"Does it hurt?" Graciela whispered, her eyes wide, the needle trembling between her fingers.
"Hurts a lot." The wound hurt like a son of a bitch, and she wanted to say so, but she didn't. She was as proud of her restraint as she was of anything she'd ever done.
Marguarita, I hope you are fricking paying attention. If I ever had reason or provocation to spit out some choice cursing, now's the time, by God. I hope to hell you're noticing what a good example I'm setting here.
"Are you going to cry?"
"I might. I would hate for you to notice, so don't look up." She peeled back the bloody tequila-soaked cloth to expose the wound and heard Graciela suck in a sharp, hissing breath. "When you're finished, pour more tequila on it." Closing her eyes, clutching the blouse up out of the way, she leaned against the seat back and tried to hold her breathing steady and regular.
The first jab was no more than a pinprick, enough to get her attention but too tentative to penetrate skin. So was the second jab.
Jenny pried open her jaws. "For God's sake, are you going to sew or are you going to just torture me? Do it and get it over with."
On the kid's fourth try, the needle went in, and Jenny fainted.
CHAPTER 14
T y made a pillow out of the saddlebags,then covered Jenny with her shawl when she curled down on the seat. Kneeling beside her, he studied her flushed face, hoping she wasn't feverish. "Is the bandage too tight?"
"Feels like a corset."
"Do you want more tequila?" He smoothed a length of sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. "We have more tortillas if you're hungry." She shook her head. "All right, get some rest. Sleep is the best healer."
He eased back on the seat beside Graciela and lit another cigar to occupy his hands. Outside, the light was starting to shade toward evening. Long shadows pointed away from the cacti, which were taller now than those growing deeper in the wastelands. If he'd been on horseback, he would have noticed the northern incline of the land, but the motion of the train distorted such observations.
Smoking, seething with anger and concern, he studied Jenny's pale face. The way her lashes curved in a coppery crescent on her cheek, the way her lips parted slightly.
It should have been him. Not her. Hell, she'd already been shot. If someone had to get wounded, it was his turn. Frowning, he glared out the window over Graciela's head.
Marguarita might have chosen her daughter's protector hastily, but she had chosen wisely. She must have sensed Jenny's fearless persistence, her stubborn and dogged commitment to a promise once given. So far, she'd received a blackened eye, a cracked lip, a shot-up arm, and a slashed stomach. And they weren't yet out ofMexico.
Gradually he became aware of Graciela's low murmur beside him. "What did you say?"
"I'm praying," she answered in a choked voice. "I'm telling God that I didn't mean it about making Jenny bleed."
"Listen." He dropped an arm around her shoulders and let her burrow into his side. "What happened to Jenny wasn't your fault."
"I asked God to punish her," she mumbled against his waistcoat.
Instantly the conversation tumbled into deep water. Ty drew on the cigar, searching for answers as ephemeral as smoke, not sure if he could shape them into the form his niece needed to hear. If someone had inquired, he would have said he was a spiritual man but not religious. To him, God was a spark within every living thing, an artist who painted with sunset clouds and ocean mist, a sculptor shaping human clay, earthly soil, and distant stars. The way he saw things, God was the creator. Any dogma beyond that was nitpicking.
Never would he have believed that he might be called upon to interpret God for a child. He wondered if Robert had any inkling of how parenthood was going to change his life.
"Well, God doesn't grant unjust requests." All he could do was hope for the best. "You wanted Jenny punished for killing your mother, and that was wrong. So God ignored that part of your prayers."
Graciela peered up at him. "But she did get punished. She got shot, and she got knifed."
"Well, I know that," he said, floundering. "All right, just for the sake of discussion, let's suppose that God punished Jenny because you asked him to." Now what? "Did you tell God that you'd changed your mind? You did change your mind, didn't you?"
She nodded solemnly, her gaze fastened on his face.
"Well, then. There you are. God turned things around by letting yoube the person to save Jenny's life."
Graciela's eyebrows soared. "I saved Jenny's life?"
"She would have bled to death if you hadn't sewed her up."
She relaxed against his body like a dog he'd had once, going hot andlimp on his chest. After several minutes of silence, she lifted her head. "Uncle Ty?"
"What?" He gazed at Jenny over her head.
"Sometimes I like Jenny," she whispered.
"So doI ." The object of their discussion was snoring slightly, moaning softly every now and again. Smiling, he decided that any man who hankered after Jenny Jones lusted for reality, not fantasy.
"When I like her, it makes me feel bad inside because of my mama."
With one sentence, she tossed him back into the deep water. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder to soften his words. "Honey, you know Jenny didn't kill your mother. You know that. Your mother explained it, Jenny's explained it,I've explained it. You've got to stop blaming Jenny. It isn't fair to her." Oh God, he'd made his niece cry again.
