Texas Woman

Chapter 11

SLOAN HAD WONDERED ALOUD ON THE RIDE back to Dolorosa whether the fact she was now a really married woman would show on her face the first time she came eye to eye with Cruz’s mother.

Cruz had laughed and said, “Of course not!”

Sloan wasn’t so sure.

“You will be able to keep your secret for a few more days, Cebellina,” he had said with a smile. “For I must leave you when we return to Dolorosa and finish the roundup. When I return, we will both sit down with my mother and give her the happy news.”

They arrived back at Dolorosa late that afternoon. Doña Lucia welcomed Sloan and Cruz with a forbidding stare, while Tomasita cooed over blue-eyed Betsy, who was once again in Cruz’s arms, her head against his shoulder.

“I’ll take Betsy,” Sloan said as she stepped up onto the veranda. She tenderly brushed the damp bangs away from Betsy’s forehead. “I’ll put her down for a nap in Tonio’s room.”

Cruz watched Sloan turn and enter the hacienda. It was clear she had allowed the little girl to pierce the shell around her heart that she had used to keep Cisco away. He worried that when Betsy returned to her family-and surely her aunt and uncle would want her-Sloan would be forced to face yet another loss.

Sloan had laid Betsy down and covered her with a quilt when she heard a silk skirt rustling behind her. “One of my son’s vaqueros can take the girl to the mission orphanage in San Antonio in the morning.”

“She’ll be staying here until her uncle can be contacted.” In response to any objections Doña Lucia might make, Sloan added, “I’ve already spoken to Cruz. It’s all settled.”

“I see. What if her uncle does not want her?”

“Then I’ll keep her myself.”

Doña Lucia’s brows rose in speculation. “You would not keep your own son, yet you will raise the orphaned child of another? What kind of woman are you?”

Sloan bunched her fists at her sides. “That isn’t really any concern of yours, is it?”

Doña Lucia opened and shut her fan in agitation, but said nothing, simply turned and left the room.

Sloan stared after her. Cruz’s mother had prodded an old wound and found still-proud flesh. She shouldn’t have been so surprised that she could feel ashamed of the fact she had abandoned her son. It had not been one of her better decisions. But she wasn’t going to let Doña Lucia’s words keep her from taking the very best care of Betsy.

She sought Cruz out in the sala and found him riffling through papers on his rolltop desk. “Your mother is… upset… about Betsy’s presence here,” she said.

Cruz rose and took Sloan’s hands in his. “My mother is not master here. I am. Does that settle the matter?”

“Well… yes, I guess so.”

He turned back to his desk.

Sloan noticed he seemed distracted and in a hurry. When he had collected a number of papers in a leather satchel, he turned and found her still standing there.

“Was there anything else you wanted to speak with me about?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then I will say adiós. I must join the roundup. I have already been gone too long.”

“I thought you were going to teach me how to run Dolorosa,” Sloan said, realizing that once again she was being left behind. “I thought we were going to be partners, riding side by side.”

“The roundup is no place for a woman.”

“Not even for your wife?”

“Especially not for my wife.”

Sloan saw the banked desire that darkened Cruz’s blue eyes until they were the color of a stormy day. His free hand grasped hers, and his thumb caressed her callused palm.

She felt her skin heating and jerked her hand away, appalled to see how quickly she had succumbed to his mesmerizing touch. “All right, I’ll stay here… at least until I can contact Luke and see what’s going on at Three Oaks. Perhaps Rip is ready to have me come home.”

Cruz’s protest was cut off by a shriek of terror from Tonio’s bedroom. Sloan’s horrified eyes met Cruz’s before they both raced toward the room where she had left Betsy.

When they reached the doorway, they found Betsy crouched on top of the pillows at the head of the bed, whimpering. Cisco was on his knees beside her, his small hand patting her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.

“Do not cry, niña,” Cisco said.

Sloan hurried to the bed and sat down beside Cisco. “What happened?”

“I did not mean to make her cry, Mamá. I only wanted to play with her.”

