Page 72 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“It’s a surprise,” he answered gruffly, narrowing his gaze on her lips. “I hope you’ll enjoy what I have planned.”
He wouldn’t say more, but the hard promise glittering in his expression spoke volumes. Wherever he planned to take her, she wouldn’t be disappointed.
She wet her lips and swallowed, smiling when she noticed his jaw tighten. “While you’re out, would you check the train schedule? I’m feeling right as rain and ready to head for Texas tomorrow. Graciela? You remind him. It’s time to go.”
Because she was buoyed by the prospect of an evening alone with Ty, it struck her as amusing that Ty soothed Graciela’s fits of temper by offering her a treat whereas Jenny aimed for the same result by assigning a task. The kid, she suspected, was clever enough to see through them both.
After they departed, she ordered up a bath and carefully laid her new gown on one of the beds, letting her fingers linger on the whispery apricot-colored satin. A month ago the calluses on her palms would have snagged the smooth, embroidered fabric. Now that she wasn’t driving every day or wrestling cartons of freight, her calluses had faded. Yesterday, for want of something to do, she had even borrowed Graciela’s file and shaped her nails. Smiling, she decided that hell had frozen over the minute she applied a file to her thumbnail. Henceforth, sinners would shiver instead of sweat.
Graciela being Graciela, and knowing about such things, had bought a cake of rose-scented soap, and Jenny borrowed it for her bath, working the fragrant lather against her skin and scalp.
One nice thing about short hair and dry desert air, she decided while toweling off, was how quickly her hair dried. Standing naked before the bureau, she leaned to the small mirror on top and combed her hair back from a center part so it would dry close to her head.
Next she examined an item of clothing she had vowed would never touch her body, a corset. Laughing at an image of Ty buying such an intimate contraption, she held it up for inspection, flexed the steel bones, and studied the lace and ribbon trim. At least it hooked up the front. Even so, she doubted she would have worn the evil thing except that Graciela had insisted her gown wouldn’t fit properly without a corset to nip her in here and push her up there.
Once she had assembled and donned her undergarments, she returned to her hair, pleased that it had dried slicked back from her face. Here her fingers moved with certainty. Though she would have submitted to a whipping rather than admit it, over the years she had secretly experimented with comb and brush. Hair, her own hair, was a feminine item that she understood. In a flash, she had pinned a circlet of flowers near the nape, creating the illusion of a bun on her neck.
Next came a spritz of Graciela’s rose cologne, then she hesitated. How foolish would she feel if she patted powder over her cheeks and bosom? Just a slight dusting. Before she could change her mind, she applied powder to her face, throat, and shoulders, then leaned to inspect herself.
My Lord. She looked like a different person. The powder muted her tan, her slicked-back hair exposed a broad, rather noble forehead, she decided, shyly pleased. Tonight her eyes appeared as blue as a shining spring sky. Caught up in a transformation she had never worked before, she plucked a rose petal from the flowers in the window box and rubbed it over her lips, leaning to the mirror to judge the effect.
With only minutes to spare before Ty and Graciela knocked, then opened the door, she carefully stepped into the apricot-colored satin gown and hooked the side closing, wishing for a full-length mirror so she could admire the poufs of pale green cascading down the back of the gown. The pale green matched the swirls of delicate embroidery adorning the slim front of her skirt and repeated in a wide ribbon bow at her breast.
Staring down at herself, she imagined a newly emerged butterfly, a splendid creature heretofore hidden inside awaiting exactly the right moment and the right accessories to shine forth. Or maybe she merely looked like an elegantly gowned lady of the night. She didn’t know.
Ty and Graciela stopped in their tracks when they saw her.
“Jenny!” Graciela breathed, staring. “You look beautiful.”
Crimson circles flared on her cheeks as she raised her eyes to Ty, and she smoothed trembling fingers over her hips. Only when she noticed that his gaze smoldered with a fire no woman could fail to mistake did the tremor in her hands alter from uncertainty to pleasure. Still…
“Do I look like a whore?” she whispered, wondering if she should have avoided the powder and rose petal lips.
“You look… like a vision,” he murmured hoarsely. “That gown fits like a second skin, and the color is wonderful with your hair.”
Her throat warmed with a rush of delight. But he was a man; she couldn’t fully trust his response. Therefore, she turned an appeal to Graciela. “Is too much bosom hanging out?” Never in her life had she exposed this much flesh. When she glanced down, a mountain range of pale mounds met her gaze.
Graciela walked around her, giving a tug here, straightening a fold there. “That’s the fashion,” she announced sagely, sounding as knowledgeable as an experienced shopkeeper. When she had completed a full circle, she stood back and, eyes wide with disbelief and admiration, and she said softly, “Oh Jenny. You look so beautiful. You look like a princess.”
“Oh my. Well, thank you.” She cleared her throat, then darted a glance toward Ty, who hadn’t moved. He stood as if rooted to the floor by the sight of her.
“Jenny?” Graciela bit her lips in indecision, then nodded and touched the locket pin on her chest. “I… would you like to borrow my pin for tonight?”
The shy offer blindsided her. During the entire time they had traveled together, through all their travails, Graciela had worn the locket. Always. Day and night. It was her most prized possession, the only tangible memory of her mother.
Oh Lord. Jenny blinked hard and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I would be honored to wear your pin,” she murmured in a husky voice. Sitting on the side of the bed, she waited while Graciela removed the locket from her chest then carefully pinned it to the bodice of Jenny’s gown. They gazed at each other for a lengthy moment, then Graciela leaned forward and brushed a hasty kiss across Jenny’s cheek before she darted away to the window.
Openmouthed, Jenny lifted a hand to her cheek and stared. If nothing else happened tonight, already it had become an evening she would remember for the rest of her life. Graciela had kissed her.
“Well,” she said, dropping her head and blinking hard. Were there tears in her eyes? No, of course not. “Where is my fan and bag? And where is Senora Jaramillo?”
“I hear the good senora on the staircase,” Ty said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “My God, Jenny,” he said softly, his voice thick. “I wish you could see yourself. You look… amazing.”
Hot with pleasure, she stood and collected her fan and bag from the top of the bureau, and dropped an apricot satin shawl over her shoulders, feeling the pale green fringe brush the crook of her arms. To cover a sudden bout of nervousness, she focused on Graciela while she tugged on her gloves, but she was acutely aware that Ty watched each small movement she made.
“Mind what Senora Jaramillo tells you. Don’t play poker for real money, only matchsticks, and go to bed when the senora tells you to. I better not hear that you were smoking, cussing, or drinking up here.”
The kid didn’t smile. She was getting pissy again. “You didn’t used to care when I went to bed.”
