Texas Woman

“I am not your heir. Not anymore.”

“Oh yes. My heir.”

Sloan frowned in confusion, thinking maybe the fever from his illness had caused him to forget what he had done. “You disinherited me. You gave everything to Luke.”

Rip glared at her and said, “I’m not saying I didn’t think about it, but-”

“Think about it? I heard you myself! You offered Three Oaks to Luke.”

“Only so you’d have a chance to find out whether you wanted to stay with the Spaniard.”

Sloan stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not joking, are you? How could you-”

“Shut up a minute, girl, and listen to me!” It took him a moment to catch his breath and to come up with the energy to talk, but talk he did. “You always were hard to rein when you got the bit in your teeth. I’m telling you I never for a minute pla

“You lied to him, too? You never intended to give him anything-your own son?”

Rip snorted in disgust, which started another coughing fit that left Sloan so frightened she was furious with him for speaking at all. And yet what if he was right? What if he never got another chance to say the things he needed to say?

“Dear Lord, girl,” Rip said when he had recovered. “If you could hear yourself talk. Are you ranting at me because you thought I gave Three Oaks away or because I didn’t do what I threatened?”

“I’m riled because you manipulated my life. Because you didn’t respect me enough to speak plainly about what you were thinking. And because I love you, you stubborn old man, and it was tearing me apart to hate you for what you had done.”

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 di

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, ru

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.