Tears had begun to fill Cisco’s eyes. Sloan felt the urge to pull him into her arms and soothe his tears away, as she had done for Betsy, but she caught herself just in time. That way lay disaster.

Because she could not follow her natural inclination, her voice was more harsh than she had intended. “Never mind. I’m sure Betsy will want to play with you later. Right now, though, she’s resting. Why don’t you find Tomasita and see if she wants to play?”

Sloan had told herself that Cisco was too young to recognize her rejection for what it was. The lost, miserable look on his face made it plain she was wrong.

But he only said, “Sí, Mamá,” and ran from the room.

Sloan suddenly realized that she hadn’t thought twice about sending her son to seek out Tomasita while she stayed to comfort a child who was not even her own flesh and blood. Maybe Doña Lucia was right. Maybe there was something unnatural about her.

Sloan looked up and found Cruz watching her intently. She dropped her eyes from his. He did not have to speak for her to feel his censure. She had promised him she would treat the children equally. She was somehow going to have to get over the reserve she enforced around her son.

The child on the bed moaned. Sloan settled herself comfortably on the feather mattress, with her back leaning against the ornately carved headboard, before picking Betsy up and cradling her in her arms. She was totally absorbed in the child until she felt Cruz’s touch on her arm.

She looked up, startled, and said, “I thought you had left.”

“We never finished our discussion.”

“Our discussion?”

“Of what you will do to fill your days at Dolorosa while I am gone.”

Sloan absently rubbed her hand against Betsy’s rosy cheek.

“But I see there will be much to occupy your time,” Cruz said brusquely. “I must go, Cebellina.”

“You’re leaving right now?” Sloan didn’t like the bereft sound of her voice. She cleared her throat and said, “How soon will you be back?”

“Not for a week at least, perhaps longer. I want your promise that you will not leave Dolorosa-for any reason-until I return.”

Sloan’s lips flattened in the mulish expression Cruz had learned to recognize.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“If you are not here when I get back, I will come after you.”

Betsy whimpered at the tone of Cruz’s voice.

“You’re frightening her.”

“Be here. Adiós, Cebellina.” His hand curved around her nape as he gave her a quick, claiming kiss.

Sloan stared after him as he walked out the bedroom door, his satchel under his arm. He hadn’t even given her a chance to say good-bye.

A moment later she wondered what possible use he could have for a satchel of business papers on the roundup.

Cruz walked quickly through the house, frustrated with the series of events that had made it necessary for him to attend to affairs of state at a time when he would much rather attend to affairs at home.

He had meant what he said about including Sloan in his work at Dolorosa-even the roundup. However, that was impossible right now, because he wasn’t headed directly for the roundup. First, he had a rendezvous with the Englishman, and he had no choice except to be there.

He rode like a man possessed, certain he would never arrive in time. He pulled up his bayo as he reached the camp of Mexican bandidos under the lone oak tree. He searched the gathering for the dapper Englishman and found him by the fire. Cruz froze as he recognized the man sitting beside Sir Giles.

However incredible it seemed, Alejandro Sanchez was alive.

Cruz saw from the startled expression on Alejandro’s face that he was equally surprised to see Cruz.

Alejandro turned to Sir Giles and demanded angrily, “What is he doing here?”

“Didn’t you know? My dear man, this is the Hawk. From now on, you two will be working together.”

“I think not,” Cruz said in a cold voice. “This bastard murdered my brother.”

“I executed a traitor and a fool,” Alejandro retorted. “One in whose footsteps you follow-Hawk. Or were you also involved in Tonio’s plot? For shame, Don Cruz, letting the Rangers capture your brother. If not for that-”

“You have said enough, Alejandro,” Cruz said curtly, interrupting the bandido’s speculation. “Whatever I was… whatever I am… you will pay for taking my brother’s life.”

Sir Giles looked from one man to the other, and saw them bristling, hands fisted, ready to fight. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “I don’t give a damn what your personal differences are. I have work that has to get done.”

“Have you tasted the delights to be offered by Tonio’s puta?” Alejandro taunted Cruz.

“Shut your mouth, Alejandro, or this time I will cut out your tongue.”

