Texas Woman

by Joan Johnston

  Cruz suffered along with Sloan through the agonies of the purging applied by the doctor as “the most efficacious remedy for any malady of the stomach.” But the white-haired doctor warned Cruz that if Sloan’s illness had been caused by something she had eaten or drunk, “It’s probably already worked its way well into her system.” He could only tell Cruz that her pain seemed to be in her stomach, and, “If she doesn’t die tonight, she’ll probably recover.”

  Luke escorted the doctor out the door before Cruz had a chance to vent his frustration on the hapless man for such an unpromising prognosis.

  As the evening wore on, Cruz was grateful that Luke had decided to stay. The night that followed was long and, in many ways, horrifying. He had to face the very real possibility that the woman he loved might die.

  For hours, Sloan was delirious. Cruz began to get an inkling from the disjointed babble she spouted just how many demons she lived with.

  “… Where’s my baby?… I can never love you… Yes, dammit! I’ll marry you!… fit like fur boots… Traitor?… No! He can’t be dead.

  “… Three Oaks is mine!… Worms in the cotton? Plow it under and plant again… I need a bath… never invited… too many calluses… betrayed again… Luke… Luke… a bastard son…”

  Cruz had never felt so helpless. He tenderly sponged Sloan’s forehead and dabbed at the perspiration on her upper lip, willing her pain away. But there was more.

  “… blood… so much blood… Cisco is dead! I can’t bear the pain… not again… Doña Lucia is a witch… Tonio’s lips are so cold… no more… please, no more…

  “… stupid bargain… beautiful Tomasita… please don’t touch me… It feels so good… It hurts, Cruz… Why does it hurt?”

  Cruz covered his face with his hands to hide his red-rimmed eyes. Her pain unmanned him. Her revelations devastated him. It was like looking behind the walls she had erected to keep him out and seeing all the old wounds-hurt upon hurt upon hurt-that had caused her to build that wall in the first place. He could not bear to watch her suffering.

  At long last, she slipped into an uneasy slumber.

  Cruz rolled his head on his neck to ease the tension, then turned to Luke and said, “I feel so helpless. Is there nothing we can do?”

  “We just have to wait.” Luke put a hand on Cruz’s shoulder and felt the other man flinch. “It isn’t long now until dawn. Remember, the doctor promised that if Sloan made it through the night, she’ll live.”

  “She’s in so much pain!” Cruz said, the words wrenched from him.

  Luke simply nodded. He had heard Sloan’s feverish murmurs and knew it wasn’t only Sloan’s physical pain that was worrying Cruz.

  Cruz thrust both hands through his hair in agitation. “Oh God, she has to live!”

  “What do you suppose made her so sick in the first place?” Luke asked, hoping to distract Cruz from his distressing thoughts.

  “Maybe the water in her canteen-she filled it up when we stopped to eat. We will probably never know for sure.”

  Luke rose from the chair beside Cruz and crossed to the foot of Sloan’s bed. He leaned against the bedstead of the four-poster and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Damn scary to think you could just get sick and die without ever knowing what hit you,” Luke mused. “Makes you think twice about all the things you’ve left undone… like maybe you should tie up all those loose strings before you lose your chance. You got any loose strings out there, Cruz?”

  Cruz sighed and leaned forward in the chair beside Sloan’s bed, crossing his arms on top of the mattress. “One in particular.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have met Tomasita Hidalgo, I believe.”

  Luke was silent for a moment, and when Cruz turned to see why Luke hadn’t answered, he saw the Ranger’s cheeks were flushed. He watched Luke’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed uncomfortably.

  “I’ve talked to her some,” Luke admitted at last.

  Cruz smiled. “I think perhaps you find her attractive,” he teased gently.

  “She’ll make someone a beautiful wife.”

  Cruz rested his chin against his hands. “My father had plans that she would become my wife, plans that went astray because I married Sloan. I think Mamá still believes that if it were not for Sloan, I would take Tomasita for my wife.”

