Joan Johnston - Texas Woman

“Stay out of this, Sloan,” Luke warned.

Sloan continued down the stairs until she was standing across from Luke and Tomasita. “You can’t get what you want with force, Luke.”

“How the hell do you know what I want?”

“If you care for her, Luke, you’ll let her go.”

Luke turned his attention back to Tomasita. “We aren’t done talking about this.” Then he stepped back, and she was free.

“Come with me, Tomasita,” Sloan said. “I’ll get you settled in your room.”

Tomasita didn’t look at Luke as she walked past him and followed Sloan upstairs.

“Are you all right?” Sloan asked as she made Tomasita comfortable in Bay’s old bedroom.

“I am fine. But I have my answer from Luke. I will tell Don Cruz tonight that I have decided to go back to Spain.”

“Oh no you won’t,” Sloan said, taking Tomasita’s shoulders and giving her a shake. “This isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. If you want Luke, you’re going to have to fight for him.”

“How? He has said he does not want to marry me. He is furious-”

“Of course he’s furious. He’s in love with you, and you’re forcing him to admit he cares for you.”

“But what can I do?”

Sloan put her arm around Tomasita and said, “The first thing you’re going to do is get some rest. Then just be sure you wear your prettiest smile to dinner, and leave everything else up to me.”

Sloan took a quick look in on Rip but discovered he was sleeping. She told herself rest was the best remedy for a bad cold and left him undisturbed as she headed downstairs to find Cruz.

When Sloan found out that Cruz had been shown to the bachelors’ quarters by Angelique LeFevre, she was ready to rip the other woman’s hair out by the roots. When she followed after Cruz, she wasn’t thinking of his connection to the British or the importance of keeping track of his conversations with Beaufort LeFevre. She was thinking of her husband in the clutches of that blond, curly-headed hussy Angelique. Especially when Cruz didn’t know yet that she had made up her mind to devote herself wholeheartedly to making their marriage work.

Sloan stepped across the threshold of the bachelors’ quarters ready to do battle with Angelique, only to discover a full-fledged political discussion in progress between Cruz and Beaufort LeFevre. She was assailed by the familiar aroma of Cruz’s cheroot and the smell of a stronger, less pleasant cigar. As she stood in the doorway, all eyes turned to focus on her and the discussion ceased.

“Why, hello, little lady,” Beaufort said in his charming Louisiana drawl. He rose and took her hand in his, making contact, pressing the flesh. “You look dearly familiar. Sloan… is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t let me interrupt you. I’ll just sit over here.”

The parlor was intended to be cozy. With the four of them sitting there, it was almost crowded. She sat in the wing chair next to the one Beaufort occupied and eyed Cruz, who shared the tiny brocade-covered settee with Angelique. If looks could kill, Sloan would already have planted Angelique six feet under.

“As I was saying,” Beaufort continued once he was settled again in his chair. “I’ve heard public opinion here in Texas is leaning toward annexation.”

“Whether it is independence and the Republic or annexation and statehood, I think Texans just want the promise of peace with Mexico and an end to the uncertainty,” Cruz replied.

“Well, it seems to me you can blame Sam Houston and Anson Jones for the uncertainty,” Beaufort said.

“What do you mean?” Sloan asked.

Cruz answered, “I think Beaufort is referring to the fact that Texas is negotiating both with Mexico for independence and the United States for annexation at the same time.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Angelique asked, her blue eyes wide and innocent.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, my dear,” Beaufort said, “so long as the politicians choose the correct alternative in the end.”

“Which is?” Sloan asked.

“Why, annexation, of course,” Beaufort said with a smile.

“This has all been very interesting,” Angelique said, “but I must admit I would rather take a pleasant walk along the river before the sun sets. Would you care to join me, Don Cruz?”

“I must regretfully decline,” Cruz said. “I have only just arrived with my wife and my ward, and I need to be certain they are settled comfortably before I can do anything else.”

Which left him open to accept an invitation later, Sloan thought dourly.

“If you will excuse us, Beaufort, I will take my wife back to the house.”

“Certainly, Don Cruz. I’ll look forward to talking more with you later.”

“And I with you.”

“I think I’ll walk back to the house with you,” Angelique said, “if you don’t mind.”

Sloan noticed that this time Angelique didn’t give Cruz a chance to decline. She claimed Cruz’s arm the moment he stood up, and there was no way he could gracefully get out of the situation.

When Cruz offered his other arm to Sloan, she wasn’t so stupid as to refuse it. But she wondered if he was making a comparison between the sweet-smelling, blue-eyed blonde, in her lavender muslin de laine dress, on his left arm, and his wife, with her dusty pants and shirt and flyaway hair, on his right.

As soon as they entered the house, Sloan turned to Angelique and said, “I know you’ll excuse us. Cruz and I have some private business to discuss.” She grasped Cruz’s hand and started up the stairs to her old bedroom.

Halfway up the stairs, Sloan turned and smiled smugly back over her shoulder at Angelique, who had been left tapping her toe at the foot of the stairs.

“That was neatly done,” Cruz said as Sloan closed the door behind them in her bedroom.

She pulled her boots off and jumped onto her bed, lying back with her hands crossed behind her head. “I thought so,” she said with a smirk. She sat up, cross-legged. “That witch can find herself another man. You’re taken!”

The smile on Cruz’s face as he crossed to Sloan gave ample evidence of his pleasure at her possessiveness.

He pulled off his own boots and joined her on the bed. He playfully pushed her backward, untangling her crossed legs as he lay down beside her. “I like being taken by you,” he teased. “How would you like me? With or without clothes?”

Sloan laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Crazy with love for you.” He had her vest off and his hands were busy unbuttoning her blouse.

“Cruz, don’t. Everyone will know what we’re doing if we don’t go back downstairs soon.”

“Is that not exactly what you wanted? For Angelique to know I belong to you?”

She couldn’t deny there was a certain pleasure in that thought. But the feel of his mouth on her throat made it hard for her to think at all.

He pulled off his shirt and her chemise and they were suddenly flesh to flesh. She arched her back and rubbed her breasts against the crisp black hair on his chest. Cruz grabbed her buttocks and pressed her into the cradle of his thighs.

“ Querida, ” he murmured. “ Alma de mi vida .”

His mouth was hot on her, his tongue claiming the softness of her mouth in a rhythmic accompaniment to the dance of his hips. She parried his thrust with her tongue and claimed what was hers.

His callused hands deftly unbuttoned her trousers, and he slipped his hand beneath her pantalettes, cupping the heart of her. She followed his lead and slipped her hand into the front of his trousers, cupping the heat of him. He was iron-hard, filling her hand, and she teased him mercilessly even as he returned the favor.

His mouth set out on a journey over her face and shoulders, laving her skin, nipping, and then kissing the hurt. Meanwhile, his fingers spread her silken petals and slipped inside as she flowered for him.