Joan Johnston - Texas Woman

“You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

“Eight days! I have to-” Cruz tried to sit up, but he got so dizzy Sloan had to help him lie back down again.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s been taken care of while you’ve been ill.”

“How could that be? Miguel only takes orders from me. There must have been damage from the storm and-”

“It has all been taken care of,” Sloan repeated, soothing his troubled brow with her hand. “I handled everything.”

Cruz was very still for a moment, and Sloan looked to make sure he was still all right.

“You handled everything?”

“Someone had to take charge. So I did.”

“My vaqueros followed your orders?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“You do?” Sloan said, surprised at his apparent acquiescence to her activities.

“Yes, and I thank you. Now that I am well, though, I can take over and leave you free to-”

“Not so fast,” Sloan said, sitting up and using the sheet to cover her nakedness. “I don’t want to be free.”

“No?”

“No. Besides, you’re not getting out of this bed until I’m sure you’re completely well. And that means not until María says so. There’s no sense in your vaqueros tramping in here to disturb you, either. If you want to give orders, fine. You can do it through me. I won’t have you getting up too soon and winding up dead. Do you understand me?”

When her tirade was over, Sloan saw that Cruz was trying very hard not to smile.

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” she spat.

At that, Cruz did smile. “No, it is not. When a wife protects her husband from his own stupidity, it is very serious business. All right, Cebellina, I will give my orders through you. But I want to talk with Miguel about what has been done while I have been ill.”

“I guess that wouldn’t hurt,” Sloan said grudgingly. “But not for long. If you have any questions after that, you can ask me.”

“Sí, Cebellina. We will work together, you and I, as a husband and wife should.”

Sloan stared at him. “I’m only helping until you get well,” she said. “This isn’t going to be a permanent thing.”

“Of course, Cebellina,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN CRUZ MET with Miguel and heard what Sloan had accomplished on Dolorosa while he was in a coma, he realized how badly he had misunderstood and underestimated the woman he had made his wife.

Cruz had always known that Sloan was overseer for Three Oaks, but he had never seen her acting in a position of authority. When he had first regained consciousness, he had been willing to indulge his wife and allow his orders to be funneled through her to Miguel. He had never expected Miguel to treat her as though she were actually in charge. Seeing them deep in conversation at his bedside, he realized that was exactly what had happened.

“So you see, Miguel,” Sloan was explaining, “if the crops growing in each vaquero’s garden are thinned and then layered with manure, the plants will grow taller and bear larger vegetables.”

“Sí, Doña Sloan,” Miguel replied. “I understand. I will tell my vaqueros what you have suggested.”

Sloan turned to Cruz and asked, “Is there anything more you wanted to know from Miguel regarding what was done in your absence?”

“No. I have heard enough.”

Miguel rose from the rawhide chair beside Cruz’s bed and said, “May your good health return quickly, Patrón.”

“Gracias, Miguel. I expect to be rejoining you soon. Until then, you will continue as before, taking orders from Doña Sloan.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in Miguel’s dark eyes at Cruz’s command. When he had learned that Don Cruz had recovered, he had thought he had seen the last of Doña Sloan among the vaqueros.

But it would be a foolish man who did not take advantage of such a talented wife. And Don Cruz was no fool. Miguel nodded his obeisance to Cruz, then shifted his stance and did the same to Sloan before he turned and left the room.

“I see you have made a conquest,” Cruz said as Sloan closed the door behind Miguel.

She turned and walked back to stand beside the bed. “What do you mean?”

“The man who just left this room would gladly lay down his life for you.”

“Only because I am your wife.”

“No, it is more than that. How did you garner his approval so quickly? It took weeks after my father died before I had earned his acceptance and respect. You have done it in eight days.”

“I didn’t do anything special that I know of,” Sloan said. “Just dug in and went to work like I would have at Three Oaks.”

Cruz heard in her description of her actions what she hadn’t known how to explain. What other woman would have worked side by side with his vaqueros? None that Cruz knew.

He had never before comprehended how much this woman needed a position beside him-in more places than at the dining table and in bed. No wonder she had dreaded leaving Three Oaks and coming to live at Dolorosa. No wonder she had not been as truly happy living with him as he had hoped.

For the past four months, he had-no matter that it had been by necessity-kept her separate from the work on Dolorosa that was so much of his life. He saw now the mistake he had made. He only hoped it was not too late to make amends, and to offer her a life she would willingly share with him.

“You have done very well, Cebellina. There are some things I will need your help to get accomplished in time for the spring roundup.”

Sloan relaxed, realizing she had been braced for criticism and received praise. Not only that, but Cruz seemed both eager and willing to have her help. “I’ll do anything I can,” she offered. “Before we get started, there is someone else who has been waiting to see you.”

Sloan went to the door and called for Josefa, who arrived moments later with Cisco in tow. As soon as he saw Sloan, the little boy came running and leaped into her arms. Sloan picked him up, and chattering happily together, they walked across the room to Cruz’s bedside.

Cruz was astounded-and pleased-at this sudden change in Sloan’s behavior toward her son. It was another miracle for which he saw no clear explanation. “You two look happy.”

“Cisco and I have something we have to tell you.”

“Good news, I hope.”

“Good for Betsy,” Sloan replied.

“Betsy’s Uncle Louis came to get her,” Cisco explained as Sloan set him down on the bed next to Cruz. “She is going to live on his farm.”

“It must have been sad to say good-bye to her.”

“Sí,” Cisco said. “Mamá cried.”

Sloan sat down on the bed beside Cisco. “But Cisco said he would play with me and keep me from being so lonely. And you know… I’m not.” She smiled at Cisco and gave him a big hug.

Cruz felt a queer tug in his chest. They would be a family now, he and Sloan and Cisco. Somehow she had put the past behind her and offered them all a chance at a future together.

Then he remembered the reason she had fled into the storm. He had brought the past once more into the present, apparently consorting with the Mexicans-just like his brother, Tonio-against the interests of the Republic. Did Sloan think she had married a dishonorable man, a traitor to Texas?

She had said nothing this morning about his activities as the Hawk, had asked no questions about why the Englishman had visited Dolorosa. It appeared that she did not intend to do so. Why? he wondered. Had she forgiven him?

He did not think so, not when his crime had been such a clear echo of Tonio’s. But if she had not forgiven him, why was she being so helpful? Why hadn’t she run home to Three Oaks when he had been unable to stop her?

He had learned long ago to let sleeping dogs lie. There would be time in the weeks ahead to find out how Sloan felt, to explain what he could, and to excuse what he couldn’t. For now he had to learn to share with her, to include her in the parts of his life that he had hitherto kept separate.

After Cisco had visited with Cruz for a while, Josefa came to get him. Sloan once more closed the door, shutting out everyone else, but this time, instead of coming to sit beside Cruz, she leaned back against the door, her eyes on the polished toes of her boots.

“There is one more thing we need to discuss.” She looked up and met his inquiring gaze.