The Outlaw's Lady. Laurie Kingery

that her worst fears had been relieved somewhat, Sandoval saw the lines of weariness etched on her face. “Jefe, Señorita Hennessy has traveled a long way overnight bound and gagged. She has not eaten anything, I’ll wager, since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps the picture taking could wait a little while until she has broken her fast and rested a bit?”

      Delgado looked surprised. “But, of course! How remiss of me not to realize how tired she must be, and how hungry. Delores!” he called over his shoulder to the older woman who had been hovering nearby. “Cook this young lady some breakfast. She is famished! And then assist her to settle in. Get her some comfortable clothes—Alma’s will fit her, I am sure.” His face darkened slightly as he said the last, and Sandoval knew he was thinking of his last mistress, who had become so jealous and demanding that Sandoval had finally taken her back to the village from which he had lured her. “Perhaps I can pose for the señorita this afternoon instead? Until then, señorita,” he said, bowing again.

      Sandoval saw Tess nod uncertainly as Delgado walked away. “Come with me, Miss Hennessy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if your breakfast is a little spicy. Delores makes the best huevos rancheros I’ve ever tasted. Esteban will unhitch your mule and bring your supplies to that adobe over there. It’s where you will be staying.”

      

      Now that the outlaw leader was no longer favoring her with his bold stare, and the other outlaws were busying themselves elsewhere, Tess felt freer to examine her surroundings as she followed Parrish to where the old woman was stirring something into a skillet over an open fire. Beyond them, flush against the high red-rock walls that soared perhaps forty feet above them, sat three adobe huts. One of them was large, and stood on the left end of the row; the other two, including the one Sandoval had indicated as hers, were smaller.

      “That one’s Delgado’s,” Parrish said, pointing to the large one farthest from hers. “That one is mine,” he added, pointing to the one in the middle. “The rest of the men sleep by the fire.”

      “So you really are Delgado’s right-hand man,” she murmured. “No humble bedroll for Sandoval Parrish.” As she had expected, he only shrugged at her barb.

      She was reassured by the fact that Parrish’s building was situated between Delgado’s and hers, but despite his earlier words, how safe was she, really, with Parrish?

      Lord, protect me. She had a comforting sense of God’s presence, but knew that sometimes evil things befell God’s children for reasons they might never understand on this earth.

      A creek, with a wooden plank bridge spanning it in the middle, mirrored the curve of the rock walls and served to separate the adobes from the rest of the camp. There were two corrals, one empty, one full of horses. Ben was now being led into the latter. Many of the horses had carried the men who had kidnapped her last night, but a tall, rangy black mustang she hadn’t seen before pranced up now to challenge the newcomer, laying back his ears and snorting threateningly. Ben flattened his own longer ears against his skull, brayed and whirled around, lashing out with his heels. His hooves missed the mustang. The black horse turned and trotted away, still snorting.

      Tess smiled, then saw that Sandoval was watching her. “My mule doesn’t cotton to bullying,” she said.

      “And neither does his mistress, I’m thinking. Good for you, Miss Hennessy.” They had reached the campfire now, and Parrish smiled at the older woman who turned to face them. “Delores, this is Señorita Teresa Hennessy, the photographer and our guest,” he said in Spanish, then added, “and she speaks Spanish.” He turned back to Tess. “It’s a good thing, since Delores speaks little English.”

      “Mucho gusto, señorita,” the older woman said, smiling warmly at her, then invited her to have a seat on a pile of old blankets behind Tess. Delores then turned back to the eggs, peppers, onions and tomatoes she was cooking. The wind carried a whiff of the savory, spicy smell and all at once Tess realized how hungry she was. It had been probably more than fourteen hours since she had eaten.

      She sank onto the horse blankets, her aching bones protesting at the long, bumpy ride, and smiled gratefully as the woman handed her a tin cup full of steaming hot coffee poured from a pot resting on hot stones within the fire ring. She caught sight of her dusty navy skirt as she drank, and was thankful all over again that she had been wearing sensible, modest clothing. She could only imagine how nervous she would have felt among these outlaws if she had been wearing the frilly, frivolous dress her mother had wanted her to wear.

      She wondered what the clothes being loaned to her by the aforementioned Alma would look like, and if Alma would begrudge her the loan. She prayed the garments would be decent—if Delgado and Parrish thought she was going to parade around in revealing clothing like a cantina girl, they had better think again!

      Minutes later Delores had deposited tin plates heaped with eggs and tortillas in both her and Parrish’s laps, and refilled their coffee. Tess ate the spicy food ravenously, and saw out of the corner of her eye that Parrish was doing likewise. It was a surprisingly companionable moment. For a few minutes, at least, Tess forgot she was so angry with him for involving her in this strange situation.

      After they both had finished, Parrish excused himself, and Delores took their plates away, returned and gestured for Tess to follow her into the small adobe building designated as hers. The wagon had been left right outside the door.

      The door itself was a colorfully woven blanket, which Delores pushed aside so Tess could enter, though the lintel was so low Tess had to duck her head. The room was bigger than it had looked from the outside. Thin, makeshift curtains that had obviously been a pair of dish towels covered a small window. The interior was divided into a larger and a smaller room by means of an ornate screen—where had he stolen that? The larger room contained nothing but a rocking chair—probably also booty—and a pallet on the floor.

      Delores mumbled something, pointing at the screen, and went back outside.

      Tess went and peeked behind the screen. Here she found a pallet with threadbare but clean sheets, a pillow and a light blanket, and a large brass-bound trunk. Lifting the lid, she found a small, purple cut-glass stoppered bottle lying atop several items of folded clothing. Unable to resist her curiosity, she wiggled the stopper until it came out and held it near her nose. The bottle was empty, but the perfume it had held had been musky and overpowering—not the type of scent a demure woman would use. Had this been Alma’s? Where was she now? What had happened to her?

      Restoppering the bottle and setting it aside, she pulled out the garments and examined them. There were two skirts, one a much-laundered, faded-brick red, the other of a dingy hue that must have originally been green. Beneath them she found two bleached-muslin blouses with gathered, bright embroidery-banded sleeves and drawstring necklines. There were also a pair of fine white lawn camisoles beneath them and a lace-trimmed nightgown.

      The last items in the trunk were the most surprising—a tarnished, brass-framed hand mirror that had a diagonal crack bisecting the glass, a black lace mantilla and a pair of combs. For all her practical habits when it came to clothing, Tess wouldn’t have been female if the mantilla hadn’t made her sigh with pure feminine delight and reach out to wrap the garment around her head. Instantly, she felt transformed into a woman who was mysterious, unpredictable—fascinating!

      Tess sighed and refolded the garment. It wasn’t likely she’d ever have occasion to wear it, unless perhaps Delgado compelled his band to attend church on Sundays. The thought made her giggle.

      It was getting increasingly warm as the sun rose higher above the canyon. Tess supposed she had better try on the borrowed garments so she would have something cooler to wear than the perspiration-dampened clothing she had arrived in. Peeking outside, she saw no one heading toward her hut, so she stepped back behind the screen and stripped off the dusty navy skirt and waist and pulled one of the blouses over her head. The soft, worn fabric felt soothing as it settled around her shoulders. Tying the drawstring at the neck in a bow, Tess studied herself in the cracked mirror, and supposed the neckline was modest enough, though if the drawstring were loosened, it would sink lower around her shoulders.