“How dare you, Sandoval Parrish?”

Tess took a step forward, thrusting her chin out. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for your desire to curry favor with that unprincipled killer!” She was too angry to care they were alone and she was very much at his mercy.

Sandoval’s head snapped back as if she had slapped him, and he paled. For several endless moments they stared at one another. “You’re right, you wouldn’t. You have every right to think the worst of me. The best thing you can do is trust me.”

“But why, Sandoval? What do you hope to gain?” she demanded, self-control slipping, tears of outrage and fear suddenly threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you that, Tess,” he said. “You may not believe this, but I’m not a bad man.”

Something about the softness of his tone and the kindness in his eyes was her undoing, and Tess gave way to her tears. Then suddenly he was holding her….

LAURIE KINGERY

makes her home in central Ohio where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for Harlequin Historicals and other publishers, she is the author of sixteen previous books. She was the winner of the 1994 Readers’ Choice Award in the short historical category, and was nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by Romantic Times BOOKreviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, read her e-mails and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.

Laurie Kingery
The Outlaw’s Lady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Elaine English, my agent, with grateful thanks

for helping me to keep on believing in my writing,

and to Tom, as always

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The town of Chapin, in Hidalgo County, Texas, mentioned in this book is the present-day Edinburg. The name was changed in 1911.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Rio Grande Valley, Texas, 1880

Tess Hennessy stared down through the darkness at the image taking shape before her in the chemical bath. The photograph she had taken of the Spanish mission-style home in which she lived was to be a present for her parents on their anniversary tomorrow. She had captured it at a moment when the lighting was perfect, with the noon sun directly overhead so that the palm trees didn’t cast their shadows over the house. She smiled, pleased at her work. They would love it, especially after she mounted it in the elegant oak frame Francisco, her helper, had prepared. She’d have to sneak out here to her developing shed after they returned from the party tonight, no matter how late it was, so that the picture would be ready for gifting tomorrow.

If only it were as easy to see her future develop before her as it was to develop a photograph. Her mother, she knew, expected her to marry. But what man would want to marry a girl who had an unladylike pastime that involved messy, finger-staining chemicals and long sessions in a darkroom?

Was there such a man? If only she could submerge one of her collodion plates into the chemical bath in the basin before her, and see his image take shape…

“Tess! Tess! Where are you? Now, where can that girl have gone, Patrick? I specifically told her we were leaving for the barbecue at one o’clock….”

Oh dear, she’d lost track of time again. It was so easy to do when she was immersed in photography, her passion. “Mama, I’m in the darkroom, developing a picture. Don’t come in, please—”

But it was too late. Sunlight suddenly flooded the little shed by the barn as Amelia Hennessy burst in.

Tess groaned. Her mother’s untimely arrival had just ruined the photograph.

“Tess! What are you doing in here?” her mother cried. “We have to leave for the barbecue, and you’re not even dressed. Look at you!” Her mother spoke as if she expected Tess to look down and be surprised that she was wearing her serviceable navy skirt and waist.

Behind her mother she could see her father, looking sympathetic and uncomfortable, his eyes appealing with Tess to comply so peace could be restored.

She would have to give her parents an IOU for their anniversary present and take the photograph again. Her father would understand and apologize privately to Tess for not stopping his wife before she’d burst into her darkroom.

Amelia Hennessy tapped her foot, her face tight with impatience.

“I am ready to go,” Tess replied in a level voice, wishing she could avoid the inevitable confrontation.

“Surely you weren’t thinking of wearing that at the Taylors’ barbecue?” An imperious finger indicated Tess’s utilitarian clothes, in contrast to her own elaborately lace-trimmed dress with a fancy, bow-topped bustle.

Tess took a deep breath, praying for calm. She did want to obey the commandment that instructed her to honor her parents, and with her father that was easy. No matter how often she explained to her mother what was important to her, however, Amelia Hennessy seemed incapable of understanding. Tess shot a look at her father, but though his eyes were full of sympathy, he said nothing.

“Mama, I’m not going as a party guest, but to work. I told you the Taylors hired me to take the photographs of them and their guests. The developing chemicals can be messy, and with all the bending and stooping while posing the subjects, what I wear is apt to get dusty and stained, so it’s hardly practical of me to wear a light-colored, frilly dress.”

Her mother sighed and put her slender fingers up to her head as if she felt a migraine coming on. “Tess, I do not understand you!” she said for surely the thousandth time. “You’re a beautiful girl—or you would be, if you’d take some trouble to put yourself together. You could make a brilliant marriage, but you’ll never do it if you insist on spending so much time on this little hobby of yours. You’re always at your little shop in town. I don’t know why your father ever let you take it over when James passed away. And when you’re not photographing, you’re drawing. Patrick, say something to your daughter to make her see sense!”

Patrick Hennessy put one hand on his wife’s shoulder, the other on his daughter’s, and smiled the charming smile that usually mellowed his wife’s anxious reaction to his daughter’s individuality.

“Yes, she is a beautiful girl. Thanks be to God, our last chick in the nest got your looks, Amelia—especially your blue eyes, and only my red hair,” he said, with a quirk of amusement that lifted the corners of his mouth and eyes. “When—and if—” he added, with a hint of steel “—she’s ready, our youngest has only to crook her finger to have any man she wants. But she’s not a brainless belle with no thought but how many beaux she can collect. If she wants to be a photographer and carry on for James, I don’t see the harm.”

Amelia Hennessy’s lips thinned and she sighed again. “You never do, when it comes to Tess, Patrick, but she’s already twenty and she’s going to end up an old maid, you mark my words.”

“I always do, Amelia,” he said, giving his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek. “But an old maid? Nonsense. Our Tess is the prettiest girl in Hidalgo County. A man would be a fool to think otherwise if he had eyes in his head. And now, we’d better leave or we really will be late.”

Tess sighed, too, knowing the battle was only postponed, not won, and followed her mother out of the shed. As she left the dimness, the tropical heat of the Rio Grande Valley washed over her. For a moment she envied her mother’s lightweight dress, low cut over the shoulders.

In front of them stood two carriages, the open victoria, with its matched bays and driven by Mateo, and a smaller vehicle that resembled a Civil War ambulance, covered on all sides and in back by heavy canvas and pulled by Ben, the same mule that had once pulled the wagon for Uncle James. Tess had requested that her photography wagon be ready at the same time as her parents’ vehicle, and Mateo had done so.

“We’re going to be the laughingstock of the party with that wagon following us,” Tess heard her mother grumble as her husband assisted her up into the carriage.

“Horsefeathers,” her father scoffed. “They’ll be lining up to have their pictures taken, and Tess will be very popular indeed.”

“If it comforts you to think so,” her mother sniffed. “But I just wish Lula Marie had had the decency to ask me first before hiring our daughter. I would have forbidden it.”

“Sam talked to me,” Patrick Hennessy told his wife. “I said it was all right.” There was a warning note of finality in his voice. Tess heard no more objections. She climbed into the driver’s seat and gathered up the reins.

Her heart warmed with love for her father. He’d always supported her dreams, God bless him. She loved her mother, too, and knew despite her mother’s fretting about her future, that the feeling was fiercely reciprocated.

Tess understood that her mother had grown up in a simpler time. She’d been a belle in the truest sense before the charming Patrick Hennessy, an Irish immigrant, had swept her off her feet. Everyone said she was marrying beneath her, but apparently she had known what she was doing. Starting from scratch, Hennessy had built his empire in south Texas until he was one of the richest cattlemen in the state, even after the Civil War.

If only she could convince her mother that she, too, knew what she was doing. Tess had grown up on her uncle James’s tales of working as a photographer for the famous Mathew Brady during the war. She had taken her first daguerreotype at her uncle’s direction when she was only seven. By the time she was fifteen, she was working alongside him in his shop in nearby Chapin whenever she wasn’t away at school, and by the time he died, he had taught her everything he knew.

Tess glanced backward into the wagon to assure herself that all her bottles of chemicals were safely and securely bestowed inside. “Giddup, Ben,” she said, clucking to the mule. And the beast obediently took his place behind the victoria for the short drive to the Taylors’ plantation.

“I tell you, Dupree, we’re going to have to call the Rangers in again to deal with these Mexican cattle thieves like McNelly did in seventy-five,” Samuel Taylor said, turning to the man sitting next to him. “He certainly showed Cortinas what was what.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Sam,” Mr. Dupree agreed. “I’m sick and tired of losing cattle to these bandits, not to mention two of my best broodmares.” He slapped his hand on his knee as if to emphasize his disgust.

Tess threw off the heavy, dark canvas cover under which she had been crouching and faced the two men she had posed standing in front of their wives and daughters.

“Please, Uncle Samuel, Mr. Dupree. You must remain still, or you will be a blur,” she pleaded, striving for a tactful tone. She swatted at a horsefly that had taken advantage of her coming out from cover to land on her neck. “The exposure will take only a few seconds and then you may talk all you want.”

“I certainly hope we’ll be done so soon,” Maribelle, one of the Dupree daughters, complained. Like her sister, she was sitting at her father’s feet with her skirts spread out decorously in front of her. “I’m roasting here in this heat, and without my parasol, the sun will bake my complexion, I’m sure. I don’t know why we could not have sat on the veranda where it’s shady.”

