She stared down at her hands, remembering how they had looked, red with her son’s blood.
That was the day she had vowed she would rather not love at all than face the pain of losing those she loved. Once she was sure Cisco would recover, she had left Dolorosa, determined not to see Cruz or Cisco again.
Sloan forced her memories away. She had always tried to take the best, the most logical, course of action. The day she had decided to keep Cruz and Cisco at arm’s length it had made perfect sense. Nothing had altered, really, to make her change her mind. She would just have to avoid Cruz and Cisco as best she could until she left Dolorosa.
She gave her appearance a quick check in the mirror and forced a smile onto her face. Immediately, her spirits lifted. She was looking forward to spending the day relaxing at a picnic.
Her good humor followed her into the dining room, where it was quickly curtailed by the sight of a tight-lipped Doña Lucia staring balefully at an equally tight-lipped Cruz.
Cruz sat at the head of the table, his eyes locked on his mother, who sat on his right. To Cruz’s left, Tomasita perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes lowered to the hands folded tightly in her lap, while to Tomasita’s left Cisco watched Cruz, his innocent blue eyes wide and wary.
Sloan stood for a moment in the doorway trying to decide where she should sit. The only empty seat, other than the one at the opposite end of the table from Cruz, was next to Doña Lucia. She considered simply skipping breakfast altogether, but she was damnably hungry. She lifted her chin and marched across the room to sit beside the obviously furious woman.
“Good morning,” she offered.
Doña Lucia ignored her and hissed to Cruz, “I will not allow it!”
“I have been telling Mamá about our picnic,” Cruz said, his voice firm, his eyes meeting his mother’s with an implacable will. “She suggested that Tomasita should join us and that we bring along Josefa to help take care of Cisco.”
Sloan didn’t know that Cruz had intended to bring Cisco, or she wouldn’t have agreed to the picnic. There was nothing she could say now without making a scene at the table, so she responded neutrally, “Oh.”
Cruz had not repeated precisely what his mother had suggested, but he was willing to compromise with her by including Tomasita and Josefa in their outing. His mother had been appalled that he intended to take Sloan on a picnic and leave Tomasita home. After all, she had argued, Tomasita would one day be his bride.
Of course Sloan did not need a chaperon, she had added disdainfully, but Tomasita could not go without a woman to watch over her, and thus Josefa had been included.
Cruz looked at Tomasita and saw the young woman was mortified by the battle that had been taking place around her. He knew she must be confused by his mother’s attempts to throw them together, especially as she had no notion of their betrothal. The sooner he could find a proper husband for her, he thought, the better.
Two men had seemed particularly attentive to Tomasita at the
fandango
. Both had his approval, and he had noticed that Tomasita did not look at either of them in distaste.
Ambrosio de Arocha was a fine man and a wealthy
ranchero,
as was Joaquín Carvajal. Don Ambrosio had been widowed recently, and Joaquín was looking for a well-bred wife. Cruz made up his mind that if one or both of the men did not approach him in the near future, he would seek them out and invite them to dinner.
Surely a little more time spent in Tomasita’s delightful company would convince one of them to offer for her.
“What do you say, Tomasita?” Cruz asked. “Would you like to go on a picnic?”
“I . . .” Tomasita chanced a quick look at Doña Lucia’s fulminating expression and finished, “Whatever you decide will be fine with me.”
“Then it is settled. You will come with us.”
Doña Lucia rose, curtly excused herself and left the room.
It was only after she was gone that anyone dared to speak, and then it was Cisco who said, “I am glad Tomasita can come on our picnic, Papa.”
Sloan was startled to hear Cisco call Cruz Papa, and noticed suddenly that anyone who did not know the truth could easily believe they were father and son. Cisco had Cruz’s blue eyes, the same noble nose, and a cleft in his chin that was a miniature of Cruz’s. Tonio’s only legacy to the child appeared to be Cisco’s smile—one side of his mouth tilted higher than the other in the same way as Tonio’s had.
The fear of succumbing to her son’s charm kept Sloan quiet through the breakfast of corn tortillas and scrambled eggs garnished with a spicy tomato sauce. She spoke when spoken to, but didn’t participate in the lively conversation carried on between Cisco and Cruz, which was joined occasionally by Tomasita.
