one or both of the men did not approach him in the near future, he would seek them out and invite them to dinner.
Surely a little more time spent in Tomasita’s delightful company would convince one of them to offer for her.
“What do you say, Tomasita?” Cruz asked. “Would you like to go on a picnic?”
“I . . .” Tomasita chanced a quick look at Doña Lucia’s fulminating expression and finished, “Whatever you decide will be fine with me.”
“Then it is settled. You will come with us.”
Doña Lucia rose, curtly excused herself and left the room.
It was only after she was gone that anyone dared to speak, and then it was Cisco who said, “I am glad Tomasita can come on our picnic, Papa.”
Sloan was startled to hear Cisco call Cruz Papa, and noticed suddenly that anyone who did not know the truth could easily believe they were father and son. Cisco had Cruz’s blue eyes, the same noble nose, and a cleft in his chin that was a miniature of Cruz’s. Tonio’s only legacy to the child appeared to be Cisco’s smile—one side of his mouth tilted higher than the other in the same way as Tonio’s had.
The fear of succumbing to her son’s charm kept Sloan quiet through the breakfast of corn tortillas and scrambled eggs garnished with a spicy tomato sauce. She spoke when spoken to, but didn’t participate in the lively conversation carried on between Cisco and Cruz, which was joined occasionally by Tomasita.
She noticed Tomasita seemed more relaxed with Doña Lucia gone from the room, and she didn’t appear disturbed by the fact that Cruz had only invited her to come along on the picnic at his mother’s insistence.
Perhaps the young woman was not as attracted to Cruz as Sloan had at first suspected. She wondered whether Tomasita would approve Cruz’s choice of husband for her with as much docile acceptance. She felt a little sorry for the young woman, whom she had begun to sincerely like.
Once they were on their way in the carriage, Sloan enjoyed the ride across the grassy plains dotted with mesquite trees and patches of catclaw cactus. When she saw the huge ancient live oak appear on the top of a grassy hillock on the horizon, she was very glad she had come.
“Look at all the flowers!” Tomasita exclaimed, jumping from the wagon as Cruz pulled the horses to a stop at the outermost edge of the live oak.
Cisco followed with Josefa in tow, investigating the various fall wildflowers to be found. The tree made an umbrella of shade as large as the entire plantation house at Three Oaks. The live oak branches dipped low in some places and were gnarled and curved with the weight of years. Spanish moss draped the boughs like a shawl, lending majesty to the huge old tree.
“I love this spot,” Sloan said softly when she joined them. “It has to be the most beautiful place in Texas.”
Sloan felt Cruz step up behind her. His voice, soft in her ear, sent chills down her spine. “It is the memory of the hours I spent here with you in this place that I cherish.”
Sloan knew then it had been a good thing that Tomasita and Josefa had been included in the picnic plans. She would never have been able to resist Cruz’s entreaties in this magic place.
Sloan silently shared those moments of the past with Cruz—the moment when his lips had first touched hers and the first spark of sexual awareness had passed between them. She felt the invisible bond that stretched between them and shut her eyes against its power.
Cisco’s tug on her hand interrupted the tense moment.
“Come and see, Mamá, and you too, Papa. I found a ladybug.”
Sloan kept her face blank as Cisco took each of them by a hand and led them to a delicate tulip-shaped flower growing on the banks of a nearby spring. He squatted beside it, pulling the two of them down beside him, and then released their hands to point to the tiny red-and-black-spotted bug crawling on the white petal. “There she is. Do you see her?”
“I see her,”
Surely a little more time spent in Tomasita’s delightful company would convince one of them to offer for her.
“What do you say, Tomasita?” Cruz asked. “Would you like to go on a picnic?”
“I . . .” Tomasita chanced a quick look at Doña Lucia’s fulminating expression and finished, “Whatever you decide will be fine with me.”
“Then it is settled. You will come with us.”
Doña Lucia rose, curtly excused herself and left the room.
It was only after she was gone that anyone dared to speak, and then it was Cisco who said, “I am glad Tomasita can come on our picnic, Papa.”
Sloan was startled to hear Cisco call Cruz Papa, and noticed suddenly that anyone who did not know the truth could easily believe they were father and son. Cisco had Cruz’s blue eyes, the same noble nose, and a cleft in his chin that was a miniature of Cruz’s. Tonio’s only legacy to the child appeared to be Cisco’s smile—one side of his mouth tilted higher than the other in the same way as Tonio’s had.
The fear of succumbing to her son’s charm kept Sloan quiet through the breakfast of corn tortillas and scrambled eggs garnished with a spicy tomato sauce. She spoke when spoken to, but didn’t participate in the lively conversation carried on between Cisco and Cruz, which was joined occasionally by Tomasita.
She noticed Tomasita seemed more relaxed with Doña Lucia gone from the room, and she didn’t appear disturbed by the fact that Cruz had only invited her to come along on the picnic at his mother’s insistence.
Perhaps the young woman was not as attracted to Cruz as Sloan had at first suspected. She wondered whether Tomasita would approve Cruz’s choice of husband for her with as much docile acceptance. She felt a little sorry for the young woman, whom she had begun to sincerely like.
Once they were on their way in the carriage, Sloan enjoyed the ride across the grassy plains dotted with mesquite trees and patches of catclaw cactus. When she saw the huge ancient live oak appear on the top of a grassy hillock on the horizon, she was very glad she had come.
“Look at all the flowers!” Tomasita exclaimed, jumping from the wagon as Cruz pulled the horses to a stop at the outermost edge of the live oak.
Cisco followed with Josefa in tow, investigating the various fall wildflowers to be found. The tree made an umbrella of shade as large as the entire plantation house at Three Oaks. The live oak branches dipped low in some places and were gnarled and curved with the weight of years. Spanish moss draped the boughs like a shawl, lending majesty to the huge old tree.
“I love this spot,” Sloan said softly when she joined them. “It has to be the most beautiful place in Texas.”
Sloan felt Cruz step up behind her. His voice, soft in her ear, sent chills down her spine. “It is the memory of the hours I spent here with you in this place that I cherish.”
Sloan knew then it had been a good thing that Tomasita and Josefa had been included in the picnic plans. She would never have been able to resist Cruz’s entreaties in this magic place.
Sloan silently shared those moments of the past with Cruz—the moment when his lips had first touched hers and the first spark of sexual awareness had passed between them. She felt the invisible bond that stretched between them and shut her eyes against its power.
Cisco’s tug on her hand interrupted the tense moment.
“Come and see, Mamá, and you too, Papa. I found a ladybug.”
Sloan kept her face blank as Cisco took each of them by a hand and led them to a delicate tulip-shaped flower growing on the banks of a nearby spring. He squatted beside it, pulling the two of them down beside him, and then released their hands to point to the tiny red-and-black-spotted bug crawling on the white petal. “There she is. Do you see her?”
“I see her,”
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