Page 28 of The Promise of Jenny Jones

There wasn’t a woman he knew or had ever known who would have sat there like Jenny Jones, bleeding on the bar and tossing back shots of tequila without a hitch in her husky voice, without a word of self-pity or complaint. Sitting there wounded, swapping tales about getting shot.

Shaking his head, he splashed more tequila into his glass and touched the rim to hers.

“You know,” he said, gazing at her cropped coppery hair before he let his glance slide to the clean angle of her jaw, “I can’t explain this, but I have a powerful hankering for you.

I beg pardon if that observation is out of line, but you strike me as a woman who’s not averse to straight talk. ”

Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline, and her mouth fell open.

“You got a hankering? For me? Why?” Disgust pinched her mouth, and for a bad moment he thought the disgust was directed at him, but then she apologized.

“It’s the kid. I’m so sick of hearing the word why, I swore I’d never use it myself. ”

He swallowed his tequila, watching her over the edge of the glass. “I can’t answer that. I don’t know why.”

She wasn’t remotely similar to the women he’d lusted after in the past. There was nothing dainty or even particularly feminine about her.

But he never thought of Jenny Jones without thinking what a hell of a woman she was.

If he didn’t dwell on her peculiar hairdo and un-fashionably tanned skin, she was even good-looking.

When he recalled her breasts and small waist, sweat appeared on his brow.

She gave him a level look, turning the tequila glass between her fingers. “Graciela said you hated me for killing her mother.”

“That’s not true.” He thought a minute. He didn’t want to call his niece a liar, but she’d stretched the truth on this one. “Graciela must have misunderstood,” he said carefully.

“That’s good since it appears we need to work together to get her back.” Eyes narrowed, she considered him with a thoughtful expression. “I was pretty damned pissed when I thought you hated me.”

That was an encouraging sign, he decided, pouring her another tequila.

“I was pretty damned pissed myself when you hog-tied me and left me in the dirt. I plan to even the score on that one.” He shrugged.

She was no tender greenhorn. She would understand the incident demanded a payback.

“The thing is, I like your looks even with your hair whacked-up like that. It’s a nice color. Better without the black.”

She tugged on a short strand near her ear and frowned. “Lice.”

“I figured something like that.” A tall, strong-boned woman wasn’t to every man’s taste, but he responded powerfully to the challenge she presented. “And I admire your style. Hell, who can explain a hankering. You aren’t like any woman I ever met.”

“That’s for damned sure,” she said with a laugh. For a moment he thought she might be blushing, but he decided her cheeks were more likely flushed with sun and pain.

Still, it impressed the hell out of him that she could sit there with a shot-up arm and laugh, paying no mind at all to the people gathered outside the cantina, staring in.

She was an astonishing woman. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that her arm was milky white down to her cuff line.

He reckoned the rest of her body was white, too, except for the part brushed with flame.

The part separating legs long enough to wrap around a man and guide him where he wanted to go. Imagination paralyzed him.

After a minute he swallowed and wiped a hand across his forehead.

“It’s time. Hold your arm steady.” Shifting so she sat sideways to the plank bar, she extended her arm, made a fist and lowered her head.

When he poured the tequila into her wound, she sucked in a sharp hissing breath and blinked rapidly.

Her eyes swam, but no tears spilled over.

“It’s all right to cry.”

“No, it isn’t,” she muttered between her teeth.

After he’d washed the wound thoroughly and cleaned the blood off her arm, he poured the last of the tequila into their glasses and waited until she’d tossed hers back.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Her voice was husky, and her eyes glistened with a damp shine, but Gawd a’mighty, she’d taken the pain like a man.

Ty decided he’d never wanted to bed a woman as badly as he wanted to bed this one. Since most women were docile creatures, he seldom thought in terms of taming a woman. But Jenny Jones was for damned sure not docile. She was prickly, stubborn, and exciting in a way he hadn’t experienced before.

“Do you have a hankering for me, too?” He snapped the question, irritated that he had to humble himself by asking. He’d made a declaration here, and she owed him better than to leave him dangling and wondering. He’d revealed himself, and he deserved a revelation in return.