Tess had already explained the need to use natural light, so she didn’t bother to do so again. “Just another minute, Maribelle, and you can go back to the party. Just think, you and your family will always have this picture to commemorate the day.”

Maribelle made a little moue of distaste, as if nothing Tess could create with her camera could possibly compensate her for her suffering, but then her eyes shifted to something behind Tess and her camera. Her eyes widened. Without turning her head, she spoke out of the side of her mouth to her sister. “Melissa, who is that?”

“Who is who?” snapped her sister, also irritable in the heat.

“Ladies,” Tess begged. She had been about to duck back under the canvas again and take the picture.

“That man who just stepped off the veranda, the one who’s now standing by the fiddlers’ platform,” Maribelle Dupree told her sister. “Don’t look now, because he’s looking this way, but my stars, he is quite the handsome fellow!”

“You know I can’t see that far without my spectacles,” Melissa whined, “and I could hardly wear them here.”

Involuntarily, Tess looked back over her shoulder, and saw just what had caught Maribelle Dupree’s attention.

The man was tall, probably all of six feet, and whipcord lean. He wore no hat, and in the sunlight his hair gleamed raven-black and a bit overlong, brushing the collar of his white shirt in the back. His features were angular, his nose slightly aquiline. He held up his hand to shade his eyes, peering around as if looking for someone or something.

What a fascinating face, Tess thought. What she wouldn’t give to photograph him, to try to capture those angular planes of his face, that magnetism and sense of determination that radiated from him.

“Oh, he’s coming this way!” squealed Maribelle to her sister. “Melissa, is my hair all right? Is it coming loose in the back?”

“Girls, please,” Taylor implored, just as Tess was about to remonstrate with them again. “If you two chatterboxes could hush up while we get this picture done, I’ll present him to you.”

Even as the girls squeaked blissfully and went into their poses again, Mr. Dupree spoke up. “I’d rather you didn’t, Sam. I don’t like what I’ve heard of the man. They say Sandoval Parrish is two different people, depending on which side of the border he’s on.”

Taylor blinked in surprise, then said, “Very well, a father has that prerogative, after all. Now, if we could let Tess take her picture? I believe there are several others who also want theirs done. Tess dear, thank you for your patience.”

“Of course, Uncle Samuel.” Tess took one last, fleeting glance at the object of the Dupree girls’ attention. The stranger had paused to accept a drink from a tray proffered by a servant, and was now lifting it to his mouth as he continued to look in their direction.

Had he seen her staring right along with the giddy Dupree girls? Tess ducked under the canvas with the same feeling a mouse must have as it darts into a hole to escape the scrutiny of a hungry hawk. Half a minute later, she had completed the exposure.

“I’m done now. You are free to move,” she said, coming back out from under her cover. She watched the Dupree girls stroll away, their bustles swaying as they each took one last, longing look over their shoulders. Apparently they had lost their nerve and weren’t bold enough to stay and hold Taylor to his promise of an introduction.

Tess wondered if the stranger was still standing where he had been, but she was much too busy now to look at him again. Carefully, she removed the glass photography plate from the camera and strode over to where her wagon stood parked in the shelter of three shady live oaks. Her darkroom while at a job consisted of a larger, dark canvas tent stretched over the square, shallow bed of the wagon, in which sat the developing bath. She had only ten minutes to develop the picture or the collodion in the plate would no longer be wet, and her efforts would have been in vain.

Tess wished Francisco, her assistant in the shop, could have come to the barbecue today to take care of the preparation of the collodion plates and the developing while she took the pictures so she could be done sooner. But he had told her he had to help his father today. She straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that Uncle James had often worked alone to photograph the aftermath of battles during the war. Whatever he had done in the hardship of the battlefield, she could certainly do at a barbecue.

“Tess, can you come out for a minute? There’s someone here who’d like to meet you,” Sam Taylor said, just after she had gone into the developing tent.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t right now, Uncle Samuel,” Tess said, staying under the tent and using her metal dippers to lower the undeveloped picture into the dipping bath. “If I don’t bathe this photograph right now, then hang it up to dry, the picture will be ruined. I’ll have to be in here for a few minutes, I’m afraid. Why don’t I find you when I’m done, before I start posing another photograph?”

Idly, she wondered who it was her godfather wanted her to meet. She feared her mother had infected him with her anxiety about the possibility of her daughter’s spinster-hood. Tess hoped he was not trying his hand at matchmaking.

She heard a rich chuckle outside the tent. “Well, if the picture needs a bath, it needs a bath,” an unfamiliar voice drawled. The voice was deep and accented in such a way to suggest that while Spanish was the speaker’s first language, he was equally fluent in English. For a moment, she was curious about the possessor of such a voice. Then, when she heard nothing more, she assumed the men had taken her at her word and moved off. She had work to do, Tess reminded herself, and in the shadows of the dark canvas tent, she concentrated on producing the best image she could.

Minutes later, the photograph laid out on cloth and pinned into place so it could dry next to the others she had taken, Tess backed out of the tent. Before she left the party, she would have to brush a coat of varnish over the images to fix and protect them from the dust and moisture, but that could wait until all the images were dry.

“Ah, there she is, our lady daguerreotypist,” Sam announced as she emerged.

Tess blinked, her eyes momentarily blinded by the brilliant sunlight after the semi-darkness of the tent. As her eyes adjusted to the afternoon light, her jaw fell open.

“Oh—it’s you!” she said, before she could think.

Chapter Two

He watched with great interest as Tess Hennessy’s lovely oval face went pale, then flamed as she realized what she had said.

“I—I mean, I didn’t think y’all were going to wait right here!” One hand self-consciously flew to smooth her hair, which was coming down after brushing the overhead canvas too many times. Her gaze fled to Samuel Taylor, standing next to him.

Taylor stepped forward. “Tess, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, Sandoval Parrish. That is to say, he’s not old, but our friendship is. Sandoval, Miss Teresa Hennessy, youngest child of Patrick Hennessy, my good friend who owns the land next to ours. I’m her godfather.”

Parrish saw Tess blink as she heard his name. Sandoval, she would be thinking, a Spanish name, yet his last name sounds Anglo.

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Hennessy,” he said, and remembering that Anglo women thought hand kissing too forward, offered his hand instead. “My given name is from my Mexican mother. My surname, as well as my height, is from my father, who was an Anglo.”

She colored again as if embarrassed that he had guessed her thoughts. “I see, Mr. Parrish. But you haven’t taken your mother’s name, too, as I understand most Mexicans do?”

He smiled, pleased that she knew of the custom. “Yes, my full name is Sandoval Parrish y Morelos, but it’s much too big a mouthful, at least on this side of the border.”

“And on which side of the border do you live, Mr. Parrish?” she asked.

Parrish cleared his throat. “I have ranch property on both sides of the river, Miss Hennessy, inherited from each side of the family.”

He watched her eyes narrow at his noncommittal answer. She probably thought he was one of the many Tejanos, Texans of Mexican heritage, whose larger allegiance lay with Mexico. When it came to the test, Anglo Texans didn’t trust them.

Ah well, it was a pity she seemed to feel that way, but maybe it was better. He hadn’t known he would find the lady photographer so interesting, but if she didn’t share the feeling, he could carry out his plan without distraction.

His suspicion was confirmed when she took a step back and said, “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Parrish, but perhaps I’d better get back to my job. There were several other guests who wanted their photographs taken before I leave today.”

Now Taylor took a quick step forward. “Now, Tess, I didn’t mean for this barbecue to be all work and no play for you! The party ain’t half over, so there’s plenty of time for you to get to know Sandoval a little better. Why not let him get you some lemonade and y’all go sit down in the shade and get acquainted?”

“I…I really should do what you hired me to do before I stop to enjoy myself, Uncle Samuel,” Tess protested, “or I can’t take the fee we agreed upon.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of her skirt and brandished it at her uncle, almost as if it were a weapon. “There are still several names on my list….”

“Actually, I was interested in having a photograph taken myself, Miss Hennessy,” Sandoval said suddenly, “if you think you would have time today. If not, I could perhaps make time to come to the shop Sam tells me you have in town,” he offered. “It would be a present to my mother, whose birthday is coming soon.”

She hesitated.

“Who’s next on that list?” Sam demanded, grabbing the paper away from her with the boldness only an old family friend could get away with. “Ah, Sissy Dawson. Why, she’s much too busy flirtin’ with Fred Yancy’s youngest pup to be bothered sittin’ still right now,” he said, jerking his head in the aforementioned Sissy’s direction. Just as he had said, Sissy was giggling and fluttering her eyelashes at a young man who looked utterly captivated by her antics. “Why don’t you take Sandoval’s picture right now?”

Her eyes darted to Sandoval, then back to her godfather. There was no way she could politely refuse. “I…I suppose I could do that,” she said at last. “Very well, Mr. Parrish, please make yourself comfortable on that chair and I’ll just prepare another collodion plate…”

“Tess, Lula Marie’s motionin’ for me to come over and meet somebody,” Taylor said, “so I’ll just leave you two together. Make Sandoval look handsome, mind—his mama thinks he is, and nothing I could tell her will convince her otherwise,” he added with a chuckle, giving them a last wave as he strode away.

