Texas Woman

Chapter 18

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN CRUZ MET with Miguel and heard what Sloan had accomplished on Dolorosa while he was in a coma, he realized how badly he had misunderstood and underestimated the woman he had made his wife.

Cruz had always known that Sloan was overseer for Three Oaks, but he had never seen her acting in a position of authority. When he had first regained consciousness, he had been willing to indulge his wife and allow his orders to be funneled through her to Miguel. He had never expected Miguel to treat her as though she were actually in charge. Seeing them deep in conversation at his bedside, he realized that was exactly what had happened.

“So you see, Miguel,” Sloan was explaining, “if the crops growing in each vaquero’s garden are thinned and then layered with manure, the plants will grow taller and bear larger vegetables.”

“Sí, Doña Sloan,” Miguel replied. “I understand. I will tell my vaqueros what you have suggested.”

Sloan turned to Cruz and asked, “Is there anything more you wanted to know from Miguel regarding what was done in your absence?”

“No. I have heard enough.”

Miguel rose from the rawhide chair beside Cruz’s bed and said, “May your good health return quickly, Patrón.”

“Gracias, Miguel. I expect to be rejoining you soon. Until then, you will continue as before, taking orders from Doña Sloan.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in Miguel’s dark eyes at Cruz’s command. When he had learned that Don Cruz had recovered, he had thought he had seen the last of Doña Sloan among the vaqueros.

But it would be a foolish man who did not take advantage of such a talented wife. And Don Cruz was no fool. Miguel nodded his obeisance to Cruz, then shifted his stance and did the same to Sloan before he turned and left the room.

“I see you have made a conquest,” Cruz said as Sloan closed the door behind Miguel.

She turned and walked back to stand beside the bed. “What do you mean?”

“The man who just left this room would gladly lay down his life for you.”

“Only because I am your wife.”

“No, it is more than that. How did you garner his approval so quickly? It took weeks after my father died before I had earned his acceptance and respect. You have done it in eight days.”

“I didn’t do anything special that I know of,” Sloan said. “Just dug in and went to work like I would have at Three Oaks.”

Cruz heard in her description of her actions what she hadn’t known how to explain. What other woman would have worked side by side with his vaqueros? None that Cruz knew.

He had never before comprehended how much this woman needed a position beside him-in more places than at the dining table and in bed. No wonder she had dreaded leaving Three Oaks and coming to live at Dolorosa. No wonder she had not been as truly happy living with him as he had hoped.

For the past four months, he had-no matter that it had been by necessity-kept her separate from the work on Dolorosa that was so much of his life. He saw now the mistake he had made. He only hoped it was not too late to make amends, and to offer her a life she would willingly share with him.

“You have done very well, Cebellina. There are some things I will need your help to get accomplished in time for the spring roundup.”

Sloan relaxed, realizing she had been braced for criticism and received praise. Not only that, but Cruz seemed both eager and willing to have her help. “I’ll do anything I can,” she offered. “Before we get started, there is someone else who has been waiting to see you.”

Sloan went to the door and called for Josefa, who arrived moments later with Cisco in tow. As soon as he saw Sloan, the little boy came running and leaped into her arms. Sloan picked him up, and chattering happily together, they walked across the room to Cruz’s bedside.

Cruz was astounded-and pleased-at this sudden change in Sloan’s behavior toward her son. It was another miracle for which he saw no clear explanation. “You two look happy.”

“Cisco and I have something we have to tell you.”

“Good news, I hope.”

“Good for Betsy,” Sloan replied.

“Betsy’s Uncle Louis came to get her,” Cisco explained as Sloan set him down on the bed next to Cruz. “She is going to live on his farm.”

“It must have been sad to say good-bye to her.”

“Sí,” Cisco said. “Mamá cried.”

Sloan sat down on the bed beside Cisco. “But Cisco said he would play with me and keep me from being so lonely. And you know… I’m not.” She smiled at Cisco and gave him a big hug.

Cruz felt a queer tug in his chest. They would be a family now, he and Sloan and Cisco. Somehow she had put the past behind her and offered them all a chance at a future together.

