“I will.”

The ride to Three Oaks was hours long, the flat, grassy terrain becoming rolling hills studded with an occasional pin or live oak the closer she came to Three Oaks. As far as Sloan was concerned, the journey gave her far too much time to think.

When the plantation house finally came into sight, she had long since planned arguments to use on both Rip and Luke in order to reclaim her lost heritage. She stepped down off her horse and hitched the reins to the post in front of the house.

She left her carpetbag tied behind the saddle. There was no sense announcing she planned to visit for a few days before she was sure she would get the answers she wanted from Rip.

She opened the door and walked inside-to utter silence. “Hello? Is anybody home? Rip? Luke? Stephen?”

No answer.

She walked into Rip’s office to see if there was anything on his desk that might tell her where he had gone. She found the notice of Wilkerson’s regular sale of slaves, livestock, and a variety of wares in Houston, but couldn’t believe Rip would have traveled that far in his weakened condition.

In fact, she couldn’t believe he had left the house at all. He had only done so rarely since his stroke in January, unwilling to expose the weakness in his right hand and leg to his neighbors and business associates.

So where was he now? Where was everybody?

Luke was furious with Rip, furious enough to spit nails. Their relationship had deteriorated over the past few days to barely veiled animosity.

Each day since Sloan had left for the Guerrero hacienda had been harder than the one before. He had about made up his mind to have it out with Rip when the letter had come from Sloan. Then Rip had discovered a problem with the cotton gin that he had sworn he couldn’t handle alone, and what with one thing and another it had been weeks, instead of days, before Luke could get away.

He sighed with relief as he spotted the whitewashed adobe hacienda where it sat on a hill, its broad veranda overlooking the Brazos River. He would get an answer from Sloan today. Whether she planned to stay with Cruz or go home to Three Oaks, he was giving her fair warning that he would be saying his adiós to Rip and riding back to San Antonio before the month was out.

Luke rode slowly through the small village where Cruz’s vaqueros lived in a combination of mesquite jacals and adobe homes. Chickens roamed freely in the streets, and were occasionally forced to abandon some tasty morsel in indignant haste in order to stay beyond the threat of his horse’s hooves.

He passed a mercantile store that reminded him he hadn’t had a cherry stick in a long time, and a cantina with swinging doors that reminded him he hadn’t had a whiskey in a long time, either. Time enough for that later, he decided.

The last and largest building he encountered before reaching the walls that surrounded Cruz’s hacienda was an obviously abandoned mission with a high bell tower. Luke might have sought out a priest, if there had been one, to rid himself of the guilt and hate that sat upon his shoulders like a hair shirt.

But perhaps it was just as well there was no holy man here. He was not yet ready to give up his lifelong animosity for his father.

He almost didn’t see Tomasita.

She was standing by the mission, her hand running delicately over the pockmarks left by musketballs and cannon over the past years of strife. Nearby, a heavyset Mexican woman played with two children, one of whom he recognized as Cisco.

He had forgotten how beautiful Tomasita Hidalgo was… but not how far beyond his reach she was. He was a bastard, a Texas Ranger who had to feed his horse, buy his ammunition, and provide himself with room and board on thirty-seven fifty a month. Doña Lucia had made it clear he was totally unsuitable for the high-born, well-bred Spanish woman whose loveliness now caught his eye.

As he approached her, he slowed his gelding. He really shouldn’t stop. It could only cause problems. But at that moment his horse’s shoe struck a stone and she turned.

When she recognized him, a shy, fleeting smile crossed her face, before she quickly turned away again to face the crumbling wall. Her hand brushed its surface as though by doing so she could read the story it had to tell.

He pulled his chestnut to a stop behind her. “Howdy.”

Tomasita pivoted slowly, her eyes lowered so that lush black lashes lay in crescents along the milky white skin of her cheeks. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, and her voice was breathless when she responded, “Buenos días, Señor Summers.”

Luke dismounted in a single graceful movement that left him standing a foot in front of her. “Call me Luke.”

Tomasita glanced quickly at Josefa only to discover that the old woman had followed the children around the corner to the back of the mission. She was alone.

Flustered, she could only think to say, “All right… Luke.”

Her eyelids flew open when she felt the knuckles of his hand brush her face. His hand cupped her cheek, and he lifted her chin. She felt herself begin to tremble even before he spoke.

“I like the way you say my name.”

Tomasita cleared her throat but couldn’t seem to form any words. She kept her eyes lowered so all she could see was his strong, masculine forearm, covered in a light dusting of sun-bleached hair. She wanted to reach up and touch it to see how it felt. Appalled at her thoughts, her eyes flew to his face to see if he had realized what she was thinking.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Tomasita. Your skin is as soft as a wild rose petal.” He smiled and added, “And, right now, just as pink.” He lowered his hand. “Am I embarrassing you?”

She stared back at him, seeing eyes that were warm and alive with innuendo. Frightened by his intent gaze, not quite understanding what she saw in his eyes, she lowered her head again. “Yes. No. I do not know. Holy Mary…”

Luke’s gentle laugh brought her blue eyes up to meet his golden hazel ones. There was something in his eyes, something that called to her, asking her to trust him.

“I am not used to a gentleman speaking his mind so honestly,” she admitted with a tremulous smile. “I thank you for the compliment.”

“No thanks are necessary. Unless you’d like to thank me by going for a walk along the river with me this Saturday.”

“Oh, but I could not!”

“Why not?” he asked, a lazy grin on his face. “I’m sure we’d have a good time.”

Tomasita felt her heart beating nearly out of her skin. “I mean, maybe I could, but I cannot accept such an invitation.”

“Why not?” he persisted.

“Don Cruz would never allow it.” She saw that Luke was ready to continue his persuasion, so she explained, “I have only my good name to offer a husband. If I met you at the river…”

Tomasita’s blush, which had almost receded, rose again when her tongue tied at the thought of the discussion they were having.

Luke bit his tongue. He could not say that if she joined him, she would leave the river no different than she had come. It was more than likely he would take at least a kiss… and maybe more.

He wanted her-in a way he had never wanted another woman. There was something about her that shook him up inside. It might have been her innocence.

In all the years Luke Summers had taken what he wanted from women, he had never taken a woman’s virginity. This woman was obviously untouched.

Yet he wanted her. He didn’t understand it. He was a little awed by it. But not enough to leave her be and go about his business.

“So, has Cruz already picked out a rich ranchero to be your husband?”

Unable to tell Luke of her betrothal to Don Cruz, Tomasita hedged, “I do not know.”

“And don’t care?”

Luke seemed upset, but Tomasita didn’t know why. “Of course I care! But it would not be proper for a woman to choose her own husband. There are things which must be considered.”