Texas Woman

Chapter 3

“YOU PROMISED YOUR FATHER YOU WOULD marry the Hidalgo girl, and now you tell me you cannot! Does the deathbed wish of a dying man mean so little to his eldest son?”

Cruz met his mother’s imperious stare with one of his own. “I promised my father only that she would be well wed. And she will be. I will find a husband who will take good care of her.”

“Bah! You are the husband for her. Refugia Adela Maria Tomasita Hidalgo carries the blood of kings in her veins, as you do, my son. She is a woman worthy of the Guerrero name.”

“I cannot marry Tomasita,” Cruz repeated quietly.

“You must get over this foolish notion that you are somehow responsible for Valeria’s death, and take another wife. Many women die in childbirth. It is the way of things.”

“That does not make it any less a tragedy, Mamá, as you must know.”

He did not disabuse her of the notion that it was the memory of Valeria’s death that kept him from marrying Tomasita Hidalgo. He had chosen not to tell his mother about his marriage to Sloan Stewart until he was finally able to bring her to live at Dolorosa as his wife. That would be time enough to meet the objections to the marriage he knew his mother would voice.

Cruz pushed himself away from the mantel and turned to lean a shoulder against the cool, rough stone. He watched his mother’s skin tighten unbecomingly across her patrician cheekbones.

Her hair, parted and held in its tight bun at her nape, was still black as a raven’s wing and her body was slim and firm, without the gaunt, bony appearance that occurred in many tall women as they aged. Her creamy complexion was unwrinkled except at the corners of her eyes.

Doña Lucia Esmeralda Sandoval de Guerrero looked more youthful than her fifty-three years, too young to be a widow whose household would soon be the province of a younger woman.

He could not help thinking that part of Tomasita’s suitability as his wife stemmed from her unresisting obedience to his mother’s will. The girl was still very young, and had lived nowhere but El Convento del Sagrado Corazón, the Convent of the Sacred Heart, in Madrid, under the strict censure of the nuns.

Yet he had seen a smoldering streak of rebellion in Tomasita that he felt certain would burst forth in flame if it were fanned even a little. She was malleable now, and mayhap his mother could keep her that way if she became his wife. He doubted it, but he had no intention of finding out. The sooner Tomasita Hidalgo was married-to another man-the better.

“I will find a good husband for her,” he said.

“And what of you? Will you not marry and breed up heirs? Who better than Tomasita to be the mother of your children?” his mother demanded.

“Rancho Dolorosa has an heir. Have you forgotten my brother’s son, Mamá? Tonio was your favorite. I have taken his son as my own. Is Cisco not heir enough for you?”

“He is also that woman’s son,” she spat.

Cruz’s eyes narrowed to slits and his lips pressed flat in anger. “You will speak of Sloan Stewart with respect.”

If Cruz had ever lifted a hand to his mother she might have been cowed by his fury, but although her son’s voice was hard, she was willing enough to fight words with words. She dismissed his obdurate stare with an angry wave of her ivory fan.

“Something must be done about that woman.”

“She has a name, Mamá.”

“I will not have it spoken in this house!”

“This house is mine,” he said, his voice harsh with the effort it took to control his temper. “I decide what names will be spoken here.”

“Of course,” she replied, her pride bringing her chin up another notch. “I see I cannot expect any more consideration for my wishes than you have given to the wishes of your father.”

Cruz refused to answer his mother’s challenging words with the taunting response on the tip of his tongue. Since his father’s death, he had found himself in almost constant conflict with his mother. She wasn’t ready to concede the father’s place to the son, any more than she was ready to concede her own place to a daughter-in-law.

He had told himself to be patient, that her abiding grief made her say things she did not mean, and that with time she would accept her new role in the household with grace. She needed his support and his solace in this time of change. He would not allow her to goad him into saying something now that he would regret later.

Instead of answering her accusation, he countered, “Are the plans completed for the fandango celebration to introduce Señorita Hidalgo to our neighbors?”

