Книга - Lone Star Bride

Lone Star Bride
Jolene Navarro


An Unwanted MarriageSofia De Zavala wants to help her father run their family’s Texas ranch—but he has other ideas for her future. Faced with an arranged marriage, Sofia dresses as a boy and joins a cattle drive, determined to prove herself to her father. But her plan backfires when she’s forced to save her reputation by marrying trail boss Jackson McCreed.Jackson thought he was hiring a scrappy young boy—instead, the wary widower has landed his business partner’s feisty, headstrong daughter as his bride. He believes a marriage of convenience is the best they can hope for. But Sofia dares him to look to the future again…and find a love strong enough to lasso a lifetime of happiness.







An Unwanted Marriage

Sofia De Zavala wants to help her father run their family’s Texas ranch—but he has other ideas for her future. Faced with an arranged marriage, Sofia dresses as a boy and joins a cattle drive, determined to prove herself to her father. But her plan backfires when she’s forced to save her reputation by marrying trail boss Jackson McCreed.

Jackson thought he was hiring a scrappy young boy—instead, the wary widower has landed his business partner’s feisty, headstrong daughter as his bride. He believes a marriage of convenience is the best they can hope for. But Sofia dares him to look to the future again...and find a love strong enough to lasso a lifetime of happiness.


“He can’t make you marry me.”

“We might not have much choice if we want to have a chance at the dreams we both want.”

“All I want is to work on the ranch with my father, and you want to raise your horses.”

Jackson nodded, his jaw sore from the tension. “Despite you lying to me, we were friends, right?”

Sofia nodded.

“We talked about you working for me.”

“But that is different than getting married.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

That got her attention. Moving back, she wiped her face clear of the tears. “What do you mean?”

“We can treat it like a partnership. I didn’t plan on ever marrying again.”

“I know. I don’t want a husband.”

“Good. Because I don’t want a wife. We could just stay friends. Have our own rooms, our own lives.” He shrugged. “Just friends, business partners. But I’m not going to let your father force us into this. You have to agree.”


A seventh-generation Texan, JOLENE NAVARRO fills her life with family, faith and life’s beautiful messiness. She knows that as much as the world changes, people stay the same: vow-keepers and heartbreakers. Jolene married a vow-keeper who shows her holding hands never gets old. When not writing, Jolene teaches art to inner-city teens and hangs out with her own four almost-grown kids. Find Jolene on Facebook or her blog, jolenenavarrowriter.com (http://www.jolenenavarrowriter.com).


Lone Star Bride

Jolene Navarro






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Be still, and know that I am God.

—Psalms 46:10


Dedicated to my grandmother, Jo Ann Crawford. She gave me the spark to tell stories and to pass down stories from our own family. Thank you for inspiring me and allowing me to read all your Zane Grey books. This one is for you and the women in our family who made Texas their home before it was Texas.


Acknowledgments (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Some say that writing is a solitary endeavor, but I find I’m surrounded by many people who help me along the way.

First, to my amazing brainstorming team, Storm Navarro, Sasha Summers and Willa Blair and the SARA to SARA Sundays.

Special thanks to the family of the late historian W. T. Block. His article on the Opelousas Trail inspired my pirates on a cattle drive.

To editor extraordinaire Emily Rodmell. Thank you for your insight and eye for detail. To executive editor Tina James for giving Jackson and Sofia a home beyond my computer. I discovered them six years ago. That they are in the world is a dream come true.

To the most wonderful agent, Pam Hopkins, for being a mixture of kindness, support and honesty. Thank you.


Contents

Cover (#u9e942e59-c151-5237-8f18-3718fe7079f4)

Back Cover Text (#u6295f27d-fad9-528e-8979-a421e12a544f)

Introduction (#ue884ad59-1b71-5fe3-be72-f9fe59b4e474)

About the Author (#u3daa76e6-f588-531e-9d04-0e250cdd366f)

Title Page (#u17a7c4e3-dc58-5219-8bed-bd5818d0eef5)

Bible Verse (#ua0816e45-ffbd-5d60-a913-587d84487c0d)

Dedication (#u455be9a1-6f29-53ba-bcfa-72c5c02fcc25)

Acknowledgments (#uc56a161f-4558-529a-b086-8f6d6e72250d)

Chapter One (#ucb304f59-140a-5968-8453-8972b0f1d4ea)

Chapter Two (#u10a28541-92d3-58b0-8d51-6d83590b39fb)

Chapter Three (#u33f758d4-5c73-524a-ae5b-b7d584fd49b9)

Chapter Four (#u5081a7dc-142e-50a9-bcd9-39846d24718c)

Chapter Five (#udcdc1003-cee6-56d0-97a8-6425ec684f47)

Chapter Six (#ub4a55282-8e18-5f50-b487-ebbca760098a)

Chapter Seven (#u108dc32c-4683-5df7-aab0-65d3dba3f937)

Chapter Eight (#u2b5b66c3-8dd7-5047-9f2a-b5c026dabc62)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Blood raced through Sofia De Zavala’s veins as she stepped to the edge of the spacious veranda. The native stone floor kept the area cool in the Texas heat. It was only April, and the sun had already become a relentless rival to the numerous layers of material she wore. Wearing pants would be so much easier.

