Texas Woman

by Joan Johnston

  “Of course I didn’t want to keep her. I’m happy… oh, Cruz!” Sloan threw her arms around his neck. “Hold me. Please, hold me. I don’t think I can bear it!”

  Cruz leaned over and grasped Sloan under her arms, helping her stand, then wrapped her in a towel as she stepped out of the tub. Then he slipped his hand under her thighs and lifted her into his arms. He carried her over to the bed and tried to lay her down, but she wouldn’t let go of him.

  “Stay with me. Lie down with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “Let me pull off my boots.”

  She clung to his neck, not even releasing him for that chore. He grunted as the second boot came off and a moment later joined her on the bed, hugging her with all his might.

  Sloan welcomed the safe cocoon, but even that wasn’t enough to make her forget.

  “I want to feel your skin next to mine.”

  She shoved the towel aside and worked frantically on the buttons of his shirt, stripping it off his shoulders. Her hands and mouth were already busy on his skin, tasting the flavor of him, testing the texture of skin and sinew and bone. Her tongue laved a male nipple and drew it to a peak, which she nipped with her teeth.

  She heard Cruz’s groan of pleasure, felt the tension in his body as her mouth laid a line of kisses across his collarbone. His breathing was shallow, his body taut with need.

  “I want you,” she rasped. “I need you.”

  Cruz wanted the words to mean more than he feared they did. “I am yours, Cebellina. Only yours.”

  She went wild in his arms, her mouth on him everywhere, and he responded in kind. A euphoric battle of the senses followed, their bodies twisting and turning, hands and mouths seeking flesh and finding it.

  Sloan pressed her hand intimately on the front of his trousers, stroking him, feeling him harden and grow.

  “I want you inside me. Now.”

  She went to work on the buttons of his trousers and laughed when his hands got in the way. “I can do it,” she said breathlessly. “Let me.”

  He lay still beneath her hands, and she played with him, teasing and taunting as each button gave way.

  “Lift up,” she said in a sultry voice. When he did, she reached inside the back of his trousers and skimmed them off his buttocks and down his legs.

  Once he was free of the garment, he pulled her back up to lie full-length on top of him and let her legs slide down on either side of his thighs.

  His hands skimmed down her back to her naked buttocks and he heard her moan as he pulled her snug against him. He nuzzled her neck with his lips and kissed his way up to the shell of her ear where he whispered, “I am yours, Cebellina. Now. Forever. Do with me what you will.”

  Sloan rubbed herself against him, feeling the silky softness, the steel hardness. She reached down and guided him inside her, feeling him push against her flesh, spreading her, and then she surrounded him, taking him inside.

  The feeling of oneness was exquisite. Sloan smiled. “You feel wonderful.”

  Cruz chuckled. “I must return the compliment.” His thumb pressed against her at the point where their bodies met. The slight friction made her groan.

  She set her hips in motion and his thumb kept pace, so the pleasure came from both inside and out. She leaned toward him and his mouth captured her breast.

  Sloan was bombarded by sensation. She leaned back, but he rose with her until she was sitting straddled across his lap. His hands slipped around to clutch her hips to remain seated deep inside her.

  She sought his mouth and thrust her tongue inside, mimicking the dance below. She was hungry, ravenous for him.

  They slipped onto their sides, and he rolled with her until she was beneath him. She arched up to meet his thrusts, her senses spiraling higher, reaching for the promise of pleasure, and finally with a hoarse cry, finding it.

  With her shuddering climax, Cruz thrust deep, wanting his seed to find fertile ground, wanting to give her a child to fill the emptiness in her heart.

  They lay exhausted, clutched to one another, their sweat mingling with the scent of their sex.

  “I love you, Cebellina.” Cruz didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.

  Sloan slipped her arms around him, and burrowed her face into his shoulder, a hazy smile on her face. It had never been like this before. Never.

  She knew then that she could not ask Cruz whether he had known Alejandro was still alive when he had come for her. It was better not to know the truth.

  She did not think she could bear it if she found out Cruz was a liar, just like his brother.

