Texas Woman (26 page)

Cruz slowly lifted his head and stared at Sloan. Her eyes were wide with trepidation. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she was safe with him, that he would never hurt her. He had said as much before, but she hadn’t believed him. Only time would convince her of the truth.

Unfortunately, he only had four months left before she decided whether to stay with him or go.

“Good morning, Cebellina,” he said in a sleep-raspy voice. “It is good to see you feeling so well.”

So, he was going to ignore the fact she had been touching him, Sloan thought. All right. Fine. “I’m feeling much better. But you’re looking a little the worse for wear,” she replied, unable to keep the smile from her face.

He rubbed his jaw with his hand and then thrust all ten fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I could use a bath and a shave. How about you?”

“I’d like a bath. I think I’ll skip the shave.”

Cruz stared at her dumbfounded. When he saw the mischievous sparkle in her eye, he chuckled and then laughed.

Sloan joined in his laughter, realizing as she did that it was the first time she could remember laughing in a long, long time. She grasped her ribs and said, “Please, I’m too sore for this.”

“I will go see about getting some water for your bath. Are you sure you feel well enough to get up?”

As Sloan shifted in an attempt to sit up, Cruz slipped an arm around her shoulders to help her rise, grabbing the pillows to fluff them up behind her. “Comfortable?”

She felt wonderfully tense. Pampered. Loved. Anything but comfortable. “I’m fine. But I’m thirsty. And starving.”

“I’m hungry, too.”

It was plain to Sloan that it wasn’t food that interested him. His arm was still around her shoulders and she saw the teasing glint in his eye as his finger traced her lower lip. “I was thinking more in terms of coffee, sausage, and eggs,” she murmured.

It took Cruz another second to realize she had teased him again. The edges of his mouth curved in pleasure. “
Sí
, Cebellina. I will feed your hunger—with breakfast.”

He turned abruptly and was gone.

The world suddenly seemed a brighter place, and Sloan had no explanation for it. What had changed?

While Cruz was gone, breakfast arrived. She ate and felt strong enough afterward to try out her wobbly legs, venturing all the way to the door. She was on her way back to the bed when she heard vaguely familiar voices outside in the hall. She stepped back to the door and leaned her ear against the wood in an effort to hear better. The argument was short and vicious. An English voice and a response in Spanish. Sloan inched the door open and peeked outside.

She stifled a gasp. Alejandro! And the Englishman! They were arguing about the Hawk . . . who was apparently right here in this hotel!

As they walked toward her, she quickly shut the door and leaned back against it. She couldn’t let Alejandro escape again. Yet what could she do in her weakened condition to stop him? Only moments later she heard a knock on the door. She froze.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Luke. Open up.”

Sloan flung the door open and dragged Luke inside. “Come in! Quick!”

“What’s going on?”

“I just saw Alejandro Sanchez in the hall.”

Luke frowned. “Are you sure? I didn’t see anyone.”

“I tell you I saw him in the hall arguing with an Englishman. You’ve got to do something!”

Luke took Sloan by the shoulders and backed her up to the bed. “I think you’d better lie down.”

“I am
not
having delusions, Luke. I didn’t imagine seeing Alejandro. He was there. He’s alive, and you can bet he’s plotting something with that Englishman. Surely you can find out who the Englishman is and—”

“I already know who he is.”

“You do?”

“His name is Sir Giles Chapman. He’s here in San Antonio as a cotton agent for a British textile mill.”

“He’s here as a spy.”

Luke shook his head. “You’ve got quite an imagination, Sloan, if that’s what you think. Have you seen that man before?”

“I certainly have. He’s the Englishman I wrote you about, the one who met with the Mexican bandidos. They were arguing about the Hawk—he’s staying in this very hotel.”

“Hmmmm. Have you got a description of this Hawk fellow? Any clue as to who he might be?”

“None at all,” Sloan admitted.

“Look, Sloan. If Alejandro is in San Antonio, I can have him arrested. But I’ll need more proof to do something about the Englishman. After all, it would be a diplomatic nightmare to accuse him of spying without more evidence than just your word against his. What I can do is keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious activities.”

