Texas Woman

He lay beside Sloan, holding her, until he felt the tension ease from her body. She was asleep when Cruz realized how drowsy he felt himself. He closed his eyes, just to rest a moment until Maria arrived.

The curandera, Maria, was a wizened old woman, who wore ragged clothes and generally smelled of the poultices she devised. When she entered the room, she found Sloan and Cruz both asleep on the bed.

She checked Cruz first, clucking her tongue and shaking her head as she pried open his eyelids and peered into his eyes. She rinsed the blood from the wound at his temple and decided that it would not need stitching if she pulled it together and bound it that way. With quick, sure hands she checked to make sure he was otherwise uninjured before turning her attention to the woman.

She remembered Senora Sloan well. She had first met the senora a year ago when Cisco had been knifed by a Comanche, and Don Cruz had defended the senora’s right to stay with her son when the curandera had demanded that the room must be cleared of those who had no need to be there. Dona Lucia had left. Senora Sloan had remained and efficiently assisted Maria as she had stitched the wound closed.

The curandera had seen the adoration for this woman in Don Cruz’s eyes when he had thought no one was looking, and she had thought then that Senora Sloan would make a worthy wife for her patron. She wondered, as she gently woke the senora, whether the young woman had learned to return Don Cruz’s affections. If so, she would need all her courage to face the news that Maria had to impart.

“Senora, wake up,” the curandera said, gently slapping Sloan’s cheeks.

Sloan blinked her eyes open. “Is Cruz-”

“I have done what I can for El Patron. Now it is time to take care of you.”

“I’m only a little bruised-”

Maria shook her head and clucked her tongue as though chiding a small child as she helped Sloan strip off her clothes and put on a chambray wrapper. “That is a bad bruise on your thigh, senora, and needs something to reduce the swelling.”

“What is that?” Sloan demanded, her nose wrinkling in disgust as Maria applied a strong-smelling poultice.

“Something that will have you feeling much better soon,” the curandera assured her. “But I am afraid I must bring you more pain, senora,” Maria said as she covered Sloan with the sheet.

“What do you mean-more pain?”

“Don Cruz-”

“What’s wrong!” Sloan turned frantically to look at the man who, until now, she thought had been peacefully sleeping. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, senora. He sleeps.”

Sloan turned back just as quickly and frowned at the curandera. “If he’s just sleeping, then what’s wrong with him?”

“It is not only his body that sleeps,” Maria explained, “but his soul as well.”

Sloan all too quickly realized what the curandera was trying to say. “Oh my God. You mean he’s in a coma? He’s not going to wake up?”

“Be calm, senora,” the curandera said. “I do not know how long he will sleep. It may be he will wake in the morning, his body and soul rested. But it may also be that he will take longer to wake.”

Sloan stared at Cruz in horror. “He might die?”

They were interrupted when Dona Lucia appeared at the door and announced, “There is someone here to see you, Sloan.”

“Who is it?” she asked.

“He says his name is Louis Randolph. He says he has come for Betsy.”

Chapter 17

SLOAN FELT THE DISBELIEF GROW, SPINNING HER insides like a tumbleweed in the wind. “It can’t be. He can’t take her right now. I mean… it’s too much…”

She directed all her senses inward in an effort to calm the furor there, so she didn’t notice the astonished look on Dona Lucia’s face when the older woman realized Sloan was not the least bit sick. Nor did she see the look of horror when Cruz’s mother realized that her son lay unmoving on the bed.

“Did he-Did you-?” Dona Lucia gasped.

Sloan stared down at Dona Lucia’s hand, which had curled, like a bird’s claw, around her forearm. Sloan pulled her hand free and said, “Did he what? Did I what?”

Dona Lucia crossed to the mahogany bedstead in a haze and reached out a hand to touch her son’s pale whiskered cheek, fearing the worst. He simply could not have drunk from the poisoned goblet. She had watched carefully to make sure-and then she saw the wet brown stain on the sheets. That woman must have spilled the poisoned brandy, rather than drinking it. Dona Lucia ground her teeth in fury. She had failed again. And she had barely kept herself from blurting out what she had tried to do.

