“How was your trip to Spain this past summer?” he asked, smoothly sidestepping the issue of Sloan.

Cruz pulled his rapt attention from the fields and turned to the older man. “I accomplished what I set out to do. I have copies of the royal Spanish decree granting land in Texas to the Guerrero family. Rancho Dolorosa’s claim cannot be challenged now if Texas is annexed by the United States.”

“It’ll be annexed, all right. Don’t you ever doubt it. We’ve got men in Washington right now convincing legislators it’s the right thing to do.”

“They have not been very successful so far.”

“The American Senate will be voting again soon, and they won’t make the same mistake they did in June. Next time they’ll ask Texas to become a state of the Union. They have too much to gain and nothing to lose if they do.”

“I thought you stood against annexation-that you favored Texas remaining an independent Republic,” Cruz said.

Rip harrumphed, uneasy with being caught in any change of opinion, especially one as monumental as this. “I’m entitled to have a change of heart.”

“That must mean you think Texas has something to gain from statehood.”

“We get federal troops to control those murdering Comanches,” Rip spat, “and the protection of the United States against those Mexican bastards who keep testing our southern border!”

Rip felt renewed fury at the memory of how his middle daughter Bay had been stolen by marauding Comanches. She had spent three long years living in a Quohadi village as a Comanche war chief’s prize possession before she had been rescued by Long Quiet, the half-breed Comanche who had become her husband.

He fairly sputtered when he recalled the tragedy that had struck when Antonio Guerrero had involved Sloan in a plot with the Mexicans to invade Texas. Six months after Antonio’s death, Sloan had borne Antonio’s bastard son and, to Rip’s everlasting fury, had given the child to the Guerrero family to raise.

Rip stared at the Spaniard who had come to lay claim to Sloan. Cruz Guerrero already had his grandson Cisco. He wasn’t about to hand over his eldest daughter without a second thought. He took some comfort in the fact that Sloan wouldn’t welcome the Spaniard’s advances. She had loved his brother-before she had learned to hate him. Rip was certain she would never agree to marry Cruz.

Rip rubbed his square chin thoughtfully. Not that he wouldn’t have been glad to have the Guerrero wealth and bloodlines in the family.

Cruz was descended from royal Castilian stock, and the Guerreros had prospered in the New World. Rancho Dolorosa, southeast of Three Oaks along the Brazos River, was the largest cattle ranch in Texas.

When Juan Carlos Guerrero had passed away three summers ago, Cruz had inherited the vast estate that included thousands of hectares of land and the Spanish longhorn cattle that populated it. Cruz might have made a good son-in-law-if his brother hadn’t broken Sloan’s heart.

In the uncomfortable silence, both men were acutely aware of one another, of the unspoken tragedy that lay between them, and of the tribulations yet to come. The strain increased as the sun slipped beyond the gently rolling landscape, revealing the silhouette of a rider loping toward them.

Cruz stood and ground out his cheroot in the grass at the foot of the steps. Tension thrummed through him as he waited to confront the woman he was ready, at last, to make his wife.


When Sloan recognized the tall figure standing in the shade of the moss-covered oaks that shrouded the white frame plantation house, her heart rose to her throat. She had known Cruz would come, but she had hoped it would not be so soon. She had not yet made up her mind what she was going to say to keep him at bay.

She was grateful for the help he had given her at a time when she hadn’t known where else to turn. But she didn’t want to repay him by becoming his wife-even if it was what she had promised him at the time.

She walked her horse the rest of the distance to the two-story house, taking the extra time to search for an answer she could give to Cruz’s demand. It might not have been so bad if she felt nothing for the man. But, however much it chagrined her to admit it, she was attracted to Cruz. If she went to live with him at Dolorosa, she was deathly afraid her attraction might grow into something more.

She refused to take the chance of falling in love again. Love had made her foolish. Love had made her lose control of her life.

Moreover, she had learned enough about Cruz Guerrero to know he would expect his wife to follow his lead. Sloan was not, had never been, a follower.

Yet she knew from her experience with Tonio that a woman in love might do anything. A woman in love was vulnerable. A woman in love went a little crazy.

Sloan had no intention of repeating the experience. She would never give another man the chance to control her through love.

Sloan’s eyes never left Cruz’s face as she dismounted and walked the remaining few steps it took to reach him.

“Cruz, I-”

Before she had a chance to speak further, he reached out and drew her into the possessive circle of his embrace. He smelled of soap and sweet tobacco, of horses and leather. She stiffened as her cheek grazed his soft ruffled shirt.

“Well, well, well.”

Sloan whipped her head around at the sound of her father’s mocking voice, seeing him for the first time in the shadow of the porch. When she tried to back away from Cruz, his powerful arms would not release her.

She put her hands flat against his chest to keep him from drawing her any closer. His heart pounded beneath her fingers, causing her own pulse to race.

She had hoped to avoid involving Rip in her confrontation with Cruz. Perhaps it was not yet too late if she chose her words carefully.

Rip had risen from his rocker and was leaning on his cane, his feet braced wide apart to hold himself steady. “You two look mighty friendly.” His eyes narrowed as he added, “Cruz says he’s come to take you back to Rancho Dolorosa-as his wife.”

Sloan’s eyes met Cruz’s with an unspoken plea for discretion. “I thought we settled this in San Antonio.”

“I said I would come for you,” he said, “and I have. I will wait while you pack what you need, Cebellina.”

Sloan jerked herself from Cruz’s embrace. “I thought I made my feelings clear. I won’t-”

“What the hell is this all about, Sloan?” Rip asked. “I want an explanation, and I want it now.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Sloan retorted.

“Sounds to me like Cruz is ready to cart my daughter off to Rancho Dolorosa-over his shoulder if necessary. That makes it my concern.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are my wife,” Cruz said. “You will go where I tell you to go.”

Sloan avoided the questioning look Rip gave her and said to Cruz, “I can’t come with you. I… I… need more time.”

His voice was equally quiet, but adamant. “My part of the bargain is met. Now you must meet yours.”

Sloan sought desperately for some other excuse to deny his demand and blurted, “What about the young woman I heard you brought home from Spain with you?”

Cruz frowned. “Señorita Hidalgo?”

“That’s the name I’ve heard.”

“She is not your concern.”

“Is Sloan your wife or not?” Rip demanded.

“She is.”

“I’m not.” Exactly.

Rip turned on Sloan, his patience gone. “What the hell is going on? And I want a damn straight answer!”

Sloan’s lips flattened against making an explanation. “I’ve said all I have to say on the matter. I’ve got more work to do before it gets dark, so if you’ll both excuse me-”

Cruz’s sudden fierce grip on Sloan’s arms cut her off. “I will not excuse you. I will not allow you to ignore me or to pretend nothing exists between us. We have an agreement. Alejandro is dead. The time has come for you to finish the bargain.”

Sloan shivered, feeling something halfway between fear and anticipation at the words that were both a threat and a promise.

“Let go of my daughter.”

Sloan froze when she realized Rip held a Navy Colt Patterson aimed at Cruz. She knew Cruz had seen the gun, but he tightened his hold rather than freeing her.

“I will have you for my wife, Cebellina,” he said, his voice a harsh breath that fanned her ear. “Do not doubt it.”

He released her and stepped back to meet Rip’s dangerous stare with one of his own. “I expect Sloan to come to me within the week. If she does not, I will be back with my vaqueros to get her.”