“Come to bed. Don’t go out again.”

“I have to meet Paco.” He met her eyes, a faint smile twisting his mouth. “I won’t be out too late.”

“Will Bishop be there?”

“He damn well better be. I want some answers myself. Now go to bed, Ginny. I’ll be back in a little while.”

He grabbed her close, his hands on her shoulders hard and compelling as he held her against him, his mouth pressed close to her ear. “Trust me, Ginny. Just take a chance and trust me.”

Swallowing the questions that begged for answers, she managed a nod. “All right, Steve. I will. Just—just be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I’m like a cactus burr you can’t lose.” He kissed her, swift and hard, his mouth a burn on her lips, the pressure lingering even after the door had closed behind him.

She sighed. It was the best she could hope for after losing her resolve not to ask questions or make demands on him. She had to trust him.

But it was so hard at times, when past experiences had made her wary. Yet what choice did she have?

14

Thick smoke drifted in hazy layers from the floor to the naked, blackened beams of the ceiling. It was little more than a mud-and-cane hut on the steep, crumbling slopes of the Rio Grande, hidden behind a stand of scraggly mesquite trees that clung precariously to the top bank.

From this vantage point, Fort McIntosh was within easy sight, just across the sluggish river. Bare wooden bones of an old steamboat thrust above the waterline where it was too shallow to allow passage above Laredo, glistening in the moonlight. The hills were rocky and full of rapids too dangerous to allow river traffic to flourish this far north.

“A rather primitive place,” Bishop observed in his usual colorless voice, and sipped from his own flask of aged bourbon, preferring it to the risky fare offered by the cantina.

“No one asks questions or cares who comes here, as long as they pay for their drinks and don’t bust up the chairs and tables,” Paco commented. He was not as fastidious as Bishop, and drank from a rough wooden cup, though sparingly. “You were right about Lott, it seems.”

“And Prime. The colonel has a fine disdain for men who have new ideas.” Steve sat with his back to the wall, across from the door. It felt comfortable and familiar to be wearing his guns again; old habits died hard.

“Yes, well, Colonel Prime is not involved in this. He just happened to be useful in arranging a meeting with Uriah Lott. So what did you think of him?”