“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you? How did you know what we were talking about? Do you speak Spanish?”
“Obviously not enough.” Chisholm adjusted his position in the saddle. “I told you our cook, Perla, was Mexican. I picked up what I could from her. But I want to apologize not just for eavesdropping, but for making assumptions.”
“I forgive you.” Caro’s heart softened at his genuine, humble words. Her father had been a proud man, and she didn’t recall ever hearing an apology from his lips. “And I must admit, your assumption gave my mother a great deal of laughter this morning.”
“And you?”
“To be honest, I laughed till I cried.”
“Glad I could start your day off with a smile.” He grinned and nodded toward a hill not far from them. “Are we close?”
“To the bluebonnet field, yes. To your rustlers, I have no idea. Race you to the top.” Caro raised her eyebrows in challenge a second before she snapped the reins and Angel surged forward.
Chisholm gave a whoop and followed suit. Caro loved the excitement flowing through her veins. She had a bond of trust with Angel, and the horse responded to her every movement. She reached the crest of the hill first, but before she could rejoice in her accomplishment, the words were stolen from her lips. She reined to a stop at the scene before her. A carpet of violet-blue greeted them, cascading down the hill and into the valley below. Light green leaves and dots of white accented gorgeous bluebonnet blooms. Her breathing stilled. Was there any sight in all of Texas as glorious as this?
“It’s breathtaking.” Chisholm shifted from the bluebonnet view to the view of Caro, who was clearly filled with awe at the sight. All the sharpness of her features that came from remaining so guarded was replaced by the kind of uninhibited joy he’d seen on children’s faces. He didn’t want to steal a second of this moment from her, so he waited in silence.
Since he’d learned Ricardo was her cousin, he couldn’t stop the undeniable attraction he felt for Caro from taking hold. It didn’t make sense, but still, it was there. It was as if an imaginary wall had to be knocked down. He should run away as fast as he could, but something held him there. Was it the feelings he wanted to explore, or was it his father’s ultimatum to find a wife?
Bullet whinnied, breaking the reverence of the moment. “Sorry. He doesn’t have the best manners.” Chisholm smoothed Bullet’s glossy mane. “What d’ya say we give the horses a break while we bask in this view?”
Caro said she couldn’t wait to soak up the sights and tuck them in her heart until next year. Once Angel and Bullet were enjoying a grassy snack, Chisholm spread the blanket from his bedroll on the ground and motioned for Caro to have a seat. He retrieved their supper basket, and joined her on the blanket. He lay down on his side, propped his head on his hand, and stretched out his legs, but Caro was so enraptured by the bluebonnets that she barely acknowledged his presence.
He didn’t blame her. The bluebonnet fields would stop anyone—man or woman—in their tracks. Only God could paint this kind of picture, but Chisholm was more enraptured by the view of her.
He forced himself to turn back to the flowers before them. “ ‘Consider the lilies how they grow.’ ” Chisholm whispered the words from the book of Luke that came to mind. “ ‘They toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ ”
Caro smiled at him with her soft, full lips. “Perfect scripture, Chisholm. Thank you.”
“It seemed appropriate.” He cleared his throat. No more looking at her lips. “Hey, Caro, look.” He pointed west.
She squinted against the sun. “Is that a calf by that bush? Right in the middle of the flowers?”
“Sure is. I wonder where her mama has gotten off to.”
“Maybe she’s lost.”
“Then her mama will find her.” He chuckled. “And by the way, she could be a he.”
“Or she could be a she.” She pulled off her riding gloves and tucked them in her waistband. “Can we stay here and make sure her mother comes? I’d hate for her—or him—to be left alone.”
His gaze swept the area. “Sure. I see no reason to hurry. I’m pretty sure the rustlers aren’t keeping that stolen stock out here in the bluebonnet field. Any caves nearby?”
“None that I’ve ever seen.”
“Good.” He sat up. “I’ve done my duty. Let’s eat.”