The sounds of the vaqueros and American cowboys filled the area near the horse barns.

Ignoring her father’s orders, she planned on going to the stables today. Rumors of a new stallion that had come all the way from Ireland were impossible to ignore.

“Señorita Sofia, wait!” Her mother’s maid ran after her. “I have your bonnet and gloves.”

Not wanting to upset the older woman, she bit back a sigh. “I left them behind on purpose.” Rosita went ahead with her mission and started pulling the long white gloves onto Sofia’s hands. “These will be ruined.”

“Your mother never allowed you to leave the house without them.” The large overly decorated bonnet went on next. Tears hovered on the edges of the maid’s russet eyes. “I can’t believe they are gone.”

“I know.” She still expected to hear her mother’s voice in the house. A voice that she took for granted and now dearly missed. “We all miss her, but I can’t see as well with the bonnet on. It completely blocks my side view.” What she wanted was a flat wide-brimmed hat like the men wore. If it wouldn’t upset her father so much, she’d go get one of her brother’s hats.

Her father still refused to talk about their loss, and Rosita cried at the mention of her mother. There was no place for her own grief to be shared.

Head high, more so in order to see in front of her than pride, Sofia hurried to the pens.

There were more people than she had ever seen at the corrals. Many of the women who lived on the ranch stood on the railing, watching the activity that stirred the dust. She loved being around the horses and had missed them.

On most of the ranches she had visited with her father, there were women working alongside the vaqueros, but her mother had believed that women belonged in the home. So, on their ranch, the men worked the livestock, and the women stayed inside.

This was her chance to change that for the De Zavala ranch and her people.

Her gloves immediately lost their whiteness when she grabbed the top of the wood fence and stepped up.

As she looked over the railing, she felt as if her heart and lungs stopped working. The most magnificent animal she had ever seen loped on the opposite side of the corral. Tucking his tail, he stopped and turned in one quick motion.

The glossy black coat lay over sculpted muscles. Long solid legs covered the ground in fluid motion. The stallion tossed his head, sending his mane flying in the breeze.

She was in love. “He’s gorgeous.”

Maria, Rosita’s granddaughter, leaned in close to her. “They say he’s from Kentucky.” The younger woman sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“Kentucky? I thought he was from Ireland.” Maria had never shown an interest in horses before. Frowning, Sofia turned her head to get a better look at the man working the horse. Oh, my.

He stood a head above any of her father’s men. Booted feet planted in a wide stance, he held his right arm out, commanding the horse without a lunge line or whip.

It was more than just his height that made it obvious he was not one of her father’s men. Without a hat, his hair was tousled. Streaks of wheat ran through his sandy-brown locks. She had never been so fascinated by a man’s hairstyle or color.

Now she understood why all the females loitered around the horse pen. Not many visitors made it out to the ranch, and never men of this caliber.

The clothes he wore didn’t help, either. No baggy trousers or loose shirt like many of her father’s workers. He wore a black fitted vest over a white button-up that showed off a trim middle and long legs. Not a sound came from his mouth as he communicated with the horse.

How was he getting the stallion to move the way he wanted? Narrowing her gaze, Sofia focused on the man’s movements. The man slightly flicked his fingers, and the horse stopped and spun to face him.

Head lowered, the big black beast walked forward and set his forelock against the man’s broad chest. Nimble fingers rubbed the big jaw. All the women sighed as one.

Sofia glanced at the men surrounding the corral, many of them sitting on the top rail. Admiration was visible on the faces of the vaqueros, people she considered the best horsemen in the world.

A hand clasped on her shoulder. “Mija, what are you doing? It’s too hot and dusty out here for you.”

Her father’s quiet voice startled her from the sight of horse and man. “Papi, I wanted to see the new horse. I hear he’s from Ireland. Why didn’t you tell me about him?” She glanced back to the cowboy.

“There is nothing to tell. It’s business between Jackson McCreed and myself.”

“But I love these horses. You allowed me to ride all over the ra—”

“That was years ago. Now you have house responsibilities and should be preparing for your marriage.”

It was as though a mule had delivered a kick to her gut, almost had her doubling over. Marriage?

“I thought with the new Texas Republic, our contracts with Mexico were canceled?” This couldn’t be happening. She had escaped the arrangement her mother set up. Her dreams had nothing to do with being the perfect wife.

“Yes, we have severed our ties to the old country, but to secure our future and legacy, we need connections to the new government. We could still lose our land grants.” His jaw flexed as he looked over his people who had gathered to watch the new stallion.

“There are many political issues that need to be settled, and I want to ensure our ownership of the land is not questioned.”

“But you stayed loyal to Texas. You provided horses and supplies to our fight for independence.” Her father had stood by their new neighbors against the unfairness of Santa Anna.

“When it comes to greed, you can’t count on fairness.” His ebony eyes cut back to her. “You’re no longer a child. Your mother wanted you settled in society with a family of your own. I will ensure her wishes become reality. By the end of the year, you will have a husband. A husband who can anchor our legacy in the new republic.”

