Gift of Gold

so frightened in her life. “Someone else came into the alley. I didn’t get a good look at him. He was tall. Taller than Pedro, at any rate. That’s about all I know. It was pitch black and I wasn’t in the mood to make detailed observations. I just wanted out of there. I suppose the second man was some tavern patron who apparently thought good old Pedro didn’t deserve to have me all to himself. There was a fight and in the confusion I got away. The only thing I lost was an earring.” She held up her glass of vodka in a small salute. “So you see? Luck follows the virtuous.” She took a swallow of her drink and coughed as the raw liquor hit her throat. Her father’s taste in liquor was appalling.
    “Luck follows idiocy, you mean,” Emerson corrected gloomily. He scowled at Jonas. “Think twice before you decide to have daughters, Quarrel. They’ll drive you crazy.”
    “I’ll remember that,” Jonas said quietly. He seemed preoccupied with his vodka.
    Verity caught the odd tone in his voice and wondered at it. Something wasn’t quite right but she couldn’t put her finger on it. For some reason, it gave her an uneasy sensation to realize just how little she really knew about this man. She turned back to her father.
    “Okay, Dad, let’s have it. What brings you to Sequence Springs?”
    Emerson contrived to look hurt. “Can’t a man get a paternal hankering to see his one and only child?”
    “Sure, but you could have seen me two months ago down in Mexico if seeing me had been all that important to you,” Verity pointed out carelessly. “It certainly would have been a lot more convenient for you. But the fact that you’ve come back to the States without any warning makes me wonder just what you’re up to.”
    Emerson sighed and again looked at Jonas. “That tongue of hers gets sharper every time I see her. It’s getting to the point where she can make a man bleed with a few well-chosen words. She used to be such a sweet, good-natured little girl. Now she’s turning into an old maid before my very eyes.”
    Verity’s mouth tightened ominously. “Odd that you should say that, Dad. Jonas was just making a similar observation not more than a few hours ago.”
    Jonas narrowed his eyes. “You should be grateful we’re both concerned about your future.”
    She wasn’t altogether certain he was teasing her. Deliberately she smiled at him. “Don’t worry about me. If either of you had any common sense you’d spend your time worrying about your own futures.”
    “Hah,” her father muttered. “My future will take care of itself. It always has. But if I let you continue to go your merry way, I’m not going to have any grandchildren to bless my old age and that’s a fact.”
    Verity fought back the warmth in her cheeks. Jonas was smiling faintly. It was time to press the attack. “Answer my question, Dad. To what do I owe the honor of this midnight visit?”
    Emerson swirled the vodka in his glass and looked pained. “Well, Red, to tell you the truth, I need a place to cool my heels for a while.”
    “Dammit!” Verity exploded. “I knew it. You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” Her hands tightened painfully around her glass. “Well? What is it this time?” It was all she could do to keep from hurling the glass across the room. She sensed Jonas’s brooding, watchful gaze, and the knowledge that he was witnessing her loss of control made that loss even worse. “Go on, tell me. Did you get caught with someone else’s wife? Did you try your hand at smuggling refugees out of some hole-in-the-wall country again? Get behind on your gambling debts? Or is your presence here simply the end result of some barroom brawl that you lost? Who’s looking for you?”
    Emerson cleared his throat. “You see how it is?” he complained to Jonas. “No respect. No compassion. No concern for her old man. Just demands for explanations and answers, and when she gets them she’ll probably spend half an hour chewing on me.”
    Jonas’s faint smile broadened briefly but the intent look in his eyes did not lighten. “What is the explanation, Emerson?”
    The big man shrugged. “What can I say? I owe a man a few bucks, that’s all. A debt of honor.”
    “Debt of honor, my foot,” Verity muttered. “A gambling debt is a gambling debt. No need to dress it up the way they did two hundred years ago by calling it a debt of honor.”
    Her father shook his head in woeful regret and turned back to Jonas.