Page 33 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“I said I’d scrub the plates. Jenny showed me how. You rub them out with sand, then wipe them off with a wet cloth.”
“Fine,” he said absently, staring into the fire. He wondered if Jenny Jones’s skin was milk white and brushed with flame down there.
“I’m tired. I’m going to go to sleep now.” When Ty didn’t respond, she made a little sound. “You have to turn your back, so I can undress and put on my nightgown.”
“Oh.” He spun on his heels so rapidly that coffee flew out of his cup. Damn Robert. Robert should have been here instead of him. Robert could have waited until their father’s estate was settled; what difference would a few more months have made?”
“I’m ready to say my prayers now.”
“Fine… is there something I’m supposed to do?” Tentatively he turned around and saw her kneeling beside her bedroll, dressed in a lacy white nightgown.
“You’re supposed to kneel with me and listen.”
“I guess I can do that.” He supposed hearing a prayer wouldn’t harm him. Might do him some good. But he was glad there was no one to see him going down on his knees.
“Fold your hands like this.”
He dug his knees into the hard dirt and glared into the darkness. “Just say your prayers.”
She said the “Our Father,” then she asked God to bless a numbing list of people. It was sobering to hear how many Barrancas cousins there were. He wondered how many of them were searching for her right now.
Pausing, she opened one eye. “I don’t know what to say about Jenny. She’s gone now, so I guess I can stop asking God to kill her, but she still should be punished for killing my mama.”
Shock narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been asking God to kill Jenny Jones?”
Graciela nodded solemnly. “But He hasn’t done it yet.”
He stared at her. “Does Jenny know you’re asking God to kill her?”
“What should I ask God to do about punishing her? Should I tell Him some good punishments or just let Him decide what’s best?”
“Graciela,” he said slowly, inching into unknown territory, “now you know Jenny didn’t kill your mother.”
“Jenny was supposed to die, not my mama.” Her chin lifted in a stubborn expression that inexplicably made Ty think of his father.
He studied the fresh onslaught of tears and decided he didn’t want to get into this. “Why don’t you just say amen.”
She closed her eyes again. “God? You don’t have to kill Jenny anymore, but you should punish her bad. You should make her cry and bleed a lot. She should feel very very sorry for killing my mama. Amen.”
Ty blinked. His niece was praying for blood and death, and he’d thought she was an innocent?
“You can kiss me good night now,” she said, smiling at him and lifting her cheek. He peered over his shoulder into the darkness, then brushed a hasty peck across her cheek. “Now you’re supposed to tuck me in.”
After pulling the blankets up to her chin, he rose to his feet and stared down at her. His bloodthirsty little niece looked like an angel with her hair flowing around her face and her lashes feathered on her cheeks.
Shaking his head, he returned to the fire and sat on a rock to finish the pot of coffee. This had been one hell of a day, and he felt the exhaustion in his shoulders, but he suspected he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon.
It was after midnight before he crawled into his bedroll, and later still before he dropped into an uneasy doze.
The next thing he heard was the tiny click of a hammer being drawn. When he tried to sit up, a fist pressed him down, and he couldn’t turn his head. His temple hit the barrel of his own Colt. Staring up at the first opalescent tints of dawn, he ground his teeth together and waited.
“I didn’t figure you to be such a sound sleeper,” said a cheerful voice whose husky tone he recognized all too well. “Put your hands on top of the blankets. Do it slow.”
“You know I’ll come after you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the sky. If she was a killer, he’d just advised her to shoot him now. Mexico had roasted his brains.
“If you do,” Jenny said, whipping a rope around his wrists before he could make a grab for her, “I’ll shoot you down like a dog. You just go on home to California and tell the sainted Roberto that me and the kid are on our way. You’re not part of this anymore.”
He hated himself for suggesting this, but it was a possible way out of a bad situation. “If you’re so dead set on intruding where you don’t belong, we could take her to California together.”
