“It’s a reasonable question. You can’t pretend that all of your disappearances have been Bishop’s fault, after all. There were the times you wanted to disappear. Which is this? Am I to languish at your grandfather’s hacienda, waiting for you to come back—if you come back?”
A lift of her shoulder was casual and indifferent, but her green eyes burned with banked fires.
Steve knew what was worrying her. It had crossed his mind, too, the danger that was always inherent in a revolution, but there was little he could do about it. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure he would. Another revolution would drain Mexico of her resources, leave the country vulnerable again to her enemies. If Spain decided to take advantage, it would put them on America’s doorstep. Then both countries would be at risk.
He told himself these things, justifying his decisions, but there were times, like now, when he wondered if he was only fooling himself. In the past it had been the excitement and element of danger that attracted him. Was that still the reason? Was that the reason he’d been so restless lately, and frustrated by delays? He had thought he was ready to settle down now that he had a wife and two children he was only just getting to know?
Once, Ginny had accused him of deliberately flirting with danger, and he’d teased, “I guess I’ve just got a restless devil soul, sweetheart.”
Maybe that was still more true than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
“Ginny, I’d rather keep you out of this,” he said now and saw her eyes narrow speculatively at him. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I have my own details to take care of first, then we’ll be together again in Mexico City. Paco will escort you there from my grandfather’s. It will give you a chance to visit with Renaldo and Missie. Didn’t you say not so long ago that you wanted to see them again?”
“Yes, but I thought it would be with you and the twins at my side.” She took an irritable step across the small cabin to shove at the open porthole hatch. It swung wider, admitting the effluvium of a river port on the breeze that washed inside. “This is not what I expected.”
“As you know better than anyone, plans change. Hell, my plans weren’t to get mixed up in another bloody revolution. Do you think I want to get involved, to be away from you?”
“Yes,” she said frankly, and when he swore at her, said in a rush, “Maybe not be away from me, but you do want to be involved. You might as well admit it.”
“All right, maybe I do want to stop another long, useless war that only profits politicians and not the citizens. Is that so damn wrong? It affects you and our children as well as the rest of Mexico, and even America, if outside interests get involved.”
“Oh, Steve…I know that. I suppose what I’m asking is if you’re already tired of me, already wanting to be gone. If you think about it, we haven’t been together this much in a long time—maybe since we’ve known each other. Not, at least, without some sort of crisis separating us, putting miles and anger between us.”
An impatient reply formed, but then he saw her eyes, the naked honesty gleaming from her face, and held his tongue. He wouldn’t do as he had the last time—hell, every time they parted. It had made it easier to part if he drove her away with cruelty and indifference, but it had torn them apart, too. He shrugged, said lightly, “Hey, green-eyes, you know I never get tired of you. Not even when you’re nagging me like you are now. But there are some things I can’t tell you. You know that. Just be content with knowing that I have no intention of letting anything or anyone ever come between us again.”
In the soft silence that fell, he heard what sounded like a sigh of relief, but her eyes remained fastened on his face with intensity.
“I hope you mean that,” she said finally, and there was a slight husky note in her voice before she turned away to gaze out the open porthole. “It’s long past the time for us to make our marriage work. I’m so weary of running, of being lonely and uncertain. Perhaps I am behaving as you’ve said I am before—a nag, but only because I don’t want us to fall into that trap again.”
“We won’t. Have some faith in us. Just don’t try to talk it to death, Ginny.”
She turned back to face him; growing light spread over her face, illuminating the spare cushion of high cheekbones and the straight, slim nose above her deliciously tempting lips, the mouth of a demimonde curving into a faint smile. A dimple flirted at one side and the cleft in her chin deepened as she laughed softly.
“I’d forgotten how blunt you can be when I least expect it. I suppose I should be grateful you’re not your usual sarcastic self.”
Her smile eased the tart words and she shook her head the smallest bit when he shrugged.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that I’m not always so charming.”
“I have no doubt of that, and by more women than I’d care to know about, I’m certain. Oh, don’t look at me that way. I have no intention of asking for names and places. It would take far too long. You have had far too many women in your life.”
“But none of them ever haunted me like you have,” he said, an attempt at levity that fell flat. It was faintly surprising to realize he meant it. No woman had ever stuck in his mind like Ginny…not even the other woman he had once asked to marry him.
Elizabeth Cady Burneson stepped out onto the porch of the rambling ranch house and stared at the black hills outlined against a red sky. Sunset was