Then he remembered the reason she had fled into the storm. He had brought the past once more into the present, apparently consorting with the Mexicans-just like his brother, Tonio-against the interests of the Republic. Did Sloan think she had married a dishonorable man, a traitor to Texas?

She had said nothing this morning about his activities as the Hawk, had asked no questions about why the Englishman had visited Dolorosa. It appeared that she did not intend to do so. Why? he wondered. Had she forgiven him?

He did not think so, not when his crime had been such a clear echo of Tonio’s. But if she had not forgiven him, why was she being so helpful? Why hadn’t she run home to Three Oaks when he had been unable to stop her?

He had learned long ago to let sleeping dogs lie. There would be time in the weeks ahead to find out how Sloan felt, to explain what he could, and to excuse what he couldn’t. For now he had to learn to share with her, to include her in the parts of his life that he had hitherto kept separate.

After Cisco had visited with Cruz for a while, Josefa came to get him. Sloan once more closed the door, shutting out everyone else, but this time, instead of coming to sit beside Cruz, she leaned back against the door, her eyes on the polished toes of her boots.

“There is one more thing we need to discuss.” She looked up and met his inquiring gaze.

Cruz sat up slowly. “What is that?”

“Tomasita has changed her mind about marrying Don Ambrosio.”

He frowned. Did she think to make this decision for him also? However much he realized the necessity of sharing responsibility with her, he still bridled at the newness of it. Here was something that need not be her concern. “Tomasita will do as she is told,” he said. “I have already signed the contracts with Don Ambrosio. It is done.”

Sloan didn’t miss the irritation in his voice. His face was pale and dotted with perspiration. She crossed to him and put a hand on his shoulder to force him back flat on the bed. “Rest now. We can speak again later.”

“I have nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Very well. Then say nothing more,” she said with asperity.

Sloan brushed the sweat-damp hair from his brow as though it were the most natural gesture in the world. “Go to sleep now. Rest and get well.”

The feelings of love that welled inside her made her uncomfortable. How could she love him and distrust him at the same time? Could she ever forgive him for masquerading as the Hawk?

She had promised him six months. She had six weeks left until the end of April. She need not think about leaving him now. That could come later.

Sloan stayed with Cruz until she was sure he was asleep and then went hunting for Tomasita. She found her kneeling at the prie-dieu in her room. Sloan entered the room silently and stood inside the door, listening to the quiet, comforting murmur of the young woman’s voice.

“Tomasita?”

Tomasita stood immediately and crossed to Sloan. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to Don Cruz?”

“No, he’s fine. I wanted to talk with you. Shall we go for a walk?”

Tomasita followed Sloan out to the courtyard among the blooming jonquils. She took a seat on one of the stone benches and patted the place beside her. Once Sloan had joined her, she said, “Something is wrong. What is it?”

“Cruz is determined that you will marry Don Ambrosio. Which means if you plan to tell Luke about the baby before you make your decision whether to return to Madrid, it must be soon.”

“Holy Mary.” Tomasita put a hand to her pounding heart. “I cannot speak to Luke. I cannot.”

“You must. You owe it to your child. You owe it to yourself.”

“I will think about it.”

“Think hard. And think fast. You haven’t much time. Once Cruz recovers, he is sure to press for your marriage to Don Ambrosio. You’ll find Luke at Three Oaks,” Sloan said. “He’s gone there to oversee the spring planting of cotton.”

Sloan felt a tightening in her belly at the recognition that this year, for the first time in her life, she hadn’t been on hand to set the cotton seeds in the fertile soil to sprout and grow. She had been busy with an entirely different kind of birth-thousands and thousands of longhorn cattle dropping their spring calves. She had found the experience equally miraculous and equally demanding.

Over the next few days, as Cruz regained his strength, the March weather remained fractious, and Sloan was kept busy with the calving that went on despite the wind and the rain. However, each day she found time to ask Tomasita whether she had done anything about approaching Luke.

For her part, Tomasita found herself unable either to seek out Luke or approach Don Cruz, terrified of the responses she would get.

What if Luke would not marry her?

Her heart would break.

What if Don Cruz refused to allow her to return to Spain?