Sloan frowned. “You can’t do anything more than that?”

“Nothing.”

“I guess that’s it then. I want to see Cruz’s face when he hears Alejandro is alive. You will let me tell him, won’t you, Luke? You won’t spill the beans?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

Luke was glad Sloan had accepted his reassurances that there was nothing he could do about the Englishman. He only hoped there weren’t any more surprises in store before he and Cruz got this whole mess straightened out. “I better go see if I can find Alejandro. I’ll be seeing you, Sloan.”

Sloan had much too much time to think after Luke left the room. She wondered what could be keeping Cruz. Surely it didn’t take this long to arrange for breakfast and a tub of hot water.

The hot water came a few minutes later, along with a young Mexican woman who offered to help Sloan with her bath. Sloan declined the help and, as soon as the young woman was gone, quickly stripped and slipped into the hot water. She laid her neck back against the metal rim, stretched out as much as the round wooden tub would allow, and luxuriated in the relaxing effects of the hot water on her aching muscles.

Cruz had entered the room quietly, thinking that Sloan must surely have taken her bath by now and gone back to bed. To his delight, he found his wife still sitting naked in the tub. She had gathered her thick sable hair into a knot at the top of her head, but numerous tendrils had escaped and lay along her neck and shoulders. The crests of her breasts rose barely out of the water.

His approach went undetected, and he was on one knee beside her when she realized his presence and opened her eyes.

In the several hours he had been gone, the look in those brown orbs had changed. They were wary now, and demanded answers he couldn’t give.

“I saw Luke downstairs. He said he came visiting and you were feeling much better.”

When Sloan followed Cruz’s gaze, she realized that her nipples had come out of the water when she sat up. She crossed her arms protectively around herself. Realizing the strangeness of hiding herself from Cruz when they were man and wife, she scooted back down under the soapy water to make it less obvious what she was doing.

Cruz’s hand made little circles in the soap-clouded water along the edge of the tub, and Sloan felt the ripples as intimately as though he had touched her flesh.

She shivered and asked, “What took you so long coming back?”

“I checked to see if there was any word from Betsy’s family. There was a letter from her uncle.”

“What did he say? Do they want her?” She forgot about her nakedness and gripped the edges of the tub with her hands. She held her breath, already knowing from the look on Cruz’s face that she was going to lose the little girl. “Read it to me.”

As Cruz got to the end of the letter, Sloan’s heart began to pound.

. . . I’m right glad you were at least able to save Betsy. She was named after my wife, Elizabeth, and Lizzie and I are plumb anxious to have her with us. I’ll take passage as soon as can be downriver to New Orleans, and from there by ship to Galveston, then overland to Rancho Dolorosa. I expect you’ll take good care of our Betsy ’til I can get there to bring her home.

Your servant,
Louis Randolph

“That’s wonderful for Betsy,” Sloan said in a choked voice.

“But not so wonderful for you,” Cruz answered gently. “I am sorry, Cebellina. I know you wanted to keep the child.”

“Of course I didn’t want to keep her. I’m happy . . . oh, Cruz!” Sloan threw her arms around his neck. “Hold me. Please, hold me. I don’t think I can bear it!”

Cruz leaned over and grasped Sloan under her arms, helping her stand, then wrapped her in a towel as she stepped out of the tub. Then he slipped his hand under her thighs and lifted her into his arms. He carried her over to the bed and tried to lay her down, but she wouldn’t let go of him.

“Stay with me. Lie down with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Let me pull off my boots.”

She clung to his neck, not even releasing him for that chore. He grunted as the second boot came off and a moment later joined her on the bed, hugging her with all his might.

Sloan welcomed the safe cocoon, but even that wasn’t enough to make her forget.

“I want to feel your skin next to mine.”

She shoved the towel aside and worked frantically on the buttons of his shirt, stripping it off his shoulders. Her hands and mouth were already busy on his skin, tasting the flavor of him, testing the texture of skin and sinew and bone. Her tongue laved a male nipple and drew it to a peak, which she nipped with her teeth.

