“With her brother or her father… or her husband.”

“So you’re saying that unless you’re my… husband… I can’t ride with you?”

He smiled gently. “That is the way of it.”

“That’s an old-fashioned attitude that doesn’t belong in Texas.”

“In Texas, as elsewhere, a woman obeys her man-as she should.”

“You’re not my man!” Sloan snapped.

“Ah, Cebellina, and whose fault is that?”

The tension crackled between them. She denied his sensual challenge by refusing to acknowledge it. “I need something to keep me busy. I’m used to working. I can’t simply lie abed all day and do nothing. I want to come with you on the roundup.”

“No.”

Sloan looked into Cruz’s deep blue eyes and saw that on this, he would not compromise. Her chin jutted mulishly. “You can’t stop me.”

Before she could react, his fingers had laced with hers above her head, and he had covered her with his body. She stiffened, fighting her body’s riotous reaction to his-tender breasts swollen against a hard chest, a concave belly arching to male hips, slender thighs pressed to corded muscles of steel.

Her voice bit like a whip, hard and sharp. “Let me go.”

“You will stay at the hacienda?”

Sloan’s lip curled derisively. “Is this the way you treat all your guests? Am I a prisoner now?” She watched as chagrin altered his stony countenance, then saw a wry smile forming.

“No one else would dare to provoke me the way you do.”

Cruz caressed the calluses on her hands, recognizing them as the signs of a life spent laboring as no woman should have to do. He wanted to cosset her, to treat her like a queen. But she wanted none of it. He could not help admiring her for her spirit, but at the same time he shook his head in dismay at her willfulness. Perhaps it would not be so bad to let her come with him… another time.

He released her hands but did not free her completely. He felt her shiver as his hands moved slowly down her upraised arms to her shoulders, until he finally curled one hand around her nape. Absently, his fingers threaded through the dark, silky hair.

“How can I convince you to stay here? Shall I say it would please me if you do? I do not understand what makes you want to do a man’s job. Is it not enough simply to be a beautiful woman?”

“No. And I’m not beautiful.”

His hands framed her face to prevent her from looking away from him. “Oh, but you are. Very beautiful.” His thumb brushed her full lips, then traced the arch of her brow. He caressed her high cheekbone, and admired the softness of her skin.

Sloan fought against the tremors that shook her as Cruz’s hands worked their magic. Tonio had never made her feel like this. She was strung tight as a bow with anticipation. She could not move, could not break the contact between them. Her hands were fisted above her head. It was the only way she could resist touching him back.

“You are very tempting, Cebellina,” he murmured.

When she opened her mouth to speak, his fingertips stopped her. “Also very stubborn.” He smiled at her, his eyes lambent with suppressed desire. “I cannot let you come with me on the roundup, but if you must work, then perhaps Mamá can find something for you to do here at the hacienda. Although you must know, there is no need for you to do anything.”

“All right. Fine. I’ll stay here and work in the house.”

Desperate to escape Cruz’s sensual onslaught before she succumbed to it, Sloan would have agreed to anything. The way Cruz made her feel… She could not understand or explain it; she could only fight it. Allowing these feelings to grow could only lead to more pain when she returned to Three Oaks… as she would. As she must.

When his eyes locked on her mouth, she thought he was going to kiss her. She held her breath as he hesitated, suddenly afraid he would not.

His hooded eyes focused on her lips, his nostrils flared for the scent of her. And then his mouth covered hers, their lips clinging for too brief a moment.

Slowly, as though he were tearing himself away and it was a painful thing, he released his hold on her and stood up.

“I will see you at supper tonight,” he said. Then he was gone.

Sloan lay still, waiting for the trembling to stop. She tried not to think about what had happened between her and Cruz, but avoiding the truth wouldn’t change it. She had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted to kiss him back. How traitorous her body was! It refused to acknowledge the danger Cruz represented. She would have to be more careful. She would have to try harder to stay out of his way. And she would have to make it clear he was no longer welcome in her bedroom.

Sloan exhaled as the tension eased from her body and shook her head in disgust. She had actually agreed to do housework! Stephen usually took care of such matters at Three Oaks. Yet housework would be something to do to pass the time until Cruz returned.

Sloan had no wish to approach Doña Lucia, conscious as she was of the woman’s dislike of her, but she knew herself well enough to realize that she would find staying idle all day a worse penance than any chore a vindictive Doña Lucia could find for her.

In deference to where she was, Sloan put on a simple long-sleeved brown calico dress that she had brought with her in her small carpetbag. The dress buttoned all the way to the neck and had a simple white butterfly collar that she adorned with the one piece of jewelry she owned, a cameo brooch that had belonged to her mother.

Sloan so seldom wore a dress that the strangeness of her attire emphasized her predicament. She endured the awkwardness because she had no other choice. She didn’t like being in corners, and she was determined to find a way out of this one.

Sloan had just put on her shoes when she heard a knock on the door. Before she could respond, Doña Lucia stepped inside.

“My son tells me you want something to do to keep you busy today, Señorita Stewart.”

“I would rather be busy than not,” Sloan replied honestly.

“I have servants to do the work in the house.”

It was plain to Sloan that Doña Lucia not only didn’t want her help, she didn’t want her in the house. She bit her tongue on a sharp reply and said, “I’ll be glad to do anything.”

“Very well. I have asked Josefa to take the rugs outside today and beat them clean. If you would like to help her, you are welcome to do so.”

“Thanks.” Sloan thought she saw a smile appear on Doña Lucia’s face, but if it had been there, it was gone too quickly to comment upon.

Doña Lucia started to leave the room but suddenly stopped and angled her head back toward Sloan. “Stay away from Cisco. Seeing you, talking with you, will only confuse him.”

Sloan, who had fostered no intention of seeking out her son, retorted, “I’ll see him if I please.”

Doña Lucia’s face contorted with fury. As suddenly as she had lost control, she regained it and her features resumed their regal mien. The mellifluous voice gave no evidence of anger when the Spanish woman spoke.

“It is respect for my son that makes me hold my tongue when I wish to speak plainly to you. I do not understand why Cruz has invited you to stay in this house. But he has asked me to extend my courtesy to you. As I honored his father’s wishes when he was patrón, so do I honor my son’s.

“But do not mistake me. I will do what I must to protect Cisco and to see that Señorita Hidalgo is not embarrassed by your presence here.”

The woman was gone before Sloan could respond. What could she have said? Doña Lucia’s animosity was something she would have to bear for however long she stayed at Dolorosa-which she hoped wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks.

She had been thinking a lot about how she could change Rip’s mind, and the solution that seemed simplest was to stay away from Three Oaks and let him try to manage the harvest on his own. Whether Rip realized it or not, for the past few years she had taken a great deal of the responsibility for Three Oaks on her shoulders. Since his stroke, she had carried it all.