“All is in readiness, as you requested. I have invited all the noteworthy families in the area-including the Anglo planters from along the Brazos whom you added to the list-to come and welcome Tomasita.”

Cruz noted the disdain with which his mother referred to the wealthy Anglo planters. In the eight years since Texas had won its independence from Mexico in the Battle of San Jacinto, she had not accepted the reality of Anglo dominance in Texas. She had always retained the hope that someday Spain would step in and reclaim Texas. That was never going to happen. Annexation by America was a far more likely fate for the Republic-unless England could somehow manage to forestall it.

For now, Texas was free of oppressive Mexican taxes and military rule. Cruz would do everything in his power to keep it that way for himself and for the children he hoped to have with Sloan Stewart… assuming he could bring her to his home and to his bed.

He had hoped to present Sloan as his wife at the fandango. His mother’s enmity for that woman reminded him that she would not have been above “forgetting” to invite Sloan to the fandango.

“Did you send an invitation to the Stewart family?” he asked.

“If they were on the list-”

“You know they were on the list.” He dug deep for the patience to treat his mother with the respect that was her due and in a calmer voice asked, “Did you send the invitation?”

“I cannot remember,” she replied sullenly.

“Then perhaps you should check and make sure,” he said, his words both a command and a warning.

Cruz swore under his breath as he felt his shoulders knot with tension. Even if Sloan received an invitation, she probably would prove her independence by staying away.

He reached out to touch the smooth blue Talavera jar that stood in one of the recessed arches found at intervals along the interior walls of his adobe hacienda. Sloan’s skin was softer, smoother, than the finish on the delicate jar. He jerked his hand away from the glazed pottery and thrust it through his hair in what had become a habitual gesture of agitation.

His mother’s attitude toward Sloan troubled him, yet nothing he said seemed to change it. As far as Doña Lucia was concerned, Sloan Stewart had given herself to a man beyond the bounds of marriage and borne a bastard child. She would never forgive Sloan that transgression, even though the man Sloan had taken to her bed had been her favorite son and the child born of that union was her own grandchild.

He should have told his mother long ago that he was not free to align himself with Tomasita Hidalgo. But he could not-would not-explain his agreement with Sloan to his mother. At the time Cruz had learned of the betrothal contract, Tomasita had still been a child. Cruz had thought he would settle the matter with Sloan long before Tomasita had reached an age to marry.

But things had not gone as he had planned.

Tomasita’s father had died and his will had instructed the Convent of the Sacred Heart to send for Don Cruz Almicar Guerrero to come and claim his bride.

Cruz regretted the circumstances that had kept his relationship with Sloan Stewart in abeyance, because now Doña Lucia had her heart set on becoming mother-in-law to the aristocratic young Spanish woman he had brought home with him from Madrid.

Fortunately, Tomasita knew nothing of the alliance that had been proposed by their fathers, and Cruz had sternly forbidden his mother to tell the girl about it. It was enough for Tomasita to know he was her guardian until she married. For, indeed, he was.

He had asked his mother to plan the fandango in the hope that a prospective bridegroom for Tomasita would show himself. After all, once word of Tomasita’s beauty spread, he had no doubt the suitors would flock to his door. He planned to watch closely at the fandango to see if Tomasita favored any particular man.

Not that the girl could be allowed to make her own choice of husband, but perhaps she would show a preference for some suitable man. He was happy in his own choice of mate, and he wished Tomasita to be happy as well.

“You would be wise to make your claim on Señorita Hidalgo known at the fandango,” Doña Lucia said, demanding his attention.

“I have no claim to make.”

The sound of running feet on the tile floor suspended their argument.

“Papa! Papa!”

Cruz opened his arms wide as the three-year-old he thought of as his son threw himself forward. He scooped Cisco up and hugged him hard.

“Diablito! What demon is chasing you?” Cruz asked.

“She is coming. Hide me. Pronto!” Cisco hid his face in Cruz’s shoulder as though that could make his sturdy little body disappear as well.

“Who is coming?”

