In the uncomfortable silence, both men were acutely aware of one another, of the unspoken tragedy that lay between them, and of the tribulations yet to come. The strain increased as the sun slipped beyond the gently rolling landscape, revealing the silhouette of a rider loping toward them.
Cruz stood and ground out his cheroot in the grass at the foot of the steps. Tension thrummed through him as he waited to confront the woman he was ready, at last, to make his wife.
When Sloan recognized the tall figure standing in the shade of the moss-covered oaks that shrouded the white frame plantation house, her heart rose to her throat. She had known Cruz would come, but she had hoped it would not be so soon. She had not yet made up her mind what she was going to say to keep him at bay.
She was grateful for the help he had given her at a time when she hadn’t known where else to turn. But she didn’t want to repay him by becoming his wife-even if it was what she had promised him at the time.
She walked her horse the rest of the distance to the two-story house, taking the extra time to search for an answer she could give to Cruz’s demand. It might not have been so bad if she felt nothing for the man. But, however much it chagrined her to admit it, she was attracted to Cruz. If she went to live with him at Dolorosa, she was deathly afraid her attraction might grow into something more.
She refused to take the chance of falling in love again. Love had made her foolish. Love had made her lose control of her life.
Moreover, she had learned enough about Cruz Guerrero to know he would expect his wife to follow his lead. Sloan was not, had never been, a follower.
Yet she knew from her experience with Tonio that a woman in love might do anything. A woman in love was vulnerable. A woman in love went a little crazy.
Sloan had no intention of repeating the experience. She would never give another man the chance to control her through love.
Sloan’s eyes never left Cruz’s face as she dismounted and walked the remaining few steps it took to reach him.
“Cruz, I-”
Before she had a chance to speak further, he reached out and drew her into the possessive circle of his embrace. He smelled of soap and sweet tobacco, of horses and leather. She stiffened as her cheek grazed his soft ruffled shirt.
“Well, well, well.”
Sloan whipped her head around at the sound of her father’s mocking voice, seeing him for the first time in the shadow of the porch. When she tried to back away from Cruz, his powerful arms would not release her.
She put her hands flat against his chest to keep him from drawing her any closer. His heart pounded beneath her fingers, causing her own pulse to race.
She had hoped to avoid involving Rip in her confrontation with Cruz. Perhaps it was not yet too late if she chose her words carefully.
Rip had risen from his rocker and was leaning on his cane, his feet braced wide apart to hold himself steady. “You two look mighty friendly.” His eyes narrowed as he added, “Cruz says he’s come to take you back to Rancho Dolorosa-as his wife.”
Sloan’s eyes met Cruz’s with an unspoken plea for discretion. “I thought we settled this in San Antonio.”
“I said I would come for you,” he said, “and I have. I will wait while you pack what you need, Cebellina.”
Sloan jerked herself from Cruz’s embrace. “I thought I made my feelings clear. I won’t-”
“What the hell is this all about, Sloan?” Rip asked. “I want an explanation, and I want it now.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Sloan retorted.
“Sounds to me like Cruz is ready to cart my daughter off to Rancho Dolorosa-over his shoulder if necessary. That makes it my concern.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are my wife,” Cruz said. “You will go where I tell you to go.”
Sloan avoided the questioning look Rip gave her and said to Cruz, “I can’t come with you. I… I… need more time.”
His voice was equally quiet, but adamant. “My part of the bargain is met. Now you must meet yours.”
Sloan sought desperately for some other excuse to deny his demand and blurted, “What about the young woman I heard you brought home from Spain with you?”
Cruz frowned. “Senorita Hidalgo?”
“That’s the name I’ve heard.”
“She is not your concern.”
“Is Sloan your wife or not?” Rip demanded.
“She is.”
“I’m not.”
Rip turned on Sloan, his patience gone. “What the hell is going on? And I want a damn straight answer!”
