The Promise of Jenny Jones

by Maggie Osborne

  "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.

  She had seen matching outfits like these in catalogs. When she and Graciela boarded the train wearing their smart new traveling ensembles, they would look like mother and daughter.

  Leaning forward, she covered her eyes with a shaking hand.

  Marguarita, I'm in trouble here.

  It wasn't as satisfactory to think the conversation as it was to talk to Marguarita's star, but she couldn't wait for evening.

  Something's happening between Graciela and me. I'm not trying to take your place, you have to know that. I didn't mean for her to get attached to me, especially now that I know your precious Roberto is waiting for her and wants her.

  She hunched over farther and pressed a hand to her waist. Her stomach hurt.

  It's not good that Graciela and I should form an attachment because I'll have to leave her in a few weeks. She doesn't love me like she loves Ty, but she likes me sometimes, she said so. And I … I like her, too, Marguarita. It didn't start that way, and I sure never expected to like her, but I do. It took me a while to see it, but she's everything you said she was. She seems awful smart for a kid her age, clever as hell when she wants to be. She's beautiful and well-mannered, and she knows lots of words. And brave. My God, she's brave. Did you see how she sewed me up?

  Good Lord, she even sounded like a parent. Tossing the small ensemble aside, she walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and stared up at the sky.

  Marguarita, you have to help us. Don't let her like me too much. I've been saying good-bye to people all my life, but Graciela hasn't. It's hard for her. This isn't very admirable, but I'd like it if she felt sad to see me go. But I don't want her to hurt over it. S
he's had enough hurt. I don't know what the answer is to this. I sure hope you do.

  "We're back!" Graciela ran into the room. "Uncle Ty, she's awake! Did you see all our new clothes? Mine are the same as yours. We even have earrings. Did you find them?"

  "I didn't find any earrings," she said in a faint voice. While Graciela tore through the remaining packages, she looked at Ty. "You had a shave, and you bought every article of women's clothing inChihuahua."

  He laughed and handed her a paper packet. "This is a fever powder. The chemist said to mix a tablespoon in hot liquid and take it three times a day." Stepping close to her, he cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face. "Your eyes are a little bright and your skin is flushed, but you look … beautiful. Did you wash your hair?"

  She closed her eyes and swallowed, swaying toward him. "I had a bath," she whispered.

  Would she ever get used to his touch? Was it possible to imagine a time when he would touchher, and her bones didn't melt? When that look in his eyes didn't pour warm honey down the inside of her skin? Would the time ever come when she could stand this close without wanting to wrap herself around him and dissolve into his warmth and strength?

  Stepping back, she touched her fingertips to her temples and shook her head. "Maybe I should take some of that powder now. I am feeling feverish."

  Graciela tugged on the wrapper Jenny had found in the packages and put on after her bath. "Look. These are our earrings. They're real turquoise and silver!"

  The kid was so pleased that Jenny didn't mention that she had never had her ears pierced and wouldn't be able to wear the earrings.

  "The shop had earrings with blue stones that weren't real turquoise, but Uncle Ty said, 'not for his girls.' Uncle Ty bought us the real ones."

  "I'll be horn-swoggled," Jenny said softly. Bright color infused the cowboy's face. She would have sworn Ty Sanders was incapable of a blush. A slow grin curved her lips.

  "It was a stupid comment," he said irritably, turning away.

  "Your girls, huh?"

  "I'm going out for a drink. When I'm ready for supper, I'll bring back food for us." He jammed his hat on his head and slammed the door behind him, then opened it again and peered inside. "I'll send someone up with hot water for the fever powder."

  "Much obliged," Jenny said, grinning at his glare. After the door slammed the second time, she gazed at the two beds and wished she hadn't been knifed, wondering. Maybe …

  "Did you try on the hats?" Graciela called, holding up a straw heavy with silk flowers. "I like this one best."

  Jenny wrenched her gaze from the bed. What the hell was she thinking? Even if she'd been healthy as a horse, nothing was going to happen between her and Ty. Not in this room. Not with Graciela a few feet away. Sighing, she sat down at a small table and watched Graciela try on the hat. She could understand how a man and a woman made one child. What was more difficult to grasp was how they found the privacy to make a second.

  When she realized she was worrying about things she had never in her life expected to even think about, she laughed out loud and shook her head. It must be the fever.

  * * *

  Long after Graciela had fallen asleep beside her, Jenny lay awake listening to Tytoss and turn in the bed next to theirs. Eventually, he threw back the blanket and walked through a wash of white moonlight to the waistcoat hanging over a chair. A minute later she saw the flare of a match and smelled cigar smoke.

  "Bought new long johns, too, I see," she commented softly, smiling in the darkness. The long johns pulled tight across his shoulders andchest, sagged a little behind. He didn't have much of a butt. Must have pounded it off galloping after cows.

  "Why aren't you asleep?" He returned to his bed, mounded the pillows against the headboard,then leaned against them, smoking in the darkness.

  "I've done nothing but sleep for almost twenty-four hours."

  "How are you feeling? Did the fever powder help?"

  "I think it must have. And my stomach doesn't hurt like it did. Hell, I'm as tough as an old hen. Always did heal fast."

  "Jenny …come over here."

