Texas Woman (36 page)

“I’m sure I’d have figured out something,” Luke said with a grin.

Perhaps if Sloan had gotten downstairs a few minutes sooner, she could have steered the conversation away from danger, but it was too late now to do anything but watch helplessly as Tomasita rose from her seat, picked up her glass of wine, and dumped it on Luke’s head.

He bolted out of his chair, shouting, “What the hell did you do that for?”

“You know why I did it,” she shouted back. “
Cabron! Bribon!
I love you, you insufferable idiot! I cannot stand to watch that blond
bruja
bat her eyes at you anymore.”

She turned and raced out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Luke standing stunned behind her.

“Aren’t you going after her?” Sloan demanded.

Luke wiped his face with his napkin and threw it down on the table. “You’re damn right I am!”

He sprinted after Tomasita, and Sloan had to grab Cruz’s arm to keep him from following him.

“I cannot leave them alone,” Cruz said.

“He won’t hurt her,” Sloan replied. “She’s carrying his child.”

She heard Angelique’s gasp and watched as Cruz’s face darkened with anger.

“How could he dare to dishonor her? How could she dare to act the whore for him?”

Sloan’s face lost all color as the greater implications of Cruz’s tirade became clear. Any woman who bedded a man without benefit of marriage was a whore. By virtue of her actions with his brother, she must also be a whore.

Cruz caught sight of Sloan’s shocked face and said “Cebellina, I did not mean—”

“Excuse me. I think I’ll go take a walk.”

Cruz quickly followed her, leaving a stunned Angelique alone at the table.

Cruz caught Sloan in the central hallway and grasped her by the arms to keep her from escaping. “You will listen—”

“There is no need to explain, Cruz,” she said. “You only said what you honestly believe.”

“I spoke in anger,” he said. “And I spoke in haste. I never meant to suggest that your relationship with Tonio was the same thing as—”

“But it was. Exactly the same. If Tomasita is a whore, then so am I.”

Cruz flushed. He met Sloan’s eyes, his gaze serious and steady. “I do not care. It does not matter. I have only one name I want to call you, and that is
wife
. I love you.”

Her love for him was still a fragile thing. Should she take the chance that he might change his mind? Should she take the chance that someday, in a fit of anger, he might call up the past in equally ugly words and put it between them?

They were distracted by a shout and the sound of Tomasita racing down the stairs with Luke running full tilt behind her.

Sloan and Cruz turned in time to see Tomasita lose her footing and tumble down the last few steps. When she reached the oak floor at the bottom, she lay still, her right foot twisted at an odd angle.

Everyone stood frozen for a moment, the only sound Luke’s harsh, “Oh God, no!”

Then they were all running to reach her. Luke got there first and gently cradled her face in his hands. “Tomasita?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she moaned. “The baby . . .” Her hands grasped her womb and she curled into herself.

Sloan quickly checked Tomasita’s ankle for broken bones. Discovering none, she said to Luke, “Nothing’s broken, but her ankle is badly sprained. I . . . I don’t know about the baby. Take her upstairs and I’ll send for the doctor.”

“Do not touch me,” Tomasita hissed at Luke.

He ignored her, lifting her into his arms and moving as quickly as he could without harming her further.

Sloan sent Stephen for the doctor, and then followed Luke upstairs to Tomasita’s room.

“You should leave, Luke, so I can undress her for the doctor,” Sloan said.

“I’ll do it.”

“Luke, she doesn’t want—”

“I’ll do it!”

Sloan stepped back from the bed and watched as he gently began undressing Tomasita.

Tomasita watched Luke with pain-filled eyes, but she said nothing as he bared her body to his suffering gaze. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she held her womb tight against the twinges she felt inside.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, his voice broken.

Tomasita did not answer, just turned her face away from him.

Luke found a chambray wrapper in a nearby chest and slipped it over Tomasita’s head.

“The doctor will be a while coming,” Sloan said. She met Luke’s eyes and saw the agony there. If she’d had any doubts that he loved Tomasita, they were answered.

“Isn’t there something I can do?” he pleaded.

“Hold her. Love her,” Sloan said softly.

Luke sat beside Tomasita and took her unresisting hand in his. “Tomasita, I’m sorry. Please say you forgive me. Say you’ll marry me.”

