She also hoped that, in time, Robert would love his daughter. Right now, Robert was deeply wounded, smothered by the death of dreams so recently resurrected. But eventually, she hoped he would draw close to the child who had proudly shown him the small portraits within the locket she wore.
Jenny lowered her head. Never had she hated anyone as fiercely or as passionately as she hated Robert Sanders right now. In some secret darkness of her soul, she had hoped to find him dead. The admission shamed her, but Robert’s death would have allowed her to fall back on her promise to Marguarita and she could have taken Graciela to raise with a free conscience.
She would have taken Graciela from the big, richly furnished house. And the thousands of fat cows. And the beautiful bedroom and the wonderful life that awaited her here.
She would have taken Graciela from all this to live in a shack by some stinking wharf? Was her love that selfish?
Stomach cramping, head splitting, she stumbled through the day, happy for Graciela, miserable for herself. Missing Ty with a painful ache that cleaved her in two.
Finally, at ten o’clock, at Graciela’s insistence, she oversaw Graciela’s bath in a room set aside for that purpose, listened to her prayers, and tucked her in bed. Tonight new people appeared in the list of please-blesses.
Graciela kissed her, then fell back against a plump pillow and gazed up with shining eyes. “They aren’t ugly as sin. Daddy is as handsome as Uncle Ty. And Grandma Ellen is pretty, don’t you think so?”
“Yes, she is,” Jenny whispered, pulling a linen sheet to Graciela’s chin. “Where’s your locket?”
“I let Daddy keep it. He wanted to. Daddy’s sad now because of Mama, but he said we’ll get acquainted later. I like Juana, too. And Grizzly Bill.”
“Who the hell is Grizzly Bill?” When Graciela lifted that one irritating eyebrow, she recanted the cussword.
“He’s the foreman. He says he has a little horse just my size. Oh Jenny, everyone likes me!”
“Well, of course they do.” Standing, she gazed down at a tumble of dark hair spilling across the snowy pillow and tried to smile. “Are you too excited to sleep? Would you like me to punch you in the jaw and knock you unconscious? I’d be happy to do it.”
Graciela laughed. “I love you, Jenny. Good night.”
“Good night, kid.” Leaning, she blew out the light, then hesitated in the doorway, observing the room in which Graciela would grow to be a woman. A light breeze ruffled lace curtains at the windows. Braided rugs cushioned the floor. Flowered wallpaper climbed the walls, the colors repeating in quilt and bedskirt. It resembled a picture in a rich man’s catalog.
Expressionless, Jenny closed the door and walked toward the staircase.
Robert and Ellen waited for her at the foot of the stairs.
They sat at a heavy claw-foot table in the kitchen because Ellen shared Jenny’s opinion that kitchens were the best place to hear news, good or bad. By the time she finished telling her story, the grandfather clock in the parlor had chimed midnight.
Robert pushed to his feet, his face pale. Jenny didn’t think he’d heard much beyond the sound of bullets hitting a wall and a woman’s frail body. “I’m much obliged to you, Miss Jones. This family owes you a great debt. You’re welcome to stay at the ranch for as long as you like. When you leave, you’ll leave with a sizable purse.”
Jenny frowned. “I don’t want your money, sir. Bringing Graciela home wasn’t a job. It was a promise.”
She and Ellen watched him stumble into the night, letting the door bang behind him. Then Ellen sighed heavily.
Turning her head, she gazed out the window. “I guess you don’t understand a lot of this.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Are you a drinking woman, Jenny Jones?”
“I’ve tipped a few in my time,” Jenny said cautiously.
“Good.” Ellen went to a cabinet, moved some sacks and boxes, and returned to the table with a bottle of bourbon and two tall tumblers. “I’m sensing there’s a lot about you and my son that you haven’t told,” she said, when the tumblers were full. “I need to hear it.”
Jenny tossed back a swallow of liquid courage and let it burn down her gullet. Then she talked about Ty.
When she finished, Ellen shared out the rest of the bourbon. “Last time I drank this much was after I buried Cal.” She studied Jenny’s face in the lamplight. “You loved my boy,” she said softly.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Ellen leaned back in her chair, away from the light. “Of the two boys, Ty was most like Cal, only neither of them ever saw or admitted it. Stubborn and hard as nails, them two. Neither would bend an inch.” She smiled down at her tumbler. “When he was a tadpole, Ty used to say he wanted to fight outlaws and rescue pretty women when he grew up. If a man’s got to die, it’s good to face it doing what he always wanted to do.” She lifted her eyes. “I like you, Jenny Jones. You got real promise. That was my mama’s highest praise. She’d say, ‘Ellen, you got real promise.’ ”
“Thank you, ma’am. But you don’t know me.”