Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection

by Amanda Barratt

  What he’d give to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was Ricardo’s place. Something the man didn’t deserve.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. In one swift movement, he slipped his free hand around her waist and pulled her into his arms.

  Caro leaned into his embrace. Did he make her feel safe? Secure? Like she wasn’t alone? He lifted his hand to stroke her hair.

  She suddenly yanked away and raised her hand to slap him.

  Chisholm caught her wrist. “What was that for?”

  “For being a man.”

  “You’re afraid you might like me, aren’t you?”

  Her cheeks bloomed with color, but before he could say another word, she whirled and marched from the barn.

  What a little spitfire. But in those few moments he’d held her, he’d gotten a glimpse behind her ironclad armor. Caro was a woman who wanted to be loved, but it was going to take one fearless man to stay the course and find a way to her heart.

  Chisholm shook his head and laughed. He might face down the worst marauders in Texas, but not even he was that brave.

  Chisholm completed the work in the barn by the time Whit returned from town. After washing up, they went inside for supper, only to discover that Hank Reynolds was still out with his men.

  Caro’s mother set a covered serving dish on the center of the dining table. “Where are the flowers, daughter?”

  “I didn’t get any,” Caro called from the other room.

  “They are not yet in bloom?” Her mother laid a folded napkin at each place.

  “I didn’t get to the field to see.” She pushed the door open, carrying a cast-iron pot. “Ricardo—”

  Her mother pointed to the empty spot. “Ricardo?”

  Caro set the pot on the table, then spotted Chisholm and Whit in the room. “Never mind, Mamá.”

  “She wanted to see the fields of bluebonnets,” her mother explained, before slipping out to the summer kitchen. She returned with steaming corn bread. “I told her you said she should not go out alone, but she wouldn’t be stopped.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, since I didn’t venture beyond the barn.” Caro motioned the men to their seats. “Señor Reynolds said for the two of you not to wait for him.”

  Whit pulled out his chair. “You aren’t joining us?”

  “It’s hardly proper with Señor Reynolds not home.” Caro wiped her hands on her apron. “And I’m sure you have much to share with one another. My mother and I will eat in the summer kitchen tonight.”

  “Caro, wait.” Chisholm picked up his napkin. “Where are these bluebonnets you were heading out to see?”

  “Not far. I would have been fine.”

  “That’s not why I asked.” He poured himself a glass of milk from a striped pitcher.

  “The bluebonnet fields are in the south quarter.”

  “Good. That’s exactly the area I wanted to search tomorrow.” He smiled. “Will you show me the way?”

  “If I must.” But her words didn’t match the upward tug he saw pulling on the corners of her lips.

  Caro and her mother left them for the rest of the meal. Chisholm found the shredded beef perfectly seasoned this time, with a pleasing amount of spice and heat. The rice and beans only added to the delicious supper. Whit ate so much corn bread slathered in butter that Chisholm had to remind him Hank Reynolds hadn’t yet eaten.

  Throughout the meal, they caught up on the events of the day. Whit said he’d learned that the current rustling problem wasn’t the first time cattle had gone missing, but it was the biggest loss ranchers had had to rustlers. No one seemed to like Slade McCord much, so there wasn’t much sympathy for his losses, but most people liked Hank and were sorry to hear he’d lost so many. One man mentioned a group of drovers who’d come through town about a month ago who seemed sort of suspicious, but no one had seen any of those men since.

  Caro returned with a sweet custard flan for dessert and served each man a generous portion.

  Incessant pounding on the front door brought Chisholm to his feet, but Caro reached the door before him. She opened it and Slade McCord stormed in, shoving her in the process.

  “Is there a problem, McCord?” Chisholm stepped between Caro and the man.

  “I’ll say. We lost another ten head today in broad daylight.” He came toe to toe with Chisholm. “What are you doing to catch these men?”

  “Easy, McCord.” Chisholm glared at the man just as he’d seen his father do, until the man stepped back, then took a long pause before answering McCord’s question. “For your information, we’re investigating. How many head do you run, McCord?”