“Papi! I can—”

“Maria, take Sofia to the house. Go now. There is no business out here for you.” He turned his back to her. Dismissing her and her wishes. She watched as he joined the cowboy with the magnificent stallion. They led the horse back into the stables where she wouldn’t be able to see him.

A tug of her hand caught her attention. “Señorita, we must go to the house as your father ordered.” The younger girl looked around Sofia. “My abuela says he’s trouble, but he might be worth a little trouble.”

Sofia nodded. “The best horses are.”

Maria giggled. “You are not a normal girl, señorita.” She started walking toward the hacienda. “I was speaking of the man. All the women are talking of him. Wondering if he will be staying. What have you heard?”

“Nothing.” Her father no longer talked to her as a partner. Following Maria, Sofia started making plans.

Sometimes a little trouble was needed to achieve a goal. Why would God give her a talent and desire to work with horses if she was just meant to live in town taking care of a home for some man she didn’t even know? “I don’t know anything. Father no longer talks to me about the ranch.”

Eyes sad, Maria nodded. “He feels the heavy burden of taking care of you and all the people who have remained on the ranch. With your mother and brother gone, he has much to worry about.”

“You’re right. We need to help him ease the burden.” The cooler air under the veranda calmed Sofia a bit. Getting angry and arguing wouldn’t convince her father of anything. He was too stubborn. She had been accused of being much like her father once too often for her to ignore.

Arguing would not get her anywhere. Her mother taught her that. She needed to show him how she could help.

Once alone, she made her way to the small crawl space upstairs, where the old trunks were stored. Dust and blankets covered everything. Digging through the piles, she found what she needed in the bottom of an old cedar chest—the clothes her brother had outgrown years before.

She ran her hand over the worn clothes. So many memories flooded her. Images of wonderful days with no worries, running free with the vaqueros and learning their skills. They grew up riding all over the ranch side by side. She could shoot a gun and hit a target, and lasso a steer faster and with more accuracy than her brother.

He would tease her and tell her she should have been born a boy. With a smirk, she would tell him she was too smart to be a boy.

She buried her face in a shirt and cried. She had lost her best friend, and no one would let her talk about it.

Wiping her face, she pulled out a pair of his riding boots. These would give her the freedom she needed. She was going to ride out to the cattle camp. If Santiago was there, he would encourage her, join her even.

With the right attire, she was one step closer to proving that she was just as capable as Santiago had been. Her brother’s laughter rang in her heart. He would be the first one to point out that she was better with horses.

Tonight, the full moon would provide enough light. She was going to ride her father’s new stallion.

Her mother had banned her from the stable a year ago, but tonight she was going to run free. Her blood was already racing. Yes, on the ranch, on the back of that great horse, that was where she belonged.

Her father needed riders for the drive to New Orleans. If she went to the camp and gathered and branded the cattle her father would see how much she could help. After hiding the new clothes and hat in her room, she headed to the kitchen.

It was hard to remain composed. She wanted to jump and laugh already. She could ride and rope with the best of the vaqueros, the same men who had taught her everything she knew. She would finally be putting those skills to the real test.

Now to keep busy until everyone went to bed. It was time to take her life into her own hands. She refused to be trapped in a marriage with a stranger who might not even love the land.

Glancing out the window, Sofia studied the sky. It would be hours until the moon was out. Then that black giant would be hers.

She was tired of waiting for life to happen. Tonight would be the first step in claiming her destiny.

* * *

Jackson McCreed sat up in his narrow bed, breathing hard. Goose bumps tightened his skin. A clammy sweat covered his body. One fast movement and his stocking feet touched the dirt-packed floor. The air hung heavy on his shoulders.

He reached for his silver pocketwatch and ran his thumb over the engravings. Not sleeping had become the only way to stop reliving the nightmare that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

On the other side of the door, he heard his stallion Dughall give a low rumbling whistle. Jackson had been invited to stay in the hacienda, but he preferred to stay close to his horse.

The old tack room was better than some of the places he had slept the last couple of years. Hopefully that would change if the negotiations with Señor De Zavala produced the business deal he wanted.

The sound of a hinge opening, followed by another soft whistle from Dughall, brought his attention back to the stalls. Someone was messing with his stallion. Again.

There had been attempts to steal the horse in Galveston and San Antonio. His jaw locked. Anger turned his gut. He was sick and tired of people taking from him.

Jackson slipped on his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders. He didn’t waste time with the buttons or tucking it into his pants. Not bothering with his boots, he picked up his Colt, checking to make sure the chambers were loaded as he headed out of the tack room.

Slipping through the door, he scanned the area. The wide corridor was better lit than his windowless room. He stayed close to the wall. At the opposite end, he saw Dughall’s door open. The great stallion tossed his head as he stepped out.

To Jackson’s shock, a boy sat on the brute’s back. It’s just a kid.

At best, the stallion tolerated strangers around him. The boy looked to be about twelve years old, maybe thirteen. He didn’t recall seeing him on the ranch earlier today. The boy leaned over the black’s neck. His small hand patted the quivering muscles ready to run. The kid had no idea