“Will he recover?” Dona Lucia asked the curandera.

“Only time will tell,” Maria said.

Sloan followed Dona Lucia and now stood beside her looking down at Cruz.

Dona Lucia stepped back as though Sloan was filth that would soil her gown. “You should be lying there, not my son. The blood of kings runs in his veins. He should never have married his brother’s puta!”

Sloan was in shock. Too much had happened in too brief a time. “I want you to leave this room now,” she said. “I have to dress to greet my guest.”

Dona Lucia didn’t know what to make of Sloan’s calm but firm request. Left without an enemy with whom to do battle, she looked one last time at her unconscious son, turned, and left.

Sloan pulled on a clean shirt and vest, but needed the curandera’s help getting her pants and boots on.

“You should be in bed, senora,” Maria said.

“I can’t sleep now. I’ll rest later.”

In the sala, Sloan found Betsy perched on one of her Uncle Louis’s knees and Cisco straddling the other. Louis Randolph was a big man. He was dressed like a farmer, in a dark gray homespun shirt, baggy denim overalls, and short, heavy black boots, all of which had seen a great deal of wear. He had shaggy light brown hair and ears that stuck out from his head like handles on a sugar bowl.

“Hello. I’m Sloan Guerrero.”

Louis smiled, his brown eyes sparkling with good humor. “I’d get up, ma’am, but I seem to have two bronc riders here holdin’ me down.”

He briefly released Betsy to reach out his hand, and Sloan bent forward to shake it. His hand was heavily callused, and though Sloan was sure he was quite strong, his grip was gentle.

“I’m obliged to you for puttin’ yourself in danger to help my kin,” he said, his voice a deep, sincere bass that rumbled in his broad chest. “And for takin’ care of Betsy. It near broke my Lizzie’s heart when my brother and his wife took off for Texas. My Lizzie and me, we love this child like she was our own.”

“I’m glad she’ll have a home where she’ll be welcome and can grow up happy,” Sloan said.

When Louis met her eyes, she realized he was trying to make this as easy for her as he could. She was grateful to him and looked for a way to thank him for his kindness. “Can you stay and have a meal with us?”

“I’d like to, but I’ve got to get back on the trail if I want to catch the packet from Galveston back to New Orleans. I’d welcome the chance to thank your man for his hospitality, though,” Louis said.

“I’m sorry, but Don Cruz was in an accident and he’s not well enough to…” Sloan’s throat closed and she couldn’t continue.

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. I truly am. Betsy, why don’t you say good-bye to Miz Sloan now.” Louis lifted Betsy off his knee and stood her in front of him.

Sloan went down on one knee and opened her arms to Betsy, who flew into them. “I’m going to miss you, Betsy.” Sloan levered Betsy away from her embrace and forced herself to smile at the little girl.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Betsy said. “I’ll remember what you told me, and I won’t be afraid.”

Sloan hugged Betsy again, fighting tears.

“I’ve made arrangements to have all my kin’s things shipped back to Pennsylvania,” Louis said. “Is there anything of Betsy’s here that has to be packed for her?”

“A few things. I can get them for you now.” Sloan was grateful for the excuse to leave the room. She released Betsy and said, “You’re going to have a wonderful life, Betsy. Maybe someday you can come back to Texas and visit me.”

Sloan looked over Betsy’s head and met Louis’s eyes. She knew then that Betsy would never be coming back. It had probably taken Louis and Lizzie’s life savings for him to make this trip. There would be no money for anyone to make such a trip again. Sloan rose and it was all she could do not to run from the room.

She was in Cisco’s bedroom putting the last of Betsy’s clothes and toys into a traveling bag when Cisco tugged on her pants leg. She turned and sat down on his bed. “What is it, Cisco? Do you need something?”

“I don’t want Betsy to go away. I want her to stay.”

He stared up at her, and Sloan heard his unspoken request for comfort. She abruptly brushed at his sable curls, then pulled her hand back when she realized what she was doing.

“I don’t want her to go, either. But Betsy’s Uncle Louis and her Aunt Lizzie love her and want her to come live with them in Pennsylvania.”

“But I will miss her.”