Comanche Woman (50 page)

Bay had come up behind Long Quiet and listened with fear and pride to Long Quiet’s attempts to save Cisco’s life without having to kill his friend. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as Long Quiet offered their own child in exchange for the life of her sister’s son. She waited breathlessly to see whether Two Fingers would be swayed by Long Quiet’s offer.

Two Fingers stood, releasing his hold on Cisco and sheathing his knife. “I will tell my wife that my brother has offered his son’s laughter to fill the emptiness in her heart.”

“So be it,” Long Quiet said.

Two Fingers slipped onto his pony, and with a bloodcurdling war cry, disappeared over the hill.

Long Quiet turned to find Bay staring at him. He was afraid to meet her eyes, afraid to see whether she would fight him when he kept his promise to Two Fingers.

“Your heart is generous, my husband,” she said in the Comanche tongue. “I am proud to be the wife of such a man.”

Long Quiet opened his arms wide as Bay hurled herself into his embrace.

“You did the right thing,” she said, hugging him fiercely.

“You are willing to share our child with another woman? A Comanche’s woman?”

She smiled up at him. “I am also a Comanche’s woman. I understand that it is the Comanche way to share the joy of children.”

Long Quiet crushed his wife to him and fought the tears that threatened to unman him before his woman. “Come,” he commanded. “We must see if there is anything we can do for the boy.”

Sloan had reached her son only an instant after Two Fingers rode away. She extended a hand to touch him and it came away red with blood. “Oh, no! Please, no.”

Cisco was lying on his face and the little boy’s shoulder was bleeding badly. Sloan stared at the blood dripping from her fingers, afraid to touch Cisco again for fear of discovering he was dead.

Cruz checked Cisco’s pulse. “He’s still alive.” He worked quickly, taking off his shirt and binding the knife wound tightly to staunch the flow of blood. He already had Cisco in his arms and was heading back toward the horses with Sloan when Bay and Long Quiet caught up to them.

“Rancho Dolorosa is closest,” Cruz said tersely. “We can take him there.”

“No! I want him at Three Oaks,” Sloan cried.

“It’s too far. You’re welcome at Dolorosa,” Cruz said. “Let’s go.”

Sloan stood in shock while Long Quiet took Cisco so Cruz could mount, then handed the boy up to him. Meanwhile, Bay gathered their belongings and tied them to her horse. “Come on, Sloan. Let’s go,” she urged her sister.

“I can’t go there. I can’t go to Antonio’s home,” she whispered.

“Yes, you can. I’ll go with you,” Bay said. “We’ll all go.”

Bay had never seen Rancho Dolorosa and was impressed by the huge whitewashed adobe house with its veranda overlooking the Brazos River. The house was surrounded by a high, fortresslike wall. Outside the fortress wall lay a village that included an old pockmarked Spanish church, a cantina, a frame mercantile store, and a dozen or more
jacals
, simple structures made of upright mesquite posts with thatched roofs in which Cruz’s
vaqueros
lived.

An elderly Spanish servant opened the door to the house for them. As soon as Cruz was inside he sent the old man to find the
curandera
, an ancient woman highly skilled in the art of healing with plants and herbs.

“Have you sent for a doctor?” Sloan asked.

“The
curandera
, María, is the only doctor known to us here at Dolorosa,” Cruz replied.

“I want a real doctor,” Sloan demanded frantically.

“There is no doctor close by who knows as much as María,” Cruz replied, his eyes quietly calming, even though he did not touch her as he wished. He started toward the back of the house, where Cisco’s bedroom was located. He’d barely laid Cisco down on his bed when a stately woman dressed completely in black arrived in the doorway.

“What has happened to Francisco?” she demanded.

“Comanche attack,” Cruz replied succinctly, busily undressing the wounded child.

Bay saw that Sloan had frozen at the appearance of the older woman. Cruz never paused in what he was doing but introduced the older woman by saying, “
Mamá
, you know Sloan Stewart. My other guests are Sloan’s sister Bayleigh and Bay’s husband, Walker Coburn. Bay, Walker, this is my mother, Doña Lucia Esmeralda Sandoval de Guerrero.”

The regal woman nodded her head at Bay and Long Quiet, but Bay saw no friendliness in her beautiful blue eyes. Doña Lucia turned to Sloan and said, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to be with my son.”

“He is no longer your son. He is a Guerrero. You are not welcome here.”

Bay reached out to steady her sister as the blood drained from Sloan’s face. Before anyone could say anything more, the
curandera
arrived at the door. Judging by the way she began issuing orders, the tiny old woman was used to being obeyed. Bay couldn’t help but feel confident when the old woman stepped to Cisco’s bedside and began to remove the makeshift bandages.

Although María wore the oldest of rags for clothes, Bay noticed they were immaculately clean. The old woman’s dark brown eyes were kind. The vigor with which she worked belied the age that showed in her wrinkled face and gnarled fingers. Bay saw that although Sloan was still afraid for Cisco, the old woman’s arrival had done much to ease her feelings of helplessness.

However, the little boy’s room, crowded as it was with his toys, a chest, a massive Mediterranean-style bed, and a beautiful spool-legged table, was not meant to hold six anxious adults.

“You will all have to leave,” María said. “All except those closest to the child.”

