The Promise of Jenny Jones (37 page)

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 heartsing 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 known 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. Gray 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 fromMexicotoCalifornia. 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, andher back went ramrod straight. "Apparently your relatives south of theRio Grandebelieve they are more entitled to your fortune than your granddaughter. They did their damnedest to kill us both. They did kill Ty Sanders."

"If I had a granddaughter, no member of my family would dare harm her. If you are referring to Sanders's bastard"—he flicked Graciela a look of contempt—"your lies become ridiculous. Sanders's bastard has no claim to Barrancas property."

"I have your daughter's marriage papers, Señor . Graciela, named for your late wife, is not a bastard." Dots of color flamed on Jenny's cheeks, but her voice emerged as steady as rock. "Your daughter was not the fool that perhaps you believe she was. She confirmed that Graciela is indeed your legal heir, Señor , whether or not you accept her. And you have my word that it's only luck that prevented your family from killing your granddaughter."

Rage stiffened his jaw. "You are not welcome here, Señorita . Take this child, whoever she is, and leave my lands at once."

Graciela's chin came up and her posture unconsciously mimicked her grandfather's. "Jenny does not lie." Her shoulders pulled back and indignation burned in her eyes. "And neither doI ! Tito poured snakes on me, and Luis blew up our train and killed Uncle Ty. They did, too, try to hurt your granddaughter. That's me, Grandpa!"

He turned on his bootheels and had almost reached the door when a sharp voice called his name.

"Senor Barrancas."

Jenny turned to see Ellen striding into the room, wearing a hastily donned jacket and hat. She threw Jenny and Graciela an exasperated glance, then walked forward and seated herself on the only piece of furniture that was not upholstered.

"Perhaps some refreshments?" she said in Spanish to the woman hovering in the doorway. "Coffee for the adults, lemonade for Don Antonio's granddaughter."

The woman cast a quick glance at Don Antonio's frosty rage, then hastened away.

Ellen's smile did not touch her eyes. "Forgive me for assuming the role of hostess, but it appears you have several guests today."

" Señora Sanders," Don Antonio said icily. "Please accept my condolences for the loss of your husband."

"I have suffered new losses," Ellen answered softly, beckoning Graciela to come sit beside her. "My son and my daughter-in-law."

Hardly daring to breathe, Jenny stood beside the fireplace and watched the frigid but carefully polite interplay between the representatives of two families who bitterly hated each other. And her respect and admiration for Ellen Sanders grew by leaps and bounds. Ellen had seized upon Mexican courtesy and used it to manipulate Don Antonio.

Moreover, Ellen had guessed Graciela's destination, had followed, and was bent on holding her own while sitting in the lion's den.

"I pray you will forgive a blunt observation, but I doubt the loss of your alleged daughter-in-law pains you any more than the lossof a Sanders pains me."

Ellen met his eyes. "You are wrong. I was deeply sorry to learn of Marguarita's death. I intended to welcome my son's wife to my home, and I was prepared to accept and love her. The Barrancas and Sanders women were never part of the feud between you and my husband."

"I have business to attend," Don Antonio said stiffly. "When you have finished your coffee, Chala will see you to the door."

"You have lost a daughter, and I have lost a husband and a son," Ellen said quietly. "Let it end, Antonio." She placed her arm around Graciela. "Let our beautiful granddaughter serve as a bridge of truce between your family and mine. She came to you of her own free will and against my wishes because she wants to know her mother's family, too. I was wrong. She is as much yours as mine. She was right to come to you. You sent one child away. Will you harden your heart against this child, too?"

When Ellen sent Jenny a glance, she read it at once. Without a word, she moved forward, took Graciela by the hand, and led her out of the room.

For the next hour, she and Graciela wandered the grounds surrounding the hacienda. No one approached them. No one spoke to them. When they spotted the boy leading their horses toward the heavy carved front doors, they hastened to the porte cochere.

Ellen emerged grim-lipped and hard-eyed. She mounted her horse without speaking, waited for Jenny and Graciela,then rode out in front. She didn't drop back beside them until the horses had trotted off Barrancas lands.

"Will he accept her?" Jenny inquired softly.

"Damned if I know! That is the proudest, stubbornest, most unbending man I ever met outside of Cal Sanders. But at least he knows the whole story now. I don't think the old jackass believes half of it, but I gave him an earful to think about." Her gaze narrowed. "Speaking of jackasses … what the hell were you two thinking of to go busting in there like thieves rushing to a lynching? I ought to whup the both of you for being so dad-burned stupid."