“Where is she now?” Alejandro asked. “Have you tired of her so soon? I would not have thought she was much in bed myself, but Tonio bragged-”

Cruz’s hand shot out to grip Alejandro’s throat. In an instant the civilized man was gone, replaced by a ferocious beast. Alejandro was helpless in his grasp. The cold point of a sharp blade was pressed to the flesh beneath Alejandro’s jaw. “If you say another word about my wife, I will kill you.”

The two men measured one another, a mad dog and a ferocious hawk, both deadly, both capable of dealing swift and sure death.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Sir Giles stepped toward the two men, but stopped short, suddenly aware how little he could do to stop them.

Cruz regained control by reminding himself of the importance of his mission. As suddenly as the beast had come, it was gone. He released Alejandro and sheathed his knife.

There was more at stake here than seeking revenge for his brother’s death and the insults to his wife. Tonio would be avenged-when the time was right. And for all his threats, Alejandro could not reach beyond the fortressed walls of Cruz’s hacienda to harm Sloan.

“I don’t care what your personal grievance is against this man,” Sir Giles said to Cruz. He turned back to Alejandro. “What is important to me is that the two of you manage to deal with one another. Now, what is it to be?”

Alejandro shrugged. “So long as you pay me well, I will work with the devil himself.”

Sir Giles looked at Cruz and thought maybe Alejandro was going to get his wish. “And you, Hawk? What say you?”

“I am willing to put my personal feelings aside. Until my mission is finished.”

Cruz’s gaze clashed with Alejandro’s. They both knew the day would come when they would fight to the death. Until then, they would watch and wait.

Because neither man intended to be the one to die.

Two days after Cruz had left, Sloan received a letter from Cricket.

Dear Sloan,

Luke wrote and told me what happened. I can hardly believe we have a brother! But then, I’ve always known there was something special about Luke. Can you believe what a noodleheaded lumpkin we have for a father? Imagine giving everything to a son!

Luke said you had gone to Dolorosa. I would say my feelings were hurt because you didn’t come here, but I suspect you had your reasons.

Is there any truth to the romance Bay suggested might be sprouting between you and Cruz? I hope so. I saw how Cruz watched you at Jesse’s christening last year. His eyes fairly glowed!

I expect you to write me all about everything. I wish I could be there, but this muffin growing inside me (we’re probably going to end up naming the poor thing Muffin), isn’t cooperating lately.

Your worried sister,

Cricket

It took Sloan hours to compose a reply, but time was something she had a great deal of lately.

Several days after Cruz had left, Miguel returned with the rest of Cruz’s vaqueros, empty-handed from their search for the two Randolph boys.

Sloan was glad she hadn’t offered any hope to Betsy that her cousins were alive. In a few years, they would be very much Comanches in thought and deed. They were as lost to Betsy as though they had died.

Besides writing to Cricket, Sloan had spent a great deal of time sending out letters in hopes of reaching Betsy’s aunt and uncle. She had also sent a note to Luke telling him about the mysterious Englishman, and Alejandro and the Hawk. She had urged him to come visit Dolorosa again so they could talk.

The rest of her time was spent playing with Betsy, avoiding Cisco, and missing Cruz.

It was devastating to admit that she was thinking about Cruz, because it meant she cared. And if there was one thing she had been determined to do, it was to avoid caring. Loving meant becoming vulnerable to hurt. And she had already been hurt enough for one lifetime.

She didn’t understand her feelings for the proud Spaniard, but she could hardly deny they existed. The question was what she should do about them. She had married Cruz because she had owed him that much. But that didn’t mean she had to open her heart to him.

She stayed close to the hacienda for two weeks after she had sent her letter to Luke, expecting him to arrive any day. When she received neither a letter of response nor a visit from Luke, and Cruz still hadn’t returned, she decided to put an end to the waiting-and escape for a while the golden cage in which Cruz had imprisoned her.

Early the next morning, she packed a few of her belongings in her carpetbag before going in search of Tomasita. She found her still abed.

Sloan leaned over Tomasita and whispered, “Tomasita, wake up.”

