It would, however, have given her considerably more pleasure if it were Dead-Eye Donovan eating the dust swirling in her wake instead.
With a careless laugh, she leaned harder into the ride. Lorna Lee Goodnight was above such petty, quid pro quo vengeance. She would put Dead-Eye behind her and never look back. It wasn't the first time she'd been a fool for love, but she swore it would be the only time...
Grace chewed on the end of her charcoal pencil. "The last time?" she murmured, as the burro she was riding bobbed down the dirt road. "The final time?" She put pencil to paper again and scratched out the last sentence. "—she swore it would never happen again. " She ground the final period into the journal with a grand flourish that didn't really make her feel any better—it simply broke the point off her pencil.
She swore aloud.
Four wimpled, winged, holy heads turned toward her with a collective gasp of shock, startling Grace's burro out of its plodding stupor.
It brayed loudly and gave an unexpected crow-hop sideways.
Too late, she clutched for the forgotten reins. "Whoa, boy! Whoo-oaaahh!" she cried, as she went sailing off the rear end of the beast.
She landed with a thud in the dusty road, inches from the edge of the Panuco, but well out of the way of the burro's thrashing hooves. Grace knew this not because she could see its retreat—her hat had fallen over her eyes—but because she could hear its hee-yaw-ing growing fainter as it disappeared down the road.
"Madre de Dios!" she heard one of the sisters cry—Sister Jorge, the one with the high, incomprehensible voice who fired off Spanish at an alarming rate, but spoke nary a word of English.
Sprawled flat on her back in the road, Grace waited for her head to stop spinning. Then, pushing the wide-brimmed straw hat off her face, she slowly sat up. Sister Jorge was still wringing her hands and prattling on in Spanish while two others, Sister Maria Ignacia and Sister Paulo, hovered over Grace with worried expressions. Farther down the road, Miguel, their bandoliered escort, stopped, staring at her from beneath the brim of his hat. But even the deep shadow it cast couldn't conceal the look of amusement in his expression.
Grace sighed. She had no one to blame but herself for getting thrown. Swearing in front of holy sisters! She'd definitely been around Reese Donovan too long.
"I'm very sorry," she said as Sister Paulo extended her a hand up. "I deserved to be thrown off that mule."
"Burro," Sister Maria Ignacia said with an amused smile. "You are no hurt?"
"Only my pride," she replied, brushing the dust off her dress. It billowed into the hot, muggy air in great clouds. She bent to retrieve her journal.
"Ah, bueno, bueno," Sister Paulo said, nodding to the others. The wings on her extraordinary headpiece bobbed up and down with a life of their own. They made her look something like a heron, ready to take flight. The sisters were from a small convent in Spain—that much she'd gotten from them—and were heading for a mission to the east of here, in Panuco. It was thanks to Elena that she'd found someone to travel with at all, but she suspected that Miguel was one of the liberales Elena had referred to.
Sister Jorge gestured agitatedly toward the cloud of dust disappearing far in the distance.
Miguel glanced at the retreating burro, then gestured that he would retrieve it. He spurred his horse down the road after the escapee.
Sister Maria Ignacia guided Grace to a large rock. "Pues, we must hold this occasion to rest now," she managed in broken English. She fired off orders to the other sisters who obligingly dismounted from their own burros. Dipping a handkerchief into the edge of the river, Sister Maria Ignacia squeezed it out and handed it to Grace, gesturing delicately to Grace's nose.
Obligingly, Grace wiped the dirt from her face, enjoying the coolness of the cloth. It was beastly hot, and the sun beat down on them incessantly. The countryside had gradually grown more and more arid the farther they strayed from the coast. The Panuco River ran like a snake of green across the land. Insects buzzed at the shoreline and made themselves at home on every exposed inch of damp skin. She swatted the bugs away, fanning herself with the damp hanky. Her bottom ached, her head hurt, and she wondered if she'd ever walk completely upright again.
