Texas Woman (10 page)

“I will have Josefa bring you some water to bathe.”

“
Gracias
,” Sloan said.

“Do not thank me, señorita. I do this for the sake of my son. Soon he will be married to a woman worthy of him, and the son you abandoned, my grandson, will have a suitable mother to care for him.”

Sloan blanched at Doña Lucia’s cruel taunt but, in a supreme effort of will, said nothing. It was clear from the older woman’s grim-lipped smile that she knew her barb had found its mark. The gauntlet had been thrown, and Sloan was more than willing to pick it up—but not tonight. Too much had already happened that day.

“Good night, Doña Lucia,” Sloan said in a steady voice.

“
Buenos noches,
Señorita Stewart.” Having come away triumphant from the first sortie, Doña Lucia was perfectly willing to depart the field of battle. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Sloan was still quivering with indignation when she sank down onto the huge bed. Almost instantly, a servant knocked at the door carrying her carpetbag. He then brought a wooden tub, which the maid Josefa filled with hot water.

Sloan accepted Josefa’s help, and within an hour had bathed, dressed in a clean chambray wrapper, eaten a light supper that Josefa had gotten for her from the kitchen, and was in bed with the sheets tucked around her.

She closed her eyes, exhausted, but found she couldn’t sleep. A thousand thoughts and not one solution. Was there any chance Luke would disgorge what Rip was forcing down his throat? Meanwhile, how should she act toward Tomasita? Or Cisco? Or Doña Lucia? Not to mention Cruz. Exactly how was she expected to occupy all her empty hours here at Dolorosa?

And where on earth was she going to go from here if Rip didn’t change his mind?

Sloan was drifting between wakefulness and sleep but had the oddest sensation of being watched. When she opened her eyes, it took a moment to realize where she was. When she did, she sat up abruptly and discovered she was indeed being watched.

“
Buenos días,
Mamá.”

For an instant, Sloan couldn’t breathe. She had not seen Cisco since January—nearly nine months ago. It was surprising he even recognized her. Then she realized someone must have told him she was here. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t have encouraged the little boy to come closer, so she said nothing.

“Papa said you have come to live with us.”

“Uh . . . for a little while, yes.”

Sure enough, as soon as she spoke, it released some sort of restraint and Cisco headed toward her. The instant he started to climb up onto the bed, she scrambled off the other side. “I haven’t slept so late for a long time. I guess I should get dressed,” she said.

She turned her eyes away from the confused look on her son’s face when he managed to reach the middle of the bed, only to find her gone.

He started crawling across the bed toward her again. “Do you want to see my pony?”

“Uh . . . I don’t . . . uh . . . maybe later.” Sloan headed for the dresser on the opposite side of the room, aware that she was playing an awkward, pitiful game of chase with her son. But she had no intention of getting caught.

It had nearly killed her to leave him in January. She wasn’t going to let herself get attached to him again in the brief time she planned to be at Dolorosa. Keeping a distance between them was all she could think to do.

She turned from thrusting her fingers through her tangled hair in time to see that Cisco had managed to climb off the bed and was heading for her as fast as his three-year-old legs could carry him. In a matter of moments he would be reaching out his arms to be picked up. Sloan stared at him in an agony of indecision.

At that instant, the door to the room swung open.

“There you are, Diablito,” Tomasita said. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”

Realizing he had been caught, Cisco giggled mischievously and turned and ran for the bed, climbing up and scooting under the bedcovers to hide from Tomasita.

Tomasita smiled apologetically to Sloan. “I promised Doña Lucia I would not let him bother you this morning. I will take him away so you can finish dressing.”

Before Sloan could protest, Tomasita had retrieved a squirming, laughing Cisco from beneath the covers. The little boy wrapped his legs around Tomasita’s waist and cupped her face in his hands to get her attention. “I want to stay and play with Mamá.”

“But we promised to help Ana make
buñuelos
. Did you forget?”

Cisco looked over his shoulder at Sloan, who could see he was torn between staying or having a chance to eat some of the crisp, cinnamon-sugar-coated tortillas.

