Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection

by Amanda Barratt

  “The Ranger?” Her mother began to fill the tub with water. “Did he upset you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “H … How could I?” Caro spit out. “We only spent one afternoon together. It’s too soon and—”

  “And he is too much like your father.” Her mother smiled. “I saw it when he first arrived. Caro, being like your father is not a bad thing. I keep telling you that your father was a good man. I know you remember how much he loved you, but you refuse to recall that. You only see the end, when he left us.”

  “And Chisholm is a Texas Ranger. His heart is Texas. Even if he grew to love me, he’d leave like Papá.” Hot tears filled her eyes, and she palmed them from her cheeks. “I don’t understand it. Why do men feel such a great sense of duty?”

  “What about you, Caro?” Her mother’s voice was tender as she shaved soap into the pot. “What would your loyalties cause you to do? Protect Ricardo? Do something for me? Are you truly so different from the Ranger?”

  Confusion filled Caro’s thoughts. Loyalty. Fear. Love. Too many feelings to consider. How could she separate them?

  “My child, your father wanted to make the world a better place for you.” Her mamá placed her hands on Caro’s shoulders. “Standing beside a man who was so easy to respect was my greatest joy, and I cherish every minute I had with him. Do not let fear steal away the joy God has planned for you.”

  Caro shifted so she could see her mother’s face. “You think I’m afraid?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Chisholm was afraid the rustlers had struck again. He led Bullet from the stables and watched Slade McCord ride in hard and come to a stop in front of the barn.

  “What can we do for you, Slade?” Chisholm finished cinching Bullet, then glanced at Whit, who was putting a saddle blanket on Buckshot.

  “I came to thank you.” He pressed both hands to the saddle horn. “I wasn’t there when you brought that calf in, but I wanted to express my gratitude. My men are bucket-feeding the calf. It took a while for her to catch on, but she’s doing fine. Thought you might want to know.”

  “Yes, thanks, I’ll tell Caro. She’s the one who got the calf to take milk from her glove.”

  Slade seemed to ignore his reference to Caro. “Could you tell how the cow died?”

  “There were no obvious reasons, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was a birth complication of some sort.”

  “Always sad, but it happens.” Slade sighed. “Any news on the rustlers?”

  Chisholm tugged on his gloves and mounted Bullet. “Whit and I are about to ride out to Tall Trees and ask around.”

  McCord scowled. “Tall Trees has hardly been hit at all. Shouldn’t you be at my place, searching for clues or something?”

  “We’ve already searched a lot of your ranch, but we’ll be back at the Mesquite soon. You have my word.”

  “Guess that will have to do.” McCord tipped his hat in farewell and rode off.

  Whit looked over his horse’s saddle at Chisholm. “Who was that man? Not the Slade McCord we’ve met the last few days. Maybe he wants us to think better of him.”

  “I guess anything is possible.” Chisholm shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Whit pulled his horse alongside Chisholm’s. “Speaking of strange things, what happened yesterday between you and Caro? She wasn’t prickly or sassy this morning.”

  “She was quiet. Lots of women are quiet.”

  “Not her.” Whit laughed. “Especially not when you’re around. So, what happened? You might as well tell me, because we’ve got a long ride, and I’ll badger you until you spill. One of us should be having fun, and unfortunately, it looks like that someone is you.”

  “It was one afternoon, and there won’t be any others.”

  “You didn’t enjoy it?”

  Chisholm cleared his throat. “No, I did. We had a great time.”

  “So?”

  “So, it won’t work, and we have a job to do.” He spurred Bullet into a gallop, leaving Whit in his dust. How could he explain to Whit that he couldn’t see Caro because he did care for her?

  Chapter Nine

  Caro entered the barn and looked around. Ricardo must have finished mucking the stalls, because it smelled of dust and fresh sweet hay. She followed the clang of hammer against iron and found him behind the barn at the forge reshoeing Señor Reynolds’s black roan. She paused to watch Ricardo work, mesmerized as he shaped a glowing horseshoe. Once the shoe was the way he wanted it, he used metal tongs and plunged it into a barrel of water. Steam rose with a hiss.

