“Hello. I’m Sloan Guerrero.”

Louis smiled, his brown eyes sparkling with good humor. “I’d get up, ma’am, but I seem to have two bronc riders here holdin’ me down.”

He briefly released Betsy to reach out his hand, and Sloan bent forward to shake it. His hand was heavily callused, and though Sloan was sure he was quite strong, his grip was gentle.

“I’m obliged to you for puttin’ yourself in danger to help my kin,” he said, his voice a deep, sincere bass that rumbled in his broad chest. “And for takin’ care of Betsy. It near broke my Lizzie’s heart when my brother and his wife took off for Texas. My Lizzie and me, we love this child like she was our own.”

“I’m glad she’ll have a home where she’ll be welcome and can grow up happy,” Sloan said.

When Louis met her eyes, she realized he was trying to make this as easy for her as he could. She was grateful to him and looked for a way to thank him for his kindness. “Can you stay and have a meal with us?”

“I’d like to, but I’ve got to get back on the trail if I want to catch the packet from Galveston back to New Orleans. I’d welcome the chance to thank your man for his hospitality, though,” Louis said.

“I’m sorry, but Don Cruz was in an accident and he’s not well enough to…” Sloan’s throat closed and she couldn’t continue.

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. I truly am. Betsy, why don’t you say good-bye to Miz Sloan now.” Louis lifted Betsy off his knee and stood her in front of him.

Sloan went down on one knee and opened her arms to Betsy, who flew into them. “I’m going to miss you, Betsy.” Sloan levered Betsy away from her embrace and forced herself to smile at the little girl.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Betsy said. “I’ll remember what you told me, and I won’t be afraid.”

Sloan hugged Betsy again, fighting tears.

“I’ve made arrangements to have all my kin’s things shipped back to Pennsylvania,” Louis said. “Is there anything of Betsy’s here that has to be packed for her?”

“A few things. I can get them for you now.” Sloan was grateful for the excuse to leave the room. She released Betsy and said, “You’re going to have a wonderful life, Betsy. Maybe someday you can come back to Texas and visit me.”

Sloan looked over Betsy’s head and met Louis’s eyes. She knew then that Betsy would never be coming back. It had probably taken Louis and Lizzie’s life savings for him to make this trip. There would be no money for anyone to make such a trip again. Sloan rose and it was all she could do not to run from the room.

She was in Cisco’s bedroom putting the last of Betsy’s clothes and toys into a traveling bag when Cisco tugged on her pants leg. She turned and sat down on his bed. “What is it, Cisco? Do you need something?”

“I don’t want Betsy to go away. I want her to stay.”

He stared up at her, and Sloan heard his unspoken request for comfort. She abruptly brushed at his sable curls, then pulled her hand back when she realized what she was doing.

“I don’t want her to go, either. But Betsy’s Uncle Louis and her Aunt Lizzie love her and want her to come live with them in Pennsylvania.”

“But I will miss her.”

“So will I, darling. I’ll miss her very, very much.” Sloan clasped her hands tightly together to keep from lifting Cisco into her lap. Unable to hold back the tears that had begged shedding for the multitude of things that had happened today, she let them fall.

Cisco’s lip quivered when he saw the wetness that scoured her face. “Mamá?”

Sloan looked down and saw that her son’s brow was furrowed worriedly, his chin trembling. She swiped at her tears with the heels of her hands, realizing she was upsetting him. “Yes, sweetheart, what is it?”

“Maybe I could play with you. Then you wouldn’t be so lonely when Betsy is gone.”

Sloan felt the tears welling again as she stared down at her son, with his blue eyes and his curly brown hair, his high cheekbones and his cleft chin-the innocent face of a child who had borne the brunt of all her anger at his dead father… and her fears of being hurt again. Yet despite it all, he had offered love where love had been withheld.

