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,
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,
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
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.”
“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
“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.
Sloan shivered at the gruesomeness of his drunken features.
From the lascivious glances being thrown her way, it was plain he was thinking about fulfilling the promise he had made in the stinking San Antonio jail cell so many months before. She reminded herself she was Rip’s daughter. She was brave; she was strong; she was no coward. But that didn’t stop her stomach from churning.
“Tell me,
She heard the chair legs hit the floor and Alejandro’s spurs scrape off the table. A moment later, he stuck a dirty hand under her chin and shoved her head upward. His breath smelled of sour chili and Mexican beer.
Her dark brown eyes flashed with hate and contempt. “
He hit her with his fist and knocked her into a sideways sprawl. Then he grabbed the front of her shirt with both hands and yanked, sending