At that moment the beautiful young woman Doña Lucia wanted Cruz to wed skidded to a halt inside the arched doorway to the sala. “Holy Mary… I did not know… I did not expect… we were only… Holy Mary…”

Cruz watched as the seventeen-year-old he had brought from Spain blushed from her neck to her hairline. She had folded the sleeves up on her elegant blue silk day dress, exposing slender arms. Several buttons had slipped free to reveal the soft white-now rosy-skin at her throat. Her hair had escaped from its neat bun, and silken ebony strands curled at the edges of her heart-shaped face.

She quickly clasped her hands together in front of her and bowed her head, hiding her vivid, sapphire-blue eyes, which had been sparkling with laughter when she had first entered the room.

Cruz felt his heart go out to the girl. She made quite a lovely picture in her disarray. It would have been easy to fall in love with her if his heart had not already been taken. She possessed the joy in life, and the innocent belief in happily-ever-after, that had been stolen from Sloan when his brother had betrayed her.

He opened his mouth to reassure the girl there was no harm done but was preempted by his mother.

“Tomasita, such behavior is totally unbecoming to a woman of your age. You will go to your room immediately!”

“Sí, Doña Lucia. I am sorry-”

“There is no need to apologize,” Cruz found himself saying, unwilling to see the girl punished simply for behaving as the child she still was in many ways. “There is no harm done. I am sure Cisco was enjoying the game. Were you not, niño?” He ruffled his son’s sable locks.

“Sí, Papa,” Cisco replied, grinning back at Cruz.

“Thank you for your kindness, Don Cruz,” Tomasita said demurely. Her head came up, but the moment she caught sight of Doña Lucia’s reproving stare, she began backing hurriedly out of the room. “I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

Cruz spoke quickly before the girl could flee. “We were finished talking, and it is time for supper anyway. There is no need for you to go to your room. You would only have to leave it again to join us.”

He had countered his mother’s harshness with leniency because it seemed a shame to curb the girl’s natural ebullience. To his surprise, his mother seemed satisfied, rather than annoyed, by his gesture.

He stooped down and set Cisco on his toddler’s legs. “As for you, Diablito, it is time to wash up for supper. Where is Josefa?”

“I promised Josefa I would take care of Cisco,” Tomasita said, her voice timid and still a bit breathless from running. “She was very busy helping Ana set the table for supper.”

“Then I give him over to your safekeeping.” Cruz gave Cisco a gentle nudge in Tomasita’s direction. “Be a good boy and mind Tomasita.”

Cisco turned back and said, “Sí, Papa. I like Tomasita. She is more fun to play with than Josefa.”

Cruz watched as Tomasita’s blush became even rosier. His desire to ease her discomfort made him say, “I have some business to take care of with my vaqueros before supper. I will excuse myself and see you later.”

Once Cruz had left the room, Doña Lucia approached Tomasita, who by now had captured a wriggling Cisco in her arms. “I defer to the wishes of my son that you be allowed to dine with us. But before you come to the table, be certain you fix your hair, roll down your sleeves, and button your dress properly. After you have eaten, you will go to your room and you will pray on your knees that you learn to behave with more decorum.”

With that, she turned her back on the young woman and made a regal exit through the arched doorway of the sala.

When she was gone, Tomasita let out a huge sigh of relief. Doña Lucia’s stern admonition reminded her so much of Mother María de los Angeles that she could not help feeling homesick for her life in the convent. Yet she knew she would not have been happy staying there.

To be honest, she had welcomed the rescue-yes, rescue-by Don Cruz. For lately she had been guilty of precisely the same rowdy behavior at the convent for which Doña Lucia had chastised her.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many Ave Marías or Hail Marys Mother María had made her say on her knees on the hard stone floor of her convent cell, she simply could not seem to act as she should.

Now she was to become a wife. Of course she was not supposed to know about her betrothal to Don Cruz. But she had been sitting in the tree outside Mother María’s window and so could not help overhearing Mother María discussing the matter with one of the sisters.

So far, Don Cruz had not mentioned their betrothal even once. She supposed he must be waiting to speak to her until she had become more accustomed to him. She could only thank him for his sensitivity to her feelings.