Hurt flashed across Caro’s face, and then her lips narrowed in a thin line. In an instant the hedge around Caro’s heart seemed to grow like the flowers in the field. Why? He hadn’t done anything to put her off, or at least he didn’t think he had. His pa told him once that a quiet man was usually thinking, but a quiet woman was usually mad. Hmm.
He set the basket between them like a shield. “What’s got your hackles up? Everything was fine one minute, and then you became as cold as ice the next. What did I say to get you all rankled?”
She glared at him, her dark eyes flickering with anger. Was that how she kept folks at a distance? Scared them out of talking to her? Well, he didn’t intend to back down. He softened his tone, gentling her like he would a foal. “Talk to me, Caro.”
“It’s that word.” She spit out her reply like it pained her, then lowered her gaze and clutched the handle of the basket.
“What word?” When she didn’t answer, he slipped his knuckle under her chin and lifted her face. “What word, Caro?”
Tears filled her molasses-colored eyes. “Duty.”
“You don’t like the word duty.” He lowered his hand and chewed on the thought. “Does this go back to what you told me that first night I came? You think I want the people to praise me? That I’m a Texas Ranger because I want to be a hero?”
“I don’t believe that anymore.” Her voice caught. “You are a Texas Ranger because you love Texas and Texans. You take your responsibilities seriously. I know you aren’t doing this for the glory.” She dashed away a tear with her index finger. “My father was a man of duty.”
“And he left you.” Chisholm could see the pain in her eyes. He could think of a hundred reasons why her father might have felt he had to make that choice, but none of them would heal the vulnerable little girl inside the woman standing before him. What could he say to bandage those wounds?
“Caro, he loved you.”
“Not enough to stay.”
There it was. The crux of Caro’s pain, and the truth of her admission throbbed inside him. If he let this seed of affection he was feeling blossom, he could never leave her—not even if Texas called.
Chapter Seven
Caro lifted the checkered napkin covering the food in the basket—meat- and cheese-filled empanadas and a glass jar of salsa she’d canned herself. She forced a smile. She needed to get this conversation back on even ground. “Chisholm, tell me about your brothers.”
Chisholm released a long breath. Was he as relieved as she to return to a casual topic?
As she set out the food her mother had packed, he rattled off the list of siblings and Caro tried to memorize each name and what he said about them. One brother was a storekeeper and one was a doctor. One had been badly hurt in the war. The youngest was twenty-one and Chisholm said he was four years older.
“Are all of your brothers tall like you?”
“Some are. Some aren’t. My pa and Bowie are six-foot-four and I’m six-foot-three. I couldn’t quite measure up, I guess.”
Caro opened a tin of cookies. “Was it hard being the second to the youngest?”
“I think I’m a little like Hays. I was too young to help fight in the war, so in a strange way, I felt like I sort of missed out.” He chuckled. “Guess I’ve wanted to live up to the things my big brothers did most of my life. Show them I can be something, too.”
“So you became a Texas Ranger?”
“That was probably part of it. At least at first.” He tucked a napkin into his shirt collar. “Caro, I’m a good Ranger.”
�
�And you’re a good person.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “We’d better eat now.”
He offered grace, then snagged an empanada. Maybe it was the view or maybe it was the way Chisholm prayed, but Caro felt as if God were sitting on the blanket with them.
Chisholm topped his meat pocket with salsa. Her mother had packed the hottest kind Caro made, but he didn’t bat an eye at the heat. Apparently, he truly did like things spicy. If only she had sun-ripened tomatoes to make fresh salsa, it would be so much better. She set the bottle of milk aside that her mother had packed since Chisholm seemed accustomed to using his canteen.
Throughout the picnic supper, they chatted about Chisholm’s family ranch back home and about her years growing up in Mexico.
To her delight, the tense moment they’d shared evaporated and conversation now came easily. When they finished eating, he packed the basket and carried it to Bullet while Caro folded the blanket.
