Texas Woman (39 page)

There was a tense silence. No one moved. No one breathed. At last Rip hissed in a painful breath of air and said, “Three Oaks is yours. Always was. Always will be.”

He had not, of course, apologized. It was a tremendous concession, Sloan knew, that he had even bothered to explain himself to her. She clenched her teeth to hide the betraying quiver of her chin.

Rip’s eyes moved slowly around the room, meeting the fierce, protective gazes of his daughters’ husbands; sharing the understanding of his son, Luke; adoring Cricket, his pride and joy; approving Bay, his not-so-disappointing daughter; and respecting Sloan, his eldest, his right hand, his other self. “I’ve said my piece. Are you all going to get out of here and let me die in peace, or are you going to stand there and worry me to death?”

Sloan wasn’t conscious of Cruz’s touch at her elbow leading her from the room, wasn’t conscious of being ushered into her bedroom or of being picked up in Cruz’s arms and held in his lap in the rawhide chair beside the window. Too many thoughts held her prisoner.

She heard Cruz’s deep voice crooning to her, offering a haven, a surcease from suffering. She slid into the comforting niche he provided and hid from the anguish that threatened to overwhelm her.

It was dark by the time her thoughts released her to the world of the present. Cruz still held her in his arms, his chin resting at her temple. His fingers moved gently on her skin, caressing, reassuring. He felt solid, a rock to steady her and keep her from foundering.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

He smiled. “I am not surprised. You missed dinner and supper both. Would you like to go downstairs and see what we can find?”

He had started to help her stand when she said, “After everything that’s happened, I can hardly believe I’m heir to Three Oaks.”

She felt his whole body tense. He sat down again and pulled her back into his arms, holding her close. She could tell he was struggling with something. She reached up to smooth the lines of worry from his brow, but he jerked away from her touch. Hurt, she laced her hands tightly in her lap and waited.

He chose his words carefully when he finally spoke. “I am leaving Three Oaks tomorrow to begin rebuilding Dolorosa. I want you to come with me.”

“How can I?” she protested. “Rip is so sick! Who’ll take care of Three Oaks until he’s back on his feet? He needs me here.”

“I need you, too. Dolorosa needs you.”

Sloan tried to get up, but Cruz held her where she was. His voice was low, intense, urgent. “I love you, Cebellina. I want to make a life with you. Earlier, you spoke of love lasting forever, of nothing ever coming between us. But it seems there is something that can come between us.

“You must choose between a life at Three Oaks and a life at Dolorosa with me. I wish there were a way you could have both, but it simply is not possible.”

He paused long enough to trace the rigid line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “If you do not come to Dolorosa with me tomorrow, I will know you have chosen Three Oaks.”

“I’m needed here now!”

“I need you with me.”

“Don’t force me to choose now, Cruz,” she warned, “or you may not like my decision.”

He stood up so suddenly she had to grab at his shoulders to keep from falling. His hand automatically circled her waist. Standing body to body, lightning flashed between them. Cruz reached up a hand and twined it in her hair. His blue eyes were hooded with need, his nostrils flared for the scent of her.

His head angled downward, and he took his time, daring her to run, daring her to stay. His mouth, when it settled on hers, was gentle, with a sweetness that made Sloan ache.

He slowly unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, leaving her in her cotton chemise. Sloan shivered as his lips found the pulse beneath her ear. It was as though he had never touched her before, as though this were the first time . . . or the last.

“Touch me,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in her ear. “Put your hands on me.”

She pulled his shirt off and threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest, traced the hollows below his collarbone, and admired the washboard of muscle across his belly. The more she touched, the more she wanted to touch.

He returned the favor, mirroring her touches, murmuring love words as his hands caressed her through the soft cloth of her chemise. He wanted to give her pleasure; he wanted her to remember this night.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the soft feather mattress on the bed. He undressed her slowly, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips.

Soft,
he thought.

She mimicked him, running her hands down the front of his trousers, then feeling the texture of smooth buttocks and hair-roughened hips as she stripped him bare.

