Page 23 of The Promise of Jenny Jones

They didn’t ride out of Durango until almost four o’clock, by which time Ty was as restless as a herd before a storm.

Everything had taken longer than he’d figured.

She’d had to try things on at the apparel store, a seemingly endless process, and then a seamstress had been summoned, which ate up more time.

Next came footwear, an item he hadn’t considered, and the trying on and taking off and switching of tassels and discussion of colors.

Through it all, he’d shifted from boot to boot, glaring pointedly at his pocket watch, which didn’t expedite the shopping excursion by a single minute.

Following the purchase of undergarments, an experience he never wanted to repeat, they stopped to eat again although he wasn’t sure why since Graciela mostly played with her food, sampling tiny bites between chatting happily about her new clothing. The food she had begged for stayed on her plate.

The time lost at the corrals was his fault.

He’d insisted that she ride the horse he selected for her before he put down the purchase money.

Then he’d had to buy saddles and wait while her stirrups were cut to size.

This after a long discussion wherein Graciela insisted on a lady’s sidesaddle, and he insisted on a regular.

He had eventually prevailed, but she hadn’t spoken to him since.

Her silence irritated the bejesus out of him.

Grinding his teeth, he turned his head to glare at her.

Immediately a long sigh emptied the air from his lungs.

She looked so tiny and fragile seated atop the large mare that visions of disaster spun through his mind.

She could fall off and break an arm or a leg.

The horse might throw her, and she could break her neck and die.

The mare could stumble and fall and crush her.

He didn’t know if the mare was easily spooked, but he could imagine it running off with the child and…

Well, damn it. Ty gave his head an irritated shake. He wasn’t a man to borrow trouble, so why was he doing it now?

In fact, he didn’t need to borrow, he had trouble enough already.

She’d claimed that she knew how to ride, but that was only partially true.

She knew how to stay on top of a horse as long as the horse walked.

The one time the horse had broken into a trot, she had screamed and clamped onto the pommel, utterly terrified.

“Graciela,” he said, moving his gelding up beside the mare, “we need to pick up the pace or it’s going to take about twenty years for us to reach the border.” At the present rate, she’d need that corset before they rode into California, and he’d be an old man.

She looked at him, then deigned to answer. “I’ve never been on a horse all by myself. Well, I have, but one of my cousins led it or walked along beside me.”

Even though he’d quickly realized that her idea of being able to ride differed vastly from his thoughts on the subject, hearing her admission soured his disposition. He considered the problem for the next mile.

“Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll sell your horse, and you’ll ride behind me.”

“You said this was my horse! You said I could ride her all by myself. That’s what you promised!” Tears swam in her eyes.

My God, he had made her cry. Horrified, Ty watched the late-afternoon sun glisten in the water welling behind her lashes. The shock of it stunned him. He had made this tiny creature cry.

“Jenny wouldn’t break a promise!” A tear ran down her cheek. “Jenny says a person isn’t worth a fricking spit if he breaks a promise!” Another tear dropped on the bodice of her maroon riding outfit.

“Look, don’t cry. All right?” A man was never so helpless as when faced with a woman’s tears.

A child’s tears were even worse. “We won’t decide anything right now,” he heard himself say.

“We’ll talk about it later when you’re calmer.

” Right now, he wasn’t too calm himself. “Maybe you should wipe your nose.”

To his great relief she managed to remove a snowy handkerchief from her cuff without dropping the reins.

“Jenny says a promise is sacred.” Her voice muffled inside the handkerchief. “Jenny says anyone who breaks a fricking promise might as well put a gun to his head.”

A little of “Jenny says” went a long way, he decided irritably. “Don’t swear.”

“I’m only telling you what Jenny said.”

“I get the point, all right? Jenny Jones does not break her promises.” Thin-lipped, he stared toward the sinking sun. In the future, he would be damned careful what he said and how he said it. Apparently children accepted every word as gospel.

Meanwhile, he didn’t know how he was going to get around this obstacle, only that he had to.

He was still pondering the problem when they stopped to set up camp for the night, still thinking about how to pick up the pace while he tethered the horses, watered them, then dug a fire pit and unpacked provisions.

