A moment of stunned silence passed.
“Nicky is his.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“So I’m quite certain he will not give my baby back…very easily.”
“No.” Jeb’s gaze didn’t waver. “He won’t.”
“I don’t even know who he is,” Elena went on, the words pouring from her now that Jeb had turned the spigot. “That—that night, he robbed us of the entire take from one of Pop’s shows. The fact that he—Ramon—came upon us today was pure chance.”
“You know nothing about him, then?”
“No.” She considered Jeb, his unexpected willingness to change his travel plans to go after the Mexican and his men. “Do you?”
“Not for sure.”
“But you have an idea?”
“A speculation.”
This time Elena waited. By the tight set of Jeb’s mouth, it was easy to see he knew more than she did.
And what he knew wasn’t good.
“His name is Ramon de la Vega,” Jeb said, pulling no punches. “He’s a follower of Emiliano Zapata. They’re revolutionaries. They intend to overturn the government of the President of Mexico.”
Her heart began a slow, thundering pound. “Oh, God.”
“They’re cold-blooded killers, Elena.”
“How do you know that?” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her first instincts screamed—prayed—he was lying to her. That he only wanted to scare her. That this whole conversation was a terrible nightmare he’d dreamed up to torture her.
But one look at his expression revealed he was dead serious.
“I’ve worked for the United States military a long time. I kept track of men like de la Vega.”
“Why would he want a baby with him? Nicky will only slow him down. He’ll—he’ll—”
Something flickered in Jeb’s features, something shadowy and distant, but it disappeared before she could define it.
“Probably intends to have the boy follow in his footsteps someday,” he said.
“What?” she gasped.
“It’s what fathers do,” he added, his tone sarcastic.
“No. I won’t allow it. I absolutely refuse—” Elena clamped her mouth shut. The idea of Nicky becoming a revolutionary like Ramon was so ludicrous it didn’t warrant discussing further.
Jeb rose, went to the fire and stirred the beans with a knife.
“Do you have a husband?” he asked. “Someone we should notify of the boy’s kidnapping?”
A husband. Elena stiffened. What man would want her? A woman with an illegitimate child, violently begotten by a man as lawless and despicable as Ramon de la Vega. A woman whose innocence had been destroyed by his lust.
“No,” she said. “Besides my father, Nicky and I have no other family.”
Except for the medicine-show troupe, and they’d find out soon enough what happened. She didn’t want to think of the worry they’d all endure when they did.
Jeb slathered a tortilla with the beans. “So it’s just you and me, then.” He rolled the thin bread and held it toward her. “Name’s Jeb Carson, in case you’re interested.”
Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
His low voice held the command she’d begun to associate with him—a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She quelled the urge to refuse and took the tortilla from him. The thin bread was warm against her hand, but she didn’t take a bite.
“So what’s yours?” he asked, spreading beans on several more. “Besides Elena?”
“Malone. Elena Malone. My father’s name is Charles.”
He nodded, as if he’d already guessed that much. “The label on the elixir claims he’s a doctor. Is he?”
Jeb sounded skeptical again. Her chin hiked up a defensive inch. “If you’re inquiring if he has a certificate stating his degree as such, then no. But he’s a doctor in the truest sense of the word, if one considers his dedication to healing people of their ills with his medicine.”
Jeb grunted, his mouth full of tortilla. Watching her coolly, he swallowed. “The elixir making him rich?”
She made a sound of exasperation. “My father’s financial affairs are none of your—”
“Just answer the question, Elena.”
She thought of the bills incurred with every performance, of how imperative it was to sell enough bottles of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound to pay them. She thought of how they lived from show to show. Hand-to-mouth. And how she’d grown to tire of it.
“No,” she said. “Not hardly. Why?”
“Might be de la Vega is thinking of ransom for the boy.” Jeb took another bite of tortilla and beans.
Oh, God. The notion had never occurred to her.
“Costs money to buy arms and food for his men,” he added. “Revolutions don’t come cheap.”
“I’ll pay any price he demands. I’ll rob a dozen banks if I have to.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m prepared to do anything to get Nicky back,” she said, just in case he needed reminding. “Are you?”
The last of the tortillas he’d made gone, Jeb reached inside his jacket, withdrew a small bottle of whiskey and took a quick swig. He held out the bottle to her. She shook her head in refusal, and he recapped it.
“I expect finding your son will be one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.” He strode toward his saddle and bags and tossed a Winchester rifle onto the ground. A gunbelt with two revolvers. An extra Colt pistol. Several knives.
The man was a virtual weapons arsenal. She had no idea he was so heavily armed.
“That’s all we have to defend ourselves with against the whole damn bunch,” Jeb said. “We have a lot of ground to cover to find them. And they’ve got half a day on us.”
Elena’s spirits sank. His perception of their ability to fight their way to Nicky was, obviously, more realistic than hers.
“But am I prepared to do anything to get him back for you?” Jeb squatted next to her. The firelight splashed over his unshaven features. Dark danger emanated from him. A ruthlessness that could stagger the fiercest of his enemies. “Yeah. Ramon de la Vega will pay the price.”
A sudden apprehension skidded down her spine. She didn’t yet know what Jeb Carson was capable of, if his words were false bravado or deadly conviction.
But, oh, how she wanted to believe him.
He had no more power to see into the future than she did. How would he know with any certainty that he could steal her son back from the Mexican rebel?
Jeb tossed a bedroll toward her, then laid a second one out on the other side of the fire. He stretched his lean length over it, then dipped into his pocket for a cigarette.
He seemed to have dismissed their conversation in favor of a leisurely