Tess started after his departing figure with obvious dismay.

“Relax, Miss Hennessy, I do not bite,” Sandoval assured her, amused.

She stared at him, her lapis lazuli-blue eyes widening. “I never thought that you did,” she began, but he interrupted her before she could deny it further.

“I will cooperate fully, better than any of your other subjects today, so you will be rid of me in half the time.”

He enjoyed the flash of amusement that curved her lips upward. He liked the way her lower lip was fuller than the other, and the way she was biting it just now with straight white teeth as if to hold back a laugh. He wanted to make her laugh some more.

“Well, you’d hardly have to do much to behave better than those Dupree girls, Mr. Parrish. They were fidgety before, but once they spotted you, they became impossible.”

Was it a test to see if he enjoyed the admiring glances of women? He’d seen the silly chits eyeing him, but they held no appeal. It had been this woman he’d come to meet.

“Ah, well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there, Miss Hennessy?” he said lightly.

She met his gaze as if she weren’t quite sure how to take his remark. “Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Parrish,” she said, gesturing toward one of the two ornately carved chairs she had been using all afternoon for her subjects.

“We have been introduced, Miss Hennessy. You may call me Sandoval.”

Tess Hennessy did nothing to indicate she had heard him, merely moved the second chair away from the one in which he sat, and ignored his murmur that he could have done that for her. “I’ll just be a few moments preparing the plate,” she said, disappearing once more under the canvas hood.

“So you are called Tess, not Teresa, Miss Hennessy?” he asked, trying to keep her talking while all he could see of her, from his vantage point in the chair, was her navy-blue skirt. “It suits you.”

“By my family. Uncle Samuel is my godfather, so he has that privilege, too.” As you do not on such short acquaintance, he knew she meant. Her voice was muffled by the heavy fabric, but he didn’t miss the starch in it. Sandoval smiled inwardly at her attempt to put him in his place. Tess Hennessy had the tart tongue to go with the fiery hair that the knot at the nape of her neck barely restrained anymore. He settled into a pose, staring back at the camera with a half smile. He let her direct him in how to hold his head, where to put his hands. When she announced that she was finished, he stood and told her he would pick up the finished product in three days at her shop.

“But…perhaps you didn’t understand. I can have it done by the end of the day for you, Mr. Parrish,” she said, taking a step after him. “It will come complete with a matte and protective folder.”

“Ah, but your grandfather tells me one can also purchase frames at your shop, custom-made for the picture by your assistant. I would like a frame suitable for the picture, a gilt frame, if that is possible?”

“Of course, we can make such a frame for it,” she said. “You said you will pick it up on Tuesday?”

Sandoval nodded. Had he imagined the slight heightening of color in her cheeks when she realized she would see him again? “Would late morning be convenient?”

“I’ll expect you then, Mr. Parrish.” Her voice was brisk, businesslike. A prelude to goodbye. She stared down at the notebook she’d taken out to note the appointment.

He wanted more than that from her, despite his realization that mutual interest might complicate things. “If you like,” he went on, “I’d be honored to take you to lunch at the hotel across from your shop. I’m told they have good food.” He said it to gauge her reaction to him. Both of them would be many miles from Chapin by then, if all went according to his plan.

Her chin jerked up again. “I…I don’t know…I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

“Very well, Miss Hennessy. Until Tuesday, then.” He felt her eyes upon him as he strode away.

“Aren’t you done yet, Tess?” Amelia Hennessy shouted through the heavy canvas of the developing tent. The sudden sound caused Tess to straighten quickly and bang her head on the support post, exacerbating the pounding headache she already had. She didn’t know why her mother thought she had to shout, as if the canvas were a six-foot-thick adobe wall.

“No, not quite, Mama, why?” Tess replied, purposefully vague, though she was brushing varnish on the last picture. If she left at the same time as her parents, her mother would insist on critiquing the party with her—who had worn what, who had been flirting with whom, the quality and quantity of the food, and so forth—which would require Tess to drive her vehicle abreast of the victoria. After spending most of a day with social chatter droning into her ears, Tess was looking forward to being alone with her thoughts. She already knew what—or rather whom—she was going to think about.

“It’s late. Your father and I are ready to leave.”

Under the canvas, Tess pushed an errant lock of hair off her damp forehead, feeling wilted and sticky. She resolved never again to accept any commissions that involved outdoor photography in the heat of a south Texas summer. It was no longer necessary to protect the photographs from the light, but remaining under the hood allowed her to protect the drying photographs from dust and insects.

“You go ahead, then,” she said, praying her mother would do so without further questions. “I’ll drive back when I’m finished. I won’t be too much longer.”

She heard Amelia loose a heavy sigh. “Very well, but be home before dark, won’t you? Have Sam escort you.”

Tess stifled the urge to remind her mother it was only a mile between the Taylors’ place and Hennessy Hall. She was not about to ask Uncle Samuel to saddle a horse and escort her as if she were six years old and afraid of the dark. Would her mother ever treat her as a grown woman? Why, her sister Bess had been married at seventeen!

Tess was the youngest child, the only one left at home. Perhaps that explained her mother’s overprotectiveness. She resolved to be more patient with her.

“You need your rest, Tess. Don’t forget, church tomorrow, and your brother and his family are coming for Sunday dinner.”

She always enjoyed going to the little church in Chapin they had always attended, and it would be good for her mother to see Robert and his family. They lived in Houston and weren’t able to visit often. Having three lively grandchildren around would distract her mother, and surely Tess could gain some breathing room.

“Well, aren’t you going to come out from beneath that thing and tell your parents goodbye?” Amelia asked, her tone reproachful.

It wasn’t as if they were going to be parted for more than an hour, but Tess deemed her last picture dry enough, so she obliged her mother by throwing the flap open and giving her mother an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

When she drew back, she found her mother staring at one of the portraits she had just finished and pinned up to dry. Sandoval Parrish’s image stared back at them, his eyes dark and probing, as if he wanted to penetrate the soul of whoever gazed at the picture. There was definitely something about the man that disturbed Tess’s peace, though she could not have said how, precisely.

Amelia’s peace had apparently been disturbed as well. “Sam Taylor introduced you to that man? He must have done it when I wasn’t looking. Why, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” her mother said indignantly, snatching the picture from where it was pinned on the drying board and whirling around.

“Mama, it’s not completely dry. Be careful!” Tess pleaded, following her and hoping she would not have to tell Parrish her mother had ruined the picture and he would have to sit for it again. She couldn’t help glancing around to see if Parrish was still around and had heard her mother, but she saw no sign of him.

Her mother, however, had spotted her husband and Taylor standing by the hitched and ready victoria, and was already sailing off in their direction, her bearing rigid with indignation, brandishing the photograph in front of her.

“Mama, please, he only sat for a picture!” Tess protested, not wanting Uncle Samuel to be the victim of one of her mother’s dramatic scenes. She knew better than to mention that her godfather had practically thrown the two of them together. She was also unwilling to admit—even to herself—that there had been more in Parrish’s eyes than the mere politeness and cooperation a subject would give a photographer.

“Sam Taylor, what were you thinking?” Amelia demanded.

“What’s wrong, Amelia?” Taylor asked, his face honestly confused. He looked to Patrick Hennessy for enlightenment, but seeing his friend looking as surprised as he was at Amelia’s outburst, turned back to her. “Did I do something to upset you, dear lady?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Amelia Hennessy snapped. “Introducing that man to our youngest daughter. Why, everyone in Hidalgo County knows he’s little more than a bandito!” her mother cried. “I could not believe my eyes when I saw him strolling around the grounds today as if he were as good as anyone else. Why on earth would you invite such a man, let alone introduce him to an innocent girl?”

Her father peered at the photograph, and when he looked up, his eyes were troubled. “So that’s who that was. Sam, I hear tell he’s rumored to be a compadre of Delgado himself.” The questioning note in his voice echoed his wife’s concern.

It was no light charge. Delgado was a notorious Mexican outlaw who raided Texas ranches along the Rio Grande, then ran back across the border with his loot—horses, jewelry, guns, sometimes even a rancher’s entire herd of cattle.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Patrick,” Sam protested. “I’ve known Sandoval Parrish since he was just a sprout, back in my days as a Ranger. You surely don’t think I’d introduce my goddaughter to a bad hombre, do you? I’d ride the river with that man anytime.”

Tess blinked in surprise. In Texas, saying a man was good enough to ride the river with was high praise. It meant he was as trustworthy as they came.

And saying it was enough, apparently, to leave her voluble mother speechless.

Seeing that, Sam pressed his advantage. “And like Tessie said, all she did was take his picture.”

Tess smiled at the nickname, one she hadn’t heard him use in years. But Amelia Hennessy was never speechless for long. Handing the picture back to her daughter, she said, “Tess is our youngest child, and I’ll thank you to ask us before you introduce her to anyone, Samuel Taylor.”

Samuel hung his head. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, Amelia, I didn’t mean t’ ruffle your feathers.”

Patrick sighed. “No harm done,” he assured his friend. “As you say, she only took his picture.”