Only one day out of Tampico and already she missed Brew terribly. He'd given her his blessing, knowing it was useless to try to stop her. Oh, how she wished he were standing right here right now, arguing about some silly thing like he always did. She'd throw her arms around him, bury her face against his shoulder, and have a good, old-fashioned cry. But the best she could hope for was that he'd continue to grow stronger under Elena's care, that she'd see him once again when this was over. She had to believe that.
The other sisters chatted in the shade of a willowy palm a few rods down the road. Sister Maria Ignacia, who sat eating a dried date nearby, spoke a little English, but Grace found herself wishing for some real conversation. The stimulating kind she'd always had with—
She slammed her eyes shut. She would not think of Reese. Better to put him from her mind completely. That chapter of her life was closed; Reese was simply a minor character in the grand scheme of things. Why, already, she told herself, his face was fading from her memory—were his eyes blue or green?—and his voice... well, she could hardly remember that at all.
"Grace," came a distant call, barely audible above the faint whir of an engine.
She glanced in the direction Miguel had left in. She could barely make him out, towing the recalcitrant burro behind him.
"Grace!"
A little closer now, the shout brought up the heads of the sisters, who seemed to be watching something on the river. Following the sound of the engine, Grace turned to see an odd-looking boat chugging toward them parallel to the shoreline. There was a lone man aboard, silhouetted by the midday sun.
He was waving! Her mouth fell open.
Reese!
She snapped her mouth shut and turned her back deliberately on the river. She took three deep breaths. She supposed the rushes were too short to hide her, and it was too late already. He'd seen her.
"Grace, it's me," he called again.
She stared blindly upriver. "I'm afraid you're lost, Mr. Donovan," she called. "Tampico, and all the cantinas in the world, are that way." She thrust her index finger dramatically eastward.
"So they are," he countered. "And I thought I told you to stay there."
She stood and started walking purposefully toward Miguel. "I got tired of waiting," she shouted back. The troupe of sisters, intrigued now, followed her.
"Grace, dammit, will you let me explain?"
"No. And don't be profane. There are holy sisters present."
"Stop."
Her feet thudded against the hard-packed ground.
Reese edged the boat closer to the shoreline. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to get my burro."
"Your what?"
"My burro. He ran away," she said without elaboration.
There was a long pause before Donovan shouted back. "Grace, you don't need the burro."
"If you think I'm walking to Querétaro, you're sadly mistaken."
"You don't need to walk. You're coming with me."
"Oh, no, I'm not," she retorted over the drone of the engine.
"Grace." His voice had taken on a decidedly sharper edge. "Stop right there."
She ignored him, swiping at the moisture in her eyes.
"Gra-aace, don't take another step."
She kept walking and heard him curse behind her.
"All right. All right," he yelled. "If it's an apology you're wantin', I'll give it to you." Her step faltered, but she didn't stop. "Is it?" he asked, sounding truly confused.
At that, she did turn, arrowing a look at him designed to wither. "Is it what?"
"What you want?"
"I don't know. Why don't you try it out for size and see?"
He edged the boat closer. The sisters followed suit.
"All right, then
. I'm sorry."
"What was that?" She cupped her ear.
He ground his teeth together. "I said I'm sorry."
"Oh. For what?"
He ran one hand through his hair. "You want me to say it in front of them?"
She smiled fondly at the sisters, knowing only one of them had the least idea what Reese was saying at all. "I think we'd all like to hear, wouldn't we, sisters?" She nodded her encouragement and was gratified with a rousing approval in the form of bobbing headpieces. "See? They'd all like to hear what you have to say."
"All right." He cleared his throat. "I was wrong. I thought about leaving you. I admit it. I've thought about it for a long time. I told you that. I thought it would be the best thing for both of us. But when it came time to do it, I found I couldn't."
"Couldn't? Hmm. A sting of conscience? Or perhaps you were too drunk."
He scowled at her. "I didn't drink a drop, Grace, and that's the truth. I wanted to, but I didn't. I guess I have you to thank for it."
Grace's heart went to her throat. "You didn't?"
