SLOAN HAD WONDERED ALOUD ON THE RIDE back to Dolorosa whether the fact she was now a really married woman would show on her face the first time she came eye to eye with Cruz’s mother.

Cruz had laughed and said, “Of course not!”

Sloan wasn’t so sure.

“You will be able to keep your secret for a few more days, Cebellina,” he had said with a smile. “For I must leave you when we return to Dolorosa and finish the roundup. When I return, we will both sit down with my mother and give her the happy news.”

They arrived back at Dolorosa late that afternoon. Doña Lucia welcomed Sloan and Cruz with a forbidding stare, while Tomasita cooed over blue-eyed Betsy, who was once again in Cruz’s arms, her head against his shoulder.

“I’ll take Betsy,” Sloan said as she stepped up onto the veranda. She tenderly brushed the damp bangs away from Betsy’s forehead. “I’ll put her down for a nap in Tonio’s room.”

Cruz watched Sloan turn and enter the hacienda. It was clear she had allowed the little girl to pierce the shell around her heart that she had used to keep Cisco away. He worried that when Betsy returned to her family-and surely her aunt and uncle would want her-Sloan would be forced to face yet another loss.

Sloan had laid Betsy down and covered her with a quilt when she heard a silk skirt rustling behind her. “One of my son’s vaqueros can take the girl to the mission orphanage in San Antonio in the morning.”

“She’ll be staying here until her uncle can be contacted.” In response to any objections Doña Lucia might make, Sloan added, “I’ve already spoken to Cruz. It’s all settled.”

“I see. What if her uncle does not want her?”

“Then I’ll keep her myself.”

Doña Lucia’s brows rose in speculation. “You would not keep your own son, yet you will raise the orphaned child of another? What kind of woman are you?”

Sloan bunched her fists at her sides. “That isn’t really any concern of yours, is it?”

Doña Lucia opened and shut her fan in agitation, but said nothing, simply turned and left the room.

Sloan stared after her. Cruz’s mother had prodded an old wound and found still-proud flesh. She shouldn’t have been so surprised that she could feel ashamed of the fact she had abandoned her son. It had not been one of her better decisions. But she wasn’t going to let Doña Lucia’s words keep her from taking the very best care of Betsy.

She sought Cruz out in the sala and found him riffling through papers on his rolltop desk. “Your mother is… upset… about Betsy’s presence here,” she said.

Cruz rose and took Sloan’s hands in his. “My mother is not master here. I am. Does that settle the matter?”

“Well… yes, I guess so.”

He turned back to his desk.

Sloan noticed he seemed distracted and in a hurry. When he had collected a number of papers in a leather satchel, he turned and found her still standing there.

“Was there anything else you wanted to speak with me about?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then I will say adiós. I must join the roundup. I have already been gone too long.”

“I thought you were going to teach me how to run Dolorosa,” Sloan said, realizing that once again she was being left behind. “I thought we were going to be partners, riding side by side.”

“The roundup is no place for a woman.”

“Not even for your wife?”

“Especially not for my wife.”

Sloan saw the banked desire that darkened Cruz’s blue eyes until they were the color of a stormy day. His free hand grasped hers, and his thumb caressed her callused palm.

She felt her skin heating and jerked her hand away, appalled to see how quickly she had succumbed to his mesmerizing touch. “All right, I’ll stay here… at least until I can contact Luke and see what’s going on at Three Oaks. Perhaps Rip is ready to have me come home.”

Cruz’s protest was cut off by a shriek of terror from Tonio’s bedroom. Sloan’s horrified eyes met Cruz’s before they both raced toward the room where she had left Betsy.

When they reached the doorway, they found Betsy crouched on top of the pillows at the head of the bed, whimpering. Cisco was on his knees beside her, his small hand patting her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.

“Do not cry, niña,” Cisco said.

Sloan hurried to the bed and sat down beside Cisco. “What happened?”

“I did not mean to make her cry, Mamá. I only wanted to play with her.”

Tears had begun to fill Cisco’s eyes. Sloan felt the urge to pull him into her arms and soothe his tears away, as she had done for Betsy, but she caught herself just in time. That way lay disaster.

Because she could not follow her natural inclination, her voice was more harsh than she had intended. “Never mind. I’m sure Betsy will want to play with you later. Right now, though, she’s resting. Why don’t you find Tomasita and see if she wants to play?”

Sloan had told herself that Cisco was too young to recognize her rejection for what it was. The lost, miserable look on his face made it plain she was wrong.

But he only said, “Sí, Mamá,” and ran from the room.

Sloan suddenly realized that she hadn’t thought twice about sending her son to seek out Tomasita while she stayed to comfort a child who was not even her own flesh and blood. Maybe Doña Lucia was right. Maybe there was something unnatural about her.

Sloan looked up and found Cruz watching her intently. She dropped her eyes from his. He did not have to speak for her to feel his censure. She had promised him she would treat the children equally. She was somehow going to have to get over the reserve she enforced around her son.

The child on the bed moaned. Sloan settled herself comfortably on the feather mattress, with her back leaning against the ornately carved headboard, before picking Betsy up and cradling her in her arms. She was totally absorbed in the child until she felt Cruz’s touch on her arm.

She looked up, startled, and said, “I thought you had left.”

“We never finished our discussion.”

“Our discussion?”

“Of what you will do to fill your days at Dolorosa while I am gone.”

Sloan absently rubbed her hand against Betsy’s rosy cheek.

“But I see there will be much to occupy your time,” Cruz said brusquely. “I must go, Cebellina.”

“You’re leaving right now?” Sloan didn’t like the bereft sound of her voice. She cleared her throat and said, “How soon will you be back?”

“Not for a week at least, perhaps longer. I want your promise that you will not leave Dolorosa-for any reason-until I return.”

Sloan’s lips flattened in the mulish expression Cruz had learned to recognize.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“If you are not here when I get back, I will come after you.”

Betsy whimpered at the tone of Cruz’s voice.

“You’re frightening her.”

“Be here. Adiós, Cebellina.” His hand curved around her nape as he gave her a quick, claiming kiss.

Sloan stared after him as he walked out the bedroom door, his satchel under his arm. He hadn’t even given her a chance to say good-bye.

A moment later she wondered what possible use he could have for a satchel of business papers on the roundup.

Cruz walked quickly through the house, frustrated with the series of events that had made it necessary for him to attend to affairs of state at a time when he would much rather attend to affairs at home.

He had meant what he said about including Sloan in his work at Dolorosa-even the roundup. However, that was impossible right now, because he wasn’t headed directly for the roundup. First, he had a rendezvous with the Englishman, and he had no choice except to be there.

He rode like a man possessed, certain he would never arrive in time. He pulled up his bayo as he reached the camp of Mexican bandidos under the lone oak tree. He searched the gathering for the dapper Englishman and found him by the fire. Cruz froze as he recognized the man sitting beside Sir Giles.