Lucia Doña turned to those assembled in the room and said, “I will stay with Cruz. Juan will see to your needs in the
sala
.”

“I’m not leaving,” Sloan said.

“You gave up this child,” Doña Lucia countered.

“He’s my son!”

“I am the child’s grandmother. It is I to whom your son has turned in the dark night. It is I who have wiped the tears from his eyes when he cried with a skinned knee. By what right do you claim a place at his side? By what right do you claim a place in the Guerrero home?”

“I . . . I . . .” Sloan faltered, and fell silent.

“Her right is equal to mine,” Cruz said. All eyes riveted on the imposing Spaniard.

Sloan waited with her heart in her throat to see if Cruz would reveal the secret he’d kept all these years. She couldn’t breathe. Surely he would not disclose the terms of their agreement. She pleaded with her eyes,
Don’t tell them. Don’t tell them the truth.

Cruz looked quickly at Sloan before he turned to his mother and said, “She must stay. She is . . .” He ignored Sloan’s terrified gasp and finished simply, “. . . the boy’s mother.”

Sloan closed her eyes with relief, struggling to hold back the sob that threatened to reveal too much to those who watched her.

Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Cruz’s mother disclose how she viewed her son’s command. She simply turned on her heel and left the room. Bay felt Long Quiet’s arm around her waist and then she was being escorted from the room as well. The last thing she saw as she left was Sloan’s huge, liquid brown eyes riveted on Cruz’s face.

Sloan swallowed over the lump that kept her from speaking in more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“I could not see you sent from your son’s bedside by another woman. Even my own mother.”

María interrupted to say, “I will need someone to help while I stitch this wound closed.” She looked at Sloan, who nodded her acquiescence.

There was nothing said in the room while the
curandera
practiced her folk medicine on Sloan’s son. When she’d finished she gave Sloan some salve to put on the wound and admonished her to change the bandages regularly. “I’ll give you something to put in his drinks to keep him from being in pain,” she said. “He is a strong boy. It is likely he will recover. Keep him still and let nature do its healing work.” Then the wizened old woman left them alone.

Sloan slumped into the straight-backed chair beside the bed and stared at her child. She felt the pain in waves. She had begun to care too much. If Cisco had died she would have died along with him. It hurt too much to care. She’d learned that with Antonio. And again with Cisco. She refused to examine her feelings for Cruz. She simply would not—could not—put herself through agony such as this again.

She would remain at Dolorosa to nurse Cisco until she was sure he was out of danger. Then she would stay as far away from her son as she could get.

Cruz knelt at Sloan’s feet and took her hands in his. “I hope you will stay until Cisco is well. I am sure my
mamá
will understand your need.”

Sloan pulled her hands from his grasp. “You don’t have to worry about your mother being distressed by my presence. I’ll be gone from here as soon as I’m sure Cisco is out of danger.”

“I do not want you gone.”

Sloan met Cruz’s intent blue eyes and found a wealth of wanting there. “I don’t know what you expect from me. I’ve kept to the terms of our agreement, while you’ve crossed its boundaries more than once. I have plans for my life now that don’t include you . . . or Cisco. I want you to stay away from me, and keep Cisco away, too.”

“These past months you’ve been a wonderful mother.”

Sloan sat up straighter in the chair. “These past few months I’ve been foolish. Don’t you understand? I won’t care for Cisco. And I don’t care for you!”

“Saying you won’t care—that you don’t care—doesn’t change the truth. And it won’t make the pain any less if one of us gets hurt. I want—”

“No!” Sloan’s brown eyes flashed with anger as she rose and brushed past him. She whirled back to rasp, “We have an agreement, Cruz. I intend to abide by it, and I’ll expect you to abide by it as well—unless you’d like to release me altogether?”

A muscle worked in Cruz’s jaw. He turned his face away so she couldn’t see his reaction to her challenge, and then reached out and caressed Cisco’s pale cheek. “As you say, we have an agreement. But no matter how far you go, no matter how long you stay away, Cisco will still be your son. And we will both love you.”

Chapter 25

B
AY DIDN
’
T SEE
S
LOAN AGAIN UNTIL THE DAY BEFORE
Christmas.

“Hello the house!”

“Sloan? Is that you?” Bay came racing out of the adobe house and hugged Sloan as she stepped down from her horse. “What are you doing here? Is Cisco all right?”

“I’m on my way back to Three Oaks. Cisco’s doing fine. He’s going to be bed-bound for at least another week, but he’s getting better every day. When he grows up, he’ll have a fantastic scar to show his friends,” Sloan said in a too-hearty voice.

“And you? How are you?” Bay questioned. “Goodness, come inside. I don’t know where I left my manners.”

“No thanks, Bay. I need to get home.” Sloan walked with her horse to the well and drew a bucket of water, holding it so the animal could drink. “I came by to tell you . . . I’m not going to be seeing Cisco anymore.”

“But Cisco loves you. How can you stop seeing him?”

“I don’t want to argue about this, Bay. I only stopped by so you won’t expect me next Sunday. I’m not going to see Cisco anymore, and that’s final.”

“But why not, Sloan?”

Sloan dropped the bucket on the ground beside the well and mounted her horse. “Will you and Walker be coming to Three Oaks for Christmas dinner?”