“I can fill your coffeepot.”

“I’ll do it,” he said absently. She might fall in the small stream that ran near the campsite. When he returned from the stream, he noticed that she had unrolled the bedrolls.

“I can hang the coffeepot over the fire.”

“I’ve already got it.”

She pursed her lips, then sat down on her saddle and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t know how to cook,” she informed him, watching as he set out the skillet. As if there was any way in hell that he would have allowed her to get that close to the flames. “Will you teach me how?”

“Aren’t you kind of young to be cooking?” He shredded some boiled beef with his knife, added dried onion, and rolled the bits inside a tortilla before he placed them in the iron skillet and set the skillet on the fire to heat. He cut some more beef, more onions.

“Jenny says I should know how to cook by now.”

He gazed at her above the flames licking the bottom of the coffeepot. “For someone who professes to hate Jenny Jones, you sure quote her a lot.”

“No, I don’t. She’s not a lady. Did you know that she has hair between her legs?” Graciela shuddered. “Don’t you think that’s disgusting?”

Ty froze, and the tortilla dropped from boneless fingers into the dirt. Heat scalded his throat and jaw. Ducking his head, he stared at the tortilla, took his time picking it up and brushing off the sandy dirt. “Ah… well…” He cleared his throat with a strange-sounding cough.

And he wished like hell that he was anywhere on earth but here with this child. Silently he cursed Robert for asking him to undertake this errand. He cursed Marguarita for getting pregnant in the first place. He cursed himself for discovering a modest streak that he hadn’t even suspected.

“Jenny says all grown-up women have hair between their legs.” Her raised eyebrow conveyed enormous skepticism. “That’s not true, is it?”

Oh God. Agony twitched his muscles, pulled down the corners of his mouth. The last time he’d squirmed like this, he’d been a schoolboy. Raising his knife to within an inch of his eyes, he inspected the blade with intense scrutiny.

“Ah… didn’t you say that Jenny Jones never lies?” There was a nick that he hadn’t noticed before. He’d have to fix that.

Graciela heaved a huge sigh, her shoulders dropped, and she directed a sad stare toward her toes. “So it’s true,” she said mournfully. “Well, I’m not going to grow hair between my legs.”

He was dying, absolutely dying. When he could trust himself to speak, he cleared his throat with a choking sound and said, “A couple of these are hot. Fetch one of those plates.” His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

And his treacherous mind flung visions of a naked Jenny in front of his eyes. Damn it, he could see a triangular patch as coppery as the flames blurring in front of his gaze.

“Look,” he said, struggling against images no decent man should imagine in the presence of an innocent child, “we’ll give the horse problem another day, all right? But we have to cover more ground. We’ll trot and walk, trot and walk, until you’re comfortable.”

He’d known a redheaded whore in San Francisco.

Her skin had been milk white, brushed with flame down there.

Oh God, he couldn’t think about this in front of his six-year-old niece.

What kind of man was he? Sweating slightly, he poured a cup of coffee and watched her eat, making himself think about tomorrow’s ride.

“Uncle Ty?”

“What?”

“I said I’d scrub the plates. Jenny showed me how. You rub them out with sand, then wipe them off with a wet cloth.”

“Fine,” he said absently, staring into the fire. He wondered if Jenny Jones’s skin was milk white and brushed with flame down there.

“I’m tired. I’m going to go to sleep now.” When Ty didn’t respond, she made a little sound. “You have to turn your back, so I can undress and put on my nightgown.”

“Oh.” He spun on his heels so rapidly that coffee flew out of his cup. Damn Robert. Robert should have been here instead of him. Robert could have waited until their father’s estate was settled; what difference would a few more months have made?”

“I’m ready to say my prayers now.”

“Fine… is there something I’m supposed to do?” Tentatively he turned around and saw her kneeling beside her bedroll, dressed in a lacy white nightgown.

“You’re supposed to kneel with me and listen.”

“I guess I can do that.” He supposed hearing a prayer wouldn’t harm him. Might do him some good. But he was glad there was no one to see him going down on his knees.

“Fold your hands like this.”