  Chapter 15

  TWO WEEKS LATER DOÑA LUCIA WATCHED FROM the veranda as her son arrived back at Dolorosa, his laughing, smiling wife by his side, more in charity with one another now than they had been before they left.

  “How was your journey?” she asked as her son climbed the few steps to greet her.

  “It went well,” Cruz said, “except Sloan was ill the day we arrived in San Antonio.”

  “Oh? That is too bad.”

  “A stomach ailment. But it quickly passed, and as you can see, she is fine now.”

  “So I see.”

  Cruz and Sloan quickly excused themselves and hurried inside to search for Cisco and Betsy.

  Her back stiff, her black eyes inscrutable, Doña Lucia turned and walked into the sala to be alone. She seated herself imposingly in one of the heavy Mediterranean chairs, spread her ruffled burgundy satin skirt around her, and carefully straightened the lace at her elbows. This was how she had planned to meet her son when he told her of his grief at the tragic death of his wife.

  Doña Lucia tightened her grip on the thick arms of the chair. She was greatly disappointed with the failure of her bold plan. What had gone wrong? Perhaps that woman had not drunk enough of the water in her canteen. Perhaps the tasteless poison had not been as strong as the old gypsy woman had promised.

  Or perhaps Cruz’s tender care had saved his wife’s life.

  Apparently, it had not occurred to her son that his wife might have been poisoned. Which meant that she would have another chance to accomplish what she had failed on the first try. She would have to wait until the gypsies came again to get more poison from the old woman.

  Next time, she would make sure she had enough. Next time, when that woman became ill, she would not recover.

  In the six weeks following her return to Dolorosa, Sloan spent a great deal of time with Betsy, knowing that her days with the child were numbered. She waited anxiously for the arrival of Betsy’s Uncle Louis. She knew if she were smart she would be drawing back from her involvement with the little girl. But there was something about Betsy that precluded that possibility.

  On the other hand, since her return from San Antonio, Sloan had consciously backed away from Cisco, as though it were only a matter of time before something happened to take him from her, too. It wasn’t rational, but there was nothing reasonable about her deep-seated fear that those she cared for most were destined to be torn from her.

  Sloan opened the letter she had just received from Bay. The missive turned out to be softly worded and steel-laced, very like Bay herself.

  Dear Sloan,

  You know I’m not much good with horses (except for petting their noses) or I would have come sooner to see how you are.

  I’m sorry Cruz was away when I came to visit, but at least that gave us more time to talk. I agree with you that Betsy is adorable, but honestly, I don’t know how you can resist Cisco. He looks more like Cruz every day.

  Tomasita is absolutely charming. Did you notice she spent the whole afternoon holding Whipp? She said she has always dreamed of having a baby of her own. Do you think her husband should be chosen by Cruz? That doesn’t seem fair. How do you think she and Luke would get along?

  Oh my! This is turning into a book, so I had better close. I wish you happiness. Please let me know if Long Quiet and I can ever be of help.

  All my love,


  Bay

  Sloan was gazing out the bedroom window at the many flowers blooming in the courtyard, musing about the hidden messages in Bay’s letter, when she saw Tomasita grab onto a rose trellis to steady herself, close her eyes, and take several deep breaths, all the while holding a hand to her belly.

  Sloan picked up Bay’s letter and reread the paragraph about Tomasita. When she looked up again, Tomasita had sunk onto one of the stone benches in the courtyard. When had Tomasita’s waist thickened? Where had she gotten the dark circles that shadowed her eyes?

  Sloan could hardly credit what she was thinking, yet the signs were there. It was true Tomasita had seen several young men over the past few weeks, as Cruz had brought a parade of suitors to supper. But how could Tomasita possibly be pregnant when she had been so carefully guarded, so closely watched?

  Sloan rose from her desk and walked out into the courtyard.

  When Tomasita heard footsteps, she quickly opened her eyes and stood up, nervously smoothing her wool skirt.

  “You look tired, Tomasita. Are you all right?”

  Tomasita blanched. “I am fine. Why do you ask?”

