The Promise of Jenny Jones (5 page)

Pressing her lips together, Jenny settled the horse for the night,then laid a fire. "Pay attention, kid. Next time this is your job." She made coffee, warmed the beans and tortillas, shook out the blankets that had been tied behind the saddle. Watching Graciela yawn over her tortilla, Jenny wondered if the cousins were out there somewhere in the darkness. Or had Marguarita overestimated any threat the cousins might pose? Maybe they were back at the village, getting drunk, holding a wake for Marguarita and feeling glad to be rid of any responsibility for the kid.

Graciela stood up and politely covered a yawn. "You can undress me now. I want to go to sleep."

Jenny's mouth dropped. "Do I look like a fricking servant to you? Undress you? When I was six years old I was doing the work of an adult. You can sure as hell dress and undress yourself."

Graciela stared at her across the fire. Tears welled in her eyes, brimmed,then slipped down her cheeks. "My mama always undressed me and tucked me into bed."

"You're six years old. You're practically an adult. You can get out of those clothes and into your nightdress by your own self."

"I hate you, I hate you! And you look ugly and stupid with that rag on your head!"

Jenny smiled. "That's your blanket over there. Now you can put on your nightdress or you can sleep in your fancy little outfit. Makes no never mind to me. But I'm not going to undress you, and I'm not going to dress you in the morning. So you just figure out how those buttons work."

"I know how buttons work! I hate you, I hate you,I hate you!" In a fury, Graciela ran around the fire pit, kicking rocks, and shouting, her little face as red as the flames.

Jenny watched with interest. At least Graciela wasn't a perfect snotty little lady all of the time. Finally she ran out of steam and started taking off her clothing. She pinned her hat to the ground with the hatpin for safekeeping. That was an impressive bit of ingenuity; Jenny had to give her that. Then, she folded her cape, skirt, and shirtwaist, and placed them in a neat pile. She anchored the pile with a rock. Jenny nodded, then her eyes widened.

"Good Lord. You're wearing a corset."

Graciela gave her a withering look. "A true lady always wears a corset."

"You must have been miserable all day. Why didn't you say something?" She watched Graciela bending and stretching, trying to reach behind herself. Jenny sighed. "Come here. There's no way you're going to get that damned thing off alone." It laced up the back. Frowning, Jenny pulled the laces out, studied the tiny corset with abhorrence,then tossed it on the fire.

Graciela screamed, and her hands flew to her face. Horrified, she watched the corset smolder, then catch fire. "You had no right to do that!"

"I've never seen anyone cry as much as you do," Jenny said with disgust. "Where's your backbone?"

"My aunt Tete gave me that corset for my name day! It was my favorite one!"

"Look kid. As long as I'm in charge, no six-year-old is going to wear a corset. Understand? I don't wear one, and you aren't going to wear one. Corsets are unhealthy and bad for your rib bones. You can't work in them, can hardly breathe in them." She studied Graciela's sputtering face. "I know. You hate me."

Graciela kicked a volley of stones into the darkness. "I hope you die! I hope the wolves eat you up! I hope you get sores all over you like Pepe Sanchez!"

Jenny poured the last cup of coffee and grinned. She was a mule skinner, and she could cuss with the best of them. It could be said, in fact, that she was a connoisseur of cussing. Connoisseur was in her pocket dictionary, and she liked the word. Tried to use it when she could. But she doubted Graciela would understand. Nevertheless, Graciela had the makings of a cussing connoisseur herself. She wasn't using actual cusswords, but she was calling down the scourges of kid-dom.Doing pretty damned well, too.

"You finished?" Jenny asked, sipping her coffee.

Graciela sent her a murderous look, then pulled her lacy nightdress over her curls and stood on the end of her blanket, swaying with fatigue. "I'm going to say my prayers now," she said sullenly.

"So say them."

"You're supposed to kneel with me and listen."

Jenny considered. Kneeling to hear a kid's prayer wasn't going to be comfortable, but she couldn't find any harm in it. Rising reluctantly, she walked around the fire and knelt beside Graciela, who glared at the rag on Jenny's head and made a face. She folded her hands together and held them against her chest, then closed her eyes.

