her Wellingtons. She realized she hadn’t been on a picnic since . . . since the previous fall when Bay had used picnics as an excuse to get her together with her son. She and Cruz and Cisco had spent nearly every Sunday picnicking with Bay and Long Quiet under a huge old live oak tree that stood on Dolorosa land. It had been an idyllic time.
She had begun to love her son . . . and to trust Cruz. And then, one day, Cruz had kissed her, and she had realized how much she had grown to care for him, as well as her son. Moments later, Cisco had been attacked by a renegade Comanche.
She stared down at her hands, remembering how they had looked, red with her son’s blood.
That was the day she had vowed she would rather not love at all than face the pain of losing those she loved. Once she was sure Cisco would recover, she had left Dolorosa, determined not to see Cruz or Cisco again.
Sloan forced her memories away. She had always tried to take the best, the most logical, course of action. The day she had decided to keep Cruz and Cisco at arm’s length it had made perfect sense. Nothing had altered, really, to make her change her mind. She would just have to avoid Cruz and Cisco as best she could until she left Dolorosa.
She gave her appearance a quick check in the mirror and forced a smile onto her face. Immediately, her spirits lifted. She was looking forward to spending the day relaxing at a picnic.
Her good humor followed her into the dining room, where it was quickly curtailed by the sight of a tight-lipped Doña Lucia staring balefully at an equally tight-lipped Cruz.
Cruz sat at the head of the table, his eyes locked on his mother, who sat on his right. To Cruz’s left, Tomasita perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes lowered to the hands folded tightly in her lap, while to Tomasita’s left Cisco watched Cruz, his innocent blue eyes wide and wary.
Sloan stood for a moment in the doorway trying to decide where she should sit. The only empty seat, other than the one at the opposite end of the table from Cruz, was next to Doña Lucia. She considered simply skipping breakfast altogether, but she was damnably hungry. She lifted her chin and marched across the room to sit beside the obviously furious woman.
“Good morning,” she offered.
Doña Lucia ignored her and hissed to Cruz, “I will not allow it!”
“I have been telling Mamá about our picnic,” Cruz said, his voice firm, his eyes meeting his mother’s with an implacable will. “She suggested that Tomasita should join us and that we bring along Josefa to help take care of Cisco.”
Sloan didn’t know that Cruz had intended to bring Cisco, or she wouldn’t have agreed to the picnic. There was nothing she could say now without making a scene at the table, so she responded neutrally, “Oh.”
Cruz had not repeated precisely what his mother had suggested, but he was willing to compromise with her by including Tomasita and Josefa in their outing. His mother had been appalled that he intended to take Sloan on a picnic and leave Tomasita home. After all, she had argued, Tomasita would one day be his bride.
Of course Sloan did not need a chaperon, she had added disdainfully, but Tomasita could not go without a woman to watch over her, and thus Josefa had been included.
Cruz looked at Tomasita and saw the young woman was mortified by the battle that had been taking place around her. He knew she must be confused by his mother’s attempts to throw them together, especially as she had no notion of their betrothal. The sooner he could find a proper husband for her, he thought, the better.
Two men had seemed particularly attentive to Tomasita at the
fandango
. Both had his approval, and he had noticed that Tomasita did not look at either of them in distaste.
Ambrosio de Arocha was a fine man and a wealthy
ranchero,
as was Joaquín Carvajal. Don Ambrosio had been widowed recently, and Joaquín was looking for a well-bred wife. Cruz made up his mind that if
She had begun to love her son . . . and to trust Cruz. And then, one day, Cruz had kissed her, and she had realized how much she had grown to care for him, as well as her son. Moments later, Cisco had been attacked by a renegade Comanche.
She stared down at her hands, remembering how they had looked, red with her son’s blood.
That was the day she had vowed she would rather not love at all than face the pain of losing those she loved. Once she was sure Cisco would recover, she had left Dolorosa, determined not to see Cruz or Cisco again.
Sloan forced her memories away. She had always tried to take the best, the most logical, course of action. The day she had decided to keep Cruz and Cisco at arm’s length it had made perfect sense. Nothing had altered, really, to make her change her mind. She would just have to avoid Cruz and Cisco as best she could until she left Dolorosa.
She gave her appearance a quick check in the mirror and forced a smile onto her face. Immediately, her spirits lifted. She was looking forward to spending the day relaxing at a picnic.
Her good humor followed her into the dining room, where it was quickly curtailed by the sight of a tight-lipped Doña Lucia staring balefully at an equally tight-lipped Cruz.
Cruz sat at the head of the table, his eyes locked on his mother, who sat on his right. To Cruz’s left, Tomasita perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes lowered to the hands folded tightly in her lap, while to Tomasita’s left Cisco watched Cruz, his innocent blue eyes wide and wary.
Sloan stood for a moment in the doorway trying to decide where she should sit. The only empty seat, other than the one at the opposite end of the table from Cruz, was next to Doña Lucia. She considered simply skipping breakfast altogether, but she was damnably hungry. She lifted her chin and marched across the room to sit beside the obviously furious woman.
“Good morning,” she offered.
Doña Lucia ignored her and hissed to Cruz, “I will not allow it!”
“I have been telling Mamá about our picnic,” Cruz said, his voice firm, his eyes meeting his mother’s with an implacable will. “She suggested that Tomasita should join us and that we bring along Josefa to help take care of Cisco.”
Sloan didn’t know that Cruz had intended to bring Cisco, or she wouldn’t have agreed to the picnic. There was nothing she could say now without making a scene at the table, so she responded neutrally, “Oh.”
Cruz had not repeated precisely what his mother had suggested, but he was willing to compromise with her by including Tomasita and Josefa in their outing. His mother had been appalled that he intended to take Sloan on a picnic and leave Tomasita home. After all, she had argued, Tomasita would one day be his bride.
Of course Sloan did not need a chaperon, she had added disdainfully, but Tomasita could not go without a woman to watch over her, and thus Josefa had been included.
Cruz looked at Tomasita and saw the young woman was mortified by the battle that had been taking place around her. He knew she must be confused by his mother’s attempts to throw them together, especially as she had no notion of their betrothal. The sooner he could find a proper husband for her, he thought, the better.
Two men had seemed particularly attentive to Tomasita at the
fandango
. Both had his approval, and he had noticed that Tomasita did not look at either of them in distaste.
Ambrosio de Arocha was a fine man and a wealthy
ranchero,
as was Joaquín Carvajal. Don Ambrosio had been widowed recently, and Joaquín was looking for a well-bred wife. Cruz made up his mind that if
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