  “Good morning, mi prima. What brings you to see me?”

  She leaned against a pole. “Ricardo, it’s time for the Rangers to move on. Don’t you think?”

  He nodded slowly. “But will they do that without finding the rustlers?”

  “I don’t think so, but if you help them—”

  “I’ve told you before, Caro, I cannot.” He lifted the roan’s back hoof and held the cooled shoe against it.

  Caro stepped forward. “But I think you know something.”

  “And if I did—note that I said ‘if’—I must have a good reason for keeping it secret.” He began to nail the shoe in place.

  She waited until he’d finished and had released his hold on the horse’s leg. “Then give me something I can pass on to the Rangers.”

  Ricardo stuffed the hammer in his back pocket. “Sometimes knowing things can be dangerous, mi prima. I won’t put you in that position. It’s for your own good.”

  Her throat tightened, and fear nestled in her belly. “Are you one of the rustlers?”

  “No. You have my word.” He wiped his brow with a kerchief. “But, Caro, you must stay out of this. It’s for your own good, and if you care about the gringo Rangers, you’ll get them to leave soon.”

  Her hand went to her chest and her heart skipped a beat. “Would the rustlers hurt them?”

  Before Ricardo could answer, Señor Reynolds rounded the corner of the barn. “There you are, Ricardo. Is my horse done?”

  “Yes, señor.” He handed the roan’s reins to the ranch owner. “Ready to ride.”

  “Good, then you have time to run that errand I asked you to.” Señor Reynolds turned to Caro. “And you can go back to work. I believe you’ve spent enough time away from your chores lately.”

  Caro stood dumbstruck for a moment. Usually gregarious, Señor Reynolds seldom spoke to her so sharply. And wasn’t it his request that she help the Texas Rangers? Perhaps he’d grown tired of the Rangers’ interruptions, or perhaps Ricardo’s recent mistakes had brought shame on their family.

  Whatever the reason, she needed to be more mindful of her true responsibilities lest she, her mother, and Ricardo find themselves without a home.

  Chisholm heaved his saddle over the wall of the stall, then hung the rest of his tack on a peg. He reached for the brush and curry comb. Bullet deserved a good rubdown since he’d been working hard for days. Chisholm released a long sigh. Bullet wasn’t the only one who could sure use a rest. Chisholm had barely slept a wink last night.

  Whit brought Buckshot in and removed the cinch from the horse’s girth. “I can’t believe we went all that way just to find out that the wranglers miscounted the stock and they weren’t missing any cattle.”

  “We still learned something.” Chisholm drew the brush down Bullet’s flank. “We now know only the two ranches are involved—the Mesquite and the Walking Diamond. Whoever the rustlers are, they have a good operation going.” He straightened and looked at Whit. “You know, we really need to wrap this up. We’ve been imposing long enough, and I think we’re going to have to do something different. We need to catch the rustlers in the act—at night.”

  “You want to sleep under the stars?” Whit filled each of the feed boxes with oats for the two horses. “Which ranch?”

  “Let’s stay here tonight.” Chisholm paused and looked at Whit over Bullet’s b
ack. “If we don’t see anything, we’ll move on to the Mesquite tomorrow. And, Whit, I don’t want the cowboys to know about this.”

  “Are you going to tell Caro?”

  “No, not even her.” Guilt poked him in the gut. Caro would hate being left in the dark, but he had a job to do and he couldn’t risk anyone—especially Ricardo—finding out their plan. “We’ll slip out after supper.”

  With the horses well cared for, Chisholm left the barn and headed to wash up at the pump. Whit followed a minute later. When his partner drew close enough, Chisholm splashed water in his direction. A melee ensued with water volleying back and forth, and soon they were both drenched from hair to boot. A little silliness was exactly what Chisholm needed right now.

  He suddenly stopped and held up his hand. “Wait, something is burning.” He turned and saw smoke billowing from the door of the summer kitchen. “Quick! Get some buckets from the barn!”

  Chisholm bolted for the small building, praying Caro wasn’t inside. He shouldered open the door. Thick, black smoke poured out. He coughed and covered his nose and mouth with the wet kerchief from around his neck. “Caro! Maria!”