She would be forced to marry Don Ambrosio and live her life with one man when she loved another.

What if he did send her back to the convent?

After living in the world, such a lonely, quiet life would be too terrible to endure.

And so she did not do anything.

With Tomasita’s wedding day rapidly approaching, Sloan took matters into her own hands. She sent a message to Luke telling him that she needed to speak with him and to please come to Dolorosa as soon as he could, and left the rest up to fate.

To Sloan’s surprise, she received a prompt message back from Luke.

Dear Sloan,

Beaufort LeFevre and his daughter, Angelique, have arrived at Three Oaks, where they’re staying while Beaufort waits for his audience with President Jones. Beaufort is part of the contingent of American politicians sent to convince the Texas government that annexation is the best way to go. Personally, I have to agree.

Anyway, the gist of the situation is that I wish I could get away, but I can’t. Whatever time I don’t spend out in the fields is taken up by Angelique.

She is even more beautiful now than she was four years ago, when she and Beaufort came to visit at Three Oaks. The scars she got from the time Cricket’s pet wolf attacked her hardly show at all.

Why don’t you come to Three Oaks and bring Cruz and Cisco? Oh, and bring Tomasita, too.

Too busy to spit,

Luke

If she had been the only one involved, Sloan might have refused the offer to come visit Three Oaks. It was bound to be a painful venture for her. Besides, she didn’t want Cruz anywhere near Beaufort LeFevre.

But for Tomasita’s sake, she knew she had to accept. Because as far as Tomasita’s situation was concerned, Luke’s letter was alarming. If Sloan remembered correctly, Angelique LeFevre had set her claws in Luke four years ago, if only briefly. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Angelique and Luke became lovers again.

On the other hand, maybe seeing Luke with Angelique was just the kick in the pants Tomasita needed to make her stake her claim on the Ranger.

That evening, Sloan planned how best to approach Cruz to be sure he would agree to what she asked. When he excused himself after dinner, saying he wanted to check on his bayo, she nodded, planning to give him a few minutes alone before she joined him.

When she reached the stable, she heard voices. In moments she recognized them and froze in the darkness. Cruz! And the Englishman!

“I warned you not to come here again,” Cruz snarled.

“I had no choice. Time is running short. The American Congress has passed a resolution offering statehood to Texas under very favorable terms. Your President Jones has agreed to wait at least ninety days before acting on the American proposal. Jones is, at this very moment, preparing an ultimatum to present to the Mexican government. He is demanding an immediate acknowledgment of independence from Mexico in exchange for his pledge that the Republic of Texas will never allow itself to be annexed by the United States.

“I want you to detain Beaufort LeFevre at Three Oaks until Jones has had time to finish his ultimatum and dispatch it to the Mexican authorities.”

“How long do you think that might take?”

“Bloody hell! How should I know?”

“And if I refuse?”

“You wouldn’t like the consequences of failing me, Hawk.”

“I am not afraid of Alejandro Sanchez, Englishman.”

“I thought not. That’s why I made sure I have a little extra insurance?”

“What insurance?”

“Some letters your brother left with the Mexican government. They implicate your wife in a pretty nasty little plot to overthrow the government of Texas.”

“Those letters must be over four years old.”

“A traitor is still a traitor, no matter how much time passes. I will leave you now, Hawk. Don’t disappoint me.”

Sloan waited in the shadows until the Englishman had settled his rotund body in his carriage and driven away. She remained there while Cruz lit and smoked a cheroot, the sweet tobacco smell floating to her on the slight breeze.

She closed her eyes and held her breath when he finally left the stable and headed back toward the house. Then she slid down along the side of the adobe structure until she was sitting on the ground, her forehead resting on her knees.

Cruz had actually tried to quit his work for the British government. But it was clear the Englishman had no intention of allowing that to happen. She could hardly believe the incredible source of the whip wielded by the Englishman to keep Cruz in line.

The question now was what she should do with the information she had acquired.

Her first thought was to confront Cruz with what she had heard. However, it was unlikely he would agree to change his plans, and if he knew she was privy to them, he might take steps to make sure she wasn’t around to interfere with them.