“And a fine job she did, too,” Sam said, glancing at it. “Not only Parrish’s, but all the ones she took today. Everyone told me how pleased they were. I’m much obliged to your daughter, Amelia and Patrick. Tess, why don’t you come up to the house and we’ll settle up?”

The sun was sinking behind a distant line of mesquite when the mule pulled Tess’s wagon off the palm-lined lane onto the main road. Despite her most diligent efforts to be on her way quickly, Uncle Samuel and Aunt Lula Marie had been in a buoyant, post-party mood and were loath to let her go until Tess finally insisted she must be on her way or her mother would make her father come back to fetch her.

Tess let Ben have his head, for the mule knew the way home. It had been a very profitable day, Tess mused. With the money she’d been paid today, and the enthusiastic response she’d gotten from the guests that would surely lead to further business, she was that much closer to her goal of traveling to New York City. Portfolio of her best work in hand, she would waltz into the studio of the famed Mathew Brady himself and offer her services. He would be so impressed he’d hire her on the spot.

It was an idea that horrified her mother, who prophesied a dire end to a young lady who ventured anywhere into the Dreadful North, let alone a huge, wicked city such as New York. She would starve to death without the Protection of a Man to see that she ate only in Decent God-fearing Establishments, be accosted by rascals bent on No Good, and her traveling funds would be ripped from their place of safekeeping in the hem of her skirts.

“You have to remember that your mother lived through the War Between the States, darlin’,” her father always reminded her. “And while the Yankees never penetrated as far inland as Hidalgo County, it seemed for a while they might. Then we got word of her cousin Lucretia being murdered by bummers during Sherman’s March to the Sea. You’re her last precious chick in the nest, Tess darlin’, and she’s anxious to see you married and settled.”

“But I’m never going to marry. I want to do something more with my life.”

“Darlin’, darlin’, never say never,” her father advised. “Some nice young man may well come along and change your mind. And it’s not impossible you might meet him in New York,” he’d added, surprising her. “I came ashore there, fresh off the boat from Ireland some thirty-five years ago, and it wasn’t so bad a place. If you must go, I’ll have Robert escort you there.”

Not if, Papa—when. And when she went, she was going alone. She loved her elder brother, but he was just as overprotective as Mama and sure he knew the only right way to do anything. Besides, he had a family to look out for. It would have been fun to have another girl her age along, but once they had become young ladies, all of Tess’s school friends had become obsessed with beaux and clothing, and affected to swoon at the idea of leaving all that for some musty old photography studio up north.

One minute Tess’s wagon was rolling alone along the shadowy, mesquite-and cactus-lined road; the next, figures like ghosts had emerged from the scrub and formed themselves in lines in front of her wagon and behind it. All of them, dressed in the simple, light-colored clothing of Mexican peasants, were pointing rifles or pistols at her.

Chapter Three

“Hola, señorita,” a mustachioed fellow in the center of the road called out, smiling broadly. “Buenas noches.”

Tess began to shake—not out of fear—or at least, it wasn’t mostly fear, but rage. Less than a mile from home, she was now about to forfeit the fifty dollars for which she had labored all day to a handful of banditos. She would have given anything she had for a Winchester carbine in her lap right now.

“I don’t have anything you want,” she said, hoping she could bluff it out. “Just a camera and a wagon full of chemicals for developing photographs.”

The mustachioed man translated her words to the others. Laughter rang out as Tess fumed. She hadn’t been put here to amuse them! One evil-eyed man, standing on Mustachio’s left, sniggered.

“You don’t have anything we want? Ah, señorita, I am not so sure about that,” he countered with an insolent grin that flashed white teeth against his brown skin.

Tess tried to stare him down with her haughtiest look, but failed. Rage was fast transforming itself into pure, unalloyed fear as she realized they could do anything they wanted with her—anything.

With a pang, she made the decision to surrender the fifty dollars and hope they would be content with that. The idea hurt her, but not as much as it would have to give them the camera and supplies. She switched to Spanish. She’d learned it early in a household run by Mexican servants. “All right, I will give you my money, if you’re so desperate, but you must leave me my camera and the wagon. It’s how I make my living.”

The man smiled at her fluent Spanish, but his reply was not conciliatory. “Señorita, do you take me for a fool?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she said, setting her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t betray her by chattering. “You’re not…are you saying you want the mule, too?” Ben had been at Hennessy Hall since Uncle James had died, and she hated the thought of handing him over to these outlaws. God, please send someone along this road. Anyone. These men would flee if I wasn’t alone.

You’re not alone. I am with you.

The bandito just smiled at her. “Señorita, it is good news that you have money—it is added luck for us. But it is not your camera, Señorita Hennessy, that we came for.”

“How do you know my name?” Startled by that, the rest of what he said didn’t register at first.

“The lady photographer? Señorita, you are famous along the Rio Grande.”

She was getting very tired of his grin. “But I told you, I make my living with that camera. You can’t take it!”

“Oh, but we can, señorita,” he said, almost apologetically. “We are, after all, ladrones—thieves. It’s how we make our living.”

Now, because he was toying with her, she was angry again. “Are you thinking to sell it? Don’t bother—I very much doubt anyone between here and Mexico City would know how to use it!”

Señor Mustachio tsk-tsked at her. “Señorita, it is clear you have no high opinion of Mexicans.” He shrugged. “What you say is true—we would not know how to use it. But el jefe has a fancy to have his picture made, as well as a picture history of his exploits, you see.”

Nothing he was saying made sense, but she was willing to engage him in conversation as long as she could on the chance that someone might happen along to rescue her. “El jefe?” she echoed. “Who’s that?”

“Our leader, señorita. Perhaps you have heard of him? His name is Delgado.”

Delgado, the notorious outlaw her parents and others at the party had been talking about only this afternoon.

“But if none of you knows how to operate a camera,” she said desperately, “or even if you did, how to develop the pictures…”

He beamed as if she had suddenly grasped the secret of their plan. “Then, obviously, you will have to come with us to take the pictures, Señorita Hennessy.”

“C-come with you? Me? You’re loco! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Mustachio laughed and said something in rapid-fire Spanish to his fellows. Despite the fury that sent the pulse throbbing in her ears, Tess thought she heard the word pelirroja, the same word she’d heard one of the Hennessy housemaids call her. Redhead.

As one man, they aimed their weapons at her again.

“You see, you have no choice, señorita,” he said. “But do not worry. If you come with us, you will not be harmed. When Delgado has his pictures, you will be free to return to your home.”

Tess had had enough of his carefree banter. “Well, that’s just dandy!” she cried. “If you think for one cotton-picking moment I’m going to tamely disappear and frighten my mother to death, you’d better think again.”

They were beginning to advance, guns still trained on her. Frantically she looked backward, then ahead, but there was no one on the road but herself and the bandits. With nothing else to do, she opened her mouth and screamed. Please, God, let someone hear me!

She had not guessed any of the bandits could move so fast, but in what seemed like the blink of an eye Tess had been yanked off the seat of her wagon by the evil-eyed man who had laughed at her. He stank of stale onions, garlic and sweat.

Tess went wild, screaming and kicking. She knew that one of her kicks must have connected with something tender when she heard the man grunt and loose his hold on her.

“Bruja!”

In that instant she broke free and, crazy with hope, began to run.

Tess had only covered a few yards when she was tackled by one of the bandits, knocking the wind out of her. Her cheek stung from sliding against a rough rock and her mouth was gritty with dust, but before she could gather enough air to scream again, Tess found herself gagged and bound at her wrists and ankles. In mere moments she was lifted into the bed of the wagon and laid out in the center, surrounded by her bottles of chemicals. She felt the wagon lurch forward and realized they were moving off the road and into the brush.

Where were they taking her? Would she ever see home again? If only she had listened to her mother and gone home when they had, or had Uncle Samuel ride along with her! Or were they so determined to capture the “lady photographer” that the presence of others would have been no deterrent, and might have resulted in her parents’ murders? Now, bowling along over the rocky scrubland as night fell, covered by the heavy canvas, no one would see her being taken away from everyone and everything she knew. Her stomach churned with nausea and fear.

Tess began to sob, soundlessly because of the gag, but soon her inability to clear her nostrils made breathing too difficult to continue crying. Then she could only lie there, feel the lurching and jerking as the wheels rolled over the uneven ground, and watch the last hints of light disappear from the tiny chinks in the sideboards of the wagon bed. At last, exhausted by terror, she slept.

Tess woke because of a sudden absence of the rocking, swaying movement that had haunted her dreams. Were they stopping temporarily, or had they reached Delgado’s hideout?

Before she could listen for clues to the answer, the canvas under which she lay was shoved back off the wagon bed, blinding her with a sudden blast of sunlight. With her wrists and ankles still tied, Tess could only clench her eyes tightly shut.

“Idiotas! Necios!”

The man went on yelling in Spanish so rapidly that Tess could only comprehend that someone was being berated. She assumed it must be Delgado. After all, he would not want his henchmen to manhandle the lady who was about to make him immortal. Now she kept her eyes closed because she was afraid to have her worst fears confirmed. The voice barked out another spate of words, clearly a command, and she felt the bonds at her wrists and ankles being severed.

Tess knew she could not shut out the reality of her situation forever. As soon as she could shade her eyes with one hand against the brilliant sunlight, she raised herself on one elbow and peered at the speaker.