“Go with Tomasita now,” Sloan urged. “I can go see your pony another time.”

Thus appeased, Cisco was happy to leave with Tomasita.

Alone in the room, Sloan sagged onto the bed. She felt her face contorting and turned to grab a pillow, hugging it against her mouth so no one would hear the sobs she felt building in her chest. She jumped up, still hugging the pillow, and paced the room, fighting the ache in her chest, the constriction in her throat, and the tears burning behind her eyes.

I can’t bear it! Please, God, do something! It hurts too much.

She paused at last to stare at herself in the cheval mirror, and froze when she saw another face join hers in the glass.

“G
O AWAY,
”
SHE MUMBLED, HER VOICE MUFFLED
by the pillow she had pulled up to cover her face.

“Cebellina?”

“Go away, Cruz.”

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. She pulled the pillow down far enough to see the amused and curious look on his face, crossed her eyes, and then raised the pillow again.

“You’re even more beautiful in the morning,” he said.

Sloan chuckled at his facetious response to her crossed eyes and lowered the pillow completely from her face. “You’re a terrible liar, but thanks.”

As his eyes roamed her features and form, she hugged the pillow tighter against her chest, uncomfortably aware that she was dressed only in her chambray wrapper, her waist-length hair in disarray.

God only knew what her face really looked like, with her red-rimmed eyes and her colorfully bruised cheek. She threaded her fingers nervously through her hair in an attempt to remove some of the snarls. She turned away from him to face the mirror but focused on his image in the oval frame rather than her own.

Their eyes met in the mirror and she saw herself reflected in his fathomless blue eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I have waited a long time for this morning,” he said.

Sloan tensed as Cruz lowered his head to caress her bare shoulder with his lips. She shivered in pleasure at his touch. She knew she should flee but felt powerless to do so.

If his hands had sought to capture her, to keep her prisoner, she would have pulled away. Yet solely with the touch of his lips upon her skin, he held her in his thrall. Her eyes drifted closed as he bestowed soft kisses along her shoulder and up her neck.

She heard his uneven breathing, felt his body coiled and trembling with need. Her heart pounded in her chest and she drew a sharp breath as his teeth nipped lightly at the lobe of her ear.

When her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, she turned abruptly to face him. “Cruz . . .”

Before she could speak words of denial, his strong arms surrounded her.

They both realized at the same moment that the pillow was stuck ludicrously between them.

Cruz was the first to grin, and Sloan joined him. He grabbed her up in his arms with the pillow between them and swung her in a circle. She heard herself laughing like a carefree young girl.

Abruptly, Cruz set her down and yanked the pillow out from between them, throwing it over his shoulder onto the bed. One of his hands captured her nape while the other grasped her buttocks, forcing their bodies into intimate contact from hips to breast, his male hardness pressing against her belly.

Suddenly the laughing mood was gone, abruptly changed to something much more serious. Sloan looked up at Cruz and saw the determination etched in his features.

“Don’t do this . . .” she begged in an agonized whisper.

His eyes were focused on her mouth, and for an instant she didn’t think he had heard her. It was only when their lips were a breath apart that he seemed to come to his senses. “Ah, Cebellina, you tempt me to show you how right this would be.”

The moan that rose from deep in her throat was torn from her against her will. There was a rightness about the feel of her body aligned with his. But the pure, wanton desire that spiraled through her was a threat she wasn’t ready to meet.

She knew what it would mean if she succumbed to his demands. She did not want to be his wife. She did not want to give control of her life to another man. How could her body respond so treacherously to his caress?

“This is wrong,” she said, her voice choked with the need she fought.

“How can it be wrong for a husband and wife to desire one another?” he demanded in a voice no louder or less tortured than hers. “I have wanted you for longer than any man should have to wait for his beloved.”

Sloan hid her face against his shirt, which smelled of soap and man. “I . . . I don’t love you, Cruz. I can’t do this. I . . . can’t.”

He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back to look deep into her liquid brown eyes. He frowned at what he saw. Then his hand tunneled into her hair as he brought her head to rest beneath his chin. His body shuddered as he forced it to his will. He loosened his grip on Sloan’s hips, allowing her body to escape the heat of his.

