out why she hadn’t immediately told Judy who she was. “Can I let you know later?” Those were not the words she had planned, but they slipped out as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

&nb
sp; “Sure. I’ll be here until the stage comes in at eleven. We’re staying at the Occidental. Let me know by then if you can.”

  “All right.” Tía hesitated. “What are they going to do to her, to Teresa Garcia-Lorca?”

  Judy snickered. She looked completely recovered now. “This is an old trick, reserved strictly for pilgrims. We meet her at the stage all nice and friendly so she doesn’t suspect anything. Then, when we’re ready to ride out, we put the señorita on a nag that couldn’t outrun cold molasses. About two miles outside of town the Indians attack and start chasing us. Everyone runs off, leaving her at the mercy of the Indians. She heads back to town, with them screeching and howling like a pack of banshees at her heels. She just barely makes it. If we’re lucky, she sells her part of the inheritance to Steve for a song and gets back on the stage and never sets foot west of the Mississippi again. Think it’ll work?”

  “Yes, unless she’s very brave.”

  “Would you be, with a dozen bloodthirsty savages on your tail?”

  “No,” Tía said earnestly. “I’m not brave at all.”

  Chapter Six

  From behind a dusty, fly-specked window in the broom closet on the second story of the Occidental, Tía watched the street below.

  Across from the hotel, down on the plank sidewalk, Johnny Brago stood next to Judy Burkhart. With his thick black hair, mustache, and heavy brows, Johnny was easy to spot in a crowd. Restlessly, his narrowed dark eyes scanned the faces of the people who passed on the sidewalks and those who had congregated to meet the stage.

  Judy and Johnny stood in the shade of an overhanging canopy. Standing still, Johnny managed to look relaxed, almost indolent, but when he moved something about him reminded Tía of her papa. She still called Mateo Lorca “Papa”; habit was strong.

  Watching Johnny intently, Tía groped for the words to explain the strange tingle that suffused her, even from this distance. Was it the way he moved—as if he were always aware of his body, aware of its strength and sturdiness? Just looking at him caused her to remember how it felt when he’d kissed her.

  A warm thrill illumined hidden places inside her. Then resentment caused her to look away. A man who was practically married to Judy Burkhart had no right to kiss strange girls or to tell them he thought they were pretty. Remembering the heat that flared from deep in his eyes when he looked at her, something stirred inside her.

  Down on the street a flurry of activity captured her attention. From the east, beneath a heavy cloud of dust, the stage approached. A showman, the driver whipped the team into a dramatic display. Halfway through town he hauled back on the reins and let out a yell. “Whoa, thar! Whoa, you ornery, mule-eared varmits!”

  As the coach rocked to a stop, the crowd surged forward from both sides of the extra-wide boulevard. Judy Burkhart and her indolent warrior held their ground. Anonymous hands reached out to open the doors of the still-swaying coach.

  Tía’s heart leaped. On the opposite side of the street from where Judy and Johnny had their heads together, talking in conspiratorial closeness, Andrea stepped from behind the corner of a building. Blending into the crowd, carrying her satchel as if she had just gotten out from the other side and was circling behind the stagecoach, she made her way slowly through the throng.

  “Damn!” Judy muttered. “I hope that’s not her.”

  Grunting, Johnny searched until he found the woman Judy referred to. It didn’t take long. Of medium build, she was blessed with the sort of slim voluptuousness that men killed for. She was definitely a beauty, but she didn’t look especially Mexican. Her oval face was as finely etched as one of those women on cameo jewelry, no hint of the flattened Indian features of the peónes. Her dark gaze glided smoothly over him, barely pausing, as she scanned the crowd. The natural scarlet bow of her mouth arranged itself in a questioning look. In the sunlight her skin gleamed with the warmth of old ivory. Johnny suddenly had no doubt this was Teresa Garcia-Lorca. If the young woman were as spirited as she looked, Judy was in for quite a tussle.

  Gathering her courage and tightening her grip on the satchel, Andrea affected a confused, searching look as she started toward the couple Tía had pointed out to her from the upstairs window. As she came even with them, she gave a tiny shake of her head and sighed audibly in frustration.

  The man stepped forward. “Excuse me, miss…”

  Eyes deliberately widening, Andrea blinked. “Yes?”

  “Are you Miss Garcia-Lorca?” he asked politely.

  “Why, yes, I am,” she said, flashing her most charming smile at him. “And you are the first one in days to say it correctly, using both last names.”

  Nodding, he reached back and pulled his companion forward. “Miss Garcia-Lorca, I’m Johnny Brago, and this is your sister, Judy Burkhart.” Holding Judy there, he stepped back as if his duties were finished.

