Murphy continued to ply the youngsters with questions, extracting as much information as he could. Again and again he interrogated the family, until she glared at him, silently reminding him that these poor children had suffered enough.
She took them aside and helped them wash. While she combed their hair, she mulled over what they should do. It wasn’t possible to take the six with them into San Paulo; the risk would be too great. But her first priority had to be Luke. She wanted to discuss the matter with Murphy, but he was sitting apart from her and the children, studying the map.
“Vincente,” Murphy called after a few moments.
The next time Letty glanced in his direction, he’d squatted down in the sand. Maria and the four boys huddled around him while Letty gave the toddler a sponge bath. She watched as the girl found a stick and drew a diagram in the sand. Now and again she nodded and answered Murphy’s questions. The boys added details.
Busy as she was washing the baby, Letty couldn’t make out what the exchange was about. But she did learn that the children were lost. They’d been walking for days, seeking their grandmother’s village, and had somehow gone hopelessly astray.
“Our mother told us to go to our grandmother’s,” Maria said, fighting back tears. “Abuela will know what to do.”
Letty rose and walked over to place an arm around the girl’s thin shoulders and smooth the hair from her brow. Not even a teenager and already the girl carried the heavy burden of caring for her five younger brothers.
“Everything will be fine,” Letty whispered, praying it was true.
The girl smiled weakly and nodded.
The minute Letty was able to separate herself from the children, she confronted Murphy. The baby rode her hip as if he’d spent the majority of his life there. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We can’t take the children with us. Its much too dangerous.”
His eyes held hers. “I agree.”
“Nor can we leave them here.” The small family was hopelessly lost, half starved, and terribly frightened.
“Luke…I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.” She wanted Murphy to supply the answers, to reassure her, but he did none of that.
“This is your call,” he said evenly.
“My call,” she repeated, wanting to weep with the agony of it. Her brother’s life hung in the balance. But she couldn’t just abandon six children.
Murphy stared at her. “You ready?”
“Ready?” Letty glanced toward the children. He gave her little enough time to make the most important decision of her life.
“We can’t sit around here and debate the issue all day. Decide.”
She leveled her face to the sky, letting the sun warm her. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she closed her arms protectively around the toddler. All at once he felt incredibly heavy.
Murphy glared at her. “What’s your call?”
“Luke’s my brother,” she cried. Then her gaze fell upon the five small boys, Maria’s brothers. The weight of the girl’s responsibility made her far older than her years. The twelve-year-old was left to see to their very survival.
“Fine, we go without them,” Murphy said, and started toward the jeep.
“Wait.” Letty bit into her lower lip. She couldn’t do it.
Murphy paused.
“We’ll take the children to their grandmother’s village,” she whispered.
“You’re the boss.” A slight movement of his mouth might have been an approving grin, but it was difficult for Letty to tell with Murphy. He was quite possibly the most complex man she’d ever known.
Murphy estimated that Questo, the village the children had been trying to find, was approximately fifteen miles from the lake. However, with the roads in the condition they were, Letty feared it would take them the better part of a day. That meant delaying their arrival into San Paulo.
“This was what Luke would want me to do,” she mumbled as she climbed into the jeep. She knew this to be true, but it hadn’t made the decision any easier, convinced as she was that Luke was close to death. But she couldn’t leave the children to an uncertain future. Not when it was within her power to help them.
Murphy helped the two smallest boys inside the jeep. He crowded them between Letty and Maria. The older boys rode on the hood, hanging on to the windshield, and pointed the direction from which they’d traveled.
Exhausted, the baby slept in Letty’s arms. She found it strangely comforting to hold the toddler. His head was nestled close to her heart, his chubby fist pressed to her breast. Although she loved children, Letty hadn’t given much thought to being a mother. She suspected her hesitancy had a great deal to do with her own mother and her parents’ failed marriage.
A ready excuse was that she hadn’t found the right man.
There was always Slim, of course. He’d proposed to her on a semiannual basis and was profoundly patient with her. She’d always told herself that she would marry sooner or later, but she was in no rush.
Unbidden, her gaze scooted to Murphy. Letty didn’t know how he was able to drive with two small boys poised on the jeep’s hood, but he managed admirably. The poor little ragamuffins looked self-important to be riding in such a choice location.
Murphy must have sensed her scrutiny because he glanced in her direction. He didn’t smile. She suspected he wasn’t the kind of man who often did, but in his own way he told her he approved of her choice.
Without explanation, she experienced a rush of warmth. A feeling of peace and Tightness. Of tenderness. She was with this man, a paid soldier, in the thick jungles of Zarcero with a baby in her arms, and she’d never felt more right. She kissed the child’s chubby cheek, smiled softly at Murphy, and looked away. He’d openly disliked her, rejected her friendship, and maintained a wide emotional distance from her and just about everyone else. Yet he was an honorable man. He’d come back for her, even after she’d fired him. He’d held her, comforted her.
Murphy might not choose to have her as his friend, but she was beginning to think of him in those terms. He quite possibly was the best friend she’d ever had.