Because she trembled when she thought of what it would mean to marry Don Cruz, as her father had decreed she must. Don Cruz’s face was so forbidding. As fierce as a hawk’s. And he was so much older, nearly twice her age.

Yet she could not deny he was very handsome. She admired his deep blue eyes crowned by slashing black brows, his proud cheekbones, his blade of nose, his full lips and slightly cleft chin.

However, the thought of touching him, or any man, terrified her.

At least he was kindhearted. For that, she thanked the Good Lord. If only she did not have to marry him. Perhaps if she spoke to Don Cruz of what was in her heart…

But it was childish nonsense to think that her feelings mattered. The decision had been made by her father and by his. It was not as if either she or Don Cruz had a choice.

She would do her duty. She owed her father’s memory that much.

Tomasita straightened her shoulders and put a cheerful smile on her face. The day of reckoning had not yet come. Until it did, who knew what the Good Lord had planned for her? She would enjoy each day as He had intended and leave tomorrow’s worry for tomorrow.

“Come, Cisco,” she said. “Let us go wash up for supper.”

Sloan lay in the early morning shade of a cypress on the banks of the Brazos River and watched a hawk catch the warm air on an updraft and soar higher into the cloudless blue sky.

It had been five days since Cruz had come for her. Five days that she had worried and wondered whether he would actually return for her with his vaqueros.

She had no business lying here doing nothing. As overseer for Three Oaks, she had responsibilities. Nonetheless, she had left old Uncle Billy in charge of the field slaves snatching cotton and come here to think.

She had felt a desperate need to discuss her problem with someone, so she had sent a message to Cricket to see if her youngest sister, who was also her best friend, could come and visit. But Cricket had written back in typical Cricket fashion.

Dear Sloan:

You’re never going to believe what’s happened. I’m pregnant again! It’s a relief to be free of the female miseries for nine months, but like a gooseberry clumperton I’m plagued with morning sickness instead. Needless to say, I’d have to be a picklehead (which I’m not) to take a trip on horseback right now.

Anyway, I know you’re going to work out your problem with Cruz just fine on your own. You’ve always been good at solving problems-think how many you’ve solved for me and Bay over the years. I’ll keep in touch. Let me know how things turn out.

Your pregnant sister,

Cricket

P.S. Creed and baby Jesse send their love.

Sloan sighed. She supposed the pattern of her relationship with Cricket had been set too many years ago for her to change it now.

“Howdy there.”

Sloan sprang upright and whirled toward the voice, a Colt Patterson appearing in her hand. “Dear God, Luke! I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that. I almost shot you!”

Luke had a sheepish grin on his face and an apology written in his hazel eyes. He pulled his flat-brimmed hat off. His hand automatically reached up to brush back the sun-streaked hair that fell across his forehead. “Sorry about that. Guess that, being a Ranger, sneaking around just comes natural. I’ll try to give you fair warning next time. So… am I forgiven?”

Sloan gestured toward the ground next to her. “Come on and join me. I could use some company.” That was an understatement.

The lanky young man slipped cross-legged to the ground along with Sloan. The Texas Rangers didn’t have a uniform, and Luke wore an open-throated dark blue linsey-woolsey shirt and fringed buckskin trousers with knee-high moccasins. He looked totally comfortable on the ground. Once they were both seated, an awkward silence fell between them.

Sloan eyeballed the Ranger sideways. She knew Luke for a steady man, but right now his hands were anything but still. He straightened the brim on his hat, smoothed the snug material across his muscular thigh, then played with the fringe on his trousers. Whatever it was he wanted to say wasn’t sitting comfortably on his shoulders.

“Spit it out,” she suggested. “I doubt it’s going to go down any easier even if you keep chewing on it.”

He cleared his throat once before he said, “I decided to take you up on your invitation to visit, but I stopped by to visit Cricket and Creed on my way here. Uh… Cricket… uh… said you were in some sort of trouble.”

