Read Online The Promise of Jenny Jones by Maggie Osborne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maggie Osborne
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forgotten about her anyway.
That kind of man never gave a woman like Jenny Jones a second glance.
And she was glad about that. Yes, sir, she really was.
She stared out the train window and wished that she were tiny and beautiful, wished she could totter along on little bitty feet and wear pretty clothes that a cowboy might notice.
Sighing, she closed her dictionary, then her eyes, trying to decide what she would do when she and Graciela reached Hermits. She didn't have a fricking idea.
CHAPTER 4
A bloodred sunset cast coppery shadows behind Ty's horse as he rode into the village he had traveled weeks to find. The ruts curving down the main street were flanked by a few adobes; most of the dwellings were constructed of sticks and mud, roofed with tin or thatch. Scraggly patches of maize and beans rusted in the flaming light.
The village was too inconsequential to boast a church, but a small plaza intersected the road that wound up toward the Sierras. At the plaza Ty learned where he could buy a bed for the night, and he hired a boy to carry a message to Dona Theodora Barrancas y Talmas.
He preferred to speak to Marguarita immediately, but to highborn Mexicans, honor and courtesy were woven together as tightly as the strands of a rope. Arriving at the hacienda unannounced, unbathed, and unshaven, and at the dinner hour, would undoubtedly have offended. Choosing the lesser of two aggravations, he sent a message announcing his intention to call on Marguarita tomorrow.
He watched the boy climb on a burro and ride out of the village,then he rented a back room in the adobe across from the cantina and paid for a washtub and hot water. For an additional peso, his sharp-eyed landlady agreed to launder and press the clothing he would wear tomorrow when he rode to the Barrancas estate to inform Marguarita that he was taking her and her kid back toCaliforniaand Robert. Thinking about it didn't improve his disposition.
He resented his Mexican sister-in-law, and had argued with Robert against bringing her back. Marguarita had caused enough problems in the Sanders family six years ago. Her return would rekindle hostilities with her father, whose lands adjoined the Sanders ranch. Moreover, Ty didn't want his pragmatic, no-nonsense mother placed in the position of having to accommodate a skittish, spoiled beauty whose knowledge of cattle was undoubtedly limited to what appeared on her dinner plate.
Because it galled him that Robert had defied their father and married Don Barrancas's daughter, he didn't refer to Marguarita as his brother's wife, not even in his thoughts. His father had often raved that Mexicans belonged inMexico, not theUnited States; Ty had to agree that if Antonio Barrancas had remained south of the border, Robert wouldn't have gotten mixed up with his daughter. And Ty wouldn't be here now.
The boy still had not returned from the hacienda by the time Ty finished shaving, so he crossed the dusty lane to the cantina to have his supper and a tumbler of pulque.
The no-name village looked better by night. Deep shadow concealed the refuse in the ditches, hid the poverty. Lanterns swayed from tree limbs spreading over the tiny plaza and imparted a festive glow to the drabbest cantina he had yet observed.
The instant Ty stepped inside, the back of his neck prickled with the sudden tension of abruptly halted conversations. No matter how poor the village, there was usually music in the cantina, but not here, not tonight. And he noted the surprising presence of several respectable women. In utter silence he walked to a vacant table near the side door, aware of a dozen hostile eyes stabbing his back.
Similar situations had taught the expediency of pretending not to speak or understand the language.
"Supper," he said to a short waiter whose narrowed eyes made his resentment of this gringo all too clear. Rubbing his stomach, Ty spoke louder. "You speak American?" The waiter stared at him. "Food." He smacked his lips,then
That kind of man never gave a woman like Jenny Jones a second glance.
And she was glad about that. Yes, sir, she really was.
She stared out the train window and wished that she were tiny and beautiful, wished she could totter along on little bitty feet and wear pretty clothes that a cowboy might notice.
Sighing, she closed her dictionary, then her eyes, trying to decide what she would do when she and Graciela reached Hermits. She didn't have a fricking idea.
CHAPTER 4
A bloodred sunset cast coppery shadows behind Ty's horse as he rode into the village he had traveled weeks to find. The ruts curving down the main street were flanked by a few adobes; most of the dwellings were constructed of sticks and mud, roofed with tin or thatch. Scraggly patches of maize and beans rusted in the flaming light.
The village was too inconsequential to boast a church, but a small plaza intersected the road that wound up toward the Sierras. At the plaza Ty learned where he could buy a bed for the night, and he hired a boy to carry a message to Dona Theodora Barrancas y Talmas.
He preferred to speak to Marguarita immediately, but to highborn Mexicans, honor and courtesy were woven together as tightly as the strands of a rope. Arriving at the hacienda unannounced, unbathed, and unshaven, and at the dinner hour, would undoubtedly have offended. Choosing the lesser of two aggravations, he sent a message announcing his intention to call on Marguarita tomorrow.
He watched the boy climb on a burro and ride out of the village,then he rented a back room in the adobe across from the cantina and paid for a washtub and hot water. For an additional peso, his sharp-eyed landlady agreed to launder and press the clothing he would wear tomorrow when he rode to the Barrancas estate to inform Marguarita that he was taking her and her kid back toCaliforniaand Robert. Thinking about it didn't improve his disposition.
He resented his Mexican sister-in-law, and had argued with Robert against bringing her back. Marguarita had caused enough problems in the Sanders family six years ago. Her return would rekindle hostilities with her father, whose lands adjoined the Sanders ranch. Moreover, Ty didn't want his pragmatic, no-nonsense mother placed in the position of having to accommodate a skittish, spoiled beauty whose knowledge of cattle was undoubtedly limited to what appeared on her dinner plate.
Because it galled him that Robert had defied their father and married Don Barrancas's daughter, he didn't refer to Marguarita as his brother's wife, not even in his thoughts. His father had often raved that Mexicans belonged inMexico, not theUnited States; Ty had to agree that if Antonio Barrancas had remained south of the border, Robert wouldn't have gotten mixed up with his daughter. And Ty wouldn't be here now.
The boy still had not returned from the hacienda by the time Ty finished shaving, so he crossed the dusty lane to the cantina to have his supper and a tumbler of pulque.
The no-name village looked better by night. Deep shadow concealed the refuse in the ditches, hid the poverty. Lanterns swayed from tree limbs spreading over the tiny plaza and imparted a festive glow to the drabbest cantina he had yet observed.
The instant Ty stepped inside, the back of his neck prickled with the sudden tension of abruptly halted conversations. No matter how poor the village, there was usually music in the cantina, but not here, not tonight. And he noted the surprising presence of several respectable women. In utter silence he walked to a vacant table near the side door, aware of a dozen hostile eyes stabbing his back.
Similar situations had taught the expediency of pretending not to speak or understand the language.
"Supper," he said to a short waiter whose narrowed eyes made his resentment of this gringo all too clear. Rubbing his stomach, Ty spoke louder. "You speak American?" The waiter stared at him. "Food." He smacked his lips,then
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