"No. Besides, when I really thought about it, I knew you'd go off and do some fool thing like this and get yourself hurt."
Her eyes stung and she pinned her look at the cattails growing beside the river. "I'm not hurt. Dusty, but not hurt. What did you expect me to do? Give up?"
"I realized you wouldn't. That's why I came after you. I don't want anything to happen to you, Grace."
She lifted her gaze to meet his. "Why?" she asked in a small voice.
The nuns' heads turned collectively toward Reese, waiting for his reply.
"Because..." He stared upriver, looking uncomfortable. "Because I care about you."
Sister Maria Ignacia released her breath and smiled primly. The others followed her lead. The boat chugged in the waiting silence.
Shock rooted Grace to the spot. "You do?"
"Aye. Now, will you get in the boat?"
"Do you mean it?"
He closed his eyes. "Don't make me repeat myself. It was hard enough the first time."
Miguel drew up beside the sisters with Grace's errant mule. "Que paso?" he asked with a scowl. Sister Maria Ignacia gestured gracefully with her open palm to silence him.
"You'll take me to Querétaro and help me free Luke?" she asked, just to be sure there was no mistake.
"I said I would, and I will. You have my word on it."
"You gave that to me once before," she reminded.
Reese bowed his head. "Well, I suppose I'd lost track of it for a while. I seem to have located it again. Look, I won't beg you. Either you come or you don't. If not, we say good-bye here."
"And if I come?"
"Then we'll do what we set out to do. All right?"
For the first time in what seemed like days, hope buoyed her. She turned to Sister Maria Ignacia.
"Sister, I—"
"You are sure, mi niña, that you should do this thing?"
"Forgive me. I have no choice. I know how it looks, but if I go with him, we still have a chance."
"Elena has told me of your trials. Vaya con Dios, niña," she said, patting Grace's hand.
Relief flooded her. "Thank you, Sister." She turned to the others. "Thank you all."
She gathered her things from Miguel and walked to the riverbank. Reese had pulled the boat up, and he leaned over to extend his hand.
"C'mon, princess," he said, looking at her with a gentleness she'd never before seen in his eyes.
Grace placed her hand in his and felt the familiar tingle of excitement at his touch. There would be no turning back now, she told herself. She and Reese would see this thing through to the end. The outcome, only God and the Mexican emperor knew.
* * *
Grace sat on the edge of the boat's rail as it chugged noisily up the river. The parasol she'd fashioned from a broken, three-pronged stick she'd tugged from a passing tree and a white petticoat lay balanced against her shoulder. She twirled it slowly, letting the warm river breeze fan through her hair. Closing her eyes, she savored the feel of it against her sticky skin. She'd thought she understood the meaning of hot before this, but she'd been wrong. They'd been traveling for hours under the ceaseless heat, and now, thankfully, the sun was slipping like a liquid ball of flame near the horizon.
Reese had unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, but kept it on, she supposed in deference to her. Secretly, she wished he'd take it off, for she could only catch glimpses of his tanned, hair-dusted chest through the open V. She was ashamed to admit she wanted to see more.
Taking a long pull on the cigarette in his mouth, he clamped it between his teeth as he bent to feed more wood into the firebox of the engine. His damp shirt pulled against the strong planes of his back.
She moistened her lips and pulled her gaze away. If Sister Maria Ignacia could only hear the direction of her thoughts! She'd be doing Hail Marys, or whatever it was Catholics did, from now until next year!
"We're running low on wood," Reese said in a loud voice without looking up. "We'll have to stop soon to restock."
They were the first words he'd spoken in hours. "Oh?" she yelled. "I don't see too many trees. Will cactus do?"
He looked up then, giving her a disbelieving grin. "Only if a steam engine will run on cactus juice."
She glanced at him earnestly. "Is there juice in cactuses?" She frowned. "Or is that cacti?"
"Right." Throwing two more logs on the fire, he said, "Certain kinds have juice. The prickly pear isn't bad, to tell the truth."
