The hotel boasted as fine accommodations as would any hotel in New York, with private bathing rooms and huge tubs, and a sitting room with bolstered boudoir chairs and mirrors hung in ornate gold frames. It was comfortable, even luxurious, and Ginny realized that she wasn’t afraid any longer. Even if she did keep the pistol Steve had given her under her pillow or in her purse, she thought that she had finally overcome the gripping fear that had hounded her after Luna.
Thanks to Steve…his patience and understanding were what had helped her most. How had he known that she would feel much better knowing Renaldo and Missie were in town? When she thought of how he had felt responsible, filled with regret for his own failures, she vowed to give him the benefit of the doubt about the Italian diva. An embrace was not the same as an affair, she reminded herself when the image cropped up to haunt her. He loved her, not Francesca.
And didn’t she know well that appearances were so often deceiving?
On her very first trip to San Antonio she had watched out her hotel window while Steve Morgan faced another gunman across the street, and in just a split second, his opponent lay dead. Then, she had been appalled at the raw, ruthless way of life in this sprawling new country.
It was so long ago. A lifetime. Little shocked her now, though she had learned enough to be wary of situations that once she had considered exciting. There was nothing exciting about a desperation to survive.
In the days following Steve’s departure, she filled her hours with shopping, or lunching with Missie, who stared at her with big reproachful eyes when Ginny laughed gaily, determined not to delve below the surface of anything. She spoke only of shallow topics, such as the cut of a gown, the new fashions from the Lady’s Book, or the latest play at the Majestic.
The great di Paoli had left town not long after Steve, and Ginny would not allow her imagination to take her to uncertain possibilities.
“Ginny, you have changed,” Missie said softly, her small face reflecting concern. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be? If you mean because Steve has gone off again, this time it’s quite all right. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m grateful.” She took a sip of chilled white wine, a French label that was light and refreshing, and smiled gaily. “It gives me time to myself, to do the things that he doesn’t like to do. We were able to talk quite a bit while we were in that lovely valley I told you about. I’ve finally realized that I cannot change him, and that to try only makes us both miserable. Oh, don’t look at me like that, for you know yourself that Steve Morgan is not a man adaptable to any law but his own. I’ve just finally come to accept it.”
“I see.”
“No, I can tell that you don’t see. But it’s all right. We’ve come to a truce, so to speak. I’ve learned to give him room, and he’s learned to be a little more honest about how he feels.”
“And this…this works well for you?” Missie sipped at her lemonade, having refused a glass of the wine, and stared at Ginny with a troubled frown. “I know it’s none of my business, and Renaldo is always telling me I must not interfere in people’s lives, but I know how you both feel about each other.”
“And you’re worried that we’ll stop?” Ginny smiled. “If we are still together after all this time, I don’t think it’s going to end overnight.”
“No. Of course not.” Missie looked slightly embarrassed as she finished her meal. Sunlight through the glass window-panes of the Menger Hotel highlighted the elegant sculpture of her face, the open honest expression appealing and attractive.
It was too easy to remember that she had once been in love with Steve, too. Ginny reached again for her wine. Was there no end to the women who had loved him? And how many of them had he loved in return?
And what of Elizabeth Cady? What of the woman who had borne him a son? Did he love her?
Like a worm, the thought burrowed deeper into her mind, tormenting her, until finally she decided to seek answers from the only other person who could give them to her—Elizabeth Cady herself.
The Prendergasts lived very close to Prayers End, where Steve had told her he had met Elizabeth. Perhaps if she went for a visit—Her cousin Pierre and Lorna Prendergast were practically engaged. It was the perfect excuse. Then the uncertainty would be behind her at last. It wouldn’t matter that Steve had not been the one to tell her. At least she would know.
“Ginny, you don’t need to travel without an escort,” Renaldo said when she told him of her intention. A frown lowered his brow, and he looked so worried that she put a hand on his arm and smiled.
“It’s not as if I have to worry about my reputation. I doubt seriously that anything more dramatic than a late train will happen. Besides, it’s not at all far from the train station to the Prendergast ranch, and Mr. Murdock has put his private coach at my disposal. Don’t worry so much, Renaldo. You drive poor Missie to distraction.”
Despite his protests, his threats to tell Steve, Renaldo had little choice but to let her go. He couldn’t hold her by force, and Murdock had put his own private Pullman coach at Ginny’s disposal. She’d be safe, but what on earth would he tell Steve?
“You’ll tell him that I decided to visit an old friend, Renaldo,” she said when he despaired. “It’s not as if Sam Murdock is only Steve’s friend. He was quite kind to me in San Francisco, and I’ve never forgotten it.”
Yet when she arrived at the Prendergast ranch and
