“Damn you, Steve Morgan, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean! You were with Sam Murdock for a week. Was his gypsy protégée there, or has she remained in England with her viscount?”
“If you mean Concepciόn, as far as I know, she’s still basking in the English countryside. Or as she puts it, ‘molding in the rustic wasteland.”’
“I’m devastated to hear she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of the Cotswolds, but hardly surprised. There aren’t many men there who would appreciate her brand of coarse entertainment.”
“Ah-ah, your forked tongue is showing, Ginny. You and I have never been able to discuss Concepciόn without it degenerating into name calling, so let’s talk about something else for a change.”
“That’s fine with me.” Her hair had come loose, blowing across her face, the wind brisk and smelling of dust and the lemony-sharp scent of sage. She tightened the strings of her hat, a serviceable wide-brimmed sombrero that kept out sun and rain. “Did Murdock mention my father?”
“His name came up.” Steve’s mouth flattened to a grim line. “Stop trying to get information out of me, Ginny.”
“Stop avoiding my questions.”
It’s no use, she thought when he ignored her. He has no intention of answering me.
Philosophically, she accepted momentary defeat. And after all, he was here now, so what did it really matter if she knew why he’d been gone or why she couldn’t go with him?
I must be mellowing with time, she thought with a wry smile that earned her an assessing glance from Steve. Before now I would never have surrendered so easily. But perhaps it shouldn’t matter if I know everything. We’re together finally after having been apart for so long.
The Chihuahua Trail ran through Presidio and Ojinaga, then cut a wide loop through rugged mountain passes to the city of Chihuahua. It was the main route from San Antonio, arid and dry most of the time, except in the rainy season when dried up riverbeds could become raging, dangerous torrents without warning.
In daylight, the sun beat down fiercely, heat shimmering in waves from rocks and hard-packed trail, though at night it could be cold enough for several blankets. For miles, the only sounds were the clopping of hooves, the creak of saddle leather and the jangling of metal bits. Finally they stopped beneath an overhang to let the horses drink.
Ginny dismounted, stretching muscles finally becoming more accustomed to hours in the saddle. She plopped down on a flat rock in the shade of the overhang. The musty smell of damp earth and baking rock was potent.
Paco approached where she sat fanning herself with the wide brim of her hat, and propped his foot against the side of the rock.
“Guess I’ll be heading off in another direction now. I have a compadre who lives on the Conchos River a bit north of here.”
“Why is it that I’ve been expecting this?” The air stirred by her hat was only slightly less hot. She stared up at Paco, who had the grace to look sheepish.
“If I do not join you before, I will meet you at Don Francisco’s hacienda,” he said, but his furtive glance in Steve’s direction convinced Ginny he had other reasons for splitting up.
She shrugged, her only comment the customary, “Vaya con Dios.”
With Paco gone, Steve kept to the more traveled trail, riding at a swifter pace than they had before. They stopped in the occasional village, sleeping in missions when there was no cantina or inn available, sometimes sleeping out under the stars.
“Ever think about the first time you rode in these mountains with me, chica?” he asked her once, when they were bedded down in a copse of gnarled trees twisted into shapes resembling grotesque animals.
“Yes, but usually only in nightmares.” She watched his face in the erratic glow of the small fire between them, saw him smile.
“You were the meanest little hellcat I’d ever tangled with until then.”
“You weren’t exactly charming yourself. If I recall, you had a nasty habit of dragging me everywhere, like some primitive beast with a trophy.”
“Yeah, you kinda grew on me after a while. I got used to you.”
“Is that why you refused to free me?”
Firelight made his eyes gleam like hard jewels. “No. If I’d let you go, there would have been no reason for your father to bargain with me. As it was, he was out for my hide anyway.”
“I don’t think he’s ever forgiven you for besting him. He’s used to winning.”
“Yeah, sometimes losing can build a man’s character. Or so I’m told.”
She stared at him curiously, suddenly grateful for more time alone with him, the opportunity to understand him as a man provided at last. With nothing to distract them, it was the perfect time. But what could she say that wouldn’t seem like prying, or an attempt to ferret out more information?
Silence fell, comfortable, filled with night sounds—a shivering wail of a coyote, plaintive and lost against the vast sky; small scuttling sounds of nocturnal creatures that came out after the heat of the day melded into cooler gloom. The moon was higher now, and nearly full, a silver disc that spread ethereal light over the mountain ridges but left deep purple-black shadows in the crevices.
On nights like these, the Comanche were said to take advantage of the light for their raids. She held her hands out to the warmth of the fire, shivering at the thought.
“Do you ever miss riding with the Comanche, Steve? I know you lived with them as a boy, but did you—”
When she stopped, he finished, “Go on raids with them? It would be a good night for it tonight. Plenty of light to see by.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “You’d make some brave a good prize, but once he tried to tame you he’d probably prefer to have your scalp at his belt, instead.”
“You just say things like that to annoy me. If I was such a bad hostage, you would have drowned me in a sack.”
“Don’t think it