Or she could tell Luke what she had heard. But he might feel compelled to report Cruz to some higher authority. Texas and Mexico were still at war-although all the battles were being fought on paper.

Cruz’s actions could easily be construed as treachery by those Texans who had lobbied so hard for annexation. She didn’t presume to understand why President Jones was presenting such an ultimatum to Mexico. No matter what the Mexican government did now, most Texans would vote for annexation when the issue was presented.

She would simply have to do something herself to thwart the Englishman’s plans. It seemed they would be playing right into the Englishman’s hands if they accepted Luke’s invitation to Three Oaks, but it was important for Tomasita’s sake that they go.

Perhaps she could delay their departure a few days, or maybe even a week. With luck, Beaufort LeFevre would have already made contact with President Jones by the time they arrived.

Now, she just needed to find some reason to keep Cruz involved at Dolorosa.

Sloan pushed herself up onto her feet, brushed herself off, and headed back to the house. For the first time in months, her step was light. Things weren’t settled by a long shot, but she had never felt so much in control of her life.

That night in bed, Cruz said casually, “We have not been able to get much work done in this weather, and it has been a long time since you have seen your father. It has been even longer since he has seen his grandson. How would you like to visit Three Oaks?”

“I guess that would be all right,” Sloan said. “But there are a few things I have to get done here before we can leave.”

“What sort of things?”

“I promised Miguel I would-”

“Anything that Miguel must do, he can do without your help.”

Sloan played idly with the dark hair on Cruz’s chest. “But these are projects I suggested. I would like to see them through to the finish. You don’t mind, do you?”

She smiled secretly as she felt Cruz fidgeting. Of course he minded, she thought, but what could he say?

Cruz was thinking about the promise he had made to himself to include Sloan more in his life. He only wished he didn’t have this intrigue with Sir Giles hanging over his head. “Very well, Cebellina. But I will come and help, that you may be done the sooner.”

“Of course,” she agreed with a pleased grin. “I would like that very much.”

Each morning for the next week, Sloan kept Cruz occupied with one project after another. The weather helped by being absolutely awful. It rained, the wind blew, and the storms left more damage that had to be taken care of before they could think about leaving.

She could see Cruz was getting anxious about the delay. But she was as determined to keep him at Dolorosa as he was to leave.

“Miguel promised that today he would put up the corrale in the village,” Sloan said as she dressed in the predawn light.

She could hear the control in Cruz’s voice as he asked, “What corrale?”

“The one for orphaned newborn calves.” Sloan crossed to Cruz and put her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his broad chest. “It’s a perfect solution to a cruel problem. Your vaqueros don’t have the time or patience to bother with calves that have been orphaned before they can survive on their own. If we build a corrale in the village, the vaqueros could leave the newborns there and the women and children could raise them and have their own source of beef.”

“You are giving my longhorns to the pobres?”

“Only the calves that would die if they were left on the range.”

“Those longhorns are wild. What makes you think their calves will accept nourishment from a human hand?”

“Because we’ve already tried it, and it works.”

Cruz shook his head in resignation. “I should have known you would have your arguments well planned. All right. When do we start?”

Sloan hugged him tightly and felt a fierce spiral of need well inside her.

Sensing her tension, Cruz tipped her chin up with his hand and touched his lips to hers.

Her response was instant and powerful. She sought his lips with hers, feeling a hunger that grew even as she fed it. She felt her nipples budding against his hair-rough chest and rubbed against him. She heard him groan and tugged at his ears, pulling his head down to kiss her again.

“We have work to do,” Cruz said, his breath shallow.

“It can get done later,” she whispered. “I… I want you.”

Sloan was almost as surprised as Cruz was by her admission. She had little time to think about what she had said before Cruz swept her into his arms and carried her back to bed.

Their lovemaking had a different tenor, less restrained, a joining of not just bodies but spirits. Demands were made and answered. Prayers were offered and fulfilled. Touching one another became a matter of necessity. Ravenous with hunger, Sloan took what she needed; thirsting, she drank from the cup of love. There was nothing gentle about their mating; it was wild, tumultuous, consuming.