Sloan stiffened. How dare Cricket reveal her personal business to Luke! Not that Luke wasn’t the kind of person you confided in. He was. But choosing to confide in Luke was one thing; having the choice taken out of her hands was something else altogether.

“This is none of your business, Luke. Cricket spoke out of turn.”

“I just thought-”

“Don’t think! Forget anything Cricket said, and mind your own business.”

Luke wanted to tell her this was his business. But she would find that out soon enough. “I only wanted to say if there’s anything I can do to help, please ask.”

Sloan tore at the grass in front of her, mercilessly shredding each helpless blade. “I don’t need any help. I can handle my own problems.”

She sounded so much like Cricket, it was eerie, Luke thought. But then, Rip had raised his daughters to take care of themselves. Even soft-spoken Bay had a core of iron down her back, though it had taken several years of living among the Comanches to reveal it.

“All right, Sloan, it’s forgotten.” He pulled out a stem of seed grass and bit down on the end, sucking the sweet juice while he waited for her to calm down. “How’s Rip?” he asked offhandedly.

“Mad as a hornet,” Sloan replied.

“Oh?”

“This situation with Cruz has him upset.”

“What situation is that?”

“Damn it all, Luke! I said I don’t want to talk about this.” Sloan laughed at herself and shook her head. “Yet here I am spilling the beans. What is it about you that pries at closed lips like a coon at a crayfish?”

Luke shrugged and let a lazy smile tilt his lips up at the corners.

Sloan sighed and muttered, “Hell, I ought to go ahead and tell you. You know the parties involved, but you don’t have a stake in the outcome.”

Luke kept his mouth shut and waited for Sloan to make up her mind about what she wanted to do. Patience was something he had learned young, right along with disappointment.

Sloan had kept the secret from everyone for so long, it was hard to speak of it aloud. “Four years ago…” She cleared her throat and began again. “Four years ago I went to Cruz and asked for his help. I wanted him to take Tonio’s child when it was born. As you know, he agreed, and the Guerreros have raised my son. But Cruz demanded something in return, something that’s been a secret between the two of us.”

When Sloan paused, Luke said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Sloan met Luke’s sympathetic gaze and suddenly knew why both her sisters had befriended him. She felt an affinity to the young Ranger she simply couldn’t explain. Luke’s encouraging smile made it easier for her to continue. “I guess I need to talk with someone, and you’re here.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Cruz asked that I marry him to legitimize Cisco, so he would bear the Guerrero name.”

Sloan glanced at Luke to see if she had shocked him, but Luke’s expression was more somber than anything else.

“So Cruz took your son… but you never married him?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

Sloan found it hard to meet Luke’s inquiring gaze. She fidgeted with her Colt Patterson as she spoke, splitting it into three parts and then putting it back together again.

She continued, “We signed legal papers naming us man and wife. But we didn’t say any vows before a priest. And I made him agree that the marriage wouldn’t be…” Sloan swallowed. “… that he wouldn’t touch me until Tonio’s murder had been avenged.

“You know the rest. I once told Cruz that if he ever wanted out of the marriage, he could have it annulled. But he never did.”

“Why not?”

“How should I know?” Sloan answered irritably. She had never questioned Cruz’s motives. She had never understood his demand that she marry him. But she would have done anything to get him to take her unborn child.

Now, years later, she was seeing the fruit of her folly.

“So what’s the problem with Cruz that has your father upset?” Luke asked.

Sloan took a deep breath and let it out again. “Now that Alejandro is dead, Cruz wants to make the marriage real. He wants me to live with him at Rancho Dolorosa.”

“That sounds fair. But I can see how Rip would be a little upset.” Luke snorted, then laughed aloud.

Sloan frowned. She hadn’t expected Luke to take Cruz’s side in the matter, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to laugh at her situation. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, Sloan. I didn’t mean to suggest your problem isn’t a real one. But it just occurred to me that your father has made all these grandiose plans for his daughters to carry on at Three Oaks after he’s gone, and one by one you’re all getting married and leaving. What’s he going to do once you’re gone?”

