“Good night, Doña Lucia,” Sloan said in a steady voice.

“Buenos noches, Señorita Stewart.” Having come away triumphant from the first sortie, Doña Lucia was perfectly willing to depart the field of battle. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Sloan was still quivering with indignation when she sank down onto the huge bed. Almost instantly, a servant knocked at the door carrying her carpetbag. He then brought a wooden tub, which the maid Josefa filled with hot water.

Sloan accepted Josefa’s help, and within an hour had bathed, dressed in a clean chambray wrapper, eaten a light supper that Josefa had gotten for her from the kitchen, and was in bed with the sheets tucked around her.

She closed her eyes, exhausted, but found she couldn’t sleep. A thousand thoughts and not one solution. Was there any chance Luke would disgorge what Rip was forcing down his throat? Meanwhile, how should she act toward Tomasita? Or Cisco? Or Doña Lucia? Not to mention Cruz. Exactly how was she expected to occupy all her empty hours here at Dolorosa?

And where on earth was she going to go from here if Rip didn’t change his mind?

Sloan was drifting between wakefulness and sleep but had the oddest sensation of being watched. When she opened her eyes, it took a moment to realize where she was. When she did, she sat up abruptly and discovered she was indeed being watched.

“Buenos días, Mamá.”

For an instant, Sloan couldn’t breathe. She had not seen Cisco since January-nearly nine months ago. It was surprising he even recognized her. Then she realized someone must have told him she was here. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t have encouraged the little boy to come closer, so she said nothing.

“Papa said you have come to live with us.”

“Uh… for a little while, yes.”

Sure enough, as soon as she spoke, it released some sort of restraint and Cisco headed toward her. The instant he started to climb up onto the bed, she scrambled off the other side. “I haven’t slept so late for a long time. I guess I should get dressed,” she said.

She turned her eyes away from the confused look on her son’s face when he managed to reach the middle of the bed, only to find her gone.

He started crawling across the bed toward her again. “Do you want to see my pony?”

“Uh… I don’t… uh… maybe later.” Sloan headed for the dresser on the opposite side of the room, aware that she was playing an awkward, pitiful game of chase with her son. But she had no intention of getting caught.

It had nearly killed her to leave him in January. She wasn’t going to let herself get attached to him again in the brief time she planned to be at Dolorosa. Keeping a distance between them was all she could think to do.

She turned from thrusting her fingers through her tangled hair in time to see that Cisco had managed to climb off the bed and was heading for her as fast as his three-year-old legs could carry him. In a matter of moments he would be reaching out his arms to be picked up. Sloan stared at him in an agony of indecision.

At that instant, the door to the room swung open.

“There you are, Diablito,” Tomasita said. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”

Realizing he had been caught, Cisco giggled mischievously and turned and ran for the bed, climbing up and scooting under the bedcovers to hide from Tomasita.

Tomasita smiled apologetically to Sloan. “I promised Doña Lucia I would not let him bother you this morning. I will take him away so you can finish dressing.”

Before Sloan could protest, Tomasita had retrieved a squirming, laughing Cisco from beneath the covers. The little boy wrapped his legs around Tomasita’s waist and cupped her face in his hands to get her attention. “I want to stay and play with Mamá.”

“But we promised to help Ana make buñuelos. Did you forget?”

Cisco looked over his shoulder at Sloan, who could see he was torn between staying or having a chance to eat some of the crisp, cinnamon-sugar-coated tortillas.

“Go with Tomasita now,” Sloan urged. “I can go see your pony another time.”

Thus appeased, Cisco was happy to leave with Tomasita.

Alone in the room, Sloan sagged onto the bed. She felt her face contorting and turned to grab a pillow, hugging it against her mouth so no one would hear the sobs she felt building in her chest. She jumped up, still hugging the pillow, and paced the room, fighting the ache in her chest, the constriction in her throat, and the tears burning behind her eyes.

I can’t bear it! Please, God, do something! It hurts too much.

She paused at last to stare at herself in the cheval mirror, and froze when she saw another face join hers in the glass.

“GO AWAY,” SHE MUMBLED, HER VOICE MUFFLED by the pillow she had pulled up to cover her face.

“Cebellina?”

“Go away, Cruz.”

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. She pulled the pillow down far enough to see the amused and curious look on his face, crossed her eyes, and then raised the pillow again.

“You’re even more beautiful in the morning,” he said.

Sloan chuckled at his facetious response to her crossed eyes and lowered the pillow completely from her face. “You’re a terrible liar, but thanks.”

As his eyes roamed her features and form, she hugged the pillow tighter against her chest, uncomfortably aware that she was dressed only in her chambray wrapper, her waist-length hair in disarray.

God only knew what her face really looked like, with her red-rimmed eyes and her colorfully bruised cheek. She threaded her fingers nervously through her hair in an attempt to remove some of the snarls. She turned away from him to face the mirror but focused on his image in the oval frame rather than her own.

Their eyes met in the mirror and she saw herself reflected in his fathomless blue eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I have waited a long time for this morning,” he said.

Sloan tensed as Cruz lowered his head to caress her bare shoulder with his lips. She shivered in pleasure at his touch. She knew she should flee but felt powerless to do so.

If his hands had sought to capture her, to keep her prisoner, she would have pulled away. Yet solely with the touch of his lips upon her skin, he held her in his thrall. Her eyes drifted closed as he bestowed soft kisses along her shoulder and up her neck.

She heard his uneven breathing, felt his body coiled and trembling with need. Her heart pounded in her chest and she drew a sharp breath as his teeth nipped lightly at the lobe of her ear.

When her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, she turned abruptly to face him. “Cruz…”

Before she could speak words of denial, his strong arms surrounded her.

They both realized at the same moment that the pillow was stuck ludicrously between them.

Cruz was the first to grin, and Sloan joined him. He grabbed her up in his arms with the pillow between them and swung her in a circle. She heard herself laughing like a carefree young girl.

Abruptly, Cruz set her down and yanked the pillow out from between them, throwing it over his shoulder onto the bed. One of his hands captured her nape while the other grasped her buttocks, forcing their bodies into intimate contact from hips to breast, his male hardness pressing against her belly.

Suddenly the laughing mood was gone, abruptly changed to something much more serious. Sloan looked up at Cruz and saw the determination etched in his features.

“Don’t do this…” she begged in an agonized whisper.

His eyes were focused on her mouth, and for an instant she didn’t think he had heard her. It was only when their lips were a breath apart that he seemed to come to his senses. “Ah, Cebellina, you tempt me to show you how right this would be.”