  No answer. Fire from a pot licked at the beam above the cookstove. Chisholm grabbed a heavy rag rug from the floor and tossed it over the pot, smothering the fire. Whit appeared at the door with the buckets.

  “Let’s toss the water up there. That beam is smoldering.” Chisholm coughed several times. Whit tossed a bucketful of water at the beam, and droplets rained down on them. “Where’s Caro?”

  “Thankfully, not in here.” Keeping the rug in place, Chisholm grabbed a towel and pushed the pot toward the back of the cooking area.

  A shriek outside made the Rangers turn. Maria Valenzuela stood in the doorway with her hands pressed against her mouth. Caro stood beside her. “It’s all my fault.” Maria seemed near tears, and her voice shook. “I forgot the oil on the stove. I was going to make fried apple pies, but I had such a headache.” She tipped her face upward. “Gracious Dios, protect us.”

  “It will be all right.” Caro, her face pale, wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulder.

  “But what if Señor Reynolds puts us out?”

  Caro pulled her mother closer. “Señor Reynolds will understand. Come, Mamá. You need to lie back down. I’ll serve supper.”

  Chisholm watched Caro usher her mother into the ranch house. The fear the two women felt hung in the air as thickly as the smoke. Would Hank Reynolds let Maria and Caro go over a fire like this? Perhaps if the damage were repaired, the ranch owner would be more understanding.

  He turned to Whit. “That beam will have to come down. Think we can find a replacement around here?”

  “Maybe.” Whit rubbed his watery eyes. “You going to fix it?”

  He nodded. “I’m a fair hand at building.”

  “And it might appease Reynolds?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.” Chisholm picked up the chairs to clear the room. “From what we’ve seen, I don’t think he’d put Caro and her mother out, but they didn’t look so certain.”

  Whit drew his hand down his mustache. “Guess I better start looking for that replacement beam then.”

  Caro donned an old apron and rolled up her sleeves before joining Chisholm in the summer kitchen. Despite the diminishing sun, Señor Reynolds had not yet come home, and she wanted to have as much cleaned up as possible before he arrived.

  She looked around the insides of the little building. Soot and sawdust marred the cookware and dishes, but Chisholm and Whit had managed to splice a new beam in place above the stove.

  Chisholm climbed down off the ladder and stuck his hammer in his back pocket. “Looks almost as good as new.”

  “Yes, it does. Señor Reynolds should be pleased.” She set a kettle on the stove. “Where’s Whit?”

  “He went to wash up. Said his mouth tastes like soot.”

  She forced a smile. “How can I show you both my gratitude?”

  “Consider it thanks for all of your help. We found everything we needed in the blacksmith area.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “Thought maybe Ricardo and Mr. Reynolds would be home by now.”

  “They sent word there’s a cow having trouble in a delivery. Ricardo may have fallen from Señor Reynolds’s graces as of late, but he’s an excellent vaquero—one of the best. If anyone can save the cow and calf, it’s him.” She picked up one of the buckets. “I’m sure you’re tired. Your supper is on the sideboard. I want to do the cleanup in here while Mamá is resting.”

  Chisholm took the bucket. “I’ll fetch the water while you stir the embers.”

  After he returned and poured water into the washtub, she insisted he go inside to fill a plate. He came back a few minutes later while she was shaving soap into the warm water. He dragged in a chair from outside and sat down. She loaded the washtub, casting an occasional glance at Chisholm, who devoured the meal. Poor man must have been starving.

  As soon as he finished, he set the empty plate in the washtub and then carried the table and other chair back inside the summer kitchen. Next, he grabbed a towel and began to dry the clean dishes.

  “You don’t need to do that, Chisholm. You’ve done enough.”

  “I want to.” He grabbed a pot from her drain board. “Caro, you said that Ricardo had fallen from Mr. Reynolds’s graces lately. Why is that?”

