He had to.
Abruptly Jack got up, tossed a few coins to the girl, and strode out. He paused in the bright morning light, stared across the street at the general store. He crossed the dusty thoroughfare slowly, not thinking now, because he didn’t want to talk himself out of it. Two matrons with a young woman hastily veered away from him. He opened the door, a bell tinkling.
A heavy Spanish woman was fingering bolts of cloth. She was the only customer. A lean white man was behind a counter, scribbling in a book. Jack closed the door behind him, and the man looked up.
He looked Jack up and down and closed his ledger. Jack strolled over.
“Yes?” the clerk said.
“I need clothes,” Jack said slowly. “I want pants, a shirt. And a new hat, maybe with a scarf. A red scarf.”
The clerk folded his arms. “You got money?”
Jack reached into his shirt and removed a money pouch. “Yes.”
The clerk smiled, reaching out. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Everyone was staring.
Candice sat very still on the seat of the buckboard. The barbecue was in full swing. Beyond where they had braked amid the other wagons and horses, a huge steer and a pig were roasting. Two long wooden tables were laid out with all kinds of dishes—tortillas and beans, candied squash and baked pumpkin, loaves of cornbread and bowls of corn pudding. It was early, midmorning, and everyone was standing about in groups. They had been talking and laughing animatedly. Until now.
The Carters had just arrived, and John-John was waiting, hand outstretched, to help Candice down. People had turned to look at her. And whisper. She had expected something, some small level of interest, but not this.
“C’mon, Sis, or are you going to sit up there all day?”
Candice bit her lip and let John-John swing her down. Her father had already drifted off to say hello to Henderson, but Luke and Mark were hanging back protectively. Candice saw Millie whispering frantically to another woman, never taking her eyes off her. Luke took her arm, giving her a smile. “It’ll be okay,” he said.
Candice lifted her chin. She was in mourning, of course, in gray silk trimmed with black lace and a pale straw bonnet tied with black ribbon. It was too hot for full black.
As they left the wagons and neared the barbecue, individuals shifted uneasily, then quickly looked away. All four ranchers from the Santa Cruz Valley had come, bringing their families. The Bastas were there, of course, as were a few of their neighbors, and Tucson’s upper crust—mostly merchants, some freighters, a lawyer, a miner, a driver for the Butterfield Overland mail, their wives and children. There were also two officers present from Fort Buchanan, some forty miles south of the Basta hacienda. Although everyone present was technically American—such citizenship having been conferred upon those who remained in Tucson after ’53—most were of Spanish descent and Mexican birth. Perhaps three or four of every ten men were American born, and the number of such women could be counted on one hand. Almost every woman of marriageable age was wed.
Candice heard someone say the name Kincaid. She realized she was clinging harder to Luke’s arm than necessary. Beyond Millie and Theresa Smith she saw Elizabeth Henderson standing with one of her old beaux, Judge Reinhart, his little daughter hovering beside them. She felt a stab of anger, even jealousy. And then, to her surprise, he came striding over.
“Candice,” Judge said, taking her hand. He was slim and dark-haired. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
Candice felt her mouth quiver. Bless Judge, who was such a gentleman. “Thank you, Judge. Thank you so much.”
He held her hand for one more beat, although it was unseemly. “Are you all right?” And she knew he wasn’t talking about Kincaid any more.
“Yes.” God—would she never escapehim?
He smiled then. She smiled back.
“Candice, Candice.”
She whirled at the sound of Tim McGraw’s voice. He was smiling, unable to keep the pleasure at seeing her off his face. She found herself smiling back, and when he took her hand and told her, a touch huskily, that he couldn’t say he was sorry, she felt a wonderful relief. Everything wasn’t as bad as she had thought. It was going to be all right.
She was just going to ignore the whispered references to a half-breed that were buzzing all around her. But it proved harder to do than she thought—especially when a few hours later, after her brother Luke had tried to raise her spirits by pulling her into a vigorous dance, Judge cornered her under a mesquite tree.
“Candice, do you want to talk about it?”
She held back her anger. “Talk about what, Judge?” She lowered her lashes in a consciously demure gesture.
“It’s all over the valley. What happened. That you were captured by a half-breed Apache.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s not true! And what else are they saying?”