"Prickly pear? Mmm." She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, imagining how a nice juicy pear would taste right now. When she opened her eyes, Reese was watching her with a strange expression. His eyes looked greener than the river, and his mouth was set in a firm line. He swallowed hard.
"Are you all right?" she asked with concern. "Perhaps you should use my parasol for a while. You look overheated."
"No, thanks," he said grumpily, returning to the rudder. "I don't think that would help." He reached over the side and dipped his hat into the water. Lifting it carefully, he spilled it over himself with a gasp of relief.
"Oh, my, that does look refreshing. Perhaps I should try that mysel—" Grace's gaze dropped of its own accord to the dark disks of his nipples where they showed through his soaked white shirt.
His own gaze followed hers and he looked back with a dangerous smile. He wiped a hand down his wet face.
"Then again," she amended over the sound of the engine, "perhaps it wouldn't be prudent."
"Perhaps you're right," he agreed, guiding the boat around a snag of deadwood in the river.
She fanned herself with her free hand and changed the subject. "Are we—"
He cupped his ear with his hand. "What?"
"I say, are we still on the Panuco River?"
"No, we left it at the last fork, after passing the town of Panuco. We're on the Moctezuma now."
"Oh."
He glanced at her momentarily, then told her, "You'd better get off the edge of that rail. It's not safe."
Waving away his concern, she yelled, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly safe. The water's quite calm. Besides, it's much cooler riding here with the breeze and all."
He muttered something about it being a lot cooler in the river. At least, she thought that's what he said. She wouldn't let him goad her into an argument. She wouldn't. They had a fragile truce, and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it. The engine chugged, filling the lingering silence. Somewhere in the distance, a bird gave a shrill cry. Grace edged along the rail until she was closer to him and she didn't have to shout.
"Reese?"
"Hmm?"
"Back in Pair-a-Dice, that old fellow named Houston said you spent some time down here. That you knew some rebels. Is that true?"
"There's some truth to it."
"Do you think they can help us?"
"Juarez's men move with the wind and the tides of the struggle. It's not likel
y I'll run into the men I know. But you might say I have something of a reputation down here on some fronts. Even if I don't know them, they may know me."
"Hmm. Would that be in a good way, or a bad way?"
A bark of laughter escaped him. "That'd be dependin' on who ya ask, I suppose."
The thought flashed through her mind that it wouldn't be difficult to watch that smile for the rest of her life. "You should do that more often, you know."
"What, ask?"
"No, silly. Laugh."
"Ahh." He met her gaze with a directness she wasn't accustomed to. "I suppose I've laughed more than I have in years since I met you."
She twirled her parasol on her shoulder. "Hmmph. Laughed at me, you mean."
"No, princess. Laughed with you." He glanced at her sideways for a long moment. "And what about you? Does that fella back home of yours—Ernest—?"
She flushed. "Edgar."
"Oh, yeah, Edgar. Does Edgar make you laugh?"
The mention of his name hit her like a weight on her chest. She'd not even given him a thought for days. "Make me laugh? Edgar? No. He's a banker," she replied, as if that really said it all.
"He buys you baubles, then."
"No." She tightened the hand on her parasol. "He's rather frugal. In a good way, of course."
"He doesn't make you laugh," Reese summarized, "and he doesn't buy you baubles. Then he must be a heck of a kisser."
Shocked, she turned on him. "Mr. Donovan!"
He grinned wickedly. "Oh now, what happened to 'Reese'?"
Grace's mouth went dry, and she turned back toward the river. She felt two splotches of heat high on her cheeks. The only man who'd ever given her a kiss worth mentioning was sitting not two feet away, looking for all the world as if he'd like to do it again. Edgar was the last person she wanted to talk about. "How did we get onto this subject, anyway?"
"I just got to wonderin' what a girl like you would see in a man who didn't make her laugh, or buy her pretty things, or kiss worth a damn."
She glanced over at him, spinning the lopsided parasol faster in time to the putta-putt rhythm of the engine. "If I tell you, then you must tell me something personal about yourself."
The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) Page 21