It was Graciela who began. First she looked astonished, then surprised. "Jenny. Grandmasounds just like you!" She burst into delighted laughter.

Jenny gazed at Ellen and fought to hold her expression steady, struggled to look contrite. But Graciela's infectious laughter grabbed the tensions of the last two hours and transformed them into giggles. Jenny's mouth twitched. Her shoulders shook. And then she was roaring helplessly. "We must have lost our minds," she shouted, laughing so hard she thought for certain she would fall off her horse. "You'll have to whup us."

"You sure as hell did lose your minds!"

"Grandma, you can't cuss.Me and Jenny quit cussing. You have to stop cussing, too!"

And then Ellen was slapping her hat against her thigh and laughing until tears streaked down her cheeks.

Every time they looked at each other throughout the rest of the week, one of them would chuckle, and then they would all burst into laughter until they had to hold their sides and sit down.

And each day of work and laughter, each walk with Robert, each task shared with Ellen and Maria, each trip to sit on the porch of Ty's house, each time Graciela slipped her small hand in Jenny's, made it harder for her to think about leaving.

But she had to leave soon while at least part of her heart still belonged to her. She kept giving chunks of it away, to Ellen, to old Grizzly Bill, to the boarded-up house, and a small slice even went to Robert who held himself aloof in his pain and grief, lost in despair that she understood only too well.

Tomorrow the month she had promised Ty would end. The day after, she would ride away, as hollow and scooped out as a person could be and still claim to be living.

CHAPTER 18

" G randma? Can we bake a cake today? Maybe a cake would make Daddy smile."

Every time Graciela looked at her daddy, his sad expression made her chest hurt. When she'd given him her gold-heart locket, she had hoped her mama's portrait would help him feel better, but it didn't seem to. She didn't think her presence helped either.

Of all the people on the ranch, she was most shy around her father. He held himself aloof and distant, wrapped in misery. Sometimes she guiltily wished Uncle Ty was her daddy, and she liked to daydream about her and Jenny and Uncle Ty being together. That would have been so wonderful and perfect.

Graciela watched Grandma Ellen exchange a glance with Jenny before she wiped sudsy hands on her apron. "We'll bake a cake tomorrow, honey. But this morning, Jenny wants you to go riding with her."

"Oh good!" She clapped her hands. "Just you and me? No one else?" This was a far better treat than baking a cake.

"Just you and me," Jenny confirmed in a strange husky voice.

"Can we go to Uncle Ty's house?" They visited his house regularly, pulling weeds away from the front steps, sweeping off the porch. Graciela liked to go there because she liked to think about Uncle Ty, and because she could see the rooftops of her grandpa Barrancas's hacienda from Uncle Ty's porch.

"Put on your split skirt because we aren't going to ride those sissy ladies' saddles," Jenny said. "Hurry up, now. I'll fix us a lunch basket while I'm waiting for you."

Before she skipped up the staircase she heard Grandma Ellen suggest that Jenny carry a gun. "A couple of the boys mentioned seeing strangers yesterday and the day before. At first Jake thought they were new Barrancas hands, but he did a little checking and they aren't. Jenny, you know I don't feel good about you and Graciela going up to Ty's place alone. I wish you'd take Jake or Grizzly Bill with you."

"This will be the last time."

There was an odd silence and Graciela overheard soft whispery sounds as if Grandma and Jenny were hugging. Something about them today made her feel uneasy. She had that strange prickle of dread and anxious anticipation like she sometimes felt just before a lightning storm.

Stopping on the landing she sucked in a breath and held it, thinking about the long glances between Jenny and Grandma Ellen and the way they'd both been fussing over her during the last week. And yesterday, Jenny had given Grandma Ellen the documents they had brought fromMexico. Last night her daddy had said something about having Jake drive Jenny somewhere. These small events came together and suddenly she understood.

Whirling, she leaned over the bannister and hot tears blinded her. "No!"

Jenny couldn't leave. She wouldn't let her. She loved Jenny and they owned each other. If Jenny left the ranch, then she would go too. It would be a hundred times less painful to say goodbye to Grandma Ellen and the others than to let her Jenny go. She couldn't do that.