  “About three hundred.”

  “Since it’s calving season, how do you know those ten cows haven’t wandered off to give birth somewhere alone? Or maybe your count is off?”

  “You’re a lawman, not a rancher.”

  “My pa is GW Hart, and I grew up on the 7 Heart Ranch of Hartville.” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched McCord’s eyes widen. “I can see you’ve heard of it. So you know we run a whole lot more than three hundred head.”

  McCord’s jaw tensed. “Where’s that no-account Mexican?”

  “Ricardo has been here all day,” Caro insisted.

  “And I suppose you’re going to be the one to vouch for him.”

  “No, I am.” Chisholm took a deep breath. While he hadn’t actually been at the ranch all day, Chisholm knew the man’s whereabouts, and he’d been in no condition to rustle cattle. “I know you’re frustrated, but that doesn’t give you cause to bust into this house and treat Miss Cardova disrespectfully. I suggest you go on home. It’s too late today to do anything, so Whit and I will be over in the morning to check things out.”

  Caro’s lips thinned to a hard line, but her shoulders sagged. Was she growing weary of protecting Ricardo? Tired of him repeatedly disappointing her?

  Like a Texas twister, McCord blew out as quickly as he’d come. Chisholm turned to Caro. “I’m sorry about the bluebonnets, but I have to do my duty first.”

  “Of course you have to do your duty.” Caro’s icy tone stung. She walked away, not leaving him a chance to discuss it further.

  But no words would smooth it over anyway. He saw the pain in her eyes, and knew that just like Ricardo, he’d let her down. He hated it, but it couldn’t be helped. Maybe skipping the bluebonnet outing was for the best. Not only was Caro Cardova taking up too much of his prime thinking time, she was in love with Ricardo Alvarez, and Chisholm had no business spending time alone with her.

  Caro needed to be alone. She went to the summer kitchen and filled a glass of water. The cool drink did little to stem the ache coursing through her. She’d handled Chisholm’s news badly. If he just hadn’t used the word duty—

  She sat down at the small table and rested her head in her hands, praying. She asked God to forgive her bitterness and to soften her words. Her mother had often said her anger would be her undoing. Was she right? The Bible said, “Be ye angry and sin not,” but Caro hadn’t mastered that yet. She pressed her hand to her roiling stomach. Could God help her find peace with men like her father and Chisholm? If she didn’t, she could never marry. Would it even be possible for her to love? Why did it all hurt so badly?

  She heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see her mother. “Are you all right, Caro?”

  “I needed to be alone for a while—to pray.”

  “I’m glad you’re seeking the Lord.” Her mother moved to the larder. “I just spoke to the bunkhouse cook, and he said a couple of the night wranglers didn’t make it in for supper. The problem is, he forgot to save them some— What does he call it? Grub? I thought I would take them a basket of food.”

  “You?” Caro stood up.

  “I’m still quite capable of riding, and I taught you, remember?”

  “Yes, Mamá.” Caro placed a napkin in the basket. “But I’ll go. The sun has not yet set, so if I hurry, I can be back befor
e dark. It will give me a little more time to think and pray.”

  Her mother placed the cooled shredded beef and the rest of the rice and beans in the basket, then passed the basket to her. “Be careful.”

  Caro saddled Angel, the horse Señor Reynolds let her use, and rode off at a gallop. The evening’s breeze chilled her cheeks. Soon she felt at one with the horse beneath her. No hurtful memories. No worries. No anger. No bitterness. Only the joy of riding.

  She rounded the bend in the path and headed to the flatland where the cattle were currently grazing. A solitary figure on the horizon caught her eye, illuminated by the mellow hues of the setting sun. Was it one of the rustlers?

  She slowed Angel, but the man heard her approach and turned. Chisholm. Even in the dimming light, she recognized his solid build and confident movements. He motioned for her to join him. She rode up, bracing herself for a lecture about venturing out alone in the twilight.

