As she brushed her hair, perched on the edge of the small tufted chair that seemed oddly elegant in a hotel that provided only the minimum of luxuries, she watched Steve at the window. He braced himself on one arm, staring into the street below as if watching for something—or someone.
“Where’s Paco?” she asked.
“Probably in a cantina telling some pretty girl how brave and strong he is. He has better sense than to agree to attend supper at a military post.”
“Yes, why did you accept the colonel’s invitation, Steve? It must be because of Jim Bishop. Oh, I’m right, aren’t I? Did you know when you went there that this Mr. Lott would be waiting to talk to you, to ask your advice about his railroad?”
“Ginny love, you ask far too many questions. It’s late. Get some sleep.”
“Are you coming to bed—? Where are you going, Steve! You can’t be going out again! Ever since we arrived in Texas, you’ve been secretive and—and sneaky.” Frustration made her careless, and her vow to hold her tongue was forgotten as he began to buckle on his gun belts. “Just tell me what is going on. I’d like to know why you sent our baggage on with those armed guards who look like bandits. There’s more to it than you’re admitting to me, and I know that, too. Why did you feel you had to meet with Colonel Prime and that Mr. Lott? This is all Bishop’s doing, I know, but do you think I’m so foolish as to tell anyone things that aren’t supposed to be told?”
“Christ, Ginny, it’s not that and you know it. You know how mysterious Bishop likes to be. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know who was going to be there tonight. I just had a message that I was to accept the colonel’s invitation to join him for supper.”
He raked a hand through his hair. He looked very tired. She rose from the chair and went to him.
“Come to bed. Don’t go out again.”
“I have to meet Paco.” He met her eyes, a faint smile twisting his mouth. “I won’t be out too late.”
“Will Bishop be there?”
“He damn well better be. I want some answers myself. Now go to bed, Ginny. I’ll be back in a little while.”
He grabbed her close, his hands on her shoulders hard and compelling as he held her against him, his mouth pressed close to her ear. “Trust me, Ginny. Just take a chance and trust me.”
Swallowing the questions that begged for answers, she managed a nod. “All right, Steve. I will. Just—just be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I’m like a cactus burr you can’t lose.” He kissed her, swift and hard, his mouth a burn on her lips, the pressure lingering even after the door had closed behind him.
She sighed. It was the best she could hope for after losing her resolve not to ask questions or make demands on him. She had to trust him.
But it was so hard at times, when past experiences had made her wary. Yet what choice did she have?
14
Thick smoke drifted in hazy layers from the floor to the naked, blackened beams of the ceiling. It was little more than a mud-and-cane hut on the steep, crumbling slopes of the Rio Grande, hidden behind a stand of scraggly mesquite trees that clung precariously to the top bank.
From this vantage point, Fort McIntosh was within easy sight, just across the sluggish river. Bare wooden bones of an old steamboat thrust above the waterline where it was too shallow to allow passage above Laredo, glistening in the moonlight. The hills were rocky and full of rapids too dangerous to allow river traffic to flourish this far north.
“A rather primitive place,” Bishop observed in his usual colorless voice, and sipped from his own flask of aged bourbon, preferring it to the risky fare offered by the cantina.
“No one asks questions or cares who comes here, as long as they pay for their drinks and don’t bust up the chairs and tables,” Paco commented. He was not as fastidious as Bishop, and drank from a rough wooden cup, though sparingly. “You were right about Lott, it seems.”
“And Prime. The colonel has a fine disdain for men who have new ideas.” Steve sat with his back to the wall, across from the door. It felt comfortable and familiar to be wearing his guns again; old habits died hard.
“Yes, well, Colonel Prime is not involved in this. He just happened to be useful in arranging a meeting with Uriah Lott. So what did you think of him?”
This last was directed at Steve and he shrugged. “He has some innovative ideas that will work if he doesn’t get caught up in politicians’ greed. If Brandon is the senator who has offered to fund his railroad, he’ll end up getting burned.”
“Yes, well, as you have assumed, that is exactly who has made an offer. A very generous offer, I might add. Poker, gentlemen?”
Without waiting for agreement, Bishop shuffled a pack of cards and began to deal, his expression bland in the glow of soot-grimed lanterns.
Steve picked up his cards and studied them idly. “I suggested he go to Richard King. He’s connected with Mifflin Kenedy, and both men are shrewd businessmen. Tough, maybe, but more honest than the senator. Brandon just wants feeder lines to his coal mines, he doesn’t care how he gets them.”
“Silver.” Bishop glanced up, eyes hooded. “Not just coal mines, silver mines. He’s sitting on a fortune in ore and pretending he’s dealing in coal.”
Paco whistled softly. “No wonder he’s anxious!”
“Yes, getting the ore out by train would be the most efficient—and private—method, as well as the safest.”
“Does the Mexican government know he’s mining silver instead of coal?”
“I have no doubt that there are a few officials who are well aware of it,