She noticed Tomasita seemed more relaxed with Doña Lucia gone from the room, and she didn’t appear disturbed by the fact that Cruz had only invited her to come along on the picnic at his mother’s insistence.
Perhaps the young woman was not as attracted to Cruz as Sloan had at first suspected. She wondered whether Tomasita would approve Cruz’s choice of husband for her with as much docile acceptance. She felt a little sorry for the young woman, whom she had begun to sincerely like.
Once they were on their way in the carriage, Sloan enjoyed the ride across the grassy plains dotted with mesquite trees and patches of catclaw cactus. When she saw the huge ancient live oak appear on the top of a grassy hillock on the horizon, she was very glad she had come.
“Look at all the flowers!” Tomasita exclaimed, jumping from the wagon as Cruz pulled the horses to a stop at the outermost edge of the live oak.
Cisco followed with Josefa in tow, investigating the various fall wildflowers to be found. The tree made an umbrella of shade as large as the entire plantation house at Three Oaks. The live oak branches dipped low in some places and were gnarled and curved with the weight of years. Spanish moss draped the boughs like a shawl, lending majesty to the huge old tree.
“I love this spot,” Sloan said softly when she joined them. “It has to be the most beautiful place in Texas.”
Sloan felt Cruz step up behind her. His voice, soft in her ear, sent chills down her spine. “It is the memory of the hours I spent here with you in this place that I cherish.”
Sloan knew then it had been a good thing that Tomasita and Josefa had been included in the picnic plans. She would never have been able to resist Cruz’s entreaties in this magic place.
Sloan silently shared those moments of the past with Cruz—the moment when his lips had first touched hers and the first spark of sexual awareness had passed between them. She felt the invisible bond that stretched between them and shut her eyes against its power.
Cisco’s tug on her hand interrupted the tense moment.
“Come and see, Mamá, and you too, Papa. I found a ladybug.”
Sloan kept her face blank as Cisco took each of them by a hand and led them to a delicate tulip-shaped flower growing on the banks of a nearby spring. He squatted beside it, pulling the two of them down beside him, and then released their hands to point to the tiny red-and-black-spotted bug crawling on the white petal. “There she is. Do you see her?”
“I see her,” Sloan said.
Cisco looked up at Cruz. “Is she not pretty?”
“Yes, she is very pretty,” Cruz said. But his eyes sought out Sloan when he spoke.
For a moment Sloan wished things could have been different, that she could have met Cruz first and never given her love to his brother, that Cisco had been Cruz’s son.
But he wasn’t. The sooner she divorced herself from this make-believe family, the better. She rose abruptly, leaving Cruz on one knee beside Cisco. “I’m going to help Tomasita and Josefa put out all that food we brought along.”
“Do not leave, Mamá, I—”
“I have to go,” Sloan said brusquely. When she saw the hurt look in her son’s eyes and the anger in Cruz’s, she whirled and hurried away.
She looked back over her shoulder and saw Cruz and Cisco with their heads bent close together and felt a painful ache in her chest. If only . . . if only . . . If only pigs had wings they could fly, she thought with a rueful shake of her head.
“What can I do to help?” she asked as she joined the other two women.
“We are nearly finished,” Tomasita said to Sloan. As Josefa left to retrieve another quilt from the wagon to spread on the ground, Tomasita said, “If you like, you can fill those cups with tea from that jug.”
As Sloan poured the tea, she asked, “Do you miss Spain, Tomasita?”
“I miss my friends in the convent,” Tomasita replied wistfully. “Although many of the girls my age had already been claimed by their husbands-to-be as—” Tomasita stopped abruptly. She had been about to say, “as I was claimed by Don Cruz,” before she realized she was not supposed to know about their betrothal.
“Would you like to be married?” Sloan asked, unable to curb her curiosity. Sloan was surprised by the perplexed expression that appeared on Tomasita’s face.
“I do not know.” Tomasita was glad for the opportunity to express her doubts to another woman. “I do not think I would like to marry just any man,” she said. “But if the man were strong and courageous and handsome, then perhaps it would not be so bad.”
Sloan noticed that Tomasita’s eyes had unconsciously sought out Cruz while she was speaking.
“You did not mention love,” Sloan said.
Tomasita turned shyly to Sloan. “Oh, do you think it is possible I will fall in love? I have read the tales of the knights in armor and their lady loves. I had hoped . . . but I do not think I have ever felt that way. I mean, I have had so little to do with men . . . How will I know when I am in love?”
