Cruz spoke quickly before the girl could flee. “We were finished talking, and it is time for supper anyway. There is no need for you to go to your room. You would only have to leave it again to join us.”

He had countered his mother’s harshness with leniency because it seemed a shame to curb the girl’s natural ebullience. To his surprise, his mother seemed satisfied, rather than annoyed, by his gesture.

He stooped down and set Cisco on his toddler’s legs. “As for you, Diablito, it is time to wash up for supper. Where is Josefa?”

“I promised Josefa I would take care of Cisco,” Tomasita said, her voice timid and still a bit breathless from running. “She was very busy helping Ana set the table for supper.”

“Then I give him over to your safekeeping.” Cruz gave Cisco a gentle nudge in Tomasita’s direction. “Be a good boy and mind Tomasita.”

Cisco turned back and said, “Sí, Papa. I like Tomasita. She is more fun to play with than Josefa.”

Cruz watched as Tomasita’s blush became even rosier. His desire to ease her discomfort made him say, “I have some business to take care of with my vaqueros before supper. I will excuse myself and see you later.”

Once Cruz had left the room, Doña Lucia approached Tomasita, who by now had captured a wriggling Cisco in her arms. “I defer to the wishes of my son that you be allowed to dine with us. But before you come to the table, be certain you fix your hair, roll down your sleeves, and button your dress properly. After you have eaten, you will go to your room and you will pray on your knees that you learn to behave with more decorum.”

With that, she turned her back on the young woman and made a regal exit through the arched doorway of the sala.

When she was gone, Tomasita let out a huge sigh of relief. Doña Lucia’s stern admonition reminded her so much of Mother María de los Angeles that she could not help feeling homesick for her life in the convent. Yet she knew she would not have been happy staying there.

To be honest, she had welcomed the rescue-yes, rescue-by Don Cruz. For lately she had been guilty of precisely the same rowdy behavior at the convent for which Doña Lucia had chastised her.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many Ave Marías or Hail Marys Mother María had made her say on her knees on the hard stone floor of her convent cell, she simply could not seem to act as she should.

Now she was to become a wife. Of course she was not supposed to know about her betrothal to Don Cruz. But she had been sitting in the tree outside Mother María’s window and so could not help overhearing Mother María discussing the matter with one of the sisters.

So far, Don Cruz had not mentioned their betrothal even once. She supposed he must be waiting to speak to her until she had become more accustomed to him. She could only thank him for his sensitivity to her feelings.

Because she trembled when she thought of what it would mean to marry Don Cruz, as her father had decreed she must. Don Cruz’s face was so forbidding. As fierce as a hawk’s. And he was so much older, nearly twice her age.

Yet she could not deny he was very handsome. She admired his deep blue eyes crowned by slashing black brows, his proud cheekbones, his blade of nose, his full lips and slightly cleft chin.

However, the thought of touching him, or any man, terrified her.

At least he was kindhearted. For that, she thanked the Good Lord. If only she did not have to marry him. Perhaps if she spoke to Don Cruz of what was in her heart…

But it was childish nonsense to think that her feelings mattered. The decision had been made by her father and by his. It was not as if either she or Don Cruz had a choice.

She would do her duty. She owed her father’s memory that much.

Tomasita straightened her shoulders and put a cheerful smile on her face. The day of reckoning had not yet come. Until it did, who knew what the Good Lord had planned for her? She would enjoy each day as He had intended and leave tomorrow’s worry for tomorrow.

“Come, Cisco,” she said. “Let us go wash up for supper.”

Sloan lay in the early morning shade of a cypress on the banks of the Brazos River and watched a hawk catch the warm air on an updraft and soar higher into the cloudless blue sky.

It had been five days since Cruz had come for her. Five days that she had worried and wondered whether he would actually return for her with his vaqueros.

She had no business lying here doing nothing. As overseer for Three Oaks, she had responsibilities. Nonetheless, she had left old Uncle Billy in charge of the field slaves snatching cotton and come here to think.

She had felt a desperate need to discuss her problem with someone, so she had sent a message to Cricket to see if her youngest sister, who was also her best friend, could come and visit. But Cricket had written back in typical Cricket fashion.

Dear Sloan:

You’re never going to believe what’s happened. I’m pregnant again! It’s a relief to be free of the female miseries for nine months, but like a gooseberry clumperton I’m plagued with morning sickness instead. Needless to say, I’d have to be a picklehead (which I’m not) to take a trip on horseback right now.

Anyway, I know you’re going to work out your problem with Cruz just fine on your own. You’ve always been good at solving problems-think how many you’ve solved for me and Bay over the years. I’ll keep in touch. Let me know how things turn out.

Your pregnant sister,

Cricket

P.S. Creed and baby Jesse send their love.

Sloan sighed. She supposed the pattern of her relationship with Cricket had been set too many years ago for her to change it now.

“Howdy there.”

Sloan sprang upright and whirled toward the voice, a Colt Patterson appearing in her hand. “Dear God, Luke! I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that. I almost shot you!”

Luke had a sheepish grin on his face and an apology written in his hazel eyes. He pulled his flat-brimmed hat off. His hand automatically reached up to brush back the sun-streaked hair that fell across his forehead. “Sorry about that. Guess that, being a Ranger, sneaking around just comes natural. I’ll try to give you fair warning next time. So… am I forgiven?”

Sloan gestured toward the ground next to her. “Come on and join me. I could use some company.” That was an understatement.

The lanky young man slipped cross-legged to the ground along with Sloan. The Texas Rangers didn’t have a uniform, and Luke wore an open-throated dark blue linsey-woolsey shirt and fringed buckskin trousers with knee-high moccasins. He looked totally comfortable on the ground. Once they were both seated, an awkward silence fell between them.

Sloan eyeballed the Ranger sideways. She knew Luke for a steady man, but right now his hands were anything but still. He straightened the brim on his hat, smoothed the snug material across his muscular thigh, then played with the fringe on his trousers. Whatever it was he wanted to say wasn’t sitting comfortably on his shoulders.

“Spit it out,” she suggested. “I doubt it’s going to go down any easier even if you keep chewing on it.”

He cleared his throat once before he said, “I decided to take you up on your invitation to visit, but I stopped by to visit Cricket and Creed on my way here. Uh… Cricket… uh… said you were in some sort of trouble.”

Sloan stiffened. How dare Cricket reveal her personal business to Luke! Not that Luke wasn’t the kind of person you confided in. He was. But choosing to confide in Luke was one thing; having the choice taken out of her hands was something else altogether.