And saw with astonishment that it was not Delgado or any other stranger, but Sandoval Parrish who stood looking at her over the side of the wagon.

“You!” Before she could put together a rational, prudent thought, she had struggled up onto her feet and launched herself at him, fingers curved into claws.

He caught her easily before she could do any damage, and holding her wrists gently, but with an underlying steely strength, kept them pinioned against the side of the wagon. His body was next to hers, rather than directly in front of her, so that even if she were foolish enough to bring up one of her knees, she couldn’t hurt him.

“Calm yourself, Tess Hennessy,” he said, in the same soothing, low voice one would use to soothe a fractious horse. “No harm is going to come to you.”

“No harm?” Tess cried. “I’ve been kidnapped and transported to who knows where, and my family has no idea what has happened to me, and you call that no harm? Sandoval Parrish, you are every bit the scoundrel my mother said you were!” There were no words for the depth of her hurt and disillusionment with him. To discover he was the one who had orchestrated her kidnapping, when she had already been imagining him coming to her rescue. “How dare you do this to me? I demand that you escort me and my possessions safely home immediately!”

He gazed down at her, his dark eyes serious, but there was an amused little curve at the corners of his mouth that betrayed the fact that he was struggling mightily not to laugh at her.

“Tess, Tess, you are in no position to demand anything,” he told her, and now there was no merriment playing about his lips at all. “As you have guessed, you are many, many miles away from your home, and only I stand between you and a camp full of very rough hombres indeed.”

She looked beyond him and saw that what he was saying was too awfully true. There must have been a score, at least, of swarthy men in ragged clothing watching this interplay between Parrish and her, and each man looked more dangerous than the one next to him.

“How very comforting,” she fairly spat at him. “And my name, as I told you before, is Miss Hennessy.”

“Miss Hennessy, then,” he said in that musical, accented voice that seemed to caress her senses. “I would set your mind at ease about your parents. They have been left word that you are safe and will be returned unharmed.”

“Unharmed if they raise a ransom, you mean? What sum are you demanding for me? Your men have already taken possession of the fifty dollars I earned from my godfather.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “If money was taken from you, it will be returned,” he promised, then called sharply over his shoulder, “Esteban?”

The man Tess had mentally named Mustachio stepped forward. “Sí, Sandoval?”

“Give the lady back her money. I told you nothing was to be taken from her, and you have disobeyed. Just as you did by transporting her in such a position of discomfort.”

Esteban smiled sheepishly at her and held out a small, cloth drawstring bag which clinked as Parrish took it from him.

“And there is no question of ransom, Te—Miss Hennessy,” Parrish went on. “You will be staying among us for a time to take pictures of Diego Delgado and his men, and possibly some pictures of our adventures—though I understand the limitations of the camera make it impossible to portray us in the midst of action.”

“No, I would have to pose you amid your stolen booty, afterwards,” she hissed at him.

He shrugged, as if her intended insult did not touch him. “Once Delgado is satisfied that he has pictures enough to record his adventures for posterity, you will be escorted safely home.”

All she could do was stare at him, her brain reeling at the implications of what he had said.

“I’ll find a way to escape,” she whispered at least, hating the shakiness of her voice. “If not with my camera, then without it. I won’t stay here in a camp of outlaws, with only your promise to protect me.”

He lowered his head so that his lips were mere inches from hers. “I would not advise that, Miss Hennessy. You are across the Rio Grande, in territory foreign to you, and you’re clearly a gringa. Not only Delgado’s men roam this land, but other bandoleros much less civilized than these, not to mention Apaches and Comancheros. As I have said, I will protect you from all harm. I make this promise before God, and I consider it a sacred promise. And one other thing you have said is wrong, Miss Hennessy.”

“Oh, and what is that?” she asked.

“That God does not know where you are. He does know, Miss Hennessy—Tess. And if the promise of my protection does not comfort you, the promise that He always knows where you are, and will keep you safe, should give you all the assurance you need.”

Chapter Four

He could tell by her sudden stillness that his words had made Tess think. She looked down, blinking. When she lifted her face again, her expression was calmer, though her blue eyes still flashed with defiance.

She’s afraid, he realized. What woman wouldn’t be, in these circumstances? But she doesn’t want to show it. Most women would have swooned by now, or succumbed to a bout of hysterics. His admiration for her spirit grew.

“You’re right, He does know where I am. And if you believe in God, how can you take part in something like this?” She made a sweeping gesture as if to include everything—her kidnapping, the camp and all of Delgado’s men.

He allowed his face to show polite regret and shrugged. “A man must earn his bread in the best way he is able.”

“Having ranches on both sides of the river wasn’t enough for you?”

Inwardly he winced at her scornful tone, much preferring the spark of interest he had seen in her eyes at the barbecue. He wished he could take her into his confidence, tell her she had no reason to fear him, that he was on the side of justice, but it was too dangerous. There were too many eyes on them right now.

“Ah, where is the zest in that? There is no excitement,” he said, knowing his words would make her more furious still, but that she would control herself because she knew she must.

“So being a bandolero is a sport for you?” Tess exclaimed, but didn’t wait for an answer before asking another outraged question. “You never did intend to come and pick up your framed picture at my shop on Tuesday, did you?” she asked then. “That was just a ruse. And you probably don’t even have a mother, do you? Much less one having a birthday soon.”

“On the contrary, Miss Hennessy, my mother is very much alive, living on my ranch north of Chapin, and will be very pleased with the picture you have taken of me, frame or no frame. You do have it with you, don’t you?”

She nodded sullenly, pointing into the wagon.

“And if you had not driven home by yourself, then yes, the appointment on Tuesday would have been necessary—although a kidnapping raid in broad daylight in a town, involving seizing you, packing up your wagon and hitching up your mule, would have been much more risky, not to mention difficult.”

Again, she appeared to consider his words, and it was a long moment before she spoke again.

“Do you think that my parents will just tamely wait for me to return?” she asked. “You don’t know my father. He’ll have the Texas Rangers after you—maybe even the army!”

He couldn’t help grinning at the irony of what she was saying, and knew she would take it as insolence.

Which she did. “You think I’m joking? Mister, you just took hold of a tiger’s tail!” she cried.

“Miss Hennessy, don’t you think if the Rinches—the Rangers—or the army were capable of catching us, they would have long ago?”

He thought she would have another retort for him, but just then he saw her look behind him, and heard footsteps approaching.

“Ah, our guest has arrived at last, eh?” Delgado remarked in Spanish.

“Sí, jefe,” Sandoval said, turning to face the outlaw leader, and switched to English, which Delgado understood as well. “Miss Teresa Hennessy, may I present Diego Delgado, leader of our band, and the reason you are here.”

He saw Tess’s eyes widen as she beheld Delgado, who had dressed for the occasion in the spotless uniform of a Mexican coronel, which had been cleverly laundered of its bloodstains and mended by Delores, Esteban’s old mother, to hide the bullet holes that had caused the uniform’s sudden availability.

Delgado swept her a bow as courtly as any European count could have made.

“Señorita Hennessy, I am delighted you were able to join us, especially on such…shall we say ‘short notice’?” His English was as flawless as Sandoval’s, though more heavily accented.

“Mr. Delgado,” she replied, “the pleasure is all yours. I am here very much against my will.”

He stared at Tess for a moment as if he was not sure he had heard her correctly, and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “‘The pleasure is all yours,’ she says!” he exclaimed, slapping his side gleefully. “Sandoval, you said she was a feisty one and you were correct, amigo! Ay, caramba, I like her!”

Delgado’s eyes gleamed as, coming toward her, he looked her up and down, as if she were an untamed mare that needed breaking, and suddenly Sandoval had to fight the urge to clench his fists. “Jefe, I have promised her she need not be afraid, for she will be safe among us,” he said quickly, hoping Delgado would get the hint.

It seemed he did, for Delgado took a step back. “Señorita, you will be as safe here as in the midst of a church,” he said, sweeping her another bow. “I, Delgado, have sworn it.” He turned and repeated his words in Spanish for the benefit of his men. “Any man who touches this lady will answer to me, and will pay with his life, you understand, amigos?”

There was a resounding chorus of agreement.

Delgado turned back to Tess. “You see, they agree. You will be as their hermana, their sister.” He made a gesture with his hand to indicate that he considered this problem solved. “And so you are here to take my picture, Señorita Hennessy? Why don’t we start now, eh? Do I not appear magnificent in uniform?”

Now 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. The lower neckline of the blouse revealed the small, gold cross necklace which she always wore, reminding Tess that just as Parrish had said, God was with her, even here in this outlaw camp.

Next she dropped the skirt over her head. It also fastened with a drawstring. Alma must have been a few inches shorter than she was, for the skirt revealed her ankles, but she supposed if she kept her boots and stockings on, it would be all right.

She lifted the curtain again and gazed around the camp, seeing a few men caring for the horses, but there was no sign of Sandoval or Delgado. She wondered what Sandoval was doing.

Her brain ached with fatigue, her eyes felt heavy. The pallet looked so inviting. She hadn’t slept soundly as the wagon had rolled over the uneven ground, and she was still tired. It wouldn’t hurt to lie down until someone fetched her….