Tomasita woke abruptly and sat bolt upright. Sloan had to put a hand out to keep the young woman from jumping out of bed.

“Oh, Sloan, it is you. I thought it was Mother María and that I was late for morning vespers again.”

Sloan chuckled. “You can go back to sleep in a minute. I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything.”

“I’m riding to Three Oaks today. I don’t expect I’ll be back tonight. I left Betsy sleeping in my bed. Will you keep an eye on her for me while I’m gone?”

“But of course,” Tomasita said, and then added, “Are you not afraid to go riding so far by yourself?”

Sloan shrugged. “Not especially.”

“It must be wonderful to be so brave, not to fear the Comanches or bandidos or wild animals or snakes or scorpions or-”

“If you keep that up, I may begin to wonder whether you think I’m brave or just plain crazy,” Sloan said with a grin.

“I often wished for the courage to leave the convent and go in search of… I do not know what. But I suppose courage is something one is born with. And I was not.”

“I’m sure if you had really wanted to leave the convent, you would have found a way to do it,” Sloan said. “I don’t think any of us really knows what we’re capable of doing until the need arises. Then I think we sometimes surprise ourselves.

“I have no choice about making this journey. I have to find out what’s going on at Three Oaks. Give Betsy a hug for me.”

“I will.” Tomasita’s voice was slightly accusatory as she added, “And I shall hug Cisco, too.”

Sloan turned her head so Tomasita wouldn’t see that the jibe hurt. “Of course.” She whirled on her heel and headed for the door.

“Sloan?”

Sloan paused at the sound of Tomasita’s anxious voice.

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

The ride to Three Oaks was hours long, the flat, grassy terrain becoming rolling hills studded with an occasional pin or live oak the closer she came to Three Oaks. As far as Sloan was concerned, the journey gave her far too much time to think.

When the plantation house finally came into sight, she had long since planned arguments to use on both Rip and Luke in order to reclaim her lost heritage. She stepped down off her horse and hitched the reins to the post in front of the house.

She left her carpetbag tied behind the saddle. There was no sense announcing she planned to visit for a few days before she was sure she would get the answers she wanted from Rip.

She opened the door and walked inside-to utter silence. “Hello? Is anybody home? Rip? Luke? Stephen?”

No answer.

She walked into Rip’s office to see if there was anything on his desk that might tell her where he had gone. She found the notice of Wilkerson’s regular sale of slaves, livestock, and a variety of wares in Houston, but couldn’t believe Rip would have traveled that far in his weakened condition.

In fact, she couldn’t believe he had left the house at all. He had only done so rarely since his stroke in January, unwilling to expose the weakness in his right hand and leg to his neighbors and business associates.

So where was he now? Where was everybody?

Luke was furious with Rip, furious enough to spit nails. Their relationship had deteriorated over the past few days to barely veiled animosity.

Each day since Sloan had left for the Guerrero hacienda had been harder than the one before. He had about made up his mind to have it out with Rip when the letter had come from Sloan. Then Rip had discovered a problem with the cotton gin that he had sworn he couldn’t handle alone, and what with one thing and another it had been weeks, instead of days, before Luke could get away.

He sighed with relief as he spotted the whitewashed adobe hacienda where it sat on a hill, its broad veranda overlooking the Brazos River. He would get an answer from Sloan today. Whether she planned to stay with Cruz or go home to Three Oaks, he was giving her fair warning that he would be saying his adiós to Rip and riding back to San Antonio before the month was out.

Luke rode slowly through the small village where Cruz’s vaqueros lived in a combination of mesquite jacals and adobe homes. Chickens roamed freely in the streets, and were occasionally forced to abandon some tasty morsel in indignant haste in order to stay beyond the threat of his horse’s hooves.

He passed a mercantile store that reminded him he hadn’t had a cherry stick in a long time, and a cantina with swinging doors that reminded him he hadn’t had a whiskey in a long time, either. Time enough for that later, he decided.

The last and largest building he encountered before reaching the walls that surrounded Cruz’s hacienda was an obviously abandoned mission with a high bell tower. Luke might have sought out a priest, if there had been one, to rid himself of the guilt and hate that sat upon his shoulders like a hair shirt.

