“But-”

Cruz thrust a restless hand through his thick black hair. “But, as you say, I am worrying needlessly. We will surely see him hang tomorrow.”

“I won’t be staying for the hanging,” Sloan admitted. “I dropped everything and left in the middle of the cotton harvest when I got your message that Alejandro had been caught. My responsibilities as overseer can’t wait. And I have enough nightmares to disturb my sleep without adding one more.”

“Do you still see Tonio’s face at night, Cebellina?”

Sloan whirled on Cruz, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those who passed by them. “Don’t speak to me of Tonio. And don’t speak to me a name intended for a novia. I’m not your sweetheart, Cruz, and I never will be.”

With a strength and quickness Sloan knew he was capable of, but had never seen for herself, Cruz grabbed her by the waist and carried her the few steps to a nearby alley. He pressed her up against the adobe wall and held her there with the length of his hard, sinewy body.

Sloan saw a ferocity in Cruz’s blue eyes, a harshness in his aristocratic features, an intransigence in the jutting chin rent by a shallow cleft, that she hadn’t seen since the grim day they had sealed their bargain.

There was nothing of the daring Spanish cavalier in the face of the man who held her, only brute strength, iron will and the knowledge of unrequited love.

“What do you expect from me, Cebellina?” With a hand that trembled under the force of the control he exerted, he caressed a wayward strand of the sable hair that had fostered his nickname for her.

His gaze touched her heart-shaped face, her large, intelligent brown eyes topped by delicately arched brows, her short, straight nose, the angled cheekbones leading to her confident chin, and finally her full, inviting pink lips, the lower of which she held clasped between her teeth.

When he spoke again, his rumbling voice held the fervor of someone who has reached the limit of his patience and will not be denied. “I have waited to claim you until Tonio’s murderer could be brought to justice. For four long years I have waited!

“I have kept my part of the bargain we made when you came to me swollen with my brother’s child and asked for my help. I accepted Tonio’s son from your arms when he was born and took him to Rancho Dolorosa to raise him as my own.

“And though I was often tempted, I did not ask of you my soul’s desire. I did not take from you that for which my body hungered. I waited. And I hunted down my brother’s murderer.

“Now you must keep your part of the bargain. I want you for my wife, Cebellina. And I will have you. Whether you see my brother’s face in your dreams or not!”

His mouth came down to claim Sloan’s, his touch rough with need, his teeth breaking the skin of her lip so she tasted blood. His hands freely roamed her body, commanding a response from her.

Sloan felt the insidious tingling sensation begin deep inside her, felt her lips softening under his, felt her mouth open for his searching tongue that ravaged her, mimicking the movement of his hips against her belly. She felt the rush of passion, felt the desire for him, for the joining of their bodies, begin to well and grow within her, as unwelcome as a weevil in cotton.

She could not allow this. She would not let herself be used by any man again! She shoved against Cruz’s chest, but she managed only to break the contact between their mouths.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “Let me go!”

Her hand rose up between them to cover Cruz’s lips. When she felt the wetness on his lips, it caused a shiver of desire within her so fierce that she felt compelled to deny it in words. “I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. And you can’t want me. I was your brother’s puta. Your brother’s whore!”

Abruptly, Cruz released her. His blue eyes had become chips of ice. The veins stood out along his neck, and his hands were balled into tightly clenched fists. “Never, never call yourself whore. Do you understand me?”

Sloan flinched when he raised his hand, afraid he would strike her. But she stood her ground, waiting. She was Rip Stewart’s daughter. It would not be the first time she had been struck in anger. She was no coward; she would not run from him.

His fist unfurled like a tight bud that finally flowers, and his callused fingertips smoothed over her freckled cheekbone in a caress as surprisingly soft as a cactus blossom. “Do you hate me so much, Cebellina?”

“I don’t hate you at all.”

“Then why do you resist me?”

“I can never love you, Cruz. A true marriage between us would only cause unhappiness for us both.”

“I will be the judge of what will make me happy.”

“Will you also judge what will please me?”

“Only tell me what I can do to please you and it shall be done. What do you want, Cebellina?”

“I don’t want or need a husband.”

His mouth tightened and a flush rose across his cheekbones. “Nevertheless, when Alejandro hangs, you will fulfill our bargain and become my wife.”

“I’m going home to Three Oaks, Cruz.”

“Go. But know this: When my brother’s murder is avenged at last, I will come for you.”

“Let me pass. I want to go to Ranger headquarters before I leave.”

“Is there some problem at Three Oaks?” Cruz asked.

“I only want to thank Luke Summers for his part in capturing Alejandro,” she replied, annoyed at his assumption that their bargain gave him the right to know about her affairs.

Cruz’s eyes narrowed. It was said that Luke Summers drew women like a Texas marsh drew mallards. It took Cruz no time at all to make up his mind what he should do. “I’ll come with you.”

Sloan started to object, then shrugged. “I can’t very well stop you.”

Cruz stepped away from her, and she had never been so aware of his great height or her own more feminine stature. She slipped past him and out of the alley into the warm September sunshine.

Her heart was racing, and she took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself before she headed purposefully toward the adobe building where she knew she would find the young Texas Ranger lieutenant. Cruz followed, a shadow by her side.

The shutters on the windows of Ranger headquarters had been closed to keep the interior cool. Sloan had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dimness before she saw Luke sitting on the edge of a spur-scarred wooden desk. He kept a well-worn lariat circling two inches above the dirt floor with no more effort than the gentle flick of his wrist.

She had first met Luke Summers when he had come to provide protection against the Comanches who had once threatened Three Oaks.

Although you couldn’t tell it to look at him, slouched against the desk as he was, Luke was tall and rangy. His dark brown hair was streaked with blond from the year he had spent at hard labor in a Mexican prison after he had been captured at the Battle of Mier. He had high cheekbones and a narrow nose over a wide, full mouth.

His eyes were hazel, but she had seen them look green or gold at various times, depending on his mood. She guessed he was about her age, twenty-two or -three, but his eyes bespoke a life filled with some unutterable sadness.

With another flick of his wrist, Luke collected the lariat in his hand. As he shaped the rope in small, even loops, he said, “Howdy, Sloan. What’s troubling you?”

He was also far too perceptive for her peace of mind. “Nothing worth mentioning,” she said, slanting a glance at Cruz. “Before I leave town, I wanted to thank you for your help in capturing Alejandro Sanchez.”

“You’re leaving? The hanging’s not until tomorrow.”

“I know. I don’t plan to stick around for it. Anyway, thanks.”

“Just doing my job.” Luke stood up and gestured toward the ladder-back chair across from the desk. “You want to set a spell, Sloan?”