“I have an excellent seamstress,” Teresa said, “and if you have nothing suitable, she can alter one of my gowns. We are very close to the same size, I believe, though of course, I do think some of your gowns may still be in storage here. Did you not leave some here some time ago?”

Ginny smiled mechanically, but even as she replied to Teresa and Don Francisco, she was convinced that Steve’s excuse of sending her baggage ahead had all been a ruse.

“God, Steve, what are you up to?” she demanded when they were alone in their spacious room on the second floor of the main hacienda. He gave her an impatient glance.

“Christ, don’t start that again, Ginny. You know I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, I suppose I do, but you must admit that all the uncertainty is maddening. How can I relax if I think you’re entangled in one of Bishop’s dangerous intrigues?”

Frustrated, she yanked at the laces of her gown, snapping one in two. “And now look! My limited wardrobe is in danger of being entirely depleted.”

“It just gives you a good reason to buy more, my love. When we get to Mexico City, I’m sure you’ll make up for lost time. They may not have the very latest fashions, but there are seamstresses there who can create anything you like from a drawing.”

“That’s not the point, Steve. You can laugh at me if you like, but I feel these terrible premonitions, as if truly awful things will happen to you. To us. Please, tell Bishop that you’re through, that you no longer want to be the ambassador, and we can live on one of the estates and raise cattle for the rest of our lives….”

Turmoil seethed inside her, a simmering anxiety that he couldn’t assuage with anything but the assurance he wouldn’t work for Bishop anymore. But Steve had no intention of agreeing to that.

His gaze was flat and opaque, telling her nothing as he shrugged off her demands. Ginny gave up, for the moment. Why allow it to mar her time here, where she was made to feel so welcome? Still, there were times in the days that followed when she could not shake off the feeling of impending doom.

The fiesta was gay, and friends and acquaintances came from miles around to stay at the hacienda and show their respect to Don Francisco. Ginny drank too much champagne, and was able to forget everything but the music and the beauty of the night.

How wonderful it was to be in Mexico again, where she felt so free and alive! Even Steve seemed different, more relaxed without his gun belts. Don Francisco would not allow guns to be worn, of course, and Steve acquiesced to his wishes, knowing the futility of defiance. The old martinet had lost none of his authority, and made certain all knew it.