Sloan’s lips flattened against making an explanation. “I’ve said all I have to say on the matter. I’ve got more work to do before it gets dark, so if you’ll both excuse me-”
Cruz’s sudden fierce grip on Sloan’s arms cut her off. “I will not excuse you. I will not allow you to ignore me or to pretend nothing exists between us. We have an agreement. Alejandro is dead. The time has come for you to finish the bargain.”
Sloan shivered, feeling something halfway between fear and anticipation at the words that were both a threat and a promise.
“Let go of my daughter.”
Sloan froze when she realized Rip held a Navy Colt Patterson aimed at Cruz. She knew Cruz had seen the gun, but he tightened his hold rather than freeing her.
“I will have you for my wife, Cebellina,” he said, his voice a harsh breath that fanned her ear. “Do not doubt it.”
He released her and stepped back to meet Rip’s dangerous stare with one of his own. “I expect Sloan to come to me within the week. If she does not, I will be back with my vaqueros to get her.”
Cruz turned and threw himself onto his palomino stallion. He raked its belly with his spurs and the beast bounded away as though the hounds of hell were chasing him.
Sloan’s body trembled with agitation as the dust settled. She was completely unaware of Rip until she heard him slump back into the rocker. She watched her father warily, wondering what he would say now that Cruz was no longer a buffer between them. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“What kind of claim does he have on you, Sloan? What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“I don’t need you to judge me,” she snapped. “I only did what I thought I had to do to get Cruz to take the baby.”
“You should have kept the boy.”
“It was Tonio’s child!”
“It was your child-my grandchild.”
“It was a child born of deceit. I would have hated Cisco, though he was faultless. Don’t you understand? I couldn’t keep him. I was too angry-”
“Peace!” Rip interrupted. “Peace, I say.”
Sloan bit her tongue and slowly sank into the rocker next to Rip’s. She leaned her head back against the varnished wood and began to rock gently back and forth. The steady creaking sound made by the two rockers soothed the tension between them as the deepening twilight claimed the land.
“Do you plan to go to Dolorosa?” Rip asked.
“I can’t be his wife.”
“He’ll be back.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I can handle Cruz.”
As darkness fell, Stephen, the slave who had managed Rip’s household since Amelia’s death, when Cricket was still a child, lit the lanterns inside the house. The bright yellow light spilled through the front windows, enabling Sloan and Rip to see each other’s faces.
“It’s too bad things worked out the way they did. I know you miss seeing your boy-”
Sloan felt her stomach begin to churn at the further mention of her son. “Please. I don’t-”
“Don’t interrupt me, girl. And don’t contradict me!”
Sloan wrapped her arms tightly around herself, but she remained silent.
“I know your sister Bay finally got you and Cisco together this past year at her husband’s ranch. I know that about the time you started letting yourself care for your son, he got hurt and nearly died. I also know that as soon as he got well again, you stopped seeing him. I’m sure you had your reasons for that.”
Sloan’s glance skittered off Rip as she recalled holding her three-year-old son for the first time since she’d handed her day-old baby to Cruz. Cisco’s skin had been incredibly soft against her cheek. She had loved the feel of his chubby legs wrapped around her waist and his arms clinging to her neck as he murmured a mixture of English and Spanish childwords at her neck. She had suddenly felt the full brunt of what she had done.
It had been too easy to love her son. When he had been attacked by a renegade Comanche and nearly killed, she had been thoroughly shaken to realize how devastated she would have been by such a loss.
It had been frightening to realize that even the tender love of a mother for her son was fraught with danger. It was better, she had decided, not to love at all. It seemed the only way to avoid the pain that seemed irrevocably to come along with loving.
“You can’t keep ignoring the fact you’ve got a child,” Rip continued. “When you’re as old as I am, you realize you don’t get a second chance in this life. If I had a son out there somewhere, you can believe he’d know I cared about him.”
But he didn’t have a son, Sloan mused, which was why she and her sisters had taken the place of sons in her father’s dreams. How different things would have been if he’d had even one son instead of three daughters.
Sloan rarely let herself think what her life might have been like if she had not been her father’s heir. Would she have been so ready to reject love if
