“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.”

Sloan sat up, eyes dry, and said, “I wasn’t crying. I was thinking.”

“Oh? What have you decided?”

“If we can get ourselves up on that big palomino stallion, we can be home by dinnertime.”

There it was again. The reference to Dolorosa as home. Cruz let himself hope. It was all he had left.

Sloan struggled upright, then leaned over so Cruz could hook his arm around her shoulder.

Cruz’s head spun once he was upright, and he had to stand still for a minute before he regained enough balance to move. “That was some bump on the head,” he muttered.

Together, they made their way to the bayo. Sloan helped Cruz drink a sip of water from the canteen, then drank some herself. She dampened the bandanna with some water and washed the blood from his face as best she could. She tied the bandanna around his forehead to keep the dust out of the cut until they could get home and stitch it up.

She bit back a moan when he gave her a push to help her into the saddle. He moaned when he stepped up onto the stallion behind her.

They traveled at a walk, since anything more than that would have been painful. Cruz slipped his arm around Sloan’s waist and pulled her back against him. “We must talk, Cebellina.”

Sloan sighed.

“I am sorry you found out the way you did that I have been working with the Englishman.”

Sloan closed her eyes and bit her lower lip to keep from crying. Until now, there had been some faint hope she might have been mistaken. But Cruz had just confirmed her worst suspicions.

“I can only tell you I have my reasons for what I am doing.”

Sloan searched Cruz’s face for the answers he hadn’t offered and found only the aristocratic pride that demanded her trust. She wanted so much to be able to give it. But too much had happened in the past for her to remain silent.

“Did you know Alejandro Sanchez was still alive when you married me?” she asked.

“No, not until later. A bandit named Jorge Gutierrez was hanged in Alejandro’s place. His face was covered with a black bag. I saw Alejandro’s turquoise and silver bracelet and assumed it was him.”

Sloan grunted. So he hadn’t lied about that, at least.

“Are you all right?”

“I jostled my hip. I’ll be fine.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure I can ever trust you again, Cruz. And I don’t think I could bear a lifetime of doubt and suspicion. Maybe it’s time I went home to Three Oaks.”

Sloan felt Cruz’s arm tighten around her and the swift exhalation of his warm breath on the back of her neck.

“Dolorosa is your home,” he said fiercely. “You cannot go back to Three Oaks now. You still owe me two more months-”

“Surely you can’t expect me to abide by that agreement after everything that’s happened.”

“Oh, but I do. I have told you this other business has nothing to do with us.”

“It does if it means you have to lie to me.”

Cruz swore under his breath. “I cannot explain myself now. You will have to trust me.”

“You ask the impossible,” she whispered.

Cruz’s hacienda should have been a welcome sight, but there was too much left unsaid that they knew would never be spoken once they reached their destination. Yet neither of them slowed the bayo when he picked up his pace as they neared the fortress gates.

Sloan didn’t mention leaving again, but she had made up her mind to return to Three Oaks as soon as her hip was mended enough that she could sit a horse comfortably.

They rode through the fortress gates to exclamations of relief from the pobres, who had been told to be on the lookout for Señora Sloan. Tomasita had discovered her missing early that morning, and Cruz’s vaqueros were out even now searching for her. Runners were quickly sent to carry word that Don Cruz’s wife was safe.

“Patrón! Patrón! You have found the señora. Gracias a Dios!” Josefa cried, running out of the house to greet them with Cisco and Betsy clinging to her skirt.

Tomasita followed close behind her exclaiming, “You are hurt, Don Cruz. What happened?”

Doña Lucia remained on the veranda, her lips twisted in disgust as she realized that once more an opportunity had come and gone to be rid of her son’s gringa wife. “Come inside, Josefa, and bring the children. Tomasita, your presence is not needed here. Go to your room.”

Once satisfied that Josefa and Tomasita had responded to her commands, Doña Lucia turned to the mestizo servant beside her and ordered, “Sancho, send for the curandera, María. We have need of her.”

Cruz carefully eased his aching body off the stallion, then reached up to help Sloan down. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, walking with her up the steps of the veranda to greet his mother.

“Good morning, Mamá.”

“I will not ask why you thought it necessary to go riding in a thunderstorm,” Doña Lucia said to Sloan with icy hauteur, “but when you risk my son’s life with your childish games-”

“That is enough, Mamá. Please excuse us. We are both hungry and tired and need to avail ourselves of María’s healing hands.”

Cruz tightened his grip on Sloan and stepped around his mother, unaware of Doña Lucia’s whitened knuckles fisted in the folds of her satin skirt or her eyes that stabbed Sloan’s back.