Chapter Five

“Is Francisco here?” Patrick Hennessy tried to sound calm, but he couldn’t keep the anxiety from his voice. He exchanged a look with Sam Taylor, who had come with him. Sam looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night, either.

“Sí, señor, I will call him,” Francisco’s father said, but before he could do so, the boy appeared at the door of their small house. He must have heard the approaching horses.

“Hola, Señor Hennessy, Señor Taylor,” he said, smiling upward and raising a hand in greeting.

“Good morning to you, Francisco,” Patrick said, but did not return his smile. “Francisco, Tess is missing,” he said. “She never came home from Mr. Taylor’s barbecue last night. The housemaid found a note in her room, saying she was all right, but it wasn’t in her handwriting. Her mother is frantic, as you can imagine.”

Francisco blinked and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Have you seen her?” Patrick asked.

“No, señor. What could have happened to her?”

Patrick could see his surprise at the news was genuine. The boy looked as worried as he felt. He had reason to be grateful to her. After all, Tess was his friend as well as his employer. She’d taught him an unusual skill, developing photographs and mounting them, passing on a gift her uncle had given to her.

“We don’t know,” Patrick Hennessy said, wiping a weary hand over his face. “We’re just checking to see if she might have stopped here, or told you she was going anywhere. She…she didn’t say anything about going to New York, did she?” His heart told him his daughter wouldn’t sneak off like that, without even saying goodbye, but he had to ask.

The boy shook his head vehemently. “She wouldn’t have gone to New York, señor, this I know. She told me she wasn’t ready for that. She said she had to have something….” He clearly struggled for the English word. “A…a collection of pictures, do you know what I mean?”

“A portfolio?” Samuel Taylor asked.

Francisco seized upon the word. “Sí, sí, a portfolio. To show Señor Brady, the great master of photographers. She said she didn’t have enough good pictures yet.”

Patrick’s gaze sought Sam’s again as he considered the boy’s words. He felt waves of apprehension dancing down his spine.

Patrick saw the boy move a step closer to his father, as if he feared the two men wouldn’t believe him, and managed, through his worry, to also feel regret that he had caused the boy to be afraid. The Hennessys and the Taylors and most of their Anglo neighbors had always lived in harmony with the Tejanos among them, but prejudice and bigotry were not unknown among the Anglos.

“You…you haven’t heard of anything unusual happening, have you, Francisco? Señor Luna?” Patrick persisted, including Francisco’s father in his question.

“Anything happening, señor? What do you mean?”

“Anything like raiding,” Taylor answered for Hennessy, his voice stern, uncompromising, like that of the Ranger captain he had been in his younger days.

“Señores, one of my neighbors tells me Delgado’s men were seen last night, riding along the main road about sundown. This man, he did not challenge them, but hid so they would not see him.”

The very thing Patrick had feared. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “Not Delgado! How am I going to tell her mother Delgado took her?”

Sam still looked as worried as he, but he spoke quickly. “I never heard tell of any bandit troubling to leave the family a note, and in English, at that. I don’t reckon Delgado knows how to write Spanish, let alone English. No, there’s got t’ be more to this disappearance than that, but I’ll be cussed if I know what.”

“We’ve got to go see the Rangers,” Patrick said. “They have to go after her!”

“Miss Hennessy?” Sandoval called, standing outside the blanket-door, but there was no answer. “Tess, it’s Sandoval.” Still no answer, so at last he stepped inside the hut. As his eyes adjusted to the cool darkness of the main room, he saw she was not here.

Where could she have gone? Could she have been so foolish as to try to escape already? But where would she have gone? It was not as if she could climb the steep vertical wall of the canyon, or walk right past his compadres who were dicing in the shade, cleaning guns or caring for the horses.

And then, as he stood still in the semidarkness, he heard the quiet, even sound of her breathing, beyond the blanket that divided the room. Moving quietly, he crossed the room in three quick strides and pushed the curtain aside to peer into the sleeping area.

Tess was lying on her side on the pallet, fully clothed in her new, borrowed garments, and fast asleep. One arm lay under the pillow, the other cradled her cheek. Her knees were flexed beneath the faded skirt so that only the tips of her toes stuck out. Her features were relaxed in slumber, the fear and anger that had marched across them earlier entirely absent. She looked so innocent….

As innocent as Pilar had looked before Delgado had ridden into Montemorelos, luring her into leaving with him. As I live and breathe, Tess Hennessy, this will not happen to you, he swore silently. He would not fail her as he had failed Pilar.

A wave of longing passed over Sandoval as he continued to look at her. He wanted to drink in the sight of her sleeping until she woke up, even if it took hours, but he knew he couldn’t. Even if Delgado wouldn’t become impatient and come looking for him, he didn’t want to frighten her if she woke and found him staring down at her.

Sandoval stepped carefully and soundlessly backward, letting the blanket fall back into place across the doorway. He called again, louder this time: “Miss Hennessy? Tess? It’s time to wake up. It’s Parrish, and I’ve come to take you to Delgado. He’s ready to have his picture made.”

He heard her utter a quick, involuntary cry of alarm and the pallet rustled. Sandoval imagined her pushing herself up into a sitting position and stretching, perhaps trying to remember where she was.

“I…I guess I fell asleep,” he heard her murmur. “Wh-what time is it?”

Sandoval smiled to himself. There were no clocks in the canyon hideout. The banditos rose with the sun and, when not going raiding, ate and slept when they wanted.

“Late afternoon, Miss Hennessy. You slept through lunch. But no matter. I am sure you needed the rest after your journey, and Delores will be making supper before long.”

“Oh! I—I didn’t mean to sleep so long! I’ll be right out.”

He forced himself to sound casual, even disinterested. “Take your time, Miss Hennessy. Delgado merely thought you might want to take advantage of the afternoon light,” he said, stepping back outside. “With your permission, I’ll have Esteban and Manuel pull your wagon of supplies over in front of Delgado’s hut.”

She joined him three minutes later, one side of her face still faintly imprinted with the mark of the wrinkled pillowcase, and tendrils of escaping hair curling around her face. “Your new garments become you,” Sandoval told her. It was the truth. Her dark-blue skirt and long-sleeved blouse had masked the delicacy of her bones and her womanly form. Her neck was long and elegant, rising above the gleaming, golden cross necklace he spotted just above the drawstring. She was more beautiful in these simple garments than most women would be in satin and lace.

He swallowed with difficulty, trying to look away. “I hope they are comfortable?”

She nodded, gazing down at them. “I daresay they’re more practical than what I wore here.”

“One might almost think you a señorita in a Mexican village, were it not for this,” he said, reaching out and touching the thick plait that ran halfway down her back. “It’s an unusual color for a mexicana.” He saw her blush then, and let go of her hair. What had he been thinking, to take such a liberty?

Then she looked very directly at him and asked, “Who’s Alma?”

The question surprised him so much that he replied in the same straightforward way. “Delgado’s former mistress. Why?”

She blinked at the information, but went determinedly on. “These are her clothes. I was wondering if she minds my borrowing them. Is she here somewhere?” She peered beyond the little creek as if she expected the woman to be standing just beyond it, glaring at her.

“She is no longer with us, Miss Hennessy,” he told her.

Tess gasped. “He killed her? Why?”

He could have kicked himself for phrasing the information that way as he saw the color drain from her face and her eyes widen. “No! I meant that she and Delgado are no longer together,” he said quickly. “The last I heard she was living in a village somewhere in the state of Zacatecas.”

“What…what was she like?” Tess asked. “Was she beautiful? Why did she leave?” Her blue eyes, alight with curiosity, made her face even more appealing.

“Very beautiful. But very temperamental. She didn’t leave willingly. Delgado got tired of her jealousy and her scenes, and left her there with a promise to visit her often. He’s never gone back.”

Tess looked thoughtful, and perhaps would have asked more, but at that moment Delgado stepped out of his adobe, once more dressed in his fancy Mexican colonel’s uniform, complete with ornamental rapier at his side.

“Ah, there you are!” he called, catching sight of them. “Come, come, Señorita Hennessy. I know you will not want to lose the light.”

It was many hours till sundown, but once Delgado was ready to do something, there was no gainsaying him, and they walked toward his hut, just as Esteban and Manuel arrived to move the wagon.

“You have had a little siesta, yes?” he said to Tess, as the two men muscled the cart over beside them. “I hope you feel rested.”

She nodded.

“And you find your quarters cómodo—comfortable? You have everything you need?” His eyes raked over her, and Sandoval saw him taking in her different appearance now that she had changed from her Anglo garments. If he had any thoughts about her wearing his discarded mistress’s left-behind clothing, it didn’t show in his opaque gaze.

“Yes, it’s fine. I—I don’t need anything.” She darted a glance at Sandoval, and her blue eyes flashed another story. Except my freedom.

“Bueno. We will commence then,” he said, as the two henchmen carried out an ornately carved ebony wood chair padded in red velvet. It was practically a throne.

Tess posed Delgado in the chair, much as she had posed Sandoval—had it only been yesterday?—and took his picture, then disappeared under the canvas to begin the development process. Sandoval saw Delgado fidget as he waited, sweating in the heavy uniform, for Tess to reappear.