The hand that held her head against his shoulder began to smooth over her silky hair, but it was questionable whether either of them was really soothed by the calming motion.

“All right, Cebellina. We will wait . . . a little longer.”

When Sloan sought, at last, to ease from Cruz’s embrace, he let her go. She slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. His vivid blue eyes asked questions and demanded answers.

“I have to be honest with you. I don’t want to be your wife, Cruz.” Her cheeks flushed, then paled. “Your brother would always stand between us. Even if he didn’t, we both want our own way too much for us ever to be able to get along. I’ll never agree to leave Three Oaks . . . and you’re bound to Dolorosa. So you see, there really isn’t any hope for this marriage.”

“But you
have
left Three Oaks,” Cruz reminded her.

“That was a mistake. One I intend to correct. As soon as I can come up with the right plan.”

“Then you will accept my hospitality for a while.” When Sloan opened her mouth to object, Cruz added, “I insist.”

Sloan bristled, but nodded. “All right. But this touching . . . it can’t happen again.”

“I cannot promise that.”

Sloan huffed out a breath of air in frustration. “Don’t you see how difficult it will be for both of us if you insist on forcing us together?” Sloan’s voice became strained. “Because I won’t put my heart . . . or my body . . . in another man’s keeping . . . ever.”

Cruz thrust a hand through his hair and left it looking wild. “I would never hurt you, Cebellina.”

“Tonio said as much.”

His jaw tightened in anger. “I am not my brother.”

“You’re a man. And a man will say or do whatever is necessary to get what he wants from a woman.”

“All men are not so treacherous.”

Sloan snorted derisively. “Oh no? I’ll introduce you to a few of the plantation rakes who came to see me after Tonio’s death. They had heard I was pregnant and that Tonio was dead. They only wanted to offer me comfort in my bereavement. Or so they said. It took me a while to realize what they really wanted was—”

Cruz put his fingertips on her lips to silence her. He could easily guess what the young men had wanted. He would have protected her from them if he had known. But being Sloan, of course she had not asked him for his help. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to trust me?”

“I’ll trust your word that you’ll keep your distance from me so long as I’m here.”

“I will not promise to stay away from you,” he said at last. Then he smiled, a warm, heart-stopping smile that revealed even white teeth and made crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. “But I give you fair warning, Cebellina, that I will do everything in my power to be certain you welcome my touch.”

Sloan gasped, then laughed aloud. “You’re incorrigible!”

“It appears so.” The devilish smile stayed on his face as he continued, “Now, for the reason I came to see you so early. It is Sunday, a day of rest. I have decided we should have a picnic.”

In her delight at the whole idea, Sloan ignored the fact he had already “decided” what they should do. “A picnic sounds wonderful! Is there anything I can do to help get things ready?”

The tension left Cruz’s shoulders when he saw she wasn’t going to argue with him about going. “I took the liberty of asking Ana to pack a basket for us. I will leave you now to dress. Once we have eaten breakfast, we can go.”

Cruz leaned down to kiss her, then remembered his promise. He paused with his lips a hairsbreadth from hers, waiting. When Sloan did not draw away, he tantalizingly brushed her lips with his, then grasped her lower lip with his teeth and nibbled on it, sliding his tongue along its edges before he finally released her.

Sloan was stunned.

“You will find I always keep my promises, Cebellina.”

Before she could respond, he was gone from the room.

Sloan found herself humming as she dressed in clean trousers and a shirt and tugged on her Wellingtons. She realized she hadn’t been on a picnic since . . . since the previous fall when Bay had used picnics as an excuse to get her together with her son. She and Cruz and Cisco had spent nearly every Sunday picnicking with Bay and Long Quiet under a huge old live oak tree that stood on Dolorosa land. It had been an idyllic time.

She had begun to love her son . . . and to trust Cruz. And then, one day, Cruz had kissed her, and she had realized how much she had grown to care for him, as well as her son. Moments later, Cisco had been attacked by a renegade Comanche.