  “You’ll have to excuse Johnny,” Judy interjected hastily. “We’re not related at all. Not really…You’re Steve’s stepsister.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Andrea said, smiling, with a carefully constructed look in her eyes that was three parts challenge and one part friendship, so Judy would know from the start that she would be happy to play it either way—Judy’s choice.

  Judy had been on the verge of giving up her plan to scare Teresa Garcia-Lorca, but the young woman’s brown eyes shone with such pure self-confidence that she responded immediately to the challenge she saw there. If Teresa had been as ugly as a mud fence or even if she had looked cowed and timid, Judy wouldn’t have been able to go through with it. But this woman looked quite formidable. Even Johnny could see that Judy would not be picking on a weakling. The prospect of some good wholesome fun revived her.

  Andrea recognized Judy as a fighter. It showed in the quick smile that lighted her eyes. Lifting one arched eyebrow, Andrea let her own eyes sparkle just as provocatively. “How thoughtful of you to meet me!” she gushed deliberately. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” She threw in a touch of southern belle and enjoyed Judy’s noticeable discomfort.

  “We wouldn’t dream of letting you make the dangerous trip out to our ranch without an escort,” Judy drawled. “There are just too many bloodthirsty red devils in these hills. Why, they’re everywhere! No one is safe from them. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

  Reluctantly Johnny nodded. Her statement was true on the face of it, but he wanted no part of the prank Judy had arranged.

  Andrea noted the tiny flicker of reluctance in Johnny’s eyes before he nodded his agreement. “Oh! Are you still seriously bothered by Indians? I thought they were being kept on reservations,” she said, addressing Judy.

  “Oh, yes! They herd them onto the reservations, but the minute they turn their backs, those crafty red devils slip off…Why, Miss Garcia-Lorca—”

  “Please,” Andrea interrupted. “Could we dispense with so much formality? My name is Teresa Andrea de Mara Garcia-Lorca, but my friends and acquaintances call me Andrea. My mother was the only one who insisted on calling me Teresa,” she lied with ease. “Andrea will do nicely, if you don’t mind.”

  Judy nodded. “Good! Andrea it is. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to prepare a welcome for you, Andrea, but we only got your wire from Mr. Furnett three days ago.”

  “Please, no apologies are necessary. Your welcome is more than sufficient,” Andrea purred.

  Johnny shifted uncomfortably. Two women going at one another so politely made his insides jumpy. He noticed Andrea carried a satchel and held a long slender box and, remembering his manners, stepped forward to assist her.

  “I’ll keep the box,” she insisted, holding on to the box as if it were very dear to her.

  Smiling sweetly and insincerely, Judy took Andrea’s arm and lead her toward the Occidental Hotel. “You must be starved,” she chattered on. “We’ll have lunch—something extravagant to celebrate your arrival. Then you can change into riding clothes so we can head out to the ranch. You do ride, don’t you?”

  �
�I must confess, Judy, I didn’t realize I also had a sister…”

  “Stepsister, almost. We’re not related, actually,” Judy reiterated coolly.

  “Where is Steven?”

  “Oh, yes, Steve…he had business to attend to at the mine. That’s his job, you know. Mining engineer. You’ll meet him after dinner.”

  Tía watched them head across the street to the hotel. That was her signal. She picked up the satchel that held all her possessions and ran down the stairs.

  Outside the hotel she stopped to orient herself to the street and the crowd that still milled around the stagecoach. Andrea and Judy walked toward the hotel. Tía let them pass her, stepped aside, and tapped Judy on the shoulder.

  Judy looked around, and her pretty face broke into a real smile. “Tía! I thought you had decided not to come!”

  “Is the job still open?”

  “Of course! Oh, I’m so happy to see you!”

  “All right, then. I’ll take it.”

  Judy flung out her arms and hugged Tía. “Can you leave right away?”

  Holding up her satchel, Tía grinned. “I’m packed.”

  Judy took her by the hand and pulled her forward.

  “Tía, I’d like you to meet my very special friend, Johnny Brago. He’s the foreman of my brother’s ranch.” A frown puckered her forehead; Judy paused. “Oh, and this is the lady I told you about—Teresa Andrea Garcia-Lorca. She very graciously gave us permission to call her Andrea.”

  Andrea nodded at Tía. Although accustomed to the sardonic glint in Andrea’s eyes, Tía was not accustomed to seeing her sister look so regal and so very patronizing. It was apparent Andrea enjoyed her chance to play the grand lady. It was equally apparent that Judy was thrilled to have such a worthy opponent.

  “This is Tía…oh, hey, what’s your last name, Tía?”

  “Marlowe,” Tía said firmly, giving the name she and Andrea had decided on earlier—their mother’s cousins’s name.

  Tía and Andrea nodded at one another, then Judy turned to Johnny. “Will you round up another horse for Tía? A good one, please?”