She heard Cruz’s groan of pleasure, felt the tension in his body as her mouth laid a line of kisses across his collarbone. His breathing was shallow, his body taut with need.

“I want you,” she rasped. “I need you.”

Cruz wanted the words to mean more than he feared they did. “I am yours, Cebellina. Only yours.”

She went wild in his arms, her mouth on him everywhere, and he responded in kind. A euphoric battle of the senses followed, their bodies twisting and turning, hands and mouths seeking flesh and finding it.

Sloan pressed her hand intimately on the front of his trousers, stroking him, feeling him harden and grow.

“I want you inside me. Now.”

She went to work on the buttons of his trousers and laughed when his hands got in the way. “I can do it,” she said breathlessly. “Let me.”

He lay still beneath her hands, and she played with him, teasing and taunting as each button gave way.

“Lift up,” she said in a sultry voice. When he did, she reached inside the back of his trousers and skimmed them off his buttocks and down his legs.

Once he was free of the garment, he pulled her back up to lie full-length on top of him and let her legs slide down on either side of his thighs.

His hands skimmed down her back to her naked buttocks and he heard her moan as he pulled her snug against him. He nuzzled her neck with his lips and kissed his way up to the shell of her ear where he whispered, “I am yours, Cebellina. Now. Forever. Do with me what you will.”

Sloan rubbed herself against him, feeling the silky softness, the steel hardness. She reached down and guided him inside her, feeling him push against her flesh, spreading her, and then she surrounded him, taking him inside.

The feeling of oneness was exquisite. Sloan smiled. “You feel wonderful.”

Cruz chuckled. “I must return the compliment.” His thumb pressed against her at the point where their bodies met. The slight friction made her groan.

She set her hips in motion and his thumb kept pace, so the pleasure came from both inside and out. She leaned toward him and his mouth captured her breast.

Sloan was bombarded by sensation. She leaned back, but he rose with her until she was sitting straddled across his lap. His hands slipped around to clutch her hips to remain seated deep inside her.

She sought his mouth and thrust her tongue inside, mimicking the dance below. She was hungry, ravenous for him.

They slipped onto their sides, and he rolled with her until she was beneath him. She arched up to meet his thrusts, her senses spiraling higher, reaching for the promise of pleasure, and finally with a hoarse cry, finding it.

With her shuddering climax, Cruz thrust deep, wanting his seed to find fertile ground, wanting to give her a child to fill the emptiness in her heart.

They lay exhausted, clutched to one another, their sweat mingling with the scent of their sex.

“I love you, Cebellina.” Cruz didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.

Sloan slipped her arms around him, and burrowed her face into his shoulder, a hazy smile on her face. It had never been like this before. Never.

She knew then that she could not ask Cruz whether he had known Alejandro was still alive when he had come for her. It was better not to know the truth.

She did not think she could bear it if she found out Cruz was a liar, just like his brother.

T
WO WEEKS LATER
D
OÑA
L
UCIA WATCHED FROM
the veranda as her son arrived back at Dolorosa, his laughing, smiling wife by his side, more in charity with one another now than they had been before they left.

“How was your journey?” she asked as her son climbed the few steps to greet her.

“It went well,” Cruz said, “except Sloan was ill the day we arrived in San Antonio.”

“Oh? That is too bad.”

“A stomach ailment. But it quickly passed, and as you can see, she is fine now.”

“So I see.”

Cruz and Sloan quickly excused themselves and hurried inside to search for Cisco and Betsy.

Her back stiff, her black eyes inscrutable, Doña Lucia turned and walked into the
sala
to be alone. She seated herself imposingly in one of the heavy Mediterranean chairs, spread her ruffled burgundy satin skirt around her, and carefully straightened the lace at her elbows. This was how she had planned to meet her son when he told her of his grief at the tragic death of his wife.

Doña Lucia tightened her grip on the thick arms of the chair. She was greatly disappointed with the failure of her bold plan. What had gone wrong? Perhaps
that woman
had not drunk enough of the water in her canteen. Perhaps the tasteless poison had not been as strong as the old gypsy woman had promised.