But perhaps it was just as well there was no holy man here. He was not yet ready to give up his lifelong animosity for his father.

He almost didn’t see Tomasita.

She was standing by the mission, her hand running delicately over the pockmarks left by musketballs and cannon over the past years of strife. Nearby, a heavyset Mexican woman played with two children, one of whom he recognized as Cisco.

He had forgotten how beautiful Tomasita Hidalgo was… but not how far beyond his reach she was. He was a bastard, a Texas Ranger who had to feed his horse, buy his ammunition, and provide himself with room and board on thirty-seven fifty a month. Doña Lucia had made it clear he was totally unsuitable for the high-born, well-bred Spanish woman whose loveliness now caught his eye.

As he approached her, he slowed his gelding. He really shouldn’t stop. It could only cause problems. But at that moment his horse’s shoe struck a stone and she turned.

When she recognized him, a shy, fleeting smile crossed her face, before she quickly turned away again to face the crumbling wall. Her hand brushed its surface as though by doing so she could read the story it had to tell.

He pulled his chestnut to a stop behind her. “Howdy.”

Tomasita pivoted slowly, her eyes lowered so that lush black lashes lay in crescents along the milky white skin of her cheeks. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, and her voice was breathless when she responded, “Buenos días, Señor Summers.”

Luke dismounted in a single graceful movement that left him standing a foot in front of her. “Call me Luke.”

Tomasita glanced quickly at Josefa only to discover that the old woman had followed the children around the corner to the back of the mission. She was alone.

Flustered, she could only think to say, “All right… Luke.”

Her eyelids flew open when she felt the knuckles of his hand brush her face. His hand cupped her cheek, and he lifted her chin. She felt herself begin to tremble even before he spoke.

“I like the way you say my name.”

Tomasita cleared her throat but couldn’t seem to form any words. She kept her eyes lowered so all she could see was his strong, masculine forearm, covered in a light dusting of sun-bleached hair. She wanted to reach up and touch it to see how it felt. Appalled at her thoughts, her eyes flew to his face to see if he had realized what she was thinking.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Tomasita. Your skin is as soft as a wild rose petal.” He smiled and added, “And, right now, just as pink.” He lowered his hand. “Am I embarrassing you?”

She stared back at him, seeing eyes that were warm and alive with innuendo. Frightened by his intent gaze, not quite understanding what she saw in his eyes, she lowered her head again. “Yes. No. I do not know. Holy Mary…”

Luke’s gentle laugh brought her blue eyes up to meet his golden hazel ones. There was something in his eyes, something that called to her, asking her to trust him.

“I am not used to a gentleman speaking his mind so honestly,” she admitted with a tremulous smile. “I thank you for the compliment.”

“No thanks are necessary. Unless you’d like to thank me by going for a walk along the river with me this Saturday.”

“Oh, but I could not!”

“Why not?” he asked, a lazy grin on his face. “I’m sure we’d have a good time.”

Tomasita felt her heart beating nearly out of her skin. “I mean, maybe I could, but I cannot accept such an invitation.”

“Why not?” he persisted.

“Don Cruz would never allow it.” She saw that Luke was ready to continue his persuasion, so she explained, “I have only my good name to offer a husband. If I met you at the river…”

Tomasita’s blush, which had almost receded, rose again when her tongue tied at the thought of the discussion they were having.

Luke bit his tongue. He could not say that if she joined him, she would leave the river no different than she had come. It was more than likely he would take at least a kiss… and maybe more.

He wanted her-in a way he had never wanted another woman. There was something about her that shook him up inside. It might have been her innocence.

In all the years Luke Summers had taken what he wanted from women, he had never taken a woman’s virginity. This woman was obviously untouched.

Yet he wanted her. He didn’t understand it. He was a little awed by it. But not enough to leave her be and go about his business.

“So, has Cruz already picked out a rich ranchero to be your husband?”

Unable to tell Luke of her betrothal to Don Cruz, Tomasita hedged, “I do not know.”

“And don’t care?”

