Page 56 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
Ty placed his knife and fork on his plate, dropped his napkin on the table. Scowling, he rose to his feet. “I’d like to speak to you outside.”
“We’re eating.”
“Right now.” Turning on his bootheel, he strode to the door and stepped into the fading light of sunset.
Jenny pulled her napkin from her collar and threw it on the table. She glared at Graciela. “Figure out how to use that knife. And be careful. I’ll be back.”
The ramshackle collection of shacks looked picturesque in the dying light of the day. Two boys and a dog ran down the rutted lane toward the smell of frying chilies. Laughter rose from the shack next door, and a woman’s voice singing the slow, sweet notes of a lullaby.
Jenny walked across the dirt yard to a wooden cart with a broken wheel. “What do you want?”
Ty placed both hands on his hips and gazed at her in silence. The coppery twilight bronzed his skin and emphasized the hard, clean lines of cheek and jaw. Looking at him made Jenny feel weak inside, which she hated. They had hardly started this confrontation, and already she felt at a disadvantage.
“You expect too much of her.”
“Well, you don’t expect enough.” Leaning against the cart’s side slats, she crossed her arms over her chest. “When is she supposed to learn how to cut her own food? When she’s twenty? Fifteen? Twelve? She has to learn to do things for herself.”
The sunset reflected in his eyes like points of flame. He’d washed for supper, but trail dust still lay in the creases of his shirt and waistcoat. He smelled of leather and horse and sweat, the scents she associated with the best of men. He was lean and taut, a whiplash of a man. Ruthless enough to do what he had to without a pang, confident enough to touch a woman with gentle fingers.
Frowning, Jenny turned her face away from him.
“She’s an heiress. Graciela will inherit more wealth from Don Antonio Barrancas than she’ll be able to spend in a lifetime. And she’s also my brother’s heir. For the rest of her life she’ll be surrounded by servants. They’ll dress her, dress her hair, prepare her food, see to her every need.”
She jutted her chin. “Yeah, well suppose it doesn’t work out that way. Suppose that pretty world goes to hell and she has to survive on her own.” A sound of disgust rattled the back of Jenny’s throat. “What chance would she have? A kid who can’t even cut her own meat.”
Leaning forward, Ty placed a hand on each of her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Listen to me. What happened to you is never going to happen to Graciela. She’s never going to be abandoned and alone.”
“If I have to raise her—”
He placed a finger over her lips, then tilted his head and considered the sky for a moment. “All right. That’s not going to happen, but let’s say that it did.” Impatience sharpened his tone. “You’ve got Graciela, and you’re going to raise her. Where do you start? Where would the two of you go?”
“Is this a serious question?” Suspicion narrowed her eyes. When she realized she couldn’t think straight with his large, warm hands resting on her shoulders, she shrugged away from him.
“Where would you take her, Jenny?”
“I don’t know.” Frowning, she tried to focus on the question. “I suppose I’d go to San Francisco since it would be the nearest town of any size. I’d find work there.”
“And what would you do with Graciela while you worked?” Withdrawing a thin cigar from his waistcoat pocket, he lit it and waved out the match, exhaling slowly.
Jenny had considered this problem a hundred times already but had found no satisfactory answer. The kid was not street-tough enough to leave alone, but Jenny couldn’t think of any job where an employer would permit a child on the site unless the child was also working. “I’ll figure out something,” she snapped.
“Where would the two of you live?” He glanced at the glowing end of the cigar, then studied the sagging lines of the shack they had rented for the night.
“If you have something to say, just say it.” Anger boiled in her chest. She didn’t like the dismal situation he was trying to make her admit.
He lowered his eyes to her face. “Do you really believe that Marguarita wanted you to take Graciela away from a life of comfort and ease? Do you think she would have chosen deprivation and hardship for her daughter?”
Silence rang in Jenny’s head. Swinging around, she searched the sky for Marguarita’s star, needing reassurance. “She said if Robert couldn’t or wouldn’t take the kid, I was to raise her. That’s what she made me promise.”
For the first time since this whole thing began with the kid, her voice didn’t ring with confidence. “Damn it.” He was trying to confuse her.
“Marguarita was dying, Jenny. She was frightened for her child and for herself. Is it surprising that she wasn’t thinking as clearly as she might have? Plus, if you’re right, and she didn’t receive Robert’s letters, then she didn’t know that my father was dead. If she’d known Cal Sanders was dead, I doubt she would have experienced a single qualm about trusting Graciela to my mother’s care. It was my father she feared and worried about, and with good reason.
“My mother is prepared to welcome her granddaughter and love her. She would have done the same for Marguarita, because that’s the kind of person she is. Ellen Sanders was my champion when I was growing up, and she’ll be Graciela’s champion, too. She stood up for me more times than I can count. To help her boys, she fought my father, the elements, the world at large. Robert would have told Marguarita about Ma. He would have told her that our father would never welcome her, but she would find support and a fair, clear mind in our mother.
“Had Marguarita known the true situation as it is now, she would have asked you to take Graciela to Robert and that’s all, confident that my mother would raise the child if for some reason Robert could not. I’ll never believe that Marguarita wanted her daughter to grow up as a street urchin roaming the back alleys of San Francisco.” His gaze hardened. “Would you do that to Graciela, Jenny? Would you deprive her of safety and comfort? Of an education? Would you deny Graciela her birthright and condemn her to hardship? Simply to honor a promise that was asked and given based on incomplete information.”
Jenny stared. “This conversation has strayed a far distance from whether or not you should cut the kid’s meat for her,” she whispered.