“I haven’t agreed to go with Cruz,” Sloan snapped. “And it’s doubtful I will-for precisely the reason you’ve named. I’ve spent a lifetime learning to manage Three Oaks. It’s my birthright. I’ve been bred to it. Besides, what would I do as the wife of Don Cruz Almicar Guerrero?”

Luke grinned, revealing strong white teeth that overlapped slightly in front. “I can think of a few things, but I’m not sure you want me to mention them.”

Sloan flushed. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t you want to have a husband and children?”

“I have a husband and a child already.”

“Not a real husband. And when was the last time you saw your son?”

Sloan paled. “What good is having a husband if I have to give up Three Oaks?”

“The land isn’t everything, Sloan.”

“To me it is,” she replied quietly. “It’s the only thing I can count on.”

Luke looked into Sloan’s chocolate-brown eyes and saw a kindred soul. She knew the bitterness of betrayal as he did. She trusted no one; nor did he. She was alone, as he was.

The big difference was that she now had a chance to move beyond the tragedy that had scarred her life. Cruz Guerrero was nothing like his brother Antonio.

“I think you’re making a big mistake if you don’t think twice about fulfilling your bargain with Cruz,” Luke said.

“I have been thinking. I’ve done nothing but think for the past five days, since he showed up at Three Oaks and gave me an ultimatum-come to Dolorosa or he’d be back with his vaqueros to get me.” Sloan brushed a wisp of sable hair from her cheekbone.

“How do you feel about Cruz… as a man?” Luke asked.

Sloan shivered. She had been carefully avoiding this subject because the truth was that she found Cruz tantalizing in a way his younger brother never had been. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Luke.

“What do you want me to say? He’s strong and well formed. He has eyes as blue as the Texas sky and crow-wing black hair.” She shrugged dismissively. “He’s an attractive man. There’s no denying it.

“But he’s also arrogant and demanding. He’s used to giving orders and having them obeyed. And he doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise!”

That last accusation wasn’t exactly precise, Sloan admitted, but it was true enough to mean problems if she found herself living with Cruz.

“Have you imagined what it would be like to-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“How can you choose Three Oaks over a flesh-and-blood man when you won’t let yourself consider what the man has to offer you?”

“I’ve had a man between my legs,” Sloan said crudely, hoping to end the conversation. “I can’t imagine one is much different from another.”

Luke didn’t contradict her. She would have to find out the truth for herself. “You could give it a try. Things might work out. Did you ever think maybe you could use someone to lean on once in a while, someone to share your troubles and lighten the load?”

“That’s the last thing I need.” But Sloan knew the vehemence of her objection was directly related to the immense appeal of Luke’s suggestion.

Luke stood up and brushed the grass and dirt from the seat of his pants. “Sounds like you have your mind made up.”

Sloan rubbed her palms on the knees of her trousers, then looked up to meet Luke’s penetrating gaze. “I guess I do.”

“I’ll be going, then.” He wasn’t going to try to change Sloan’s mind. But he wasn’t going to approve of her decision, either. He swung into the saddle and kneed his chestnut gelding away from the river at a walk.

“Luke…”

He reined in his horse and looked back at Sloan over his shoulder, waiting for her to speak.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks for listening. I… needed… someone.” It was a hard thing to admit aloud.

“You’re welcome, Sloan. Anytime.” He nudged his horse with his heels and soon left her behind him.

Luke felt a well of anger rising inside him and struggled to subdue it. He shouldn’t care what Sloan Stewart did with her life, but he couldn’t seem to distance himself from any woman in distress. A legacy from his childhood, he thought with disgust, when his mother had needed someone to rescue her from the mire and he had been too young to help. He had grown up as fast as he could, but it had still been too slow to make a difference.

He wanted to help Sloan, but he debated the wisdom of interfering. Maybe he would only make things worse. He had no way of predicting how Rip would react to the message he planned to deliver.

Aw, hell! All Rip Stewart had ever wanted was a son. Knowing he had one-even if he was a bastard-was bound to make a difference.

Luke turned his mount toward the plantation house. There was no time like the present for digging up bitter, long-buried secrets.