Hard,
she thought.

Their loving was no less gentle than the touching had been. He entered her slowly, taking his time, testing her patience. When he was seated deep inside her, he said, “I want you to have my baby.”

He expected her to resist the idea, and she didn’t disappoint him.

“I can’t—”

“Oh, but you can, Cebellina.” He grasped her wrists and stretched her hands out above her on the pillows. His smile was feral. “I want to watch your belly grow round. I want to hold your hand while you labor, and bring our child into the new, civilized world that Texas will surely become. I want to be at your side while we watch our son or daughter grow.”

He withdrew slightly and then pressed slowly, steadily back into her, thrusts that reached to the heart of her.

He spilled his seed inside her with a joyous cry of exultation.

The seed might not take root. It might be rejected by the woman, as she might reject him. But he had given her the one gift he could leave with her if this was their last night together.

He didn’t mention his ultimatum.

She didn’t mention her warning.

They slept in one another’s arms and woke to the sound of children laughing and a baby crying. Still dressed in her chambray wrapper, Sloan left Cruz to investigate all the noise.

Cricket’s daughter Jesse was playing with Cisco, while Bay’s son Whipp was demanding to be nursed. Sloan felt an ache deep inside, an inexplicable yearning for the happiness she saw in her sisters’ faces, and touched her womb where Cruz had planted his seed.

If there was no child there now, there never would be. She loved Cruz, but there was only the promise from him to guarantee that their love would last. Who knew what might pull them apart? Look what had already happened. Within days of his declaration, he was allowing this situation to come between them.

It was too dangerous to love Cruz. Three Oaks would always be there. It was the reasonable choice.

Cruz took one look at Sloan’s face when she returned to the bedroom and knew she had made up her mind. Still, he had to hear the words. “Will you come with me to Dolorosa?”

She met his gaze with a courage she drew from somewhere deep inside and said, “I can’t leave Three Oaks right now.”

She said nothing more as she finished dressing in planter’s garb, ready to do a man’s job with a woman’s hands and heart.

Cruz’s face was grim as he finished dressing. When he spoke his voice was hard, his blue eyes cold. “
Adiós
, Cebellina. I will make arrangements to visit Cisco. A young boy should be with his mother.”

Before she had time to protest, he was gone. She heard his booted step on the stairs, then the murmur of voices, before the front door to Three Oaks slammed shut. Closing her inside. Closing him out.

She ran after him but got no farther than the portal to her room before she stopped. Cruz was being totally unreasonable! Didn’t that arrogant Spaniard know better than to give her an ultimatum at a time like this? She didn’t even know whether Rip was going to live or die. And she wasn’t about to follow after him like a distressed puppy.

Her chin jutted obstinately as she left her room and headed down the stairs. She found Luke waiting for her at the bottom.

“Aren’t you going after him?”

“No.”

“I thought you were smarter than you’re acting. And more forgiving.”

Sloan snorted. “Forgiving? Who am I supposed to forgive?”

“Cruz.”

“For what?”

“For being Antonio’s brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sloan said.

“I’m talking about blaming Cruz for the fact his brother broke your heart. He isn’t going to betray you, Sloan. He isn’t going to die and leave you—”

“Stop it!”

“Three Oaks is going to be slim comfort on a cold night, Sloan. Texas is going to blossom like a flower in spring once it becomes a state. You can spend your life with a man who loves you, helping him grow the sweetest smelling, prettiest garden on earth, or you can spend it alone. What’s it to be?”

Sloan bit back her retort. If having Three Oaks was what she really wanted, why didn’t she feel happier right now? Why did she have the urge to go running out the front door after a tall, arrogant Spaniard? Because the truth was,
Three Oaks wasn’t enough
.

“All right, Luke. Say I admit that you’re right. Say I agree that I need Cruz. That means I’ll be living at Dolorosa. Who’s going to take care of Three Oaks?”

Luke frowned. “You can work something out with—”

“You’re going to have to do it, Luke.”

“What?”