  Caro hiked her shoulder. “I’m not sure. I thought he’d been caught drinking. Things seemed tense between them, but not so much anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Today I went to the barn. Ricardo was finishing shoeing Señor Reynolds’s horse. When Señor Reynolds came in, he mentioned Ricardo running an errand for him. He was crotchety with me, but seemed amiable enough with Ricardo. Perhaps being around the house instead of working the cattle was some sort of privilege, and I read it wrong.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Maybe it’s what I hope.” The familiar bile of fear rose in her throat, and she wanted to tell Chisholm all about the rest of the conversation with Ricardo. Still, she held her tongue. She turned to get another pan, but instead hit Chisholm’s solid chest as he reached for the same item.

  Chisholm caught her arms, and his eyes locked on hers. He was so close, and he smelled of smoke, sweat, and masculinity. Had her heart ever pounded so hard in her life?

  She noticed a scar beneath the corner of his right eye. How had he gotten that? Was he a boy or a man when it happened?

  “I’m still a Texas Ranger.” His voice was rough.

  “I know.” She shouldn’t let this happen. He would leave her. But she could no more move than breathe.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and her tongue darted out to moisten them. He cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes.

  Just as the longing became unbearable, his tender lips met hers in the gentlest of kisses, making her wish this moment could last forever.

  Chisholm pulled away, but didn’t remove his hand from Caro’s face. His head said he shouldn’t have kissed her, but his heart begged to disagree.

  “Hey, Chisholm, why are—” Whit entered the doorway and stopped. “Oh, sorry.”

  Chisholm’s hand dropped to her arm, but he maintained contact with her. “Your supper is inside on the sideboard, Whit.”

  “Uh, thanks, y’all.” Whit hurried away.

  Caro giggled. “Poor fellow.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for him. He’ll get me back.” Chisholm quieted, trying to form his thoughts into words. “Caro, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t say it. I’m not sure I can bear it.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “I know. It can never work.” Then she turned from his embrace and went back to her washtub, tears shimmering in her eyes.

  A lump the size of Texas filled Chisholm’s throat. Dear Lord, what have I done?

  Caro couldn’t sleep. It seemed like a waste to lie there tossing and turning when there was more work to be done in the summer kitchen. She rose, donne
d her work dress and apron, and padded her way through the house. The mantle clock gonged eleven times, and she promised herself she’d work only an hour before trying to sleep once again.

  She undid the latch on the back door and stepped into the moonlit, cool Texas night. Smoke still clung to the air, but she went ahead and drew in a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around her waist to stave off the chill as she listened to the cacophony of night sounds—frogs croaking, owls hooting, and insects chirping.

  And hushed voices? She concentrated. Yes, she heard voices in the barn. Had Ricardo returned? Or could the rustlers be right here?

  If she went to wake Chisholm and it was nothing, she’d feel foolish. Surely, checking it out herself wouldn’t be dangerous if she was careful.

  She slipped across the yard, keeping her footfalls light. Lantern light leaked from beneath the barn doors. She peeked through the crack between the doors, and her heart plummeted.

  Duty had called, and Chisholm was leaving.

  Chisholm shook out his bedroll and spread it on the hidden spot he and Whit had chosen overlooking the Mesquite Ranch’s herd. Between riding most of the day, putting out the fire, and then splicing the beam in the summer kitchen, every muscle in his body ached for rest.

  Whit had agreed to first watch, so Chisholm lay down using his pack for a pillow. He rolled to his side and punched the lumpy pack. He’d slept this way hundreds of times. Why was tonight any different?

  He knew the reasons. The touch of Caro’s lips still burned on his, but it was her words that plagued his sleep. “I know,” she’d said. “It can never work.“

  His chest felt as if someone had set an anvil on it. Never work? He was a smart man. Couldn’t he figure something out?

  He loved her.

  The realization was mind-spinning. Here he was in the heart of Texas losing his heart to a woman who couldn’t stand him a week ago. Marrying her would let him receive his share of the ranch back home, but at what cost?

  He flopped onto his back and stared at the stars dotting the sky, but no answers came to him. He prayed. Still nothing. He prayed some more, but it was no use. He was a sworn Texas Ranger. Even if he wanted to leave the Rangers, which he didn’t, he couldn’t do it right now, and Caro Cardova couldn’t love him if he stayed. He might win her heart, but if he succeeded, what kind of husband would he be to leave her like her father had, even for a good reason?