  Chisholm took hold of Angel’s bridle and stroked the horse’s neck, then lifted his gaze to Caro’s face. “What brings you out tonight? Miss me?”

  “Hardly.” So much for controlling her tongue. She took in his tired features and softened her tone. “And I could ask you the same thing. I’m here to deliver supper to the night wranglers. The cocinero said the men didn’t get any grub tonight.”

  “So you came alone?” But when she started to answer, Chisholm held up his hand. “I know. You can take care of yourself.”

  “I was going to say it was not yet dark, so I wasn’t worried. Why are you out here?”

  “I had some thinking to do.” He rubbed his hand over his stubbled face. “You know, whoever shot at us knew we’d be on that road.”

  Caro frowned. “But only the men from this ranch knew that.”

  “No, remember Mr. Reynolds sent word to the Mesquite Ranch that we were coming.” He looked up at her. “Whoever is behind this is from one of those two ranches.”

  “Someone is stealing from their boss.”

  He nodded. “Or we could be dealing with a crew. There could be people on the inside at either or both places.”

  “But where are the stolen cattle? They have to be somewhere.”

  “True. Finding the missing cattle is the key. Tomorrow afternoon, I want to start an exhaustive search.” He paused, appearing to weigh his words. “Caro, when I found Ricardo, he kept saying how sorry he was. He repeated that to you. I know you and he are—close, but are you absolutely certain he isn’t involved?”

  Every muscle in Caro’s body tensed. “He did not steal those cattle. You brought him home from town yourself.”

  “I agree, but do you think he might know more than he’s telling anyone?”

  An imaginary lasso wrapped around her waist and pulled tight. Did Ricardo know something? Only in the last month had he begun to drink. Was he drinking away guilt?

  No, she couldn’t think that way. She had to protect Ricardo. Señor Reynolds had taken him off the herd because of his drinking, or so he said, and threatened to fire Ricardo if there were any more problems.

  “Caro.” Chisholm’s voice was soft. “Do you think you could ask him if he knows more than he’s saying?”

  “And then tell you?” She couldn’t keep the mica-hard edge from her voice. “I will not betray him for you or for anyone else. He and my mother are all I have left.”

  Chisholm lay in bed, staring at the streaks of moonlight on the ceiling. His six-foot-three frame meant his feet hung over the end of the bed, the curse of being George Washington Hart’s son.

  Caro’s words, “He and my mother are all I have left,” kept replaying in his mind. Did Caro allow Ricardo to court her because she thought she had no other options? Or was it out of a sense of duty to her mother?

  He’d kept watch over her until she’d delivered the basket and then, keeping his distance, he’d followed her back to the house. He’d upset her not once, but twice, in one night. He reckoned he was the last person in all of Texas she wanted to see tonight.

  Raised voices outside put him on alert. He crawled out of bed and moved to the window. Pushing the thin curtain aside, he peered down into the yard below. Whom was Caro talking to?

  He eased the window upward and immediately recognized the second voice as Ricardo’s. Guilt nudged him as he eavesdropped on their animated conversation, all in Spanish. Chisholm mentally translated as much of the conversation as he could. Ricardo seemed to wobble, and Caro steadied him. Had he been drinking again?

  After he heard Caro beg Ricardo to tell the truth, Chisholm sat on the bed and tugged on his boots. Ricardo muttered an answer Chisholm couldn’t hear, but he didn’t miss Caro’s promise to protect Ricardo, no matter what.

  That was it. Enough was enough. He stormed through the house and threw open the front door. Caro and Ricardo spun, but the quick movement sent Ricardo flailing. He landed on his knees at Caro’s feet.

  Chisholm marched toward her. “I know you love him, but why are you protecting him?”

  “Of course I love him.” Caro reached to help Ricardo stand, then reeled to face Chisholm. “Don’t you love your family? Wouldn’t you do anything to protect them?”

  “By all means.” Chisholm sucked in a breath. “But he isn’t your family. He’s your suitor.”

  “My suitor?” Caro snorted aloud. “You are loco.”

