Frontier Woman (41 page)

Those hopes were dashed when he sighed resignedly and replied to Many Horses, “You have been as stealthy as a wolf among the buffalo. I find I cannot refuse your offer. You well know I would welcome a soft pallet beneath me and a woman to wait upon me while I am here.”

When we left Sloan at the end of
Frontier Woman
, she was unwed and pregnant, and the father of her child had just been killed . . .

Here’s a preview of Sloan’s story, which is told in the third book of the Sisters of the Lone Star series.

TexaS Woman

Chapter 1

It was hard for Sloan to remember the initial joy she had felt at finding out she was pregnant with Tonio’s child. Hard to remember the hours when she had pressed her hands against her belly and thought with wonder of their child growing within her. She should have realized something was wrong when Tonio did not immediately offer to marry her when she told him she was pregnant.

“We must wait,
chiquita,
” he had said. “There will be time enough to marry and give the child a name.”

Of course he never intended to marry her. It had been devastating to discover he was a traitor, that he had been murdered by one of his own men, Alejandro Sanchez, and that she must somehow bear on her own all the sorrow of his death, the shock of his betrayal, and the shame of being pregnant and unwed.

It had not taken long for her sorrow and shock and shame to become hate and anger and resolution. She had thought it out, weighing every detail, and made the only rational decision possible: She would not keep Tonio’s child.

She was bitter and angry for what Tonio had done. She did not think she could love the child of such a man, or even maintain indifference to it. She was afraid she would blame the child for the sins of the father, and she feared the hateful emotions she felt whenever she thought of Tonio and the bastard child she was to bear him. So, to spare the innocent child, she had sought out Tonio’s elder brother Cruz, and they had come to an agreement.

Sloan sighed and shook her head. She still could not believe she had acted as she had. She could only blame her actions on the turbulent emotions she had felt at the time. She could vividly recall the disbelieving look on Cruz’s face when she told him what she wanted to do.

“You will give away your own child?” he had exclaimed in horror.

“It would bring back too many memories to keep Tonio’s baby,” she had replied.

“But surely in time the memories will fade,” he had said, “and you will want your son or daughter—”

“I will never forget Tonio. Or what he—”

“You loved him, then,” Cruz had said, his voice harsh.

“I did,” she admitted. “More than my own life,” she finished in a whisper. That was what had made his betrayal so painful. It did not occur to her that Cruz would not realize her love for his brother had died with Tonio.

She had watched Cruz’s lips flatten to a thin line, watched him frown as he came to his decision.

“Very well. I will take the child. But he must have a name.”

“You may call him whatever you wish,” she said, in a rush to have it all done and over.

“My brother’s son must have his name.”

“If you wish to call the child Antonio—”

“You misunderstand me,” Cruz interrupted brusquely. “My family possesses a noble Spanish heritage. My brother’s child must bear the Guerrero name.”

Sloan had not imagined how difficult it was going to be to go through with her plan. She swallowed over the painful lump in her throat and said, “If you wish to adopt the child as your own, I will agree.”

“That is not my intention,” Cruz said.

She felt the warm touch of Cruz’s fingers as he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were dark with some emotion she refused to acknowledge. He could not feel that way about her . . . not when she had been his brother’s woman. What she could not accept, she ignored.

His gaze held hers captive as he said, “My brother’s child will bear the Guerrero name because you will be my wife.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she blurted, pulling away from him.

“Not at all,” he countered, his voice firm. “If you wish me to take the child and raise it as my own, you will marry me.”

“That’s blackmail. I won’t do it.”

“Then find another solution to your problem, Señorita Sloan.”

The tall Spaniard had already turned on his booted heel before she found her voice. “Wait! There must be some way we can work this out.”

He pivoted back to her, determination etched in his features. “I have stated my condition for taking the child.”

His arrogance infuriated her, and she clasped her hands to keep herself from attacking him. She held her anger in check, knowing that however satisfying it would be to feel the skin of his cheek under her palm, it would be a useless gesture. She had nowhere else to turn.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”

Before his triumphant smile had a chance to form fully, she continued, “But it will be a marriage in name only. I will not live with you.”

“That is hardly a proper marriage, señorita.”

She snorted. “I don’t care a worm’s worth about a proper marriage. I’m trying to find a way to compromise with you.”

“As my wife, you will live with me,” Cruz announced in a commanding voice.

“If I marry you, I’ll live at Three Oaks,” she snorted.

“Unfortunately, that would make it quite impossible for us to have the children I desire.”

Sloan flushed. “I won’t live with you.

“Then we can come to no agreement.”

Once again, Sloan was forced to halt his departure. “Wait—”

“You agree, then?”

Sloan raked her mind for some way to put off the inevitable and finally came up with an idea. “I’ll agree to marry you . . . but I’ll live with you as your wife only after Alejandro Sanchez is brought to justice.”

Cruz grimaced in frustration. “My brother’s murderer may never be caught.”

“I know,” Sloan replied. “But that is
my
condition.” She said it with the same intractability he had used when he laid down his own demands.

“I agree to your suggestion,” Cruz said at last. “We will be married now, and I will take the child when it is born and raise it as my own. Ours will be a marriage in name only—until such a time as Alejandro Sanchez shall be brought to justice.”