  “Is she right?” Luke asked, an inexplicable tension in his shoulders.

  Cruz shook his head. “There is only one woman for me. If I cannot have Sloan, I do not want another. But as for what I have left undone-I must find a husband for Tomasita. I have delayed too long already.”

  Luke feigned disinterest, but his voice was rough when he asked, “Do you have anyone particular in mind?”

  “Don Ambrosio, for one. He was known to dote on his first wife, and I trust him to be kind to Tomasita. Of course, he is a little older than I would like.”

  “How old?”

  “Forty-six, I think.”

  “He’s old enough to be her father!”

  “An older man would be able to teach her the way she should go.”

  Luke made a disgusted face. “Who else do you have in mind?”

  “Joaquín Carvajal is very wealthy, but he is almost too young, only twenty-two.”

  “I’m twenty-three,” Luke said with asperity. “Are you saying I’d be too young a husband for her?”

  “Are you asking my permission to court her?”

  “And if I were?”

  Cruz turned to face Luke, suddenly aware that the Ranger hadn’t asked the question idly. He frowned, unsure what to say. For any number of reasons, Luke Summers was not the sort of man he would have chosen as a husband for Tomasita Hidalgo. He liked Luke and he respected his abilities as a Ranger, but Luke had a rogue’s reputation.

  “Do you think you could be satisfied with only one woman?” Cruz asked.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” Luke retorted.

  “I would be lying if I said no Spanish gentleman ever had a mistress,” Cruz said. “But still, no Spanish gentlemen has ever had quite so many ladies as your reputation imputes to you. I would like to know whether you would be able to put Tomasita first, before the others.”

  “There would be no others!”

  Cruz raised a brow at the vehemence of Luke’s reply.

  Realizing that he had nearly given himself away, Luke added, “That is, I’d surely devote myself to the woman I picked for my wife.”

  “I see,” Cruz said. “And I would ask your plans for taking care of her.”

  Luke grimaced. “A Texas Ranger doesn’t make the kind of money that can support a woman like Tomasita.”

  “You are Rip Stewart’s son,” Cruz countered, “and heir to Three Oaks if you want it.”

  “I don’t want anything from Rip.”

  “Not even if it means you could marry Tomasita Hidalgo?”

  Luke pursed his lips in thought. Finally, he said, “I’m not looking for a wife, Cruz. Not even one as beautiful as Tomasita Hidalgo.”

  Cruz saw the distress in Luke’s eyes and wanted to ask what it was that had soured so young a man on marriage. But in this land, one man did not ask another about his past. He watched as Luke walked around to the other side of the bed and reached out to gently brush a lock of hair from Sloan’s face.

  Cruz stared at the Ranger, wondering why a man who obviously loved women seemed so determined to deny himself a woman’s love.

  “Guess there’s not much more I can do here,” Luke said, crossing to the door. “I’ll check back early tomorrow morning to see how Sloan’s doing.”

  “I will see you then. Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.”

  Cruz kept a vigil that lasted until dawn. He sponged Sloan’s brow to keep her cool and rearranged the covers when she kicked them off. He recognized the signs that told him the danger was finally past, but he was impatient for her to wake up and tell him she was all right. As the sun came up, he lowered his eyelids to protect his bloodshot eyes from
the light. His head fell forward to rest on his arms on the bed and in the next instant he was asleep.

  When Sloan awoke, her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Her muscles ached, and she groaned as she turned from her back to her side. She slowly opened her eyes, trying to orient herself.

  She saw a head of tousled black curls and a beard-stubbled face lying on a large sun-browned hand covered in a dusting of black hair. Cruz was sound asleep, his mouth open slightly. She smiled over the secret knowledge that Don Cruz Guerrero snored.

  Everything came back to her. The dizziness, the nausea, and Cruz’s return with that odious doctor. She lifted her hand, surprised when it obeyed her command, and laid it gently on the crown of Cruz’s head, tunneling her fingers into his silky hair in what was undeniably a caress.

  Why hadn’t she met him first, before Tonio, before everything had happened that made her afraid to love him back?

