“Yes, you’re right, Steve. When do we leave?”
A faint smile crooked his mouth. “I’ve arranged passage on a ship leaving for Galveston in the morning.”
“This is going to be a long night.”
“Then attending the opera should take your mind off the wait.”
Ginny stared at him incredulously. “I have no intention of attending the opera now! How could I?”
“It won’t change anything to stay here in the room and fret all night. Besides, if we’re being watched, we need to act as if everything is normal.”
To her horror, huge tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her face. She began to weep in great, gulping sobs, like a broken-hearted child. Steve drew her into his arms, held her against him as she wept, his hand stroking her hair with clumsy attempts at comfort.
“Nothing will be normal until we have our children safely with us, Steve,” she whispered between sobs. “Nothing!”
His hand tightened in her hair. “I know. We’ll find them soon. If I have to string Brandon up by his heels and beat it out of him, we’ll find them. I swear it to you, Ginny.”
There was an unfamiliar break in his tone that she had never heard before. Ginny realized that, beneath Steve’s carefully intact composure, he was as anguished as she about their children. There was a barely controlled sense of violence in him, in the way his hand fisted in her hair, in the clipped enunciation of his words.
Steve would find them. She knew he would. And God help William Brandon when Steve found him….
44
Galveston Bay was hot, the air thick with humidity and the rank smell of rotting marine life. Out in the gulf, huge stacks of towering clouds rolled toward land, bringing the daily summer thunderstorm ashore.
Steve ignored the rain pelting him. A crash of thunder shook the ground and vibrated the dock, lightning hitting so close he could smell the acrid stench of burned earth.
“What did you find out, Paco?”
Paco Davis wiped a hand over his wet face and stepped under the protective eave of a wooden shack that leaned precariously over the water. His black hair was plastered to his skull, dripping rain into his eyes and down the bridge of his nose.
“Lost my damn hat,” he muttered, then shrugged. “You were right. They were on the ship when it docked, and the ticket master said he thought there was a carriage waiting for them. No one else seems to know anything.”
“I can’t imagine Ginny’s aunt going off with anyone she doesn’t know. She’s too convinced America is full of cutthroats.”
“Looks like she’s been proven right. I guess whoever met them at the dock could have given her a letter of introduction. That would be easy enough to forge. And if Brandon told her who would be meeting them—”
Steve’s jaw clenched. “I still can’t figure out what he hopes to gain from this other than vengeance against me. He has to know I’ll hunt him down.”
“Maybe he thinks his money and power will save him.”
“From charges of child abduction? Not even Senator Brandon is that delusional. This will ruin him. If he lives through it.”
“Any ideas?” Paco asked after a moment of silence.
“A few. I sent a telegram to Colonel Prime at Fort McIntosh.”
Paco’s brow lifted, and his drenched eyelashes dripped rain when he blinked. “You think they’re headed in that direction?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
Heat shimmered up in blurred waves from red rock and stretches of dun-colored ground scattered with clumps of greasewood. It was familiar territory, another long ride, but this time there was a new sense of urgency. Trains, boats and horses had brought them within sight of Fort McIntosh.
The dust coated horses, clothes, skin and even tongues. The three of them wore neckerchiefs over noses and mouths, wide brimmed hats providing scant shade against the searing beat of the sun. Steve and Paco rode abreast, with Ginny riding a few paces behind.
Steve turned in his saddle to glance back at her. She looked like a wilted flower. If not for the taut set of her shoulders, he’d have thought her asleep. Her chin dipped toward her chest, the hat brim hiding her eyes.
Steve nudged his mount closer to hers. “We’re almost there, Ginny.”
“I know.” The words were muffled behind the yellow scarf covering half her face. “I’ve swallowed enough dust to fill the Gulf of Mexico.”
“That’s better. When you’re complaining, I know you’re all right.”
Her head lifted, and he caught a glimpse of narrowed green eyes above the yellow triangle. “Did you think I would not be? I may collapse after we have Laura and Franco safely with us, but I won’t give up until then. I won’t give up!”
“No, you’re not the kind of woman to give up, my green-eyed wife. I know that about you. You’re as stubborn as I am when you want to be.”
“Steve, we will find them. Won’t we?”
Couched behind the steady timbre of her voice was a note of uncertainty. Leaning over, he put his hand atop her arm. “We’ll find them. I swear it to you.”
Her gaze was cool. “I know. I don’t know why you think they might be here, but I trust you to find them.”
He hoped his hunch would pay off. It was a wild idea, and even Paco thought he was crazy for pursuing it. But he remembered Brandon’s certainty in San Antonio, and his smug assurance that he would build his rail line from Texas into Mexico. The meeting with Uriah Lott had occurred to Steve, and he recalled the discussion about railroads that night at Fort McIntosh.
William Brandon had been involved then, too. And he’d blamed Steve for ruining that business deal.
Perched on the high, frayed edge of the Rio Grande River, the fort faced the west and