It only took one frightening look to see Sloan wasn’t going to make it out on her own. It never occurred to him to save himself. He headed for his wife on the run.

He had mere seconds to reach Sloan, mere seconds to get them both to safety. He didn’t have time for grace. He simply snatched Sloan up in his arms like a rag doll, and ran.

He had nearly reached the limits of the tree’s vast umbrella when the outer limbs caught his shoulders and shoved him downward. He barely had time to drop Sloan into a narrow ravine and cover her body protectively with his own before the weight of the gnarled limbs crashed down on him.

Sloan woke to bright daylight but couldn’t figure out where she was. Her hip ached abominably, and something heavy was weighing her down, making it hard to breathe.

Then it all came back to her. The weight, of course, must be Cruz’s body.

“Cruz?” she whispered tentatively. “Are you awake? Are you all right?”

When she received no reply, she closed her eyes and prayed, reaching out searchingly with the hand she could move easily. Cruz’s hand lay beside her on the ground, but it was cold and limp. She felt for a pulse at his wrist but couldn’t find one.

She shuddered at the thought that he might be dead, and fought against panic. A small tremor sped through his body and she realized he must be alive.

“Cruz,” she murmured from a throat swollen closed by guilt. “Please don’t die. Please, for me, try to stay alive.”

Surely someone would have noticed this morning that they were gone from the hacienda. Cruz’s vaqueros would already be searching for them. But how would they know where to look? The storm would have washed out all signs of their journey. It could be hours before they were found-if they were found at all.

Sloan uttered several colorful curses before she managed to control her tongue. She had gotten herself and Cruz into this mess. It appeared she was also going to have to get them both out.

Sloan first tried to slide sideways out from under Cruz, but soon realized that was impossible because a limb had pinned them in place. However, the ravine into which they had fallen continued along for several feet beyond where they were lying. She began to work her body forward and out from under Cruz. It was slow going because a sharp pain ran down her leg each time she moved her hip.

It took much longer than she had thought it would to finally free herself, and when she did, it was frightening to realize that Cruz still hadn’t regained consciousness. She forced her way upward through the layers of branches until she was standing upright.

The surrounding tree limbs only reached as high as her hips. Cruz had nearly managed to carry her to safety. Ten feet beyond where they were lying, the tree’s branches ended, and several yards beyond that, the bayo stood munching grass. She wondered why he hadn’t bolted for home until she realized that the dragging reins had gotten caught in a scrubby mesquite tree and tethered the horse as neatly as if she had done it herself.

She worked her way to clear ground and limped painfully to the bayo, praying that the saddlebags contained the necessities to help them survive. She could have cried for joy when she found a small ax for chopping firewood, matches, a blanket, some beef jerky, a bandanna, a small knife, and a canteen of water. She hugged the ax to her bosom while she drank some of the water.

“Cebellina! Where are you?”

“Cruz! I’m here! Wait, I’m coming.” Sloan experienced a searing joy at the sound of Cruz’s voice, which dimmed as she realized all that stood between them now. She hissed in pain as she jarred her hip. Soon she was straddling a tree limb beside him.

“I have tried to roll over, but my legs are caught,” he told her.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I have a devil of a headache,” he said through clenched teeth. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” There would be time enough later to mention her hip. “Lie still. I found an ax in your saddlebags and-”

“The horses did not head for home?”

“The bayo’s reins got caught on a mesquite. We can ride home as soon as I get you free.”

Cruz wondered if Sloan realized what she had said. We can ride home. Did she consider Dolorosa home? Did this mean she was coming back to stay with him despite what she now believed about him? He could not bring himself to ask, so instead he said, “What can I do to help?”

“Just lie still. I can handle this.”

It turned out that Sloan had been slightly optimistic when she had spoken. The ax was small and the limbs were thick. Also, her hip bothered her, and she had to rest frequently to take her weight off it. That soon became apparent to Cruz, who exclaimed, “You are hurt!”

“My hip got bruised when the bayo struck me with his hooves,” she said, dismissing his concern. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Neither of them spoke as Sloan continued hacking away at the branches of the live oak, but a conversation was taking place, nevertheless, in both their minds.

Why did he agree to work with the Englishman?

I should never have agreed to do it. I knew the chance I was taking that she would find out.

I don’t understand how this could have happened to me twice in one lifetime.

Do I dare tell her the rest of it?

Oh God! I can’t turn him in to the Rangers. But how can I stay silent about what I know?

I will tell Sir Giles I am out of it. I will quit.

And I can never trust him again.

I love her, but I cannot explain all of this to her yet. She will simply have to trust me.

“I’ve about hacked through this branch,” Sloan said at last. “I should have you free in a minute.”

She had been lifting away branches as she chopped them off and had cleared an area around Cruz’s head and shoulders. As soon as there was space, he had tried to sit up, but had felt a searing pain in his head when he tried to lift it.

Sloan had finally threatened she would make it hurt a lot worse if he didn’t lie still until she was finished. She had seen the dried blood on his temple, and that, coupled with his pain, made her worry that he was more seriously injured than he was letting on.

The sheer size and weight of the limb pinning Cruz’s legs made it difficult for Sloan to move it, even though she had freed it from the rest of the tree. At last she managed to drag the branch out of the way. She stooped down and laid her hand on Cruz’s shoulder. “Can you turn over by yourself?”

He moaned. “I thought you said you never wanted to see my ugly face again.”

Sloan drew in a sharp breath. “This is no time for jokes.”

“No, I guess it is not.” He hissed with the pain as he hugged his arms to his body and slowly rolled over. Once he was flat on his back, he groaned again.

“How do you feel?”

“I do not think anything is broken, but I have one hell of a headache.”

Sloan knelt beside him and ran her hand impersonally over his rain-damp clothes, checking to make sure he was telling the truth. She felt the muscle and sinew that lay beneath the cloth and wondered if she would ever be able to give herself freely to him again.

She forced her thoughts away from the future to the here and now. When she was done with her examination, she confirmed, “Nothing’s broken as far as I can tell, unless you’ve cracked your skull.”

“I do not think it is that bad,” he said with a wry grin.

She had to accept his word. She expressed her tremendous relief by easing her aching body down onto the grass, crossing her arms, and raising them to cover her face as she leaned her head back against a fallen branch.

Cruz dragged himself up onto one elbow and reached out a hand to comfort her by softly stroking her hair. “Please do not cry. I could not bear it.”