“When the right man—” Sloan bit her lip to cut herself off. She remembered a story she had told Cricket once, a story about fur boots and how you could have boots made of a lot of different kinds of fur, but one fur would feel better than all the rest. So, too, with a man—one stood out among the others.
Sloan looked at Tomasita’s expectant face. Cruz had said he would choose a husband for the girl. It was wrong to put ideas into Tomasita’s head that might never be realized. “When the right man comes along, you’ll know,” Sloan said. “I can’t really explain it any better than that.”
Fortunately for Sloan, Josefa returned from the carriage, cutting off Tomasita’s next question.
After they had eaten a hearty meal, they rested for a while and then followed Cisco’s suggestion, seconded by Tomasita over Josefa’s frowning objection, that they play tag.
Sloan had been searching for a way to throw off her worries, and the idea of frolicking around like a filly in a field of high grass sounded wonderful. “I think playing tag is a great idea,” she had agreed.
Cisco was “it” when they began, and he quickly tagged Cruz, who had been halfhearted in his efforts to escape the toddler. When Cruz began to chase Sloan, thinking how pleasant it would be to touch her, even in so innocent a game, he found her surprisingly fleet of foot.
“You’ll never catch me!” She laughed and twirled out of his way.
In her frantic escape, Sloan ran directly across Tomasita’s path. Cruz tripped over Tomasita’s heel as Sloan fled with a shriek of delight.
Cruz shouted a warning and grabbed Tomasita to protect her from his weight as they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. When they finally stopped rolling, Cruz had come to rest atop Tomasita, their bodies pressed together from breast to hip. For a moment they were both too stunned to react.
Sloan waited for Tomasita’s lively laughter to erupt, but heard an indrawn breath instead. Tomasita’s head was turned toward her, and Sloan saw the other woman’s face was flushed with excitement and . . . awareness.
Cruz appeared mesmerized by the sight of the woman beneath him, and Sloan knew he had to be feeling Tomasita’s full breasts and flat belly. Sloan sucked in a breath of air and held it, waiting to see what would happen next.
Josefa’s shrill voice collided with the sound of Cisco’s childish giggle as the two of them converged on the couple lying on the ground.
“You’re ‘it,’ Tomasita!” Cisco shouted.
“Don Cruz! You must get up,” Josefa cried.
Cruz was off Tomasita in an instant. When he would have extended a hand to assist her up off the ground, Josefa stepped between them and put a work-worn hand under Tomasita’s elbow to help her rise.
Josefa brushed the dust and grass off Tomasita’s wool skirt and straightened the loose cotton
camisa
that had slipped off one shoulder, all the while muttering, “I warned you not to play at children’s games. It is not seemly for a young woman to cavort like a child. When Doña Lucia hears—”
“Doña Lucia will not hear of this,” Cruz interrupted, his tone commanding obedience. “As you said, we were merely playing a game. No harm has been done.”
Sloan wasn’t so sure.
There was something more in Tomasita’s sapphire eyes when she looked up at Cruz now than had been there before, something that suggested the lively, precocious child had given way to the demure, uncertain woman.
And Cruz’s eyes followed Tomasita in a way they hadn’t before.
None of the adults were in the mood to play tag any longer, and Cruz only managed to hush Cisco’s protesting cries by gathering him up for a piggyback ride down to the nearby spring.
“It is my duty to guard your honor,” Josefa said to Tomasita when Cruz had gone. “But you must also do your part.”
“But—”
“Listen to me!” Josefa admonished fiercely. “If you continue to act so little the lady, no man will want you for his wife.”
Sloan saw from Tomasita’s trembling hands as she gathered up the picnic supplies that the young woman was humiliated by Josefa’s words. Tomasita’s flushed face revealed she was still confused by her reaction to Cruz.
Reluctant as Sloan was to admit it, she thought perhaps Cruz had been as surprised by the womanly form and potential for passion that lay hidden beneath Tomasita’s proper facade as Tomasita was herself.
Sloan felt a queer tightness in her chest. She recognized it as jealousy. She had told Cruz she didn’t want to be his wife. Only now that she saw him with Tomasita, she realized she didn’t want him to be some other woman’s husband, either. She was angry with herself for feeling so ambivalent. Either she wanted to be Cruz’s wife or she didn’t. Which was it?