  Sloan noticed the girl’s hands had gone reflexively to her womb before she had clasped them together at her waist. “Is there anything you would like to talk about, Tomasita?”

  “Like what?” Tomasita asked, brazening it out.

  “If you are in any trouble-”

  “What makes you think I am in trouble?” Tomasita interrupted.

  Sloan’s heart went out to the other woman. “I can help,” she said softly.

  “No one can help me,” Tomasita said, her eyes bleak. “I am lost.”

  “I will speak to Cruz-”

  “No! Say nothing. Please, if you care for me at all, say nothing.” Tomasita turned and fled the courtyard.

  Sloan knew Tomasita couldn’t hide her problem for long, but for so long as she could, Tomasita’s secret was safe with her. Yet Sloan could not help wondering-who was the father of Tomasita’s child?

  The day of Tomasita’s reckoning came sooner than either of them had expected, for the moment they sat down to supper, Cruz said, “I have found a husband for you, Tomasita.”

  All eyes turned to Tomasita, who kept her gaze riveted on her plate of enchiladas, beans, and rice.

  Cruz continued, “Do you remember Don Ambrosio de Arocha, the gentleman who came to dinner the first Sunday after I returned from San Antonio?”

  “Sí, Don Cruz. I remember him,” Tomasita answered.

  Sloan remembered the prospective bridegroom, too. Don Ambrosio was a thin, erect, very stern-looking man. Distinctive, dark-eyed, he had a pointed beard and a thin moustache. But he was gray-haired and, frankly, old.

  Cruz continued, “Don Ambrosio has asked me for your hand in marriage. I have arranged for a dowry, and we have signed a betrothal contract. The wedding will take place as soon as the banns are read.”

  Sloan wondered if Don Ambrosio could be the one who had gotten Tomasita pregnant and if that was the reason for such haste. That hardly seemed possible, though, since she herself had acted as duenna to the mismatched couple and they had spent only a few moments together in the courtyard.

  Sloan watched Tomasita to see whether the news of her betrothal pleased her. The young woman said nothing, did nothing. In fact, her face remained impassive. Sloan knew Cruz had noticed Tomasita’s lack of eagerness or excitement, because she saw him frown.

  Doña Lucia was livid.

  After they had finished eating, Sloan followed Tomasita, planning to offer whatever solace she could. To her surprise, the young woman did not go directly to her room. Instead, she walked out of the hacienda, through the fortress gates, and down toward the river.

  Sloan traced the younger woman’s steps to a spot along the river bank where the grass grew tall and thick cypress trees allowed only scattered rays of late-evening sun to reach the ground.

  When Tomasita realized she was being followed she froze and demanded, “Who is there?”

  “It’s me. Sloan.”

  Tomasita slowly turned to face her. “Oh. I thought… I wished… never mind.”

  “Did you think it might be the baby’s father?”

  Tomasita gasped.

  Sloan took another step closer to Tomasita. “I know you’re pregnant, Tomasita.”

  “How could you? I only found out… Holy Mary. Who else knows?” she said as she grabbed Sloan’s forearms, her voice frantic.

  Sloan turned her hands and grasped Tomasita’s arms, wanting to comfort the other woman. “It appears no one else knows. Although all the signs are there for anyone to see.”

  When Sloan heard the first sob, she opened her arms and the young woman threw herself into her consoling embrace. For a few minutes Sloan did nothing but hold Tomasita while she cried. She had been in this position herself, and hearing Tomasita’s hopeless sobs brought back memories.

  “Oh, Sloan, what am I going to do?” Tomasita wailed through her tears. “I cannot marry Don Ambrosio. I cannot! I am in love with another man.”

  “The father of your child?”

  “Yes.”

  Sloan grasped Tomasita by the shoulders, looked into the other woman’s tear-streaked face and demanded, “Who is he, Tomasita? What bastard got you pregnant and then disappeared?”

  Tomasita stared at Sloan wide-eyed but remained silent.

  Sloan’s heart began to race and her stomach turned over as she had a horrifying thought. “Please… not Cruz…”

  “No! Oh no. It is Luke. Luke Summers!”

