Sloan looked at Tomasita’s expectant face. Cruz had said he would choose a husband for the girl. It was wrong to put ideas into Tomasita’s head that might never be realized. “When the right man comes along, you’ll know,” Sloan said. “I can’t really explain it any better than that.”

Fortunately for Sloan, Josefa returned from the carriage, cutting off Tomasita’s next question.

After they had eaten a hearty meal, they rested for a while and then followed Cisco’s suggestion, seconded by Tomasita over Josefa’s frowning objection, that they play tag.

Sloan had been searching for a way to throw off her worries, and the idea of frolicking around like a filly in a field of high grass sounded wonderful. “I think playing tag is a great idea,” she had agreed.

Cisco was “it” when they began, and he quickly tagged Cruz, who had been halfhearted in his efforts to escape the toddler. When Cruz began to chase Sloan, thinking how pleasant it would be to touch her, even in so innocent a game, he found her surprisingly fleet of foot.

“You’ll never catch me!” She laughed and twirled out of his way.

In her frantic escape, Sloan ran directly across Tomasita’s path. Cruz tripped over Tomasita’s heel as Sloan fled with a shriek of delight.

Cruz shouted a warning and grabbed Tomasita to protect her from his weight as they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. When they finally stopped rolling, Cruz had come to rest atop Tomasita, their bodies pressed together from breast to hip. For a moment they were both too stunned to react.

Sloan waited for Tomasita’s lively laughter to erupt, but heard an indrawn breath instead. Tomasita’s head was turned toward her, and Sloan saw the other woman’s face was flushed with excitement and… awareness.

Cruz appeared mesmerized by the sight of the woman beneath him, and Sloan knew he had to be feeling Tomasita’s full breasts and flat belly. Sloan sucked in a breath of air and held it, waiting to see what would happen next.

Josefa’s shrill voice collided with the sound of Cisco’s childish giggle as the two of them converged on the couple lying on the ground.

“You’re ‘it,’ Tomasita!” Cisco shouted.

“Don Cruz! You must get up,” Josefa cried.

Cruz was off Tomasita in an instant. When he would have extended a hand to assist her up off the ground, Josefa stepped between them and put a work-worn hand under Tomasita’s elbow to help her rise.

Josefa brushed the dust and grass off Tomasita’s wool skirt and straightened the loose cotton camisa that had slipped off one shoulder, all the while muttering, “I warned you not to play at children’s games. It is not seemly for a young woman to cavort like a child. When Doña Lucia hears-”

“Doña Lucia will not hear of this,” Cruz interrupted, his tone commanding obedience. “As you said, we were merely playing a game. No harm has been done.”

Sloan wasn’t so sure.

There was something more in Tomasita’s sapphire eyes when she looked up at Cruz now than had been there before, something that suggested the lively, precocious child had given way to the demure, uncertain woman.

And Cruz’s eyes followed Tomasita in a way they hadn’t before.

None of the adults were in the mood to play tag any longer, and Cruz only managed to hush Cisco’s protesting cries by gathering him up for a piggyback ride down to the nearby spring.

“It is my duty to guard your honor,” Josefa said to Tomasita when Cruz had gone. “But you must also do your part.”

“But-”

“Listen to me!” Josefa admonished fiercely. “If you continue to act so little the lady, no man will want you for his wife.”

Sloan saw from Tomasita’s trembling hands as she gathered up the picnic supplies that the young woman was humiliated by Josefa’s words. Tomasita’s flushed face revealed she was still confused by her reaction to Cruz.

Reluctant as Sloan was to admit it, she thought perhaps Cruz had been as surprised by the womanly form and potential for passion that lay hidden beneath Tomasita’s proper facade as Tomasita was herself.

Sloan felt a queer tightness in her chest. She recognized it as jealousy. She had told Cruz she didn’t want to be his wife. Only now that she saw him with Tomasita, she realized she didn’t want him to be some other woman’s husband, either. She was angry with herself for feeling so ambivalent. Either she wanted to be Cruz’s wife or she didn’t. Which was it?

She had never questioned her attraction to Cruz. But she had done everything in her power not to fall in love with him.

First, she knew the power that would give him: He would not have to command-she would be more than willing to obey. She did not think she could ever learn to trust him enough to give him such a hold on her.

And second, as irrational as she knew it was-and that was what really galled her-she could not help fearing that if she let herself love him, he would die and leave her alone.

So where did that leave her? Unsettled. Unsure. And undecided.

Cruz returned to find the three women had packed away the picnic supplies and were ready to return home. Sloan refused to meet Cruz’s eyes, and merely agreed with him when he suggested they should leave.

“We must do this again sometime soon,” Cruz said, with forced cheerfulness.

Sloan answered with the ambivalence she had been feeling since the game of tag. “If I’m still at Dolorosa, it might be fun.”

Cruz’s lips pressed together in disapproval, but Sloan noticed he didn’t contradict her. Too bad, she thought. She was itching for a good fight.

SLOAN NORMALLY ROSE WITH THE COCK’S CROW and was out in the fields by first light. So she felt chagrined when she awoke on her second day at the Guerrero hacienda and realized daybreak had found her abed. She wasn’t sure what had finally awakened her until she saw the shadowy form sitting beside her on the bed.

She jerked at the sheets to cover herself as she hurriedly sat up. “What are you doing here?”

“I have duties I must see to, and I did not want to leave without speaking with you.”

Sloan had never been more aware of Cruz’s claim on her than now, when he made no apology for observing her in her sleep. “You’re here now. Talk.”

She was startled when he grasped her shoulders and forced her to lie back down. She met his eyes, then let her gaze drop to the long, tanned fingers that touched her skin. Her gaze rose again to meet his, the demand for release there for him to read. He ignored it.

Cruz couldn’t believe the seductive picture she made with her glorious sable hair scattered in abandon on the pillow. She had never looked more like his heart’s desire.

Sloan tensed when Cruz braced his palms on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her without even laying a hand on her. Her flesh shimmered in excitement. Her blood went streaking through her veins. She felt as though he had taken ropes and spread-eagled her helplessly before him. Her whole body tautened, struggling against invisible bonds, waiting with delicious urgency for what was to come.

“I have made arrangements for you to rest today,” he said, his voice rich and deep.

“I’m not tired.”

“The dark circles under your eyes say otherwise.”

She turned her face away to escape his piercing gaze.

“Look at me.” When she didn’t respond, he reached out to cup her chin with his hand and gently turned her face toward him.

“Humor me. Rest today.”

“And tomorrow?”

“We will speak of that tomorrow.”

“What will you be doing today?” Sloan asked.

“The fall roundup has begun. I ride with my vaqueros.”

“I want to come along.”

“It is not done.” At Sloan’s frown, he added, “A lady does not ride with the vaqueros on Dolorosa.”

Sloan heard the censure in his voice. It was exactly the kind of rein she had expected him to exert on her behavior, but it distressed her to feel its tug so soon. She had trouble keeping the asperity from her voice. “With whom does a lady ride?”