She looked down into the valley at the bawling calf and squinted. There was something in the bluebonnets she’d not seen earlier. “Chisholm, look at that calf from this angle. What’s behind those rocks?”
He shielded his eyes with his hand. “I think we may have a problem.” He grabbed his rifle and a rope and started down the hill. After he’d walked a couple of yards, he turned to her. “You coming?”
“But you always say—”
“So you’re going to start listening to me now?” He laughed and held out his hand.
Don’t take his hand. Don’t take his hand. With each step closer to him, she repeated the words, but her body didn’t listen. His hand felt so strong wrapped around her own. They strode through the bluebonnets toward the calf. The poor thing had bawled so much she was hoarse.
As they neared, the speckled red-and-white calf skittered to the side, revealing the mother longhorn, lying in the bluebonnets behind a rocky outcropping. The calf looked at Caro with round, pitiful eyes.
“Is the mama—?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes, I sure think so, but let me go check. If she isn’t, be ready to run.” He winked at her.
“Now you’re teasing me.” She rolled her eyes. “And I do know that since I live on a ranch, but even I can tell that cow doesn’t look up to much of a chase.”
“True.” He took a step forward and the cow made no movements. He poked her with the barrel of his gun, then laid his hand on her side. “She’s gone. She looks young. Maybe a heifer.”
Caro joined him and spotted the mountain-shaped M branded on the cow’s hip. “She’s one of Señor McCord’s. What are we going to do with the calf?”
“She’s only about a day old. Since she’s up and about, I’m guessing she got about a day’s worth of feeding before the heifer died.” In two long strides, Chisholm was beside the calf. He scooped the forlorn creature into his arms. “I’ll carry her up to the horses.”
They began the climb, but even under the load of the calf, Chisholm didn’t seem winded. All along the way, he kept saying soothing things to the sweet little orphaned calf that made Caro’s heart swell. Between the song of the birds and the carpet of bluebonnets underfoot, this had the makings of a perfect moment—if the poor calf hadn’t just lost her mama.
“How much does Bluebonnet weigh?”
“Bluebonnet? I guess that name fits, but it hardly sounds like something Slade McCord would name her.” He adjusted his grip. “And I’d say she only weighs about sixty pounds.”
“I told you the calf was a she.”
He chuckled as they reached the crest of the hill and set Bluebonnet down.
“She’s probably hungry. I wish we could do something for her.” Caro scratched Bluebonnet between the ears. “Wait. We have milk. Mamá packed it in the basket.”
She started to move, but he placed a hand on her arm. “Stay there. I’ll get it.”
He returned a few seconds later. “Now we just have to get it in her.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Caro pulled one of her gloves from her waistband. “Can I borrow your knife?”
Chisholm handed it to her and she cut a small x in the tip of the index finger. She held the glove open and directed Chisholm to fill it with milk. “Now what do I do?”
“Get her to drink it.”
His dimples deepened but he didn’t laugh.
“You don’t want to do it?”
He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Like you always say, you don’t need my help.”
“I don’t think this falls in that category.”
“Then say, ‘I need your help.’ ”
“Chisholm, truly?”
He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You aren’t going to let this starving little heifer suffer because you’re stubborn, are you, Caro Cardova Valenzuela?”
Chapter Eight
Well?” Chisholm glanced from the calf to Caro. He shouldn’t tease Caro about asking for help, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity. Exasperation looked absolutely beautiful on her.
Caro huffed. “This is ridiculous.”
“Then just say it.”
“If I must.” She rolled her eyes. “Chisholm Hart, will you help me?”
“Of course.” He straddled the calf to hold it steady. “Ready?”
“I’m going to feed her? I thought you were going to help.”
“I am helping.” He pointed to her hand. “Let’s start with getting her to suck. I’ll talk you through it. First of all, let her suck on your fingers.”