"Heavenly Father, please take care of my mama and Aunt Tete and Maria and Cousin Luis and Cousin Chulo and Cousin—"

"God already knows who your cousins are, skip that part and say amen."

"Thank you for all the blessings you have given us. Keep us safe and protect us. Please take care of the horse and please punish…"She opened one eye and looked at Jenny. "What am I supposed to call you?"

She hadn't thought about that. They stared at each other. "For the time being, just call me Jenny."

"Please punish Jenny. You could strike her dead. Amen."

Jenny blinked. "I'm no expert on this, but … are you supposed to pray for someone to be struck dead?"

Graciela didn't answer. She crawled in between the folds of the blanket.

"Someone who's trying to help you and take you to your daddy? And you're asking God to strike me dead? You ungrateful little snot."

Here came the tears again. Jenny rolled her eyes.

"My mama always kissed me good night…"

"Well, I'll be goddamned. First you ask God to kill me dead, now you're hinting I should kiss you good night?" Jenny hated kids, she plain hated them. Kids were strange and contrary and hateful and weepy and more trouble than even she had believed.

"My mama always kissed me good night."

Jenny swore. "If that's what it'll take to shut you up and put you to sleep." She moved up the blanket and placed a quick, gingerly kiss on Graciela's smooth cheek. "What's that pin," she asked when she straightened. "And why are you wearing it on your nightgown?" She had noticed it earlier, pinned to Graciela's bodice, and it looked like a real gold heart suspended from a real gold bar. Jenny had never owned a piece of real gold jewelry in her life.

"It's a locket," Graciela said, closing her fingers over the gold heart. "Inside are pictures of my mama and my daddy. My mama gave it to me."

"You don't need to sound so defensive. I'm not going to steal it, for God's sake."

Irritated, she returned to the fire, wet down her head, and rubbed more of the vinegar of sabadilla into her aching scalp. Fire ate into her skull, and she grimaced. Damn, it hurt. When she opened her eyes, Graciela was staring at her.

"Go to sleep," Jenny snapped. "Stop looking at me." Turning her back, she bound her head in the rag,then stepped to her own blanket. The temperature had dropped, and the blanket felt good around her shoulders. Graciela was going to wish she hadn't put on that skimpy nightdress.

As tired as she was, Jenny didn't fall asleep immediately. She lay with her hands behind her head, looking up at the stars and thinking about the long day. A day she shouldn't have had. She should have been in her grave by now.

"Well, Marguarita," she whispered, looking up at heaven. She picked a star and decided it was Marguarita. "All in all the first day went better than I expected." She talked to the star. "You didn't tell me what a superior little bitch your daughter is, but that's all right. I understand." Her lashes drifted shut and she forced them open again. "Marguarita? I know you didn't do it for me. You did it for the kid. But, thank you for my life. Don't youworry. I'll get her butt toCalifornia."

In the morning, Jenny discovered Graciela curled into her side like a puppy, nestled against Jenny's warmth.

Gently, she shook Graciela's shoulder. "Rise and shine, kid. Too bad for you—God didn't kill me yet. So, hustle your butt and get dressed."

CHAPTER 3

T y stepped off the train, stretched, and wiped soot and smoke off his forehead. He resettled his hat, flexed the stiffness out of his shoulders and thighs.

The small Verde Flores depot was unpainted and looked like a puff of wind could knock down the haphazard weathered walls. Clusters of people waiting for the next train sweated in the heat, but they would have broiled if it hadn't been for the leafy trees bending over the platform roof.

After checking on his horse through the slats of a box-car, and accepting that it would be a while before the animals were unloaded, Ty continued around to the side of the depot and inspected the town behind it.

A small stream divided the town into two sleepy halves. Because of the water, trees flourished in Verde Flores. Flowers nodded on windowsills, splashes of red and yellowthat made the town seem almost inviting. Ty watched some women washing clothes in the stream, chattering to one another, and was glad he had arrived before everyone vanished indoors to escape themiddayheat. Atone o'clock, a Mexican village resembled a ghost town.

Returning to the platform, he confirmed that no one had yet opened the boxcars. He'd have to wait. As benches were scarce, filled with people waiting for luggage or the next boarding call, he leaned in the doorway to the station house and searched his pockets for a cigar.