He dug his knees into the hard dirt and glared into the darkness. “Just say your prayers.”

She said the “Our Father,” then she asked God to bless a numbing list of people. It was sobering to hear how many Barrancas cousins there were. He wondered how many of them were searching for her right now.

Pausing, she opened one eye. “I don’t know what to say about Jenny. She’s gone now, so I guess I can stop asking God to kill her, but she still should be punished for killing my mama.”

Shock narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been asking God to kill Jenny Jones?”

Graciela nodded solemnly. “But He hasn’t done it yet.”

He stared at her. “Does Jenny know you’re asking God to kill her?”

“What should I ask God to do about punishing her? Should I tell Him some good punishments or just let Him decide what’s best?”

“Graciela,” he said slowly, inching into unknown territory, “now you know Jenny didn’t kill your mother.”

“Jenny was supposed to die, not my mama.” Her chin lifted in a stubborn expression that inexplicably made Ty think of his father.

He studied the fresh onslaught of tears and decided he didn’t want to get into this. “Why don’t you just say amen.”

She closed her eyes again. “God? You don’t have to kill Jenny anymore, but you should punish her bad. You should make her cry and bleed a lot. She should feel very very sorry for killing my mama. Amen.”

Ty blinked. His niece was praying for blood and death, and he’d thought she was an innocent?

“You can kiss me good night now,” she said, smiling at him and lifting her cheek. He peered over his shoulder into the darkness, then brushed a hasty peck across her cheek. “Now you’re supposed to tuck me in.”

After pulling the blankets up to her chin, he rose to his feet and stared down at her. His bloodthirsty little niece looked like an angel with her hair flowing around her face and her lashes feathered on her cheeks.

Shaking his head, he returned to the fire and sat on a rock to finish the pot of coffee. This had been one hell of a day, and he felt the exhaustion in his shoulders, but he suspected he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon.

It was after midnight before he crawled into his bedroll, and later still before he dropped into an uneasy doze.

The next thing he heard was the tiny click of a hammer being drawn. When he tried to sit up, a fist pressed him down, and he couldn’t turn his head. His temple hit the barrel of his own Colt. Staring up at the first opalescent tints of dawn, he ground his teeth together and waited.

“I didn’t figure you to be such a sound sleeper,” said a cheerful voice whose husky tone he recognized all too well. “Put your hands on top of the blankets. Do it slow.”

“You know I’ll come after you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the sky. If she was a killer, he’d just advised her to shoot him now. Mexico had roasted his brains.

“If you do,” Jenny said, whipping a rope around his wrists before he could make a grab for her, “I’ll shoot you down like a dog. You just go on home to California and tell the sainted Roberto that me and the kid are on our way. You’re not part of this anymore.”

He hated himself for suggesting this, but it was a possible way out of a bad situation. “If you’re so dead set on intruding where you don’t belong, we could take her to California together.”

“Do you really think I’m going to fall for that?

The minute I relaxed my guard, you’d take Graciela and leave me behind faster than a fly can flap its wings.

” Once she had him trussed up like a hog, she woke Graciela.

Ty couldn’t see them, but he heard them shouting at each other.

Eventually, Jenny dragged Graciela over to him and pointed.

“Take a good look at your uncle Ty,” she said, leaning next to Graciela’s face. “He’s not taking you anywhere. I am. So get your butt dressed. We’re going.”

Graciela stared down at him with disappointment and contempt. “I trusted you.” Having plunged this verbal blade into his heart, she spun in a billow of ruffled nightgown and flounced out of his line of sight.

Jenny leaned over him, her eyes narrowed into slits. “I made the promise. You didn’t. Remember what I said. If I see you again, I’ll kill you if for no other reason than the trouble you’ve caused me.”

He lay on his side, tangled in his bedroll, as furious and mortified as it was possible for a man to be, listening to the sound of a horse receding in the distance.

One horse. Jenny Jones had solved the Graciela/horse problem in two minutes flat.

He stared at a tiny flowering cactus three inches from his nose and passed the time by imagining himself strangling a certain woman with milk white skin who was brushed with flame down there.