"Listen, it's all right for you to like Jenny." Pulling off his scarf, he pushed it into her hands. "Wipe your eyes. And your nose. It's better if you like Jenny, because…" His mind jumped around like spit on a griddle, searching for a reason. "Because you own her now. She's your responsibility." And he'd been the one telling Jenny not to expect too much of a kid. Damn.
"What?" Wadding up his scarf, she pressed it against her wet eyes.
In for a penny, in for a pound. He drew a breath. "Not far from the ranch where your daddy lives, there's a big town calledSan Francisco. InSan Francisco, there's a lot of Chinamen."
"What's a Chinaman?"
"Men who used to live inChina. Across the sea. Never mind that part. These Chinamen believe if you save a person's life, then you're responsible for that person forever after, sort of like you own them." Maybe it wasn't the Chinamen who believed that, he wasn't sure, but he'd heard it somewhere. "The important thing is,it's good that you like Jenny. It's all right to like her. It's a lot better that way since you own her now."
She hid her face behind his scarf, and he could almost hear her thinking. When she lowered the scarf, she was frowning. "Do you and Jenny own me? Because you saved me from my cousins with the snakes?"
This was getting complicated, and he wished he'd never mentioned it. "I suppose we do," he conceded uneasily, irrevocably linking the three of them in her mind. This was a problem he'd worry about later.
When the train stopped to take on more passengers, he bought bowls of fiery stew for their supper, a loaf of fresh dark bread, and he refilled their canteens. After the train moved out again, Graciela wet a strip of her torn nightgown and gently wiped the sweat from Jenny's face. Jenny roused briefly, murmured something,then slept again. Ty watched his niece adjust the shawl around Jenny's shoulders and decided Jenny had been right and he had been wrong. Six-year-olds were capable of much more than he would ever have believed.
Graciela lifted his arm and nestled beneath it, resting her head on his chest. "Tell me a story."
His eyebrows rose toward his hat brim, and he cleared his throat. "I don't know any stories."
"Tell me about when you and my daddy were little boys."
"You don't want to hear about that." But she did, so hesitantly at first,then with growing pleasure, he told her about the time he and Robert had tried to steal Don Antonio Barrancas's prize bull and how he'd gotten gored for his trouble. "Right in the butt," he said, laughing. "Couldn't sit for a week." Then he told her how his mother had always baked an extra cherry pie because she knew
her boys would steal one, and about the time he and Robert had sneaked out their bedroom window to sleep in the haystack but Cal caught them and blistered their behinds. He might have talked untilmidnight, remembering himself and Robert, except he noticed that she'd fallen asleep.
Trying not to wake her, he lit another cigar and gazed out the window as the train rolled through the desert night. Graciela was not his daughter, and Jenny was not his woman. But it felt good to watch over them while they slept as if they were his. He would have torn the limbs off anyone who came near them.
For the first time in his life, Ty glimpsed why a man might choose the aggravation of a family.
* * *
Jenny struggled to sit up, blinking at the morning sunlight. Across from her, Graciela still slept, her head in Ty's lap, but Ty was awake, watching her.
"Mornin'," she said, pulling her shawl down over her bloodied blouse. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Some. How are you feeling?"
"I'd have to say I've felt better. This damn train is shaking me to pieces. Can I have some water, please?" Their fingers brushed when he handed her the canteen, and she glanced at him, frowned, then poured water on a strip of Graciela's nightshift and washed her face and hands.
The desert outside the window was a sun-baked sand and alkali plain, but here and there she spotted a few bony, mean-looking cattle. She wondered what they found to eat out there.
After running her tongue around her teeth she drank deeply from the canteen,then replaced the cap. "We're almost clear of the wastelands. We'll start seeing farms and ranches soon." Leaning, she scanned the western horizon, spotted towering cacti and low brown hills curving against the morning sky. She'd made the El Paso-Chihuahua freight run enough times to recognize the terrain.
"We need to hole up for a few days," Ty announced quietly, watching her comb her fingers through her hair. "Give you a chance to mend and get your strength back."
Slipping a band beneath her shawl, she gingerly explored with her fingertips, tracing the bandage that Ty and Graciela had wrapped around her waist. She couldn't decide if the pain was less or about the same as yesterday. Pain was a hard thing to remember, hard to define by degrees.
"The cousins are going to find the bodies we left behind," she pointed out, resting against the hard seat back. "Luis is still out there. He's going to come after us."
"Chihuahuais big enough that we could stay there a month, and they'd never find us."
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.
The Promise of Jenny Jones Page 22