  “Luke?” Sloan asked, her voice sharp with relief, her mind not fully grasping what had been said.

  “Sí. Your brother, Luke.”

  Sloan was stunned. “He couldn’t do such a thing!” But she realized that of course he could.

  Luke was adept at seducing women. A rake. A rogue. A bastard in name, and now in deed. But she had never believed he would stoop so low as to steal an innocent’s virtue. “When? How?”

  “Do you remember the day you went home to Three Oaks? Luke came here to find you, but you were gone. He asked me to meet him later, here at the river. I was not going to do it…”

  “But you did,” Sloan said flatly.

  Tomasita covered her face with her hands. “Holy Mary. What a mess I have made of everything.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not too late to straighten things out,” Sloan said soothingly, her arms once again surrounding Tomasita in comfort. “We’ll simply go to Cruz and explain what’s happened. He’ll talk with Luke and arrange for Luke to marry you instead of Don Ambrosio.”

  Tomasita jerked out of Sloan’s embrace. “No! Don Cruz must not speak to Luke. I do not want Luke to know about the baby. Promise me you will not say anything to Don Cruz!”

  Sloan realized that Tomasita was on the verge of hysteria and calmed her by agreeing to keep her secret. “This isn’t something you can keep hidden for long,” she warned. “And you certainly can’t marry Don Ambrosio without telling him about the baby.”

  “I know.”

  “Tomasita, why don’t you want Luke to know about the child? I can’t believe he wouldn’t want to know you’ll bear his son or daughter.”

  “Luke has already made his wishes known. He does not want to marry me.”

  “But if Cruz spoke to him-”

  Tomasita cut Sloan off with a bark of bitter laughter. “Sí, Don Cruz may very well be able to convince Luke to marry me. But do you think I want him for my husband on those terms? At least if I marry Don Ambrosio, there is hope that someday he will learn to love me.”

  “Are you so sure Luke doesn’t have any feelings for you?”

  Tomasita turned to face Sloan, her mouth drawn in harsh lines. “Would he have left me as he did and stayed away this long if he cared?”

  Sloan’s voice was soft when she asked, “Why did you make love with him, Tomasita, if you weren’t sure he loved you?”

  Tomasita dropped her chin to her c
hest and twined her hands together in front of her. “Because I love him. I think I have loved him from the first moment I saw him. Even before I discovered you had married Don Cruz, I wanted to meet Luke at the river. Finding you with Don Cruz only gave me the excuse I needed to do what I had wanted to do all along.

  “If that was all I could ever have, I was willing to take the risk to have it. When I gave myself to him, I thought he wanted to marry me. I did not understand that he did not feel the same way about me as I did about him.”

  “What about the child? Will you keep it?”

  Sloan watched as serenity bathed Tomasita’s features. “Oh yes, I will keep the child. And I will love it with all my heart.”

  Sloan desperately hoped that Tomasita’s feelings didn’t change. For so, too, had she begun her pregnancy, with vows of everlasting love for her unborn child. “Let’s go back to the hacienda. It isn’t safe to be out here alone.”

  The two women made the trip back to the hacienda arm in arm, separating at the rear of the house to quietly make their way to their respective rooms.

  “Where have you been?”

  Sloan hadn’t been expecting Cruz to confront her the instant she walked into their bedroom. She settled for the truth. “I went for a walk.”

  “Alone?”

  “Am I not allowed to be alone?” she asked to avoid the need to lie.

  She felt Cruz’s arms surround her, felt him almost crush her with his strength as he pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “I was worried about you, Cebellina.”

  “I can watch out for myself, Cruz.”

  “Do this for me, querida,” he coaxed. “You have your hands full with so many other things. Let me worry about you.”

  He kissed her ear, slipping the tip of his tongue along the shell-shaped rim, heating her skin with his breath. She felt herself melting against him, defenseless against his onslaught.

  “Say you will.”

  “I will,” she said as she sought out his throat with her mouth. She loved the salty taste of his skin, the man-smell of him. When her hands curved around to grip his buttocks, she heard him laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.