  “Don’t try to deny it. He calls you ‘mi prima,’ and I heard you beg him to tell me the truth.”

  “You understood that, but not ‘mi prima’?”

  “My Spanish is rusty.”

  “Apparently.” She released a little giggle, which irritated him even more.

  “Well?” Chisholm crossed his arms over his chest. “What does it mean, then?”

  “Prima means cousin.” She brushed the dirt off Ricardo’s back. “And for your information, he told me nothing of which you would be interested. He’s had too much to drink—again—and I got no answers to the questions you wanted me to ask.”

  “Ricardo is your cousin?” Chisholm needed to say the words aloud to confirm them. How could a trained tracker miss those clues? “I guess that changes everything.”

  “Indeed.” She slipped her arm around Ricardo’s waist. “Go to bed, Chisholm. There’s no duty for you to perform here. I am perfectly safe with my cousin.”

  But Chisholm’s boots seemed leaded as he watched strong, loyal—beautiful—Caro usher Ricardo to his bed in the barn.

  Her cousin. Well, that certainly did change everything.

  Caro lay down on her bed and sighed. After last night’s escapades with Ricardo and Chisholm, she needed a little nap.

  She awoke with a start only to find her mamá standing at the foot of her bed. She could not believe her own mother would help Chisholm, but one look at the freshly pressed shirtwaist in her mother’s hands confirmed it.

  “Chisholm said he wants to look at the area near the bluebonnets after lunch, so he needs you to show him the way.” She set the shirtwaist on Caro’s bed. “I did this up for you, since the one you’re wearing is smeared with jelly and is not presentable.”

  “I didn’t say I’d go with him.”

  “No, but I did.” Her mamá folded her hands in front of her. “And I am as stubborn as you, but more sweet about it. You’ll learn this someday. Now, hurry. He’ll return soon.”

  Mouth agape, Caro watched her mother stroll out of the room. Caro had taken extra care to avoid Chisholm Hart this morning, and now her mother was thrusting the man into her day. But she knew better than to fight with Maria Valenzuela. Her papá had called her mamá a silent warrior and said she won every battle by sheer will. Over the years, Caro found his words to be true. She could only pray to be more like her.

  Caro changed into the clean shirtwaist, then removed the leather thong from her hair. She gave the waves a quick brushing and then braided a thick ponytail. After twisting the ponytail into a bun, she secured it with pins, which the wind would probably dislodge in minutes. If her mother wouldn’
t think it scandalous, she’d allow all her curls to hang loose.

  Chisholm was waiting when she came into the parlor. He flashed her a dimpled grin and her knees weakened. No man should be so attractive.

  “I saddled Angel. She’s outside.”

  “Good. I was afraid she was in the dining room.” She released a little giggle and pulled on her leather riding gloves. “We should get going. I need to be back in time to help Mamá with supper.”

  Her mamá walked into the room with a basket. “No need. I’ll handle it. And in case you are delayed, here is a supper for the two of you to share.”

  Chisholm took the basket and thanked her mamá, then held the door for Caro. She brushed his arm as she passed by and a tingle rippled through her. Did Chisholm notice? And why did this outing seem so different than the other times they’d been side by side?

  Somewhere in the last few days, Chisholm had gone from a Texas Ranger to a man who made her heart beat faster. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but today she was acutely aware of the difference.

  As they rode, Chisholm filled her in on what they found at the Mesquite Ranch. About ten head were indeed missing from a small herd they had grazing near Brady Creek. Chisholm was disappointed to hear they hadn’t gone out looking for strays, but he scouted the area anyway. Unfortunately, with all of the cattle prints, the tracks revealed nothing.

  “I spoke to the Mesquite’s wranglers, and they insist the only thing they saw was the Walking Diamond’s cowhands and stock on the other side of creek.” He paused. “Unless Slade’s boys are lying.”

  “How will you find out?”

  “The truth always comes out eventually.” Chisholm paused, seeming to weigh his words. “Listen, Caro, about last night, I’m sorry.”