The back roads were in deplorable condition, and the jeep pitched and heaved its way along the rough-strewn path. At this rate, the thirty-mile distance would take the majority of the day and possibly part of the night.
They stopped to rest late in the afternoon, when the sun was directly overhead and the heat was at its worst. The children were exhausted and cranky. The eight of them shared a meal meant for two adults, then lay down in the shade of a sprawling tree. Letty stretched out in the cool grass with the children, who promptly fell asleep.
Murphy sat apart from her and the others, his back propped against the tree trunk. His rifle rested atop his bent knees.
Again, Letty found herself scrutinizing him, fascinated by every aspect of his personality. He was gruff and impatient and at times surprisingly caring.
She didn’t view him as handsome. He was too rugged, too hard, for that. With several days’ growth of beard, he resembled the roughest kind of redneck. A Texas specialty. Perhaps that was the reason he’d chosen Texas as his home.
“When was the last time you slept?” she asked, sitting up.
“I forget.”
She stood and moved toward him. “If you want, I’ll stand watch and you can rest.”
“I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.”
“How much longer do you think it’ll take before we reach Questo?”
“Four, possibly five hours. It would be almost faster to walk.”
She sank onto the grass across from him and crossed her ankles. “Why Texas?”
“Texas?”
“Why did you choose to live in Texas when you could live anywhere in the world?”
His gaze left hers, and when he spoke it was with reluctance. “Because it’s home.”
“You were born and raised in Boothill?” This surprised her. Having lived there most of her life, she thought she knew
everyone.
“No.”
“But you bought that piece of property.”
Again it was a long time before he answered. “Those thousand acres belonged to my grandfather several years back,” he murmured, almost as if he were uncertain he should tell her that much.
“Mr. Whitehead?”
He shook his head. “Long before Whitehead. My grandfather lost the farm during the Depression, sometime in the early thirties. I wanted to buy it back for him, which I imagine is fairly illogical since he’s been dead now far more years than I can remember.”
“It isn’t unreasonable in the least. I, for one, am grateful to your grandfather, otherwise I’d never have found you. Once we get Luke safely out of Zarcero, he’ll be grateful, too.”
“Don’t jump the gun, we haven’t found him yet.”
“But we will,” she said with absolute confidence.
“Your top button’s unfastened,” Murphy said, gesturing toward her dress.
“It is?” She looked down and noted the small V created by the opening. She’d purposely left it unbuttoned, allowing the breeze to cool her.
“When I first met you, you’d have had that thing fastened all the way to your nose.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He didn’t answer, but she knew he spoke the truth. She’d lowered her guard with him. With herself.
“It’s too hot to keep it buttoned,” she said, hoping the explanation would satisfy him. She should have known better.
“No hotter than Boothill in August.”
She pinched her lips together, and to her surprise he laughed outright.
“What, might I ask, is so funny?”
“You. Damn it, woman, we’ve been lovers. Loosen up a bit, will you?”
She blinked rapidly, furious with him for announcing such a thing in front of the children, even if they were sleeping. “I’d like to remind you,” she said, seething with indignation, “that our one and only night together was the fee I paid for your services and nothing more.”
Murphy picked a blade of grass and chewed on it casually. She could tell that her reaction to his gibe had amused him. Frankly, she didn’t take kindly to being the brunt of his jokes.
“You could be a hell of a woman if you gave yourself half a chance.”
“You mean if I lifted my skirts to you or any other randy man who took a liking to me?” she tossed out angrily.
“No,” he snapped back. “One man. What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway? I saw you cuddling that baby. You’re a natural. You should have been married long before now, raising a houseful of your Own kids.”
“I don’t care to discuss with you the manner in which I choose to live my life.”
“With anyone, I’d imagine.” He spoke casually, chewing on the grass as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Murphy had ruined everything. She’d been enjoying this moment of tranquillity, this peaceful interlude, and he’d purposely set out to rattle her. And succeeded. She wanted to stand up and slap him, but that was what he expected of her. Quite possibly, it was what he wanted. Out of pure stubbornness, she stayed exactly where she was.
“How was it?” His voice dropped to a seductive level, warm and yet strangely weary. “The lovemaking between us?”
Letty could feel the heat rising up her neck, like floodwaters racing toward a levee. “Let me assure you, Mr. Murphy, what we experienced wasn’t love-making, it was sex.”
“Fine, how was the sex?”
Apparently he had no interest in arguing semantics. Hardly aware of what she was doing, Letty started uprooting the grass at her sides by the handful. Her breathing grew deep and slightly labored.
Murphy chuckled softly. “That good, was it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look at you. You’re getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.” He appeared to be highly entertained by her discomfort.
“Do you mind if we change the subject?” she said primly.
“Why? I’m perfectly content with the way our discussion is going. You enjoyed yourself. Hell, sweetheart, there isn’t anything wrong with that. For the record, so did I.”
Her eyes met his. “You did?”