  Her hand trailed down from his hair to his nape, and then around to his bristly jaw. The feel of a man’s jaw in the morning was an intimate thing she had only come to know since living with Cruz. She loved the feel of her smooth cheek against his rough one, and wished she felt well enough to lift her head from the pillow and lie next to him.

  Her forefinger tracked the cleft in his chin, and she thought how distinctive it made him look. She marveled at the softness of his lips as she lightly traced them, while the feel of his breath on her fingertips caused a quiver of expectation deep inside her.

  Cruz came awake to the languorous touch of his wife’s hands on his face. He held himself still, as though she were a curious kitten and he might frighten her away if he moved.

  It was the first time she had made an overture to touch him on her own, and he was both delighted and confused. Surely this must mean she cared for him.

  He groaned with pleasure as her fingertips soothed his brow, and she instantly removed her hand.

  Cruz slowly lifted his head and stared at Sloan. Her eyes were wide with trepidation. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she was safe with him, that he would never hurt her. He had said as much before, but she hadn’t believed him. Only time would convince her of the truth.

  Unfortunately, he only had four months left before she decided whether to stay with him or go.

  “Good morning, Cebellina,” he said in a sleep-raspy voice. “It is good to see you feeling so well.”

  So, he was going to ignore the fact she had been touching him, Sloan thought. All right. Fine. “I’m feeling much better. But you’re looking a little the worse for wear,” she replied, unable to keep the smile from her face.

  He rubbed his jaw with his hand and then thrust all ten fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I could use a bath and a shave. How about you?”

  “I’d like a bath. I think I’ll skip the shave.”

  Cruz stared at her dumbfounded. When he saw the mischievous sparkle in her eye, he chuckled and then laughed.

  Sloan joined in his laughter, realizing as she did that it was the first time she could remember laughing in a long, long time. She grasped her ribs and said, “Please, I’m too sore for this.”

  “I will go see about getting some water for your bath. Are you sure you feel well enough to get up?”

  As Sloan shifted in an attempt to sit up, Cruz slipped an arm around her shoulders to help her rise, grabbing the pillows to fluff them up behind her. “Comfortable?”

  She felt wonderfully tense. Pampered. Loved. Anything but comfortable. “I’m fine. But I’m thirsty. And starving.”

  “I’m hungry, too.”

  It was plain to Sloan that it wasn’t food that interested him. His arm was still around her shoulders and she saw the teasing glint in his eye as his finger traced her lower lip. “I was thinking more in terms of coffee, sausage, and eggs,” she murmured.

  It took Cruz another second to realize she had teased him again. The edges of his mouth curved in pleasure. “Sí, Cebellina. I will feed your hunger-with breakfast.”

  He turned abruptly and was gone.

  The world suddenly seemed a brighter place, and Sloan had no explanation for it. What had changed?

  While Cruz was gone, breakfast arrived. She ate and felt strong enough afterward to try out her wobbly legs, venturing all the way to the door. She was on her way back to the bed when she heard vaguely familiar voices outside in the hall. She stepped back to the door and leaned her ear against the wood in an effort to hear better. The argument was short and vicious. An English voice and a response in Spanish. Sloan inched the door open and peeked outside.

  She stifled a gasp. Alejandro! And the Englishman! They were arguing about the Hawk… who was apparently right here in this hotel!

  As they walked toward her, she quickly shut the door and leaned back against it. She couldn’t let Alejandro escape again. Yet what could she do in her weakened condition to stop him? Only moments later she heard a knock on the door. She froze.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Luke. Open up.”

  Sloan flung the door open and dragged Luke inside. “Come in! Quick!”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I just saw Alejandro Sanchez in the hall.”

  Luke frowned. “Are you sure? I didn’t see anyone.”

  “I tell you I saw him in the hall arguing with an Englishman. You’ve got to do something!”

  Luke took Sloan by the shoulders and backed her up to the bed. “I think you’d better lie down.”

