Page 57 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“What you’re trying to do would be laudable in different circumstances,” he continued, speaking in a quiet voice. “Your independence and resourcefulness helped you survive. But Graciela isn’t you. Once we take her home, Jenny, she’ll never be alone again or forced to fend for herself. She’ll never be hungry, will never have to work for bed and board.”
“That’sifRobert wants her,” Jenny whispered stubbornly. But her words lacked force. Deep inside, Jenny was beginning to accept that Robert would be a father to Graciela.
Yet she continued to worry about a future that might include the kid. Lowering her head, she rubbed her temples. Everything Ty said made sense. And yet…
“Let Graciela be a child, Jenny. Stop flogging her because she isn’t a six-year-old adult.”
Her head snapped up, and she leaned into him, flashing eyes catching what remained of the dying light. “What the hell makes you such an expert on kids?”
“I don’t know crap about kids. But I know this,” he said, matching her glare for glare. “I grew up too fast, and so did you. Neither one of us had much of a childhood. I was doing a man’s work by the time I was eight; you were fending for yourself at an age when most girls are still playing with dolls. That’s not how it’s going to be for Graciela. So ease up on her. Let her have her childhood.”
Narrowing their eyes, they studied each other in the deepening shadows.
“I wish you’d never found us,” Jenny snarled in a low, harsh voice. “I wish it was just me and the kid. Things were simpler then.”
Needing to get away from him and the confusion he planted in her head, she returned to the shack, stopping abruptly just inside the door.
The first thing she noticed was the table. The meat she and Ty had left on their plates was now cut into ragged bite-sized pieces. A grim smile thinned her lips. Either the kid had known how to use a knife, or she’d learned in a hell of a hurry.
Reaching for the table lantern, she carried it past the washtub and looked into the hammock at Graciela’s sleeping form. The kid had climbed onto a stool and then into the hammock. The light from the lantern outlined a faint milk mustache tracing her upper lip.
When Jenny heard Ty enter the shack, she said softly, “Looks like she can manage just fine when she doesn’t have someone to do for her.” Calling his attention to the cut meat and the fact that Graciela had climbed into the hammock unassisted should have given her a glow of smug pleasure, but it didn’t.
Instead, she gazed down at Graciela and wondered how it would feel to know with absolute certainty that you would never again go to bed hungry. That you would always have a pillow under your head and clean sheets. To know you would never be alone. How would it feel not to fear tomorrow?
“I could use some light over here,” Ty called from the table.
Lowering a finger, Jenny touched the gold locket pinned to Graciela’s shift. Then she carried the lantern back to the table and sat in front of her steak. The first bite was cold and stringy.
“Senora Armijo brought a jug of pulque. Do you want some?”
She nodded, then pushed the bite-sized pieces of meat around her plate. Whatever appetite she’d had was gone. Giving it up, she shoved her plate away, then swallowed a generous swig of the pulque. The liquid scalded down her throat and brought a shine of moisture to her eyes.
“So what are you going to do when this journey is over?” she asked, watching Ty eat.
“I’ll help Robert operate the ranch… run some cattle on my own place.”
“Ranching is a demanding life,” she commented, “but a good one. Don’t have to worry where the next beefsteak is coming from.”
When he finished eating, he leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Cigar?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” To her surprise, he leaned forward and lit it for her. It was pleasant sitting at the table, smoking, listening to the village quiet down for the night. She had feared it might feel awkward to sit without talking, but it didn’t. That, she thought, was the measure of true companionship. Not that two people could talk, but that they could be comfortable just sitting together in silence.
“You look pretty in the lamplight.”
Jenny choked and burst into a fit of coughing. “Damn it, Sanders. I’ve asked you a dozen times not to say that kind of crap to me.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Squinting, he watched her through a curl of smoke. “You’ve got strong good features. You’re the kind of woman who’s going to get more handsome as the years go by. Long after more conventional beauties have faded, you’ll still be turning men’s heads.”
She stared at him, then laughed with genuine amusement. “Funny how you’re the only man who’s noticed how all-fired pretty I am.”
“Oh I doubt that. I might have the distinction of being one of the few who’s mentioned it, but I’m sure as hell not the only man who’s noticed.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet, and her ribs suddenly ached. This kind of talk embarrassed her, made her deeply suspicious, and she didn’t know how to respond. “Shut up,” she said finally, focusing intently on the end of her cigar.
“Have you ever been kissed? I mean, really kissed?”
The question and the husky timbre of his voice made her twitch and feel strange inside. Her skin suddenly felt hot and itchy. “I’ve been kissed,” she said defensively, scowling at him.