“What I remember of it.” He scratched the side of his head and frowned. “I usually don’t have a memory problem. Either you were the finest piece of ass I’ve had in years or it was so incredibly bad, I’ve blocked it from my mind.”
Letty had had all she could take. She roared to her feet and balled her hands into tight fists at her sides. “You’re the most disgusting, vulgar man I’ve ever known. Every time I start to believe you’re capable of being noble and good, you go out of your way to prove otherwise.”
His smile faded. “It’d serve you well to remember that.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
20
Marcie, dressed in white cotton pants and a blue sailor top, watched outside her living room window for Clifford’s truck. He was picking her up on his way to the baseball game that evening and was due any minute.
When he’d phoned earlier, she’d heard the hesitation in his voice, as if he expected her to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. She promised to be ready on time. And she was. Physically. But mentally was an entirely different story. This was the first time since she’d started dating Clifford that she wasn’t pleased to see him.
Marcie needed time to sort through what had happened with Johnny and her feelings for him. She’d expected him to be angry, cutting him off the way she had. Naturally he hadn’t been overly pleased, but he hadn’t yelled at her, either. Instead they’d sat at her kitchen table and talked everything out. She told him about Clifford, and he’d listened and understood.
Then, before he’d left, he’d kissed her gently. The kiss itself had been almost brotherly, but not quite. It had lasted too long to be considered a show of affection between friends. With the kiss had come the hint of a promise. That was what had kept her awake most of the night: the promise. And when Johnny made a promise, verbal or otherwise, he delivered.
Consequently her day had been one disaster after another. For some unexplainable reason, Mrs. Hampton s auburn dye had become a Lucille Ball red. Mrs. Hampton, a longtime customer, was furious. So were the three clients Marcie kept waiting while she worked frantically to tone down Mrs. Hamptons hair color.
The problem, Marcie realized, all stemmed from what was happening between her and Johnny. She’d thought she was strong enough to resist him. She wasn’t. She’d assumed that a dinner date under the pretense of “for old times’ sake” was innocuous enough. It wasn’t.
The measure of her desire for him could be calculated in the length of time it had taken him to convince her to go to bed with him. It distressed Marcie to admit they’d barely ordered their meal when she realized exactly what was going to happen. And damn near had. She may have called an end to their love-making, but it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. She wanted him. Loved him. Slipping back into that old mode of pleasuring a man had come effortlessly with Johnny.
Clifford s large Ford pickup rounded the corner and pulled to a stop in front of Marcie’s apartment. She reached for her purse and headed out the door.
Clifford was strolling up the pathway when he saw her. He stopped, and his eyes widened the way they always did when he saw her. Widened with warmth and appreciation.
“You look pretty,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her, his movement slightly awkward. His lips grazed the edge of her mouth and part of her cheek.
He was a big man, tall and stocky, but not fat. He wore his baseball uniform, complete with cleats. Kansas City Plumbing was embroidered across the back of the blue-striped jersey in bold red letters.
A crop of thick, unruly hair stuck out from beneath his cap. It was time for her to give him a trim again, she noted. That was how they’d first met. Clifford had come into her shop late one Friday afternoon, looking to make an appointment. His barber
had recently retired, and he hadn’t gotten around to finding another. Although it was close to quitting time, Marcie had taken the appointment.
He’d seemed uneasy sitting on a chair in a beauty salon, so she’d chatted away, hoping he’d relax. She’d been surprised when he’d asked her to dinner. In retrospect she wondered if he’d surprised himself. The invitation had come in the form of a negative, tentative question. “I don’t suppose you’d consider having dinner with me, would you?” He’d seemed shocked and pleased when she’d agreed.
Soon they were seeing each other on a regular basis. Clifford wasn’t like other men she’d dated. He wasn’t suave or sophisticated. Her experience with a blue-collar guy was limited. Clifford was a regular Joe, a nice guy without an agenda.
“How’d your dinner go with your friend?” he asked casually, sounding almost indifferent.
Marcie wasn’t fooled. Clifford was worried about her date with Johnny. “Good,” she said, wanting to play it down and avoid his questions. It wasn’t as if she could tell him she’d been so hot for Johnny that she’d practically torn her clothes off in a rush to make love to him.
“Where’d you go?”
Marcie had hoped he wouldn’t ask and sighed inwardly. The Cattleman’s was one of the most expensive restaurants in town. She toyed with the idea of lying to him or claiming she didn’t remember. The temptation was strong, but she’d made a promise to herself early on in their relationship that she wouldn’t lie to him, nor would she stretch the truth.
The truth had an amazing elasticity. There’d been a time when she could have stretched it to the moon and back and not batted an eyelash. No more.
“The Cattleman’s Place.”
Clifford let out a low whistle. “This must be a rich friend.”
“I assume he must be.”
“How was the food?”
Marcie had foreseen Cliffords curiosity, that would be natural, but she hadn’t anticipated his prosecuting-attorney list of questions.
She must have hesitated a moment too long, because he asked again. “I asked about the food. How was it?”
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