Luke seemed upset, but Tomasita didn’t know why. “Of course I care! But it would not be proper for a woman to choose her own husband. There are things which must be considered.”

“Such as?”

“A man’s family, for one thing.”

As soon as she had spoken, she knew she had said something dreadfully wrong, for Luke’s eyes turned from gold to green and his full lips flattened into a thin line.

“What else?” he demanded.

“His ability to provide a home for his wife and their children.”

“Anything else?”

Tomasita licked her lips nervously before adding, “I… I suppose there are other things. I cannot think of them right now.” She couldn’t think because Luke’s whole body radiated anger.

“What about love? What about a man who would care for you?” Luke asked, his voice soft, his tone taunting.

“Love will come with time. And surely my husband will learn to care for me. I will be obedient-”

Luke’s cynical laugh cut her off. “Obedient. Yes, I’m sure you’d be that. If I ask something of you, Tomasita, will you obey me?”

“It… it would depend on what you asked,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. What had happened to the charming young man who had first greeted her?

Luke leaned toward her until she could feel his breath against her ear. His intense voice was low and husky and sent shivers down her spine. “Tell me what you want, Tomasita. That’s all. Just tell me what you want from the man you marry.”

“I… I…”

“Do you want a man who’ll make fire race in your veins?”

Tomasita held her breath as Luke’s lips caressed her temple, then followed the shell of her ear and trailed down to her neck. She shivered from feelings that were new and breathtakingly exciting. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly to offer her neck for further adoration.

His fingers thrust into her silky black hair and captured her head between his hands. “Look at me,” he commanded.

Tomasita raised her eyes to his face and found all the desire a woman could want blazing in his eyes. “What do you want, Tomasita?”

“Aiii! Señor! What are you doing? Take your hands off her. Pobrecita! Mi niña!”

Tomasita whirled to find Josefa barreling toward her on the run, her apron waving like a sheet on laundry day. Tomasita tried to step back from Luke, only belatedly realizing that he had kept his hold on her.

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick hard kiss. Then he whispered in her ear, “I’ll meet you on Saturday at dusk, by the river.” He treated her to another of his roguish grins before he lithely mounted his horse and escaped.

“You had better run away, señor,” Josefa shouted after him, her breath coming in outraged spurts. “You do not belong here. When Don Cruz hears what you have done-”

“That is enough, Josefa,” Tomasita said, attempting to calm the heavyset woman, whose face was streaming with sweat from her exertion. “No harm has been done. I see no reason to say anything of this to Don Cruz or Doña Lucia.”

“But that man-”

“Did nothing!”

“I saw him-”

“You saw him do what? Kiss me? And where will you tell Doña Lucia you were when this man kissed me? How will you explain that you were acting as my duenna yet could not forestall the señor?”

Tomasita saw the exact moment when it dawned on Josefa that if she told Don Cruz and Doña Lucia what Luke had done, she would also have to admit that she had let Tomasita out of her sight. She would be as much at fault as Tomasita, and they would likely both be punished.

“I will say nothing of this,” Josefa agreed at last. “But I will be watching you from now on, like the cat watches a mouse, waiting to pounce.”

Her tirade was interrupted by Cisco and Betsy, who had run up to show off a musketball they had found.

Tomasita’s mind was only half on their excited child-talk. The other half was on Luke Summers. His lips had caressed her temple, her ear, her throat. He had even kissed her on the mouth! And she had enjoyed it. Holy Mary, she had wanted more of it! What kind of woman was she to let him take such liberties?

But it had seemed so right at the moment. She touched her lips. They were still wet, and a little swollen. Did she dare try to sneak away to see him on Saturday, knowing that if he tried to kiss her again she would let him do it? How could she even think such a thing when she was betrothed to Don Cruz?

“Tomasita, do you like it?”

She looked down to see Cisco holding up the rusty musketball.

“Sí, we shall take this back to the hacienda with us. Your papa will be home soon, and he will surely want to see it.”

And if Cruz did not return before Saturday, what then? Tomasita closed her eyes and prayed to the Blessed Virgin to give her strength to resist the awful temptation that had been laid in her path.