It was obvious to Sloan when she shook hands with Cruz to seal their bargain that he expected to find Alejandro within days. But her luck had held. Alejandro had remained elusive, and she had remained at Three Oaks. Over the years, while Cruz had hunted diligently for the bandido, he had kept their bargain and raised her son as his own. Now, at long last, Cruz had found Alejandro. Now, at long last, the arrogant Spaniard would expect her to fullfill her part of their bargain.

And for reasons she could never explain to him, she knew she could not do it.

Sloan jumped away from the adobe wall as Cruz’s voice startled her from her reverie.

“I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“The law will avenge Tonio’s death,” Sloan said.

“Only if Alejandro is still in jail when the time comes to hang him.”

A frisson of alarm skittered down Sloan’s spine. “You don’t seriously believe he can escape, do you? He’s tied hand and foot, and he’ll be guarded by Texas Rangers.”

“He’s treacherous and cunning. He must be clever to have stayed free this long. And there are those who would help him escape.”

“But—”

Cruz thrust a restless hand through his thick black hair. “But, as you say, I am worrying needlessly. We will surely see him hang tomorrow.”

“I won’t be staying for the hanging,” Sloan admitted. “I dropped everything and left in the middle of the cotton harvest when I got your message that Alejandro had been captured. My responsibilities as overseer can’t wait . . . and I have enough nightmares to disturb my sleep without adding one more.”

“Do you still see Tonio’s face at night, Cebellina?”

Sloan stopped abruptly and whirled on Cruz, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those who passed by them. “Don’t speak to me of Tonio. And don’t speak to me a name intended for a
novia
. I’m not your sweetheart, Cruz, and I never will be.”

With a strength and quickness Sloan knew he was capable of, but had never seen for herself, Cruz grabbed her by the waist and carried her the few steps to a nearby alley. He pressed her up against the adobe wall and held her there with the length of his hard, sinewy body.

Sloan saw a ferocity in Cruz’s blue eyes, a harshness in his aristocratic features, an intransigence in the jutting chin rent by a shallow cleft, that she hadn’t seen since the grim day they had sealed their bargain. There was nothing of the daring Spanish cavalier in the face of the man who held her, only brute strength, iron will, and the knowledge of unrequited love.

“What do you expect of me, Cebellina?” With a hand that trembled under the force of the control he exerted, he caressed a wayward strand of the sable hair that had fostered his nickname for her. His gaze touched her heart-shaped face, her large, intelligent brown eyes topped by delicately arched brows, her short, straight nose, the angled cheekbones leading to her confident chin, and finally her full, inviting pink lips, the lower of which she held clasped between her teeth.

When he spoke again, his rumbling voice held the fervor of someone who has reached the limit of his patience and will not be denied. “I have waited to claim you until Tonio’s murderer could be brought to justice. For four long years I have waited! I have kept my part of the bargain we made when you came to me swollen with my brother’s child and asked for my help. I accepted Tonio’s son from your arms when he was born and took him to Rancho Dolorosa to raise him as my own. And though I was often tempted, I did not ask of you my soul’s desire. I did not take from you that for which my body hungered. I waited. And I hunted down my brother’s murderer.

“Now you must keep your end of the bargain. I want you for my wife, Cebellina. And I will have you. Whether you see my brother’s face in your dreams or not!”

His mouth came down to claim Sloan’s, his touch rough with need, his teeth breaking the skin of her lip so she tasted blood. His hands freely roamed her body, commanding a response from her.

Sloan felt the insidious tingling sensation begin deep inside her, felt her lips softening under his, felt her mouth open for his searching tongue that ravaged her, mimicking the movement of his hips against her belly. She felt the rush of passion, felt the desire for him, for the joining of their bodies, begin to well and grow within her, as unwelcome as a weevil in cotton.

She could not allow this! She would
not
let herself be used by any man again. She shoved against Cruz’s chest but managed only to break the contact between their mouths.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “Let me go.”

Her hand rose up between them to cover Cruz’s lips. When she felt the wetness on his lips, it caused a shiver of desire within her so fierce that she felt compelled to deny it in words. “I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. And you can’t want me. I was your brother’s
puta
. Your brother’s
whore!”

Abruptly, Cruz released her. His blue eyes had become chips of ice. The veins stood out along his neck, and his hands were balled into tightly clenched fists. “Never,
never
call yourself a whore. Do you understand me?”

Sloan flinched when he raised his hand, afraid he would strike her. But she stood her ground, waiting. She was Rip Stewart’s daughter. It would not be the first time she had been struck in anger. She was no coward; she would not run from him.

His fist unfurled like a tight bud that finally flowers, and his callused fingertips smoothed over her freckled cheekbone in a caress as surprisingly soft as a cactus blossom. “Do you hate me so much, Cebellina?”

“I don’t hate you at all.”

“Then why do you resist me?”

“I can never love you, Cruz. A true marriage between us would only cause unhappiness for us both.”

“I will be the judge of what will make me happy.”

“Will you also judge what will please me?”

“Only tell me what I can do to please you, and it shall be done. What do you want, Cebellina?”

“I
don’t
want or need a husband.”

His mouth tightened, and a flush rose across his cheekbones. “Nevertheless, when Alejandro hangs, you will fulfill our bargain and become my wife.”

“I’m going home to Three Oaks, Cruz.”

“Go. But know this: When my brother’s murder is avenged at last, I will come for you.”

Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1988 by Joan Mertens Johnston

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publishers, except where permitted by law. For information address: Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020.

Dell® and its colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN : 978-0-307-42292-7

Original Pocket Books paperback published August 1988
Dell revised mass market edition published August 2001

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