"Pardone, Señor." A woman's husky voice spoke from immediately behind him.

"Con gusto," he said politely, stepping out of her way.

To his surprise, she wasn't Spanish. Leaving an odd medicinal smell behind her, she strode past him,then stopped suddenly as if she had forgotten something. She looked over her shoulder at her daughter. At least Ty assumed the girl lagging behind was her daughter. They both had blue eyes; they seemed to be traveling together.

Obviously, the little girl's father must be a Mex, and that disturbed him. A Spanish/Anglo marriage had torn his own family apart which was part of the reason why he couldn't help feeling some prejudice against Mexicans. The larger part of his bias had taken root as he grew up witnessing his father's intolerance, especially toward Don Antonio Barrancas who owned the ranch sharing a border with the Sanders' spread. It was hard to argue with his father, given the hostilities between the Sanders and the Barrancas family. Ty had grown up agreeing with his father's opinions and not understanding why Robert didn't feel the same level of intolerance.

Turning his thoughts back to the woman, he decided she wasn't a beauty, but she wasn't thumbs-down either. On closer inspection, her hair was peculiar, he decided, striking a match against the bottom of his boot. He lit a cigar and exhaled. Maybe she'd been ill orsomething, and she'd had to cut her hair. There should have been a bun at the back, but there was only a fringe of red curling up over the bottom of a hat that hadn't been designed to be worn so far back on the head.

Usually Ty wasn't drawn to tall, big-boned women who looked like they could do everything a man could do and maybe do it better. But this woman caught his attention. He guessed she was at least five feet ten or eleven, but she didn't hunch or try to pretend she was a foot shorter. She didn't affect breathless airs better left to little women, and she wasn't foolish enough to mimic daintiness. She carried herself as if height were an advantage, not the disaster women usually considered it. She moved like a real person, not like someone sandwiched between metal stays. And she looked around her with an expression that dared anyone to challenge her or get in her way.

Ty smiled, then realizing he was staring and turned his head toward the crowded benches. He hoped the woman and her daughter didn't have long to wait because there was no place for them to sit. After smoking a third of his cigar, he shoved away from the doorjamb and ambled down to check on the boxcars again. A half dozen sweating men were unloading cartons.

"You should have unloaded the horses first," he commented in disgust. The men ignored him, and after a few minutes, he swore,then returned to the platform and the shade.

The woman had taken her daughter to stand beneath the spreading branches of a large tree growing to the side of the depot. Ty leaned in the doorway again, watching them for lack of anything else to occupy his interest.

They were arguing. Too many people were coming and going on the platform, voices rattling all around him, for Ty to hear why the mother and daughter argued, but it wasn't hard to guess.

The daughter kept pointing to her hair, a sheet of silky brown rippling almost to her waist. She tried to push it up under a little hat that was more fashionable than the mother's. Without pins, her hair cascaded back to her waist.

The mother threw out her hands, her cheeks reddened, and she turned in a full circle, glaring up at the tree limbs in growing frustration. It was an odd gesture of helplessness from a woman who projected an impression of spit-in-your-eye capability.

Ty shook his head. The mother's hair was god-awful, but it didn't seem to bother her. The daughter's hair was beautiful, but she wanted it tucked away. No wonder men had difficulty understanding women.

Losing interest, he relit his cigar and shifted his attention to a hard-eyed man who galloped a lathered horse up to the depot steps and reared to a halt. He jumped from the saddle and tossed his reins to a boy who rose from a seat on the steps.

Ty watched the man stride toward the train conductor, and his eyes narrowed. There was a puffed-up thug like this one in every small town in the world. They were identifiable at a glance, angry men searching for an offense to serve as an excuse to release the fury they'd been born with.

This one was on the short side, but well muscled, covered with road dust. His hat was as black as his eyes and mustache. Rage vibrated the air around him. Conversation died and left only the sound of his spurs chinking across the boards of the platform.

The thug lowered burning black eyes to the conductor's face. "How many trains have left this station today?"

The conductor's gaze darted to a chalkboard the thug would have seen if he'd looked over his shoulder.

"The first train north leaves in an hour, Señor. ToChihuahua. This train departs in thirty minutes. South. Just as soon as they finish—" He nodded toward the men leading horses out of the final boxcar.