“Is that something I could do for you, Miss Hennessy?” Sandoval called, stepping forward.

“I—I suppose it would make things quicker,” she said. “I’ll show you what to do after I take the next picture. If you came in now, the light would harm this one.”

When Tess emerged, she said, “Why don’t we pose you in a more active way this time? You could draw your sword, for example.”

Delgado beamed. “I believe you have the soul of an artist, Señorita Hennessy.” Grinning, he struck a pose, his right arm holding the sword dramatically aloft, his left hand on his hip.

As he had suggested, after Tess removed the collodion plate from this exposure, Sandoval ducked under the canvas with her. It was hard to force himself to pay attention as she showed him how to use the metal dippers to lower the plate into the developing bath, rather than to savor her nearness in the murky half light, but he didn’t want to ruin her pictures.

When she was ready to take the next exposure, she suggested, “This time, Mr. Delgado, why don’t you do like so…?” She lunged forward as if to parry with an imaginary rapier.

Delgado was clearly delighted at her idea and slid into the pose. “Señorita, you are un genio, a genius, truly! I already know I will be very pleased with your work, for the world will see Diego Delgado for the warrior he truly is.”

Tess couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm but laid a finger on her lips. “No talking now, Mr. Delgado, until we have made the exposure.”

Sandoval could hardly hide his own amusement as he ducked under the tent to develop picture after picture. If Tess was at all intimidated by her situation, she was hiding it well, and she was demonstrating a natural flair for appealing to Delgado’s vanity and sense of the dramatic. Sandoval knew Delgado saw himself not as a mere bandit leader, but something more heroic, more like Robin Hood leading his merry men, and Tess had instinctively sensed that, too.

They had taken perhaps half a dozen pictures, and Sandoval had just emerged from the tent after developing the last one, when Delgado decided he wanted to have Tess take his picture while he sat on his stallion.

Sandoval saw Tess glance skyward. “I’m afraid we are losing the light, Señor Delgado,” she said, pointing to the sun, which was beginning to make its descent behind the canyon wall. “Perhaps we could do that tomorrow?”

“Ah, but tomorrow Delgado and his men ride at dawn,” Delgado said, thumping his chest with one fist. “We will go on a raid, and there will be much booty! But perhaps that would be the ideal time for you to take my picture, eh? Both before, when I am ready to ride out on a victorious raid, and after, surrounded by fabulous plunder, sí?”

Tess nodded. “I will be ready to take the picture when you depart, Mr. Delgado.”

“Please, Señorita Hennessy, you must call me Diego,” Delgado insisted. He came forward and took her hand, kissing it. “And you must dine with me tonight in my quarters. I usually dine with my men, but tonight we must celebrate your arrival. And you will bring me the developed pictures then, all right?”

Sandoval saw Tess dart a frightened look at him, but before he could speak up, Delgado said, “Ah, you need not worry for your virtue, señorita, for I will have Sandoval dine with us. And Delores will be serving the meal, so that will be chaperones enough, sí?”

“Sí—that is, yes, I suppose that would be all right…Señor Delgado—”

Delgado wagged a finger at her playfully. “Ah-ah-ah, I am Diego to you, at least when the other men are not present,” he said.

“D-Diego, then,” she stammered. “Yes, I will have dinner with you and Mr. Parrish.”

“Bueno,” he said, and turned on his heel, then halted. “Oh, and wear your hair down, eh? It is such a lovely color—I would see the full effect of its fire.” It was a command, not a suggestion. He turned again and disappeared inside.

Sandoval felt his jaw clench and when he looked down, both hands had tightened into fists. He saw that Tess was staring at the bandit leader’s door and gnawing her lower lip.

He stepped closer so he could speak in a lowered voice. “Don’t worry, Miss Hennessy, I’ll be there the entire time,” he said.

“Until he orders you to leave,” she fretted.

He made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry. He likes to play at being the suave courtier, just as he reveled at posing as the master swordsman a few minutes ago,” he said reassuringly, but inwardly he was not so sure. He was six kinds of a fool to have gotten Tess involved in this. He ought to have foreseen that, having banished his woman weeks ago, Delgado would find Tess’s beauty tempting. He was going to have to walk a tightrope to fulfill both his promise to Pilar and to Tess.

Chapter Six

“Dinner is ready, Miss Hennessy,” Sandoval called through Tess’s door. “Delgado sent me to fetch you. Are you ready?”

She pulled the blanket door-covering aside, and he saw to his surprise Tess had not complied with Delgado’s command—instead of wearing her glorious, red hair down, it was drawn up in an elegant chignon held in place by decorative combs. Was it meant to be a subtle bit of defiance?

Good for you, he cheered inwardly, but then he saw how the hairstyle, coupled with the simple drawstring neckline of the camisa, left an enticing amount of her neck and shoulders bare for a man’s gaze. And perhaps she hadn’t noticed the subtle hints of Alma’s perfume that clung to the fabric. Sandoval smothered a groan. He was going to have his work cut out for him to protect Tess Hennessy without appearing to do so.

“The photographs are ready,” she said, pointing to where they lay, pinned to a drying board on the earthen floor. “Should I bring them?”

Sandoval shook his head. “No, let’s wait until after the meal,” he suggested. When we might need a diversion to distract Delgado from your very lovely self, he thought.

“I can always go get them for you,” he said.

“And leave me alone with him? Don’t you dare.”

He saw that beneath her bravado, she was nervous. “Very well,” he agreed. “We can send Delores for them.”

Delgado opened his door—a real door—before they even had a chance to knock. “Good evening, Miss Hennessy,” he said smoothly, beckoning them inside. “And to you, too, Sandoval, of course. But you put your hair up, señorita!”

“I’m sorry, but my hair is just so thick and heavy, and it’s so very hot. I hope you don’t mind,” she said.

“Mind? Of course not!” Delgado exclaimed, and Sandoval saw that he, too, was unable to take his eyes from her graceful neck and shoulders. “I want above all things that you should be comfortable here, Señorita Tess. And it happens that I have just the thing for you,” he added, crossing the room to a mahogany desk and opening a drawer. When he turned around, he held out an object to her—an ivory-handled fan.

“A gift for you, Señorita Tess,” Delgado murmured, watching in patent delight as she opened it and admired the hand-painted floral design revealed when she unfurled it. The breeze she created with the fan fluttered the fiery-red, curling tendrils about her forehead.

“Oh, but I could not accept such a lovely thing. I’ll just use it while I am here tonight.”

“Nonsense, I want you to have it,” the outlaw leader insisted. “Now come, dinner awaits you. I hope it will be to your liking.”

Delgado gestured toward one end of a long, rectangular table lit by long beeswax tapers flickering in a pair of silver candelabra. Three place settings of elaborately painted china, heavy silverware, and cut-glass goblets stood at the ready. A nearby sideboard was heaped with an array of savory-smelling dishes.

Delgado held a chair for Tess on his right and indicated that Sandoval was to take the seat on his left, so that Sandoval was sitting opposite her. Delores came forward and filled the cut-glass crystal goblets with claret from a crystal decanter.

“I…Would it be possible for me to have water instead, please, Mr. Delgado?” Tess asked, looking uneasily at the blood-red liquid. “I…I don’t drink spirits, you see.”

Delgado blinked. “You are…how do you say it? A teetotaler? I see,” he said when she nodded shyly. “Delores! Agua para la señorita, por favor,” he said, and the old woman came forward with another glass and a pitcher. “That is most commendable, señorita.” He turned to Sandoval. “I think we should toast our lovely guest, do you not? ¡Salud!” he said, lifting his glass, and Sandoval did likewise. “To our guest, Tess Hennessy, a long and happy life!”

Sandoval watched as a faint flush of color rose up Tess’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, leaving her eyes downcast. Sandoval suspected she had never been toasted before in her life, and marveled at the blindness of Anglo men.

“Delores has surpassed herself tonight,” Delgado announced, indicating the dishes on the sideboard. “We have chicken with mole sauce, which I warn you is rather spicy, carne asada, ensalada guacamole, as well as the usual black beans and rice.”

“All of this is for the three of us?” Tess asked, her eyes wide.

“Sí, to celebrate your arrival. Of course, my table does not look like this every night, you understand,” Delgado told her, obviously reveling in being the bountiful host. “On nights when we have come home late from a raid, I am lucky to get a bowl of warm soup, eh, Delores?”

The stolid-faced old woman nodded.

“Please, allow me to place a sampling of the dishes on your plate,” Delgado said to Tess, “and when you have decided what you like, you must have more, eh? But save room for dessert at the end,” he warned.

“Only a little, please,” Tess pleaded. “At home we do not have such a big meal at night.”

“Ah, but at home you do not sleep through lunch, do you?” Delgado asked with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. I like a woman with a hearty appetite.”

Sandoval saw Tess dart a look at Delgado that plainly said, “I don’t care what kind of woman you like,” but Delgado was concentrating on serving her and didn’t see it. Once he had placed the plate in front of her, she hesitated, and Sandoval thought she was waiting for Delgado and himself to make their selections, too. But when they had both done so, she still did not lift her fork. Surely she wasn’t refusing to eat? But then he saw her duck her head and close her eyes for a moment, and realized she was silently saying grace.