“Oh, Cisco…”

She reached out and suddenly scooped him up into her arms, hugging him tightly to her breast. “Oh, Cisco… my baby… my darling son… I do love you so!”

She rocked him in her arms, crooning love words. She told him all the things they would do together while Cruz was getting well and all the things they would do together once Cruz was back on his feet.

“But first,” she said, swiping at her nose and eyes with her sleeve, “we had better get Betsy’s things packed so her Uncle Louis doesn’t miss his ship in Galveston.”

Betsy’s leave-taking was not nearly so bitter for Sloan with Cisco’s warm body snuggled sleepily in her arms. She was able to wave good-bye with a smile on her face before turning back to the adobe house and all that waited there, good and bad, frightening and infuriating.

An hour later, after she had been admonished by María that she must keep up her own strength if she was to be any help to Don Cruz, Sloan was sitting at the dinner table with a subdued Doña Lucia and an equally quiet Tomasita when they were approached by Paco, the vaquero who had brought word of the gringo wagons on Dolorosa land.

“What is it, Paco?” Doña Lucia asked irritably.

“The storm damaged many of the jacals in the pueblo. I came to ask Don Cruz’s permission to have his vaqueros help fix them.”

“Don Cruz is ill,” Doña Lucia said.

Paco stood waiting for further instructions.

Doña Lucia frowned in exasperation and said, “The jacals will have to wait.”

“But, señora-”

“Do not dare to question me!”

Paco had started to back away when Sloan interceded. “Go out to the veranda, Paco, and wait for me there.” When Paco had left the room, she turned to Doña Lucia and said, “Perhaps whoever Cruz usually leaves in charge of the vaqueros when he is away from Dolorosa on business could take care of the problem.”

Doña Lucia sat sullen and silent for a moment until it became clear that Sloan was willing to wait her out. “Miguel Padilla is Cruz’s foreman, but he would not presume to act without orders from his patrón.”

“Can’t someone else give orders?”

When Doña Lucia once again remained silent, Sloan demanded in exasperation, “Who’s going to manage Dolorosa until Cruz recovers?”

“I… I do not know.”

“Unless you have a better suggestion, I will give the orders that need to be given.”

Doña Lucia rose imperiously from her chair. “How dare you-”

Sloan rose to her feet with equal dignity at the opposite end of the table. “Shut up and sit down.”

Doña Lucia was so shocked at Sloan’s order that she sank back into her chair, mouth agape.

“We don’t know how long it will be before Cruz is back on his feet, but I don’t intend to have him recover only to find that Dolorosa has been neglected in his absence. I’m giving you fair warning that I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen. If you think you can do a better job, you’d better say so now.”

“Why would you do this for us?” Doña Lucia asked, eyes narrowed speculatively.

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Cruz.”

“The vaqueros will not listen to you, gringa.”

“I assume, then, that you won’t interfere if I give it a try.” Without further ado, Sloan pivoted on her good heel and limped out to joined Paco on the veranda. “Take me to Miguel Padilla.”

Paco’s face did not hint at what he was thinking, but he had seen how El Patrón cared for this woman. He would not dare take a chance of offending her. He simply said, “Follow me, Señora Guerrero.”

Sloan’s nervousness built during the short, uncomfortable ride to the village. She stepped inside Miguel’s jacal with great trepidation. She had to convince Cruz’s foreman to take her seriously. Otherwise her efforts to help Cruz would come to naught.

“Buenos días, Miguel.”

“Buenos días, Señora Guerrero.”

“Doña Lucia told me you’re in charge of Don Cruz’s vaqueros.”

The rangy vaquero nodded. His face was as ageless as a mountain peak, eroded by wind and weather. He wore the spurred wing boots and rawhide chaparejos of the vaquero.

Sloan’s mouth was bone-dry. She licked her lips to dampen them and continued, “You’ve probably heard that Don Cruz was injured in the storm last night. Until he’s well, I’ll be giving the orders on Dolorosa.”