Something happened in the girl’s eyes that told McBride he’d struck a nerve.
‘‘How do you know Beatriz Garcia?’’ the girl asked.
‘‘I knew her son, Alarico. He saved my life a while back.’’
Now recognition dawned in the girl’s dark eyes. ‘‘You were the gringo in the jail, the one who tried to save the shepherd boy.’’
McBride nodded. ‘‘Yes. I’m becoming pretty famous for that total failure.’’
The woman lowered her rifle. ‘‘My name is Julieta Milena Santiago. You can put your pony up in the barn, then please to come inside.’’
McBride did as he was told and returned to the cabin. The little house was plainly furnished but clean and to McBride’s joy a pot of coffee simmered on the stove. Off to one side, near a window, was an obviously store-bought cradle, an unusual purchase in the West where such things were made by a male relative or by the father himself.
Julieta was replacing the Volcanic in a gun rack, but she followed McBride’s gaze and said, ‘‘He’s asleep.’’
McBride stepped softly to the cradle and glanced inside. The baby lay on his back, his upraised hands making two tiny fists. ‘‘How old is he?’’ he asked.
‘‘Just three months. His name is Simon.’’
‘‘Congratulations,’’ McBride said. ‘‘And that’s a crackerjack name. He’s a beautiful baby.’’
For a fleeting moment, he saw a wound in Julieta’s eyes; then it was gone.
‘‘Coffee?’’ she asked.
‘‘Please.’’
McBride sat at the table and set his hat beside him as the girl brought cups. She poured coffee for them both, then asked, ‘‘What did Beatriz tell you about me?’’
‘‘Nothing really, just that you had a baby and lived near Capitan Pass.’’ McBride tried his coffee, found it good, then said, ‘‘Was this your husband’s idea, to live way out here?’’
Julieta’s voice was level, cool. ‘‘I do not have a husband.’’
‘‘Sorry,’’ McBride said, frantically searching for the right words. ‘‘I just thought—’’
‘‘No need for apology. The baby is not mine.’’
Relief flooded through McBride. He had not made a mess of things, at least not yet. ‘‘Ah, so you just take care of him.’’
‘‘Yes, I take care of him.’’ The girl’s beautiful brown eyes were level on McBride’s. ‘‘I do it for money.’’
McBride could not think up an immediate comment on that, so he just nodded, appearing, he hoped, wise.
‘‘Beatriz said I could help you, how?’’ Julieta asked.
‘‘She didn’t know. She said only that maybe you could. Beatriz and I share a common goal—to get rid of Jared Josephine and everything connected to him.’’
‘‘You mean to kill him?’’
‘‘Yes, him, his son and his town marshal.’’
‘‘Get rid of everything connected to him,’’ Julieta said, almost to herself. She blinked, then nodded in the direction of the sleeping child in the cradle. ‘‘Then you must kill the baby, Mr. McBride.’’
‘‘I don’t understand.’’
‘‘What is so difficult to understand? Simon is Jared Josephine’s son.’’
Chapter 26
McBride slammed back in his chair. He didn’t want to say ‘‘I don’t understand’’ again, but, unable to come up with anything else, he did.
Julieta was patient. ‘‘Simon is not a child of love. He is a child of rape.’’
‘‘But who—’’
‘‘His mother is Clare O’Neil, Mr. McBride.’’
‘‘I don’t—I mean, how did it happen?’’
‘‘How do such things happen? Jared saw her, wanted her and forced himself on her. It only happened once, but Clare got pregnant. The baby is the result.’’
The woman read McBride’s eyes, his struggle to come to terms with what she was telling him.
‘‘Jared had seen Clare in town. Then, about a year ago, he took a suite at Dora Ryan’s hotel and invited Clare to join him there for dinner. The day before, he sent a carriage for Clare to her father’s ranch. When she arrived at the hotel she found a room had been reserved for her and a dressmaker was in attendance with a trunk full of expensive silk gowns and jewelry. That would be enough to turn any girl’s head, especially someone like Clare, who had been raised in poverty on a two-by-twice ranch that barely broke even. On that day at least, she felt like a princess in a fairy tale.’’
McBride heard an unexpected note of sadness in Julieta’s voice as she said, ‘‘The beautiful princess went to the ball the following evening where Jared Josephine plied her with champagne and then raped her. He does nothing gently.’’
‘‘Why do you have the child?’’ McBride asked.
A raking rain rattled against the windows and thunder made its presence known to the Capitan peaks. The cabin was warm and smelled of coffee, of Julieta’s perfumed hair and the faint, vanilla odor of the sleeping baby.
‘‘Clare and I have been friends for years,’’ Julieta answered. ‘‘My brother built this cabin, planning to start a horse ranch. But he was a drunk and it never happened. Every penny he had, he spent in town. Then, one night about six months ago, he drank too much and smashed up a saloon. Thad Harlan told him to pay the damages and leave, but when Basilio refused, the marshal shot him.
‘‘Clare knew I was here alone, and when Simon was born she brought him to me and asked if I’d take care of him. She told me she didn’t want Jared Josephine to know that he’d fathered her child. Simon was conceived in lust and violence, but Clare loves him. Can you understand?’’
‘‘A baby is born with a need to be loved,’’ McBride said. ‘‘It’s hard to turn your back on that.’’
Julieta poured more coffee for them both, then took her cup and stepped to the window where she looked out at the rain.
‘‘Clare told me something else. She said that one day Simon would be rich and have all the things that Clare never had.’’
‘‘She was talking about a silver mine. Did you know about that?’’
Without turning her head, Julieta nodded. The fingers of rain running down the window reflected on her face like tears. ‘‘Yes, Clare told me about the mine. Her father discovered it around the time her baby was born. He’d been hunting antelope on his ranch and stumbled upon the mine in an arroyo. He had done a little prospecting at one time and realized the value of the silver.’’
‘‘I wonder that the old man never got his gun and went after Josephine.’’
‘‘That’s why Clare would never name the father. She knew if Hemp braced Jared Josephine he’d be killed.’’
McBride sipped his coffee and tried to put it together. Clare O’Neil had title to the mine and she wanted to keep it, not only for herself but for her son. That’s why she tried to kill me, McBride thought. That night she’d been a tigress protecting what rightfully belonged to her cub. She wasn’t about to take the risk of anyone taking the mine away from her.