“I guess I do,” she admitted after a lengthy hesitation, scowling up at him. “I don’t fricking like it much, but now that you mention it, yeah, I guess I got a hankering for you, too.” She glanced at the man behind the bar. “I need two thin slices of pork rind, por favor. ”

“And some bandage strips,” Ty added.

“Listen. Just because we got a mutual hankering, doesn’t mean we have to act on it.

” Her chin came up on a mulish angle. “Aside from the hankering, there isn’t much about you that I like.

So far, you’ve been a pain in the behind.

And I might as well tell you, I’ve followed through on one hankering and getting shot was more of an enjoyable experience. I didn’t like it.”

That was disappointing news. The minute she’d admitted sharing his hankering, wild images had exploded through his mind like fireworks.

Since she didn’t seem to do things halfway, he’d figured her for a robust and enthusiastic partner.

But somewhere along her trail, a man had treated her badly.

That was a damned shame. Women were like fillies.

Break ’em right, and they’d give a man pleasure every time he climbed in the saddle; break ’em harsh or carelessly, and they were nothing but trouble forever after.

He’d have to think about this.

Taking the supplies from the bartender, he curved the pork rind on both sides of her wound and bound them in place by wrapping strips of cloth around her arm.

Her skin was warm and taut, and she had good muscle definition.

If she hadn’t been wearing the shapeless poncho, he could have treated himself to a stolen glance at her magnificent breasts.

“I didn’t say we had to act on the hankering,” he commented casually. He wasn’t positive that she’d stated an outright rejection, but in case she leaned in that direction, he wanted her to know he hadn’t made any firm offer.

Standing, she touched her fingertips to the wrapped arm. Her eyes were clear and her step as steady as his. Looking at her, no one would guess that the two of them had just topped half a bottle of tequila. Ty hadn’t considered it until now, but holding her liquor was a good quality in a woman.

“How come you’re blathering about hankering,” she demanded, striding to the front of the cantina, “instead of planning how we get your niece back? Don’t you care about her? Or is she just some Mexican brat to you?”

His gaze snapped down hard. “How I feel about the kid is none of your business.”

“Right now, Graciela is my only business.”

“Where’s your gear?” When she talked about Graciela, her face changed. A fierce determination tightened her expression. She truly believed she was responsible for his niece.

“Down a couple of blocks.” When she turned, her face was half in shadow, half in sunshine. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I know how you feel about Graciela. If you aren’t committed to getting her back, I need to know it right now.”

Ty moved past her into the street, then stopped, forcing a man on a burro to ride around them.

“Here’s how it is. I’m no happier about having a Barrancas in the family than my father was,” he said, speaking between his teeth.

“But Graciela is my brother’s daughter, and I promised Robert that I’d bring her home to him.

I also promised my brother that I’d take care of his wife and child if anything ever happens to him.

I gave my word. You told me that you never lie, so you’ll understand what that promise means.

Graciela is part of my family, she’s part of me, and she’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving Mexico without her.”

Jenny adjusted the sling he’d fashioned over her arm, then leaned toward him, her expression combative. “I have good news for you, mister. If something happens to Robert, you’re off the hook because Marguarita asked me to raise Graciela and I gave her my word that I would. And I will.”

“No stranger is going to raise my niece. Not you, not anyone else. She has my mother and she has me. She has family.”

“She also has Don Antonio, and Marguarita didn’t want him raising her daughter either. She picked me. ”

They stood close enough that he felt the heat rolling off of her, felt the power of her splendid body.

“The only reason you care what happens to Graciela is because you made a promise to Marguarita,” he stated flatly, staring at her mouth.

Her eyes blazed and her body tensed. “And I mean to keep that promise if it kills me. Or if I have to kill you. You are not going to raise Graciela. I am. ”

Never in his life had he wanted to punch someone as much as he wanted to punch the woman staring a challenge into his eyes.

But if he raised a hand against her, she’d come right back at him, regardless of her wounded arm, and they’d be fighting and rolling in the dirt street of this tiny village whose curious population stood in doorways staring at them.

He had no idea how he could want to bed a woman and want to knock her senseless at the same time. It was a mystery to ponder some other time.