Sloan held her breath to see how Tomasita would respond to Luke’s plea. When she turned to face Luke, she only shook her head sadly.

“You do not have to marry me, Luke. Our baby . . . My baby . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “Go away. Please, go away. I cannot bear to look at you.”

Luke avoided Sloan’s eyes as he stood up and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Tomasita burst into tears.

Sloan sat down beside the young woman and awkwardly patted her shoulder. She couldn’t bring herself to say, “Everything will be all right,” because this was all wrong. So very wrong.

She had been so sure that Luke and Tomasita belonged together. So what had thwarted their happily-ever-after ending?

Sloan’s eyes widened in shock as she identified the thieves that had robbed Luke and Tomasita of their happiness. She recognized them because she knew them so intimately: the fear of loving, the fear of losing, and an unwillingness to trust.

W
HEN THE DOCTOR FINALLY ARRIVED,
S
LOAN
kept vigil with him until they were certain the baby was all right and there was no danger Tomasita would miscarry.

Luke asked to see Tomasita again, but was refused with the explanation that Tomasita was very tired and anything that might upset her, including a visit from him, wasn’t good for her right now.

When the worst of the danger was past, Sloan walked downstairs to the parlor and found Luke and Cruz sitting on opposite sides of the room. She could have cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Cruz clenched a burning cheroot between his bared teeth. Luke gripped a glass of Rip’s Irish whiskey in his white-knuckled hands. It looked as though they had been fighting. A vivid bruise marred Luke’s cheekbone, and Cruz had a cut lip.

“Tomasita and the baby are going to be fine,” she announced from the doorway.

“Thank God.” Luke bowed his head over his hands, which clutched the whiskey glass beneath his widespread knees.

She walked over to Cruz and touched his lip where it bled. He flinched away. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you coming to bed now?”

“Not right away. Luke and I have some more talking to do.”

“Are you sure it’s talking and not fighting you have in mind?” Sloan demanded, her voice sharp. “It’s not going to help Tomasita if the two of you kill each other.”

Cruz sighed. “You are right. Come here, Cebellina. I need to feel you in my arms.”

Sloan went to him and allowed herself to be pulled down onto his lap and comforted. He whispered in her ear, “I promise Luke’s handsome face will look as good tomorrow as it does tonight. Go to bed,
querida
. I will join you when I can.”

Sloan kissed him on the mouth gently in deference to his split lip. “Good night, Cruz. Good night, Luke.”

She left the parlor and started up the stairs, but changed her mind and silently walked back down and out the front door. A lot had happened in the past few weeks, and she needed to be alone to think.

Sloan had always considered herself brave, but she thought maybe she was about to make the most courageous decision of her life. The decision not only to love Cruz, but to trust his love to be constant no matter what challenges they faced over the years to come.

Once outside, she headed for the stables, where she lit a lantern and began saddling a horse.

“Who’s that?”

Sloan realized she must have woken August, who had a room at the back of the stable. “It’s me, Sloan.”

“Miz Sloan? What you be doin’ up this time o’ the night?”

“It won’t be long before the sun is up. I thought I’d take a ride. I’ll be back before morning light.”

“Weather don’t look so good.”

“At least the rain is done. There’s nothing left of the storm but a little wind.”

“That Texas wind ain’t nothin’. It’s somethin’, all right. You be careful.”

Sloan led her horse outside and held tight to the reins when it skittered nervously away from a leaf blowing in the wind. “Hold still, you critter,” she said. She stepped into the saddle and kicked her mount into an easy lope. There were traces of light, enough to create shadows that made her horse hard to handle.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured. “Easy. Nothing but shadows, boy. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Just like her fears. Only shadows. Nothing to be afraid of. She felt stronger, surer of her choice. There were no guarantees. You took what life gave you and you made the best of it. And life with Cruz could be the very best. She knew it.

Sloan had kept her horse at a lope for half an hour when she saw a campfire in the distance. She was curious because the fire was so close to the house. Anyone crossing Three Oaks could have asked for, and received, the hospitality of the house. Whoever it was must have spent a hard night between the wind and the rain. She kicked her horse, thinking the least she could do was offer the travelers a hot breakfast.

