Page 85 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“All right, but this goes against my better judgment. And if Don Antonio tosses us out on our butts, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The day was warm, and a light breeze carried a tang of the distant sea and the scent of nearby blossoms. It was the kind of bright spring day that made the heart sing just to be part of it.
“Jenny? Do you still like me?”
“What?” She snapped her head to the right and stared. “Of course I still like you. Why would you ask a dumb fool question like that?”
“You’ve been acting all strange since we came here. First, I thought you were hurting over Uncle Ty. But then I thought—”
Now was the time, there would never be one better. All she had to do was find the courage to announce that soon she would be leaving. “Look, kid,” she said, fixing her gaze straight ahead as her chest tightened. “You’ve got family now. You don’t need—”
But she didn’t finish the speech that she endlessly rehearsed every night. Two men rode out of the brush beside the road and ordered them to halt. “You’re on private property,” one of them said in thickly accented English. “This is Barrancas land. Turn back.”
“We’ve come to call on Don Antonio Barrancas,” Jenny stated coolly. She nodded to the second man and switched to Spanish. “Please inform Don Antonio that his granddaughter wishes to pay her respects.” The men stared at Graciela, then both wheeled and galloped up the road.
Jenny waved at the dust settling atop her hat and shoulders. “Well, we’ll know in a few minutes if we’re welcome or not.”
“Mama said Grandpa Antonio is very strict,” Graciela confided anxiously. “I don’t think he likes little girls.”
“Then you were very brave to come here.”
The Sanders ranch suggested prosperity, but the Barrancas spread shouted wealth. Jenny sucked in a breath when she spotted the tile-roofed hacienda through a feathery stand of cedar. If she hadn’t know this was a private residence, she would have assumed it was a government seat. The outbuildings were easily twice the size of those on the Sanders ranch, and she had never imagined so many stock pens could exist in one place.
Straightening her shirtwaist with an unconscious gesture, she gazed at the hacienda and wished she’d worn a jacket and a better hat. “I’m thinking this wasn’t such a good idea, kid.”
“Stop calling me kid,” Graciela whispered, staring.
“At least they aren’t going to throw us out right away.”
A man, a woman, and a boy stood waiting beneath a porte cochere. The man silently assisted them to the ground, and the boy led away the mare and the pony.
The woman gasped and covered her mouth when she saw Graciela. She cast an anxious glance at Jenny, then returned her stare to the child. “This way,por favor,” she murmured, leading them inside.
Everything was massive. Huge beams supported the ceiling. A wide staircase led to a shadowy second floor. The furniture was large and gleaming, sitting atop carpets as fine as tapestry.
Graciela edged closer to Jenny and gripped her hand as they followed the woman through the great hall, down a short tiled corridor, and into a cool, beautiful room with cream-colored walls and brightly upholstered furnishings.
“Café, señorita?the woman murmured, not taking her gaze from Graciela. “Perhaps something cool?”
“Nada, gracias,”Jenny answered, transfixed by the two portraits above the fireplace mantel.
One of the women was Marguarita, young, glowing with health, and breathtakingly beautiful. The other woman, obviously Marguarita’s mother, was older but equally as lovely. Both women had dark eyes; otherwise, Jenny might have been seeing Graciela at age sixteen and again at age forty.
“Hello, Grandpa. I’m Graciela.”
Spinning, Jenny confronted a tall handsome man, younger than she had assumed he would be. Grey streaked Don Antonio’s dark hair at the temples, and an outdoor life had weathered his face, but she doubted he was much older than Ellen Sanders, whom she knew to be forty-six.
He stared at her over Graciela’s head, no trace of welcome in his cold black eyes. “Why have you come here?”
She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “Senor Barrancas, I am Jenny Jones. I’ve brought your granddaughter from Mexico to California. I have news of your daughter if you wish to hear it.”
He lowered a frown to Graciela and clasped his hands behind his back. “I have no daughter,” he said harshly.
“Yes you do, Grandpa. Don’t you remember?” Graciela whispered. “See? That’s Mama in the portrait. But Mama died and so did Uncle Ty.” She moved a little closer to Jenny. “Cousin Jorje and Tito tried to kill me. So did Cousin Luis and Chulo. Chulo cut Jenny, but I sewed her up.”
Don Antonio’s head snapped up and his black eyes flashed. “What nonsense is this?” Jenny believed she had observed an instant of pain at the mention of Marguarita’s death, but now she saw only fury. “Did you bring this child here to insult my family in my own house?”
Jenny’s gaze narrowed, and her back went ramrod straight. “Apparently your relatives south of the Rio Grande believe they are more entitled to your fortune than your granddaughter. They did their damnedest to kill us both. They did kill Ty Sanders.”