How long had it been since he had thanked God for what he put in his mouth? Pilar had always been the one to bless the family dinners.

He saw that Delgado had also noticed what she was doing. Then Tess raised her head, and both men picked up their knives and forks and pretended they had not been watching her.

“Tell me about yourself, señorita,” Delgado invited, after a moment or two. “I know little about you except that you are a lady photographer. Tell me of your family.”

Tess shrugged, unconscious that the gesture called attention to her lovely shoulders. “There’s not much to tell,” she said, and went on to tell Delgado what Sandoval already knew of her family.

“Have you ever been away from home like this?” Delgado asked.

As Sandoval listened, Diego Delgado effortlessly drew her out. She told them about being sent away to a fancy finishing school, which purported to be all that was needed for a young lady of good family to be ready to make a brilliant marriage.

Who knew that a notorious outlaw like Diego Delgado could be such a good host, Sandoval mused. He could see Tess relaxing in the midst of Delgado’s concentration on her answers and was glad for that, at least.

“But how did you develop an interest in photography?” Delgado inquired. “It is an unusual pastime for a lady, no?”

Spearing a piece of the spicy chicken and dipping it in the chocolate-based sauce, Tess told them about her uncle James, who had been a Brady photographer and had taught her all she knew, and about her goal of going to New York to work for Brady.

Sandoval pretended absorption in his beef as he fought the surprising sense of jealousy that twisted his gut. He should be the one plying Tess Hennessy with clever questions, drawing her out, not this scoundrel! She had been standoffish with him when they had met at Taylor’s, but surely with time and charm he could have won the right to court her.

And so he might have been the one, if he hadn’t decided first to use her to achieve his own goal regarding Delgado.

“Ah, you are a woman of amazing ambition,” Delgado purred, after taking a long draft of his wine. “Do you not wish for a home? A husband? Babies to dandle on your knee?”

Sandoval saw two spots of color spring to Tess’s cheeks and sparks flash from her eyes. “Jefe, I think your question may be a little too personal…” he began, but Tess found her voice before he could finish his sentence.

“I’d like to ask you a question or two, Diego,” she said, biting out the words. “Such as, how did you develop an interest in thievery? Especially thievery on such a grand scale?”

Slowly, deliberately, Delgado laid down his knife and fork in turn. The color had fled from his face. “How did I become Delgado, scourge of the Rio Grande Valley, you mean? This land is rightfully Mexican, Tess Hennessy. So I don’t really feel that I am doing anything wrong—I am merely taking back those possessions which should belong to my people.”

“But people have been killed who sought to protect their property from you and your men, Señor Delgado,” she protested.

Sandoval could see the nerve jumping in Delgado’s temple and knew the outlaw was perilously close to losing his temper at her outspokenness.

“I kill no one who does not resist us,” Delgado said.

“That is your excuse?”

Sandoval knew it was time to intervene. Delgado had been so affable a host before they got on this subject that Tess had forgotten who and what he was. Beneath the table, he very gently but firmly put his booted foot down on Tess’s foot. “I think you have said enough, Miss Hennessy,” he warned. “Do not forget you are a captive here, and dependent on Delgado’s goodwill.”

Yes, that’s it, he thought, when she transferred her indignant gaze to him. Show me your anger, not Delgado. It’s much safer.

He increased the pressure on her foot, hoping she’d take the hint and not insist on having the last word.

Her eyes were disks of ice as she stared at him, her mouth a thin, tight line, but she held her peace.

“I believe you will be pleased at the pictures Miss Hennessy took today, jefe,” Sandoval said, praying Delgado was ready to let go of the conflict, too. He turned to Delores, who’d been half dozing in a corner of the room, asking the old woman to bring the photographs from Tess’s hut.

Delores was back in a few moments, and Delgado was so thrilled with the results of Tess’s first session that he was once again beaming at her, all his wrath forgotten.

“You are a true artista, Señorita Tess,” Delgado enthused, kissing his fingers at her as if the past, tense moments had never happened. “A genius of daguerreotype, isn’t she, Sandoval?”

“Indeed she is,” Sandoval said, watching Tess warily.

“And it was masterful on your part to think of bringing her to me,” Delgado went on, slapping Sandoval on the back. “Thank you, my loyal amigo!” He turned back to Tess. “And you will be ready at dawn tomorrow to take the pictures of me on horseback, just before we ride out on our raid, sí?”

Tess nodded.

“That being the case, perhaps I should escort Miss Hennessy back to her quarters so that she can get her rest,” Sandoval said, rising.

“Oh, but we have not had our dessert,” Delgado protested. “Delores makes the best flan in Mexico, perhaps in the world!”

Tess rose also, protesting that she couldn’t eat another bite, as polite as any guest could be.

“Then go and get your beauty sleep, señorita,” Delgado said, bowing. “Sandoval, after you have seen her safe inside, summon my other lieutenants and come back. We need to plan our strategy, eh?”

Tess was silent until Delgado closed the door and she was alone with Parrish on the short path to her hut.

“I’m sure I can manage the rest of the way by myself,” she told him, her voice burning with suppressed fury. “Go summon the rest of his lieutenants as you were told.” She mimicked Delgado’s accent mockingly. “You have strategy to discuss, don’t you?”

“Woman, hold your tongue,” Sandoval snapped, taking hold of her elbow so tightly she almost squeaked at the sudden, unexpected roughness. He yanked her along and pushed her roughly inside the hut, and to her alarm, followed her inside. The interior was dimly lit by a flickering tallow candle burning in a niche in the adobe wall above a pallet like the one Tess had slept on.

“Now, just a minute,” she began, beginning to realize too late she might have pushed him too far. “I didn’t invite you in—”

Chapter Seven

His dark eyes smoldered down at her, frightening her with their intensity.

“I had to come in, since apparently you have no more sense than to mock me right outside Delgado’s quarters,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t care how you feel about me,” he told her, “but don’t you think he’d be listening at the window for what you might say? You can’t take hints, evidently, so I came inside to tell you what you need to hear.”

“Oh, and what is that, pray tell?” she retorted, with all the bravado she could muster.

“Don’t think you can be insolent with Delgado, Tess. He may act the courtier at times, but don’t forget he’s an unprincipled bandit. You’re going to have to mind that redheaded temper of yours and at least pretend to respect him and his men if you hope to get out of this situation unscathed.”

“How dare you, Sandoval Parrish?” she demanded, taking a step forward and thrusting her chin out. “I wouldn’t be in this situation, as you so charmingly put it, if it weren’t for your desire to curry favor with that same unprincipled killer!” She was too angry at him to care that they were alone in this hut, and she was very much at Sandoval Parrish’s mercy.

His head snapped back as if she had slapped him, and he paled. For several endless moments they stared at one another, breathing hard. Then Parrish walked past her and she thought he was leaving, but he only went to the door and stood there for a few moments, peering out into the darkness. Tess realized he was making sure no one was nearby.

He walked back to her. “You’re right, you wouldn’t. You have every right to think the worst of me, Tess Hennessy. And I can see why you’d think I had you kidnapped to make myself look good to Delgado—but I’m telling you that’s not exactly the case. There’s more to it than that, and it’s up to you whether you believe me or not. The best thing you can do is trust me, and mind what I tell you. I told you I wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

“But why, Sandoval? What do you hope to gain?” she demanded, self-control slipping, the tears of outrage and fear suddenly threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

His gaze became more intent then, and she realized she had unconsciously called him by his first name for the first time.

“I can’t tell you that, Tess,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. I…you may not believe this, but I’m not a bad man.”

Something about the softness of his tone and the kindness in his eyes was her undoing, and she gave in to her tears. Then suddenly he was holding her, patting her back as she wept. There was nothing disrespectful about the way he held her, but even so, Tess knew she should move out of his embrace. But it felt comforting and right, and she remained where she was until her tears stopped.

He took a step back from her then, regret that he must do so showing clearly in those dark eyes of his.

“Buenas noches, Tess,” he whispered. “Go to bed now. Delores will be along as soon as she has cleared Delgado’s table, and will sleep out here,” he said, indicating the rolled-up straw pallet. “No one will bother you.”

Dazed, Tess watched him turn and lift the blanket door, and then he was gone.

Leaving the candle lit in the wall niche for Delores, she walked into her bedroom area and saw that the lace-trimmed muslin nightgown she’d found in the trunk was laid out on the pallet for her. She changed quickly into it in the darkness, unpinned her hair, then lay down on the pallet, sure sleep would come with difficulty if it came at all.

Now that Parrish had held her—and she had allowed him to do so—she was more confused about who he was than ever before. What kind of a dangerous game was he playing with Delgado? She’d thought she knew why he’d kidnapped her, but he had said she was wrong, that she didn’t know the real reason. Could she—should she believe that he was on the right side?

Yes, her heart told her. He’d had her under his power moments ago, and could have done anything he wanted to her, then fobbed Delgado off with some excuse for why it had taken him so long to return. He had only held her—but what strength and comfort she had found in his embrace. She had felt at home there. It seemed to her he had been showing her a glimpse of his heart, showing her that despite the reasons he had for thrusting her into this dangerous situation, he cared for her. Or was that only what she wanted to believe?

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