Joan Johnston - Texas Woman

“What do you want me to say? He’s strong and well formed. He has eyes as blue as the Texas sky and crow-wing black hair.” She shrugged dismissively. “He’s an attractive man. There’s no denying it.

“But he’s also arrogant and demanding. He’s used to giving orders and having them obeyed. And he doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise!”

That last accusation wasn’t exactly precise, Sloan admitted, but it was true enough to mean problems if she found herself living with Cruz.

“Have you imagined what it would be like to-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“How can you choose Three Oaks over a flesh-and-blood man when you won’t let yourself consider what the man has to offer you?”

“I’ve had a man between my legs,” Sloan said crudely, hoping to end the conversation. “I can’t imagine one is much different from another.”

Luke didn’t contradict her. She would have to find out the truth for herself. “You could give it a try. Things might work out. Did you ever think maybe you could use someone to lean on once in a while, someone to share your troubles and lighten the load?”

“That’s the last thing I need.” But Sloan knew the vehemence of her objection was directly related to the immense appeal of Luke’s suggestion.

Luke stood up and brushed the grass and dirt from the seat of his pants. “Sounds like you have your mind made up.”

Sloan rubbed her palms on the knees of her trousers, then looked up to meet Luke’s penetrating gaze. “I guess I do.”

“I’ll be going, then.” He wasn’t going to try to change Sloan’s mind. But he wasn’t going to approve of her decision, either. He swung into the saddle and kneed his chestnut gelding away from the river at a walk.

“Luke…”

He reined in his horse and looked back at Sloan over his shoulder, waiting for her to speak.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks for listening. I… needed… someone.” It was a hard thing to admit aloud.

“You’re welcome, Sloan. Anytime.” He nudged his horse with his heels and soon left her behind him.

Luke felt a well of anger rising inside him and struggled to subdue it. He shouldn’t care what Sloan Stewart did with her life, but he couldn’t seem to distance himself from any woman in distress. A legacy from his childhood, he thought with disgust, when his mother had needed someone to rescue her from the mire and he had been too young to help. He had grown up as fast as he could, but it had still been too slow to make a difference.

He wanted to help Sloan, but he debated the wisdom of interfering. Maybe he would only make things worse. He had no way of predicting how Rip would react to the message he planned to deliver.

Aw, hell! All Rip Stewart had ever wanted was a son. Knowing he had one-even if he was a bastard-was bound to make a difference.

Luke turned his mount toward the plantation house. There was no time like the present for digging up bitter, long-buried secrets.

SLOAN SQUARED HER SHOULDERS AND LIFTED her chin to confront her father. “I don’t care how many of your bastard sons turn up on the doorstep. Three Oaks is mine! And I don’t intend to share it!”

Rip quivered with repressed wrath. He had raised his eldest daughter to know her own mind, and he had never been sorry for it. But it was past time she understood that despite the recent stroke that forced him to lean on a cane for support, he was still the master of Three Oaks.

“Until I’m planted six feet underground, Three Oaks is mine,” he thundered. “It will be yours when, and if, I say it is.”

“You promised-”

“Whatever promises I made to you came before I found out I had a son.”

“You’d give Three Oaks to a bastard son you didn’t even know about until this morning, when I’ve worked my fingers to the bone all my life for this land? You wouldn’t dare! This plantation belongs to me. I’ve earned it!”

“Bastard or not, Luke Summers is my son. If I choose to divide Three Oaks between the two of you, I will.”

“You can’t! You wouldn’t! I would never allow-”

“You don’t allow anything. I make the decisions here,” he bellowed.

“Not since your stroke, you haven’t,” Sloan countered, her voice choked with frustration and fury. “For the past nine months, I’ve made the decisions. I’ve run Three Oaks and you’ve leaned back in your rocker and watched me do it. I have no intention of letting you take it away from me now.”

“That’s enough!”

“No, it’s not enough. I haven’t begun-”

Rip’s hand streaked out to silence Sloan. He could not bear to hear the truth she spoke, and fear-fear that he was growing older, fear that he was no longer in control-had brought the back of his hand across his daughter’s proud face.

He saw the growing red mark on her cheek and knew it would soon be a dark bruise. He felt ashamed, but he offered no apology. He’d had no practice at it in the past and now…

He could not explain to her the fears that had prompted his violence. His recent close brush with death had created a fierce need in him to ensure the continuity of Three Oaks. He had counted it nothing short of a miracle when Luke Summers had arrived on his doorstep that morning and announced, “I’m your son.”

Even knowledge of Luke’s bastardy had not forestalled the surge of emotion Rip had experienced at this devil-inspired answer to the fervent prayers of his youth. He could not help his reaction to the knowledge he had a son. He wanted to give Luke a part of himself. And that meant giving Luke a part of Three Oaks.

Rip knew he was being a tomfool, knew he was acting like a ridiculous old man. None of that mattered.

He had a son.

Sloan’s eyes never left Rip’s face, so she saw the fleeting confusion and remorse, followed by tight-lipped obstinance. His mind was made up. She closed her eyes to shut out the hopelessness she felt. Her cheek burned as the blood rushed to the spot where Rip had backhanded her.

She hadn’t expected her father to strike her-not because it hadn’t happened in the past, but because it hadn’t happened in so long. Rip had learned years ago that he couldn’t intimidate her by using force, so he had stopped trying.

She resisted lifting her hand to her cheek to touch the fiery skin. There was no way to soothe the hurt she felt. What he wanted to do was wrong. She opened her eyes again and saw a giant of a man whose hand trembled on his cane. She knew she should feel sorry for him, but her feelings of betrayal trod hard on her sympathy.

She watched as Rip spread his legs for balance and placed the gnarled oak handle of his cane squarely in front of him, leaning heavily upon it.

“I’ve asked Luke to come for supper tonight,” he said. “I told him we had some talking to do. I plan to offer him an interest in Three Oaks.”

“The hell you will!”

“The hell I will!”

As furious as she was with her father, Sloan was even more angry at Luke. How could he have listened to her problems so sympathetically when all the time he had planned to steal Three Oaks right out from under her nose? She placed her balled fists on her hips. “I won’t share Three Oaks.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“Oh, I have a choice, all right.” Her lips thinned in determination that equalled Rip’s. “If you’re so hell-bent on giving Three Oaks to Luke Summers, go right ahead. Just don’t expect me to stick around and be grateful for leftovers.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you go through with this absurd plan of yours, I’ll leave Three Oaks and never look back.”

“Don’t threaten me, Sloan. You’ve already made it clear you’ll have nothing to do with Cruz Guerrero. Where else would you go? What else would you do?”

“I’m well trained as an overseer. There’s bound to be someone with a cotton plantation along the Brazos River who’ll want to hire me.”

“There’s not a gentleman planter in Texas who’ll have anything to do with you,” Rip said. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a woman. Not one of them would hire a woman to do a man’s job.”

Sloan was choked silent by the truth of his words. Rip had made her what she was-a woman with a man’s dreams and capabilities-and there was nowhere she could be herself except here at Three Oaks.