Cruz tried to be gentle, but Sloan would not allow it. Her hands were all over him, touching, embracing, scratching, pressing. Her mouth and tongue and teeth tantalized him, seeking pleasure in the giving of it.

The need to be inside her was excruciating, but she would not let him in. She kissed her way down his belly, laughing deep in her throat as he groaned in pleasure. He grabbed a hank of silky sable hair and pulled her away before she drove him mad.

Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting deep inside.

Sloan felt everything, heard everything, smelled everything with senses that were heightened beyond bearing. She tried to keep Cruz’s tongue in her mouth, but failing that, followed his tongue when he retreated and tasted the roof of his mouth and his tongue and the silky cavern beyond.

His mouth moved to her throat, biting, then soothing. She arched her hips up into his, sheathing him, and felt him harden and swell inside her.

Then his mouth was on her breasts, gentle licks and strong sucks, the contrast exciting beyond belief. She was forced to release her grasp on him as he kissed his way down her stomach to the nest of curls that hid her femininity.

His tongue was gentle and slow, and she had trouble catching her breath.

Sloan writhed helplessly beneath Cruz as he held her up to his mouth and took what he wanted. Her body quivered as his tongue dipped and retreated, teasing and taunting. She gripped the sheets with her fists as she welcomed the waves of satisfaction.

The coarse, grating noise in her throat was bestial, primal, a harsh evocative sound that was echoed by Cruz. Her hips arched upward one last time, all her muscles tensed, her body concentrated on the ecstasy that rolled across her.

Sloan lay enervated after the last spasm had passed, her body trembling as Cruz’s silky hair lay against her belly.

Their loving had been so much more than she had bargained for. She lay still as her body quivered with feeling.

She felt his tender kiss on her belly and lifted a limp hand to lay it on his head and tunnel it through his hair. She turned her head away to hide the tears that welled. “I… this was… wonderful.”

Sloan wanted to give back to Cruz what he had given her. “Come here,” she said.

“Where?”

She smiled. “Here.” She urged him up over her, spreading her thighs to make a cradle for him between them.

In moments he was hard and ready, and she reached down with her hand and slowly guided him inside her. Her smile broadened as she heard his hissing sigh of satisfaction.

Then they lay still.

Sloan felt full. She welcomed the swelling in her breasts, the achy feeling of need, the urge to arch upward, to take him deeper inside her, to keep him there and take his seed.

She arched her hips slightly, but it was enough. He grasped her buttocks and angled her for his thrust. His mouth sought hers gently, and his tongue mimed the slow, steady movements below.

She was on fire. Her pulse raced, and she felt her heart beating crazily. Her breath came in short spurts. He kept his thrusts slow, building the tension, building the pressure.

“Cruz, I need… more.”

He thrust deeper, harder, faster. She arched up to take more of him, her hands and mouth desperately tasting and touching whatever part of him she could reach. The tension was unbearable. She clutched his back and bit his shoulder hard as she climaxed in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure.

Cruz felt her body tightening around him and released his seed deep inside her with a sigh of utter satisfaction.

They lay together for a long time-until their bodies had stopped shuddering, until their breathing had returned to normal, until the sweat had dried on their skin.

Cruz was the first to move. He rolled onto his side and pulled Sloan into his embrace. “There is work to be done, Cebellina.”

“I don’t want to get up.”

He chuckled. “Neither do I.”

“Cruz, what just happened between us… It doesn’t mean I’ve made up my mind to stay.” She felt Cruz stiffen beside her. “I care for you a great deal. More than I thought I could care.” She took a deep breath and said, “More than I cared for Tonio.”

She felt him shudder beneath her fingertips.

“But I’m not sure whether I can ever love you fully, whether I can completely let go of the past… or ever trust you again. And I care enough for you to want you to have more than I fear I can give to you.”

His arms tightened around her. “We have time on our side, Cebellina. There is no rush to decide anything now.”

“I just wanted you to know,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I thank you for that,” he replied solemnly. “And now we have important work to do.”

She lowered her brow quizzically. “Important work?”

He smiled. “Think of all those orphaned calves that will not get any breakfast if we do not get moving.”

She smiled back at him and rose to dress. She felt wonderful. In fact, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She greeted Doña Lucia at the breakfast table unaware that she radiated happiness.