  Her heart rolled over in her chest, and she caught a quick breath. But she hesitated, fighting the siren call of temptation. "No sir, I'm not getting in a man's bed with a kid in the room," she said, as prim as a preacher's wife. Except for the hint of regret.

  "Just what kind of low bastard do you think I am?" She couldn't see his glare, but she felt it and almost laughed. "Nothing's going to happen in this bed except some kissing and some touching and a whole lot of frustration on my part. Now get on over here."

  Temptation won. Actually, it wasn't much of a contest. "Well … I would like a puff off that cigar."

  Easing away from Graciela, she carefully slid off her bed and tiptoed around his. Lifting the hem of her new white nightgown, she crawled up beside him. "Give me one of those pillows."

  "Can't do it, I need them both. You'll just have to snuggle on me." He opened his arm and she drew a breath, then slipped in beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. Oh Lord, it felt so good .

  "You're like cozying up next to an oven." But she didn't move away from the hard heat of him. Reaching up, she took the cigar from his mouth and put it between her own lips, drawing the smoke out slowly. "Ahh, that's wonderful. I'vebeen wanting a smoke all day."

  After she exhaled again, he took the cigar from her fingers and stubbed it in a dish on the table between the beds. "Why didn't you get a cigar out of the saddlebags?"

  "I just … you know, I just … I wasn't certain when you and Graciela were coming back. I don't like to smoke in front of her. It sets a bad example." She couldn't believe she was managing to speak coherently when all she could think about was his hand dangling so near her breast.

  "You're something, you are," he said, laughing softly. "As hard and brittle as an eggshell on the outside, soft as yolk inside."

  "Are you going to talk nonsense all night, or are we ever going to get to the kissing part?" When he laughed again, his lips in her hair, she shivered in anticipation. "Do it quietly. We don't want to wake Graciela."

  "Kissing doesn't make too much noise." Sliding down, pulling the pillow with him, he brought his head next to hers. Then he caressed her face, gently teasing a thumb across her lips. "Do you know what I wish we could do?" he whispered in a thick voice.

  "We can't," she said, her mouth dry. Already her heart was pounding so hard that she could hardly breathe, and her skin was flushed with fire. He'd moved close, not pressing against her, not risking causing her pain, but close enough that she could feel the rigid length of his arousal. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.

  He kissed the corner of her lips, his hand hot on her throat. "I'd like to skin that nightgown off of you and run my tongue all over your body," he murmured.

  "My God!" Jenny eased back and blinked at him. She'd never heard of such a thing. The idea of someone licking her body should have been disgusting … but, strangely, it wasn't. Oh, it wasn't. Imagining what such a thing would feel like made her tremble and feel hot and shaky inside. If she hadn't already been lying down, she would have fallen flat the way she did the first time he touched her breast.

  He kissed her eyelids and his hand moved in a light caress over the top of her bosom. "I'd like to kiss you here," he whispered, dropping his hand farther to stroke her nipple through her nightgown. She gasped and felt her rib cage swell. "And here." His fingers passed lightly over the bandage at her waist and stroked her lower belly.

  "Oh my God." Panting lightly, she squirmed against his hand. She couldn't have remained still if her life had depended on it. How was he thinking of these things? These strange, erotic things that she had never even imagined.

  "And here."

  "There?" Her eyes flew open and her mouth dropped in amazement. His hand cupped her most private part, scalding her right through the thin material of her nightgown. "You want to kiss me there?" She thought she might faint just thinking about it.


  He laughed softly against her lips. "Right there. Give me your hand. I'll show you what thinking about kissing you there does to me."

  She knew what he was going to do, and she didn't resist. She let him draw her hand down between them, down to where his long johns tented out.

  "My God," she murmured again, curving her fingers around the length of him. When he groaned, she snatched her hand back, but he caught her fingers and pressed them back around him. Tentatively at first, then with growing curiosity and assurance, she explored the power and maleness beneath her hand.

  To her astonishment, she discovered she could create a baritone symphony of groans and moans and low, tortured whispers. If she did this, his body arched and quivered. If she did that, he kissed her so fiercely that her mouth burned. When she did this and this, he went limp and groaned.

  He held the power to kindle a fire in her belly and drop her to her knees with a caress. But she had power, too. The realization astonished her.

  "Wait," hebegged, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Stop for a minute. This is torture."

  "I like torturing you," she whispered wickedly, covering his face with kisses, teasing him with her hips to see what might happen.

  A groan of pain rumbled in his chest. "I might have known you'd learn fast." Then he slid down and opened the top of her nightdress, his mouth and tongue finding her breasts. "I'll show you what torture is."

  When Jenny staggered back to her own bed near dawn, her lips swollen and her breasts aching, she decided he'd kept his promise. She burned for him, was on fire for him. Never had she experienced anything even remotely similar to this kind of arousal and desire. He had brought her to explosion after explosion with nothing but his hands and his voice in her ear. And she had discovered she could do the same for him. It had been wild, erotic, exhausting, and delirious. And informative.

  When she crawled into bed beside Graciela, she cast the kid a glance of resentment and grudging affection. If Graciela hadn't been here … but then, if Graciela hadn't been here, she and Ty wouldn't have been here either.