Page 42 of The Promise of Jenny Jones

“God didn’t do this. Your fat pig of a cousin did,” Jenny spit. A look of satisfaction hardened her eyes. “He won’t do it again, that I can promise you.”

Graciela’s hands fluttered, reaching, withdrawing, wanting to touch but afraid to. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, kid.” The tequila helped, so she took another long swallow, watching Ty rip the hem off Graciela’s nightdress. “What happened to the other bastard?”

“He’s lying in the desert somewhere between here and Verde Flores, waiting for the vultures.”

“Good.” She took the length of hem from him and wadded it, then soaked the cloth with tequila. “I need your help,” she said to Graciela. “Hold my blouse up out of the way.”

The wooden seat back shielded them from the rest of the car. Anyone looking in their direction would see only the back of Jenny’s head, would see Ty smoking and glaring at them.

Jenny drew a breath and exhaled slowly before she pressed the tequila-soaked cloth against the wound. White-hot pain chewed a path to her brain, and she sucked in a hissing breath, blinking against a scald of tears. “Je-zus! Sorry, kid, but… oh my God.”

Smothering sobs, Graciela slid down the seat and curled into a ball, shaking and twitching. She covered her head with her shawl.

When she could make herself do it, Jenny held the bloody rag tightly beneath the wound like a dam and poured tequila directly into the wound, catching the overflow with the cloth. Her hands shook, and she ground her teeth together so hard that the grinding sound was all she could hear.

“Lord a’mighty, that smarts.” Gasping, she tried to draw a full breath. “What about the third man? Did he get on the train?”

“I don’t know,” Ty said gruffly.

When she finished cleaning the wound with the liquor, she fell back against the seat back, closed her eyes, and swallowed a long draw from the tequila bottle. Panting, she rested a minute. When she opened her eyes, Ty was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“This feels worse than getting shot,” she said, testing the steadiness of her voice. A little quavery, but better than she’d expected it would be.

He passed her a lit cigar, and she filled her lungs with hot smoke, then exhaled.

Ty waited a full minute. “Here’s where it gets sticky,” he said in a low voice, watching her.

“I can’t stitch it without getting down on my knees in front of you.

” They both knew that would certainly attract unwanted attention. “And you can’t do it yourself…”

Jenny nodded. She dropped a hand on Graciela’s shaking body. “Kid? Graciela? Stop crying and sit up. We have to talk.”

Graciela pulled the shawl away from her tear-stained face and stared up. “Are you going to die?”

“Well hell no.” She bit her lip. “Make that, shoot no. But I’d have to say that I’m mighty…

displeased right now. And I need your help.

” Forcing her mind into a narrow channel, she concentrated on the kid.

She had to be careful here; the damned kid would remember every minute of this.

What was said, what was done, how it was said and done.

It was a fricking pain in the butt to be responsible for a kid, to have to set examples.

“You need my help?” Bewildered, Graciela sat up, clutching the shawl to her chest. She glanced at Ty’s frown, then back to Jenny.

Jenny licked her lips and thought about the kid instead of the pain. “You told me you could sew, remember?”

Graciela nodded solemnly, not yet understanding.

Jenny gazed into her eyes. “Graciela… I need you to sew the edges of the wound together. Can you do that?”

Horror screwed the kid’s expression toward the center of her face. Little gasping sounds bleated out of her chest. “I… I can’t.”

“Jenny.” Ty leaned forward, staring in disapproval.

“Who else have we got?” she snapped, cutting him off, not looking away from Graciela’s white face. “You can do this. It’s just like sewing a seam. All you have to do is sew the edges up against each other. I’d do it myself except I can’t see the wound.” Her breasts were in the way.

Graciela shook her head back and forth, wrung her hands. Tears gushed down her face, and the usual snot. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Wipe her nose, will you?” Jenny said in disgust. She took another deep swig from the mouth of the tequila bottle.

“For Christ’s sake, Jenny. This is too much to ask of a kid. I’ll do it,” Ty growled, fumbling in the saddlebags for the sewing kit.

“Fine,” she said, glaring. “Give the kid your pistol and let her serve as lookout. Tell her to shoot the third cousin if he comes in here looking for us.” She knew she’d made her point by the frustration drawing his face.

“If the man on the depot platform boarded the train, don’t you think we’d have seen him by now?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s biding his time, waiting for the next stop.”

His face darkened, and he turned his gaze to Graciela. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t like this any more than you do, but it looks like you’ll have to do the sewing.”

Graciela had both small hands clamped to her cheeks and was crying and shaking her head. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Listen to me,” Jenny said, speaking quietly.

Gently, she pulled one of the kid’s hands into her own, leaving a bloody smear.

“If we don’t stitch the wound, it won’t stop bleeding.

It won’t start to heal.” She gazed into Graciela’s wide wet eyes.

“If we don’t stop the bleeding, I’m going to be in real trouble. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I can’t stick a needle into…” A shudder twitched down the kid’s body. Her face had turned the color of whey.

“Yes, you can. Hide is tougher than cotton, it’s like stitching leather. But you can do it. You just have to push the needle a little harder.”

Graciela dropped her head on Jenny’s shoulder. Her back shook. “It’ll hurt you.”

“Oh yeah. It’s going to hurt like a son of a… gun. I’ll try not to scream if you won’t.”

“The train is shaking too much!”

Jenny lifted a hand and stroked the kid’s hair, wondering what had happened to Graciela’s hat. “I trust you to do the best you can.”

Graciela pulled back and stared into her eyes. “You trust me?” she whispered.

“I’m trusting you with my life, kid.” Jenny stared back.

“And that’s okay. See, I figure you owe me.

I took care of you when you were sick, now it’s your turn to do something for me.

I was there for you, now you have to be here for me.

The fact is, you’ve got it easy. I’d rather sew a few stitches any day than mop up buckets of vomit. God!”

Graciela wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve, something she wouldn’t ordinarily have dreamed of doing, then she slid a glance toward the sewing packet Ty was kneading between his fingers. “Can I have a taste of tequila?”

“Hell no.” Jenny scowled. “If you start drinking next, so help me I’m going to have to smack you bad.

” She closed her eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, then looked at Ty.

“Give her the sewing packet.” To Graciela, she added, “Pick the strongest thread and double it. Tie off each stitch. And Graciela?”

The sewing packet was shaking in her hands. “Yes?”

“If I should faint, don’t stop sewing. In fact, if I faint, you sew as fast as you can, understand?”

Ty muttered a string of curses, then stood in the aisle with his back to them, his angry stance daring anyone to approach. Jenny flicked a glance at him, then motioned to Graciela to kneel in front of her.

It took several tries before Graciela picked up the rhythm of the train’s sway and was able to thread the needle. Her hands shook so badly that the thimble continued to fall off her finger. Jenny took a long hit from the tequila bottle, then she and Graciela stared at each other.

“We’ve been through a lot,” Jenny said quietly. “What we’re doing now is just one more thing. No harder than anything else.”

“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 cussing, 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.