Doña Lucia had watched with growing frustration as Sloan insinuated herself into every facet of life at Dolorosa. Her hopes of having a daughter-in-law who would defer to her wishes, one who would be meek and obedient to her will, had remained woefully unfulfilled.

She had tried twice to be permanently rid of her nemesis, and failed both times. The near catastrophe of her second attempt had convinced her that perhaps she should change her tactics.

So Doña Lucia had looked around for another way to control her new daughter-in-law. She had found what she considered the one soft spot in that woman’s underbelly: her son. Through Cisco, Doña Lucia hoped to bring Sloan to heel.

Sloan was on her way out the door with Cruz when Doña Lucia said, “Do you want me to send for the curandera to come see Cisco?”

Sloan halted in her tracks. “Is he ill?”

“He did not feel well this morning. I had Josefa put him back to bed.”

Sloan turned to Cruz, worry plain in her eyes, and said, “I think I had better stay-”

“You do not need to stay,” Doña Lucia interrupted. “Tomasita and I can take care of your son.”

At that well-aimed prod, Sloan turned to Cruz and said, “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll join you as soon as I’m sure Cisco is feeling better.”

Cruz leaned down to kiss Sloan quickly on the mouth and murmured, “You are a good mother, Cebellina,” before he left.

When Sloan entered Cisco’s bedroom, she saw him playing quietly on his bed with a wooden horse. That by itself was a good indication something was amiss. Cisco was seldom quiet. He looked flushed, and his eyes were overly bright. She sat down beside him and put a hand on his forehead. It was more than warm.

“How do you feel, mi hijo?”

“Not so good, Mamá.”

“Where does it hurt, sweetheart?”

“Right here.” Cisco covered his stomach with a small hand.

“Would you like for me to hold you for a while until you feel better?”

“Sí, Mamá.”

Sloan settled onto the bed, then lifted her son into her arms. He snuggled against her, laying his head on her breast. The newborn calves would have to wait, she thought. She had a child of her own that needed her attention.

She held Cisco most of the morning while he slept. Toward noon, Doña Lucia came to check on her grandson. She sat down in the ladder-back chair beside the bed and asked, “How is he?”

“Fine,” Sloan said. “It seems to have been a simple stomachache. He’s better, I think. But now that he’s asleep, I think I’d like to get some fresh air.”

“As you wish,” Doña Lucia said agreeably, as she watched Sloan square her shoulders and march from the room.

It had all been so easy she could hardly believe it. Easy to give Cisco a potion that would upset his stomach. Easy to separate Sloan from Cruz at the front door. And she would find other ways to keep that woman and her son apart.

Doña Lucia smiled with satisfaction. Not a bad day’s work, and the day was only half done.

Once outside, Sloan was appalled to see how bruised the sky looked. It was only midday, yet angry black, purple and gray clouds spilled over one another, digesting one another. They hung low, protruding from the sky like swollen udders, completely blocking the sun.

The breeze felt cool after the warmer weather of the past week, and it didn’t take much guessing to know they were in for a bad thunderstorm. She almost turned back around, but the thought of confronting Doña Lucia again kept her moving toward the river.

Sloan had just found a comfortable spot in the shade of a cypress and sat down when she heard a distinctive yet indescribable hissing sound. Her eyes widened in terror when she turned and saw a grayish white funnel snake down from the clouds, just beyond the hacienda. Twisting and bending with deadly grace, the vortex began to suck up the surrounding countryside. Dragging its writhing tail along the ground, it quickly became clothed in a shaggy sleeve of dust and debris.

Sloan’s scream of terror and fear was lost in the deafening roar of the tornado as it mauled the face of the earth. The hacienda was in the direct path of the twisting nightmare, but its freakish behavior made it impossible to tell whether it would actually strike the house.

Sloan jumped up and started to run. There was a root cellar beside the adobe house to which they could all escape to safety, if only she could reach the house in time.

“Tornadooooooo!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

She had barely taken five steps when the tornado enveloped the hacienda with its insensate fury. Terror held her paralyzed as she watched nature’s bedlam-a black cage full of screaming lunatics-beating at the house, clawing at it, trying to crush it.