Caro wrinkled her nose. “You want me to put my fingers in her mouth?” He nodded and she bit her lip as she slid two fingers inside the calf’s mouth. “Her tongue feels like sandpaper.”
“Now squeeze a little milk out of the glove, so she’ll get a taste of it. Then slide the glove’s finger in and slowly slip your hand out.”
“She’s not sucking.”
“Lift her jaw straight up and squeeze the sides of her mouth a little.” Chisholm rubbed the calf’s side. “As soon as the milk starts to trickle in, I’m sure she’ll catch on.”
The calf’s sucking pulled on the glove, and Caro’s face lit. “She’s doing it! We did it.”
“We make a good team.”
The calf emptied the glove, and Chisholm held out the bottle of milk. “Refill?”
He poured the milk in and then stepped away from Bluebonnet, but the calf continued drinking from the glove. “We’ll have to get going pretty soon if we’re going to make it back to the Mesquite.”
“Do we have to take her back to Slade’s?”
“You know we do. Don’t worry, though. It’s in his financial interest to keep her alive. He’ll either get a cow that lost her calf to adopt Bluebonnet or she’ll be a bucket calf. Either way, she should be fine.” He filled the glove with the last drop of milk and passed it back to Caro. “You finish up here with Bluebonnet. I have one more thing I want to do before we go.”
Chisholm returned a few minutes later, and Caro held up the empty glove. “She drank every drop.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
He withdrew the two honey-scented bouquets of bluebonnets he’d just picked. “One for you and one for your mother.”
Caro stared at the bouquets, her eyes wide. She looked at him with a strange wonderment and his insides warmed.
Then came a sobering chill. As a Ranger he’d learned to listen to his instincts and everything in him told him to run away from this beautiful lady. She might fascinate him. She might make him want to protect her. She might definitely make him want to kiss her, but if he stayed, someday he would break her heart.
She didn’t want a man of duty, and he was nothing but that. But how did he stop the pull between them and still catch the rustlers?
Caro arranged the bluebonnets from Chisholm in the basket’s milk bottle. It seemed fitting, and the flowers looked perfect on her nightstand. The ones Chisholm had picked for her mother adorned the dining room table, but she wanted her bouquet close. It w
as the only gift she’d ever received from a man, and she wished she could keep them forever.
But they’d be gone soon—just like Chisholm.
She tugged one of the flowers from the vase and sat down on the edge of her bed. She fingered the velvety bloom and lifted it to her nose. So fragrant. So sweet. So lovely. Exactly like the day she’d had. Saving the calf, working side by side, and learning about Chisholm’s family had all been so special. She could still picture how Chisholm had held the calf all the way back to the Mesquite. McCord’s men had taken Bluebonnet, promising they’d tend to her, before she and Chisholm departed. She and Chisholm stopped to give the horses a rest at Brady Creek, so by the time they arrived at the ranch, the Texas sky was alight with diamonds.
But he’d not kissed her good night.
It was most likely her fault. Everything had been perfect except for that one moment. If only she hadn’t brought up the subject of her father, but it had underscored an important truth. Her father and Chisholm were cut from the same cloth, both burdened by the responsibility to change the world.
She stuffed the flower she was holding back in the vase. Chisholm might have a noble cause, but no matter how charming, kind, smart, or strong he was, he would leave her. He had a duty to perform, and it would always come first. She needed to forget about picnics and posies and kisses and remember that fact. But why did it have to hurt so much?
She dropped to her knees beside her bed to pray and lowered her face into her hands. Tears soaked her palms as she asked for strength to resist her attraction to Chisholm and pleaded with God to allow Chisholm to catch the cattle rustlers so he could be on his way. The sooner he left, the better it would be for both of them.
Fitful sleep plagued her, so she rose early and had most of breakfast ready when her mamá entered the summer kitchen.
“You look tired.” Mamá set out the copper tub to wash clothes later in the day. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Not really.” Caro sat down at the worktable and took a drink of steaming hot coffee.
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 14