It was also possible that whoever sat by that campfire hadn’t sought shelter at the house because he had known he wouldn’t be welcome. And so, before Sloan got much closer, she stopped to check that the twin Patterson Colts in her saddle holsters were loaded and angled her horse around so she approached the camp from behind.

Sloan could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the rotund figure sitting on a rock before the campfire. The Englishman! He must have planned a rendezvous with Cruz.

She had already turned her horse to flee when someone grabbed the reins and pulled her down out of the saddle. Her scream was cut off by a rough, hard hand across her mouth.

“The effort is wasted,
chiquita,
” Alejandro said. “There is no one to hear you but me.”

Cruz stared unseeing into the scattered coals in the fireplace. He had finally given Luke permission to court Tomasita, but not before he had vented his anger at the Ranger. Luke had left a few moments ago to sit at Tomasita’s bedside. It was nearly dawn and long past time he joined his wife in bed.

Moments later, Cruz frowned as he stared at a bed that hadn’t been slept in. He turned and walked down the hall to Tomasita’s room, knocked, and when Luke answered the door, asked, “Is Sloan in there?”

“No. Isn’t she in bed?”

“No.”

“Did you check the other bedrooms?”

“Not yet.” Cruz checked what had been Cricket’s bedroom and found Cisco sleeping soundly. He walked down the hall and hesitated before knocking on Rip’s door. When there was no answer, he carefully opened the door and found Rip asleep—and alone.

Cruz hurried back downstairs. Sloan wouldn’t be in the downstairs bedroom with Angelique, but he quickly checked the other rooms without finding any sign of her.

He left the house and headed for the barn. There, August gave him news that made his heart skip a beat.

“She come to get her horse ’fore daybreak. Said she’d be back by mornin’.”

Cruz heard a robin singing cheerfully outside the barn as he saddled his
bayo
. The storm had spent its fury overnight, and the sun was shining brightly. He and Sloan should be starting the new day together. Where was she? Why wasn’t she back yet?

Her trail was easy to follow, and he felt a cold chill when he saw which way she had headed. His stomach was knotted by the time he reached the campfire, where the Englishman waited for him.

“Where is she?” Cruz demanded.

“Where is who?”

Cruz was off his horse and had the Englishman by his fancy neckcloth in two seconds flat. “My wife!”

“Easy, man, easy,” Sir Giles soothed. “She’s being well taken care of.”

“Where is she?”

“Alejandro has her,” Sir Giles gasped through a half-crushed windpipe. “You’re choking me.”

Cruz released his hold enough so that Sir Giles could talk. “Where is Alejandro?”

“He’s gone to his hideout. I don’t know where it is.”

Cruz tightened his hold again, nearly cutting off the Englishman’s air.

“I’m telling the truth. I don’t know where he is,” Sir Giles croaked.

Cruz let go of his hold on the man, and the Englishman dropped into an untidy heap on the ground.

“You had better pray that I find her soon, and that I find her untouched. Because if I do not, I will be back for you. I suggest you get out of Texas. It is not a healthy place for you anymore.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Sir Giles said as Cruz remounted his
bayo
.

“Oh?”

“What about the evidence I have against your wife?”

“Do whatever you want with it. It was never any good anyway.” With that enigmatic statement, Cruz spurred his stallion in the direction of the tracks that led away from the Englishman’s camp.

As soon as Cruz was gone, Sir Giles Chapman picked himself up, scowling at the irreparable damage done by the mud that now stained his bright yellow trousers.

Things were not working out exactly as he had figured. He didn’t trust Alejandro, and he believed Cruz’s threat. He had better get to Alejandro’s hideout as quickly as possible and make sure that nothing happened to that crazy Spaniard’s wife.

Sloan was frightened. She was tied hand and foot, and that sense of helplessness alone was enough to curdle her blood. To make things worse, ever since they had arrived, Alejandro had been drinking steadily.

The small adobe house to which Alejandro had brought her was the same one in which he had murdered Tonio. Four years later, the door still hung on one leather hinge, the open windows lay bare, and flies buzzed around them. She sat on the dirt floor in a corner of the room and watched as Alejandro leaned back in a rickety chair and stuck his feet up on the wind-and-weather-scarred table. He tipped a bottle of beer up and drained another swallow. He smiled beneath his bushy moustache and his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rounded.