Even at this distance, the menacing wind ripped at her, sending her hair whirling in a mock dance of death. She felt her skin pierced with flying splinters and looked down to discover it was only straw, borne with tremendous force by the screaming, hissing dervish.

As swiftly as it had come, the tornado turned and headed away, leaving the village beyond the hacienda untouched.

A cacophony of wailing and crying erupted from the village. The women and children who had taken what refuge they could from the storm now ran for the hacienda, in hopes of rescuing those who might have survived the tornado’s onslaught.

Sloan stood frozen for another instant before she joined the throng.

The first thing she saw as she approached the carnage left by the tornado was a rooster that had been stripped of its tail and back feathers-plucked alive! The sight of its naked pink skin made her shiver. Her heart was in her throat as she forced herself to gaze upon the devastation nature had wrought.

The hacienda had been flattened. The stable had been picked up and moved a hundred yards away. The fountain in the central courtyard remained untouched. It made no sense!

All Sloan’s thoughts were focused on the house. Cisco was inside. And Tomasita. And Doña Lucia. And Josefa and Ana. No one could have survived such a disaster.

She tore at the broken adobe bricks, along with the pobres from the village, hoping against hope that someone was alive inside the house or that they had seen or heard the tornado coming and had taken refuge in the root cellar.

Sloan’s fingers were soon raw and bleeding, but she kept on digging. She fought the strong hands that tried to drag her away from her work until she realized that Cruz had come with his vaqueros.

She burrowed into his arms and held him tight for an instant, before she pushed him away again. “I can’t find Cisco. And I haven’t seen Tomasita or your mother, either. We have to keep digging!”

With the help of Cruz’s vaqueros, the work went much faster. What they found as the debris was cleared away was not encouraging. Ana was dead, and Josefa, both crushed to death by the kitchen wall and ceiling, which had collapsed. Where were the rest who had been inside the hacienda? Could they possibly be alive?

“They might have gotten to the root cellar,” Sloan said, panting with fatigue as she threw adobe bricks behind her.

Cruz remained silent, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He was less willing to be optimistic, but neither did he wish to take away what hope Sloan still had that her son might be alive.

Two hours later, they found Tomasita alive and unhurt. The two women embraced each other, and Sloan fought tears of relief as Tomasita explained she had found refuge under her mahogany bedframe, which had kept the weight of the adobe from crushing her. She was fine.

“You should go rest,” Sloan urged.

“I want to help,” Tomasita said. “Please. Let me do this.”

Sloan didn’t take time to argue, but returned to the unpleasant task at hand. It was Miguel who uncovered Doña Lucia’s hand under a large chunk of adobe. There was no pulse.

Sloan met Cruz’s eyes and shared with him the painful knowledge that his mother was dead. He said nothing, but his face paled and Sloan saw that he had his jaw clamped tightly to prevent the quiver that threatened.

“Get her out of there,” he said at last, his voice hard and flat.

They worked carefully, revealing, at odd moments, a thick strand of her black hair that had worked loose from her bun, the layered ruffles of her skirt and a black shoe.

She was curled protectively around something. It only became apparent what that something was in the last moments as her body was uncovered.

“It’s Cisco,” Sloan said in a disbelieving whisper. “Cruz, it’s Cisco!” she shouted. She fell to her knees beside Cruz, who was gently loosening his mother’s grasp on her grandson.

“Oh, Cruz, please, I want to hold him.”

“Be patient, Cebellina. He may not be-”

“I know he’s alive!” Sloan said fiercely.

At that moment, Cisco whimpered and blinked open his eyes. He rubbed them, trying to clear away the dust. When he saw Sloan and Cruz, he cried, “Papa! Mamá!” and reached out his arms to them.

A crushing embrace followed as they clutched one another. Sloan saw through blurred eyes the tears that scoured Cruz’s cheeks, and heard him swallow over a sob, in the way a man will do.

She closed her eyes and held on, feeling she had been given another chance to be a wife and mother. Another chance to start over with this man and this boy. Another chance for happiness.

She intended to reach out and grab it.