“You deserve it. I don’t need it, and it would make Rip as happy as a wolf at a lambing. Say you’ll do it.”

“I—”

“Hurry up! I want to go after Cruz, but I’m not leaving until I’m sure there’s someone here to take my place.”

Luke grinned and stuck out his hand. “You drive a hard bargain, Sis.”

Sloan grabbed Luke’s outstretched hand and pumped it twice before she turned and ran for the front door.

Cruz was coming out of the stable with his
bayo
when Sloan caught up to him. She ran full force into him and threw her arms around his neck.

“I love you. I’m going with you. You’re never getting rid of me,” she said between planting frantic kisses on his face. “When do we leave?”

Cruz claimed her mouth in a devastating kiss. When they finally came up for air, he found the presence of mind to ask, “What about Three Oaks?”

“Ask Luke. Three Oaks is his responsibility now.”

Cruz swung her in a circle, laughing aloud in relief. “I love you, Cebellina. I will do my best to make you happy.”

“Spending my life with you will make me happy. Watching our children grow will make me happy. Loving you will—”

He cut her off when his mouth captured hers. And from the smile that rose on her lips beneath his, there was no doubt she was the happiest woman in the Republic.

T
EXAS
F
EBRUARY
19, 1846

S
LOAN STOOD WITH
B
AY AND
C
RICKET AND
stared at the headstone that had just been erected beside Rip’s. It had seemed appropriate to place the second headstone here, beneath the sheltering branches of the majestic live oak that had taken root long before there was a Republic, and would be here long after Texas had achieved greatness as a state of the Union.

The strong one, the gentle one, and the rebel all bowed their heads in respectful acknowledgment of what death had taken and what it had left behind.

The sound of children’s laughter could be heard in the distance as the three women paid homage to their father by sharing this momentous occasion with him in the only way they could.

The three sisters weren’t left alone for long. Cruz joined Sloan and handed her the tiny child that moved restlessly in his arms. “I think Ana María is hungry.”

Sloan took her daughter and cradled her close to her breast. Cruz moved up behind her and slipped his arms around her to help support the child.

Long Quiet stepped up to Bay and circled her very pregnant body with his long arms. Meanwhile, Creed handed Cricket their sleeping daughter, Miranda, whom they had nicknamed Muffin, and slipped his arm around her slim waist, pulling her snug against him. Luke and Tomasita strolled over to join them, their fingers clasped and trailing occasionally across Tomasita’s slightly mounded abdomen, their son Rafael in tow.

“Whose idea was it to put up the second headstone?” Cruz asked.

“Mine,” Sloan admitted.

“But Bay found the marble,” Cricket said.

“And Cricket found the man to carve it,” Bay added.

“It’s beautiful, and a fitting tribute,” Creed said. “You should be proud of yourselves.”

The three sisters shared smiles of remembered times as they leaned back into the shelter of their husbands’ arms and read the messages they had left for posterity.

On Rip’s gravestone had been carved:

R
IP
S
TEWART
Beloved Father

And on the second marble stone:

THE REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
1836–1845
LONG MAY SHE LIVE IN MEMORY

“Guess the Texas flag is coming down at Washington-on-the-Brazos about now,” Luke said, “and being replaced by the Stars and Stripes. President Anson Jones will be handing over power to the new governor, Pinckney Henderson, and Sam Houston and Tom Rusk will be on their way to Washington as Texas’s first two senators. Hard to believe it’s really happening.”

“It’s happening, all right,” Sloan murmured. “It’s just too bad Rip—”

Whipp’s gleeful shout, “Pick me up!” as he discovered where his father, Long Quiet, had disappeared to, startled Ana María, who began to cry with all the strength of a lusty six-week-old. Meanwhile, Cisco cheered in triumph as he discovered a bag of cherry sticks amid the several baskets of food, while Cricket’s three-year-old daughter Jesse trailed in his footsteps, babbling with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder at this unexpected delight.

Sloan laughed at the cacophony of children’s demands and said, “I guess that’s about all the peace and quiet we’re going to get today.”