  “I am not having delusions, Luke. I didn’t imagine seeing Alejandro. He was there. He’s alive, and you can bet he’s plotting something with that Englishman. Surely you can find out who the Englishman is and-”

  “I already know who he is.”

  “You do?”

  “His name is Sir Giles Chapman. He’s here in San Antonio as a cotton agent for a British textile mill.”

  “He’s here as a spy.”

  Luke shook his head. “You’ve got quite an imagination, Sloan, if that’s what you think. Have you seen that man before?”

  “I certainly have. He’s the Englishman I wrote you about, the one who met with the Mexican bandidos. They were arguing about the Hawk-he’s staying in this very hotel.”

  “Hmmmm. Have you got a description of this Hawk fellow? Any clue as to who he might be?”

  “None at all,” Sloan admitted.

  “Look, Sloan. If Alejandro is in San Antonio, I can have him arrested. But I’ll need more proof to do something about the Englishman. After all, it would be a diplomatic nightmare to accuse him of spying without more evidence than just your word against his. What I can do is keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious activities.”

  Sloan frowned. “You can’t do anything more than that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I guess that’s it then. I want to see Cruz’s face when he hears Alejandro is alive. You will let me tell him, won’t you, Luke? You won’t spill the beans?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  Luke was glad Sloan had accepted his reassurances that there was nothing he could do about the Englishman. He only hoped there weren’t any more surprises in store before he and Cruz got this whole mess straightened out. “I better go see if I can find Alejandro. I’ll be seeing you, Sloan.”

  Sloan had much too much time to think after Luke left the room. She wondered what could be keeping Cruz. Surely it didn’t take this long to arrange for breakfast and a tub of hot water.

  The hot water came a few minutes later, along with a young Mexican woman who offered to help Sloan with her bath. Sloan declined the help and, as soon as the young woman was gone, quickly stripped and slipped into the hot water. She laid her neck back against the metal rim, stretched out as much as the round wooden tub would allow, and luxuriated in the relaxing effects of the hot water on her aching muscles.

  Cruz had entered the room quietly, thinking that Sloan must surely have taken her bath by now and gone back to bed. T
o his delight, he found his wife still sitting naked in the tub. She had gathered her thick sable hair into a knot at the top of her head, but numerous tendrils had escaped and lay along her neck and shoulders. The crests of her breasts rose barely out of the water.

  His approach went undetected, and he was on one knee beside her when she realized his presence and opened her eyes.

  In the several hours he had been gone, the look in those brown orbs had changed. They were wary now, and demanded answers he couldn’t give.

  “I saw Luke downstairs. He said he came visiting and you were feeling much better.”

  When Sloan followed Cruz’s gaze, she realized that her nipples had come out of the water when she sat up. She crossed her arms protectively around herself. Realizing the strangeness of hiding herself from Cruz when they were man and wife, she scooted back down under the soapy water to make it less obvious what she was doing.

  Cruz’s hand made little circles in the soap-clouded water along the edge of the tub, and Sloan felt the ripples as intimately as though he had touched her flesh.

  She shivered and asked, “What took you so long coming back?”

  “I checked to see if there was any word from Betsy’s family. There was a letter from her uncle.”

  “What did he say? Do they want her?” She forgot about her nakedness and gripped the edges of the tub with her hands. She held her breath, already knowing from the look on Cruz’s face that she was going to lose the little girl. “Read it to me.”

  As Cruz got to the end of the letter, Sloan’s heart began to pound.

  … I’m right glad you were at least able to save Betsy. She was named after my wife, Elizabeth, and Lizzie and I are plumb anxious to have her with us. I’ll take passage as soon as can be downriver to New Orleans, and from there by ship to Galveston, then overland to Rancho Dolorosa. I expect you’ll take good care of our Betsy ’til I can get there to bring her home.

  Your servant,

  Louis Randolph

  “That’s wonderful for Betsy,” Sloan said in a choked voice.

  “But not so wonderful for you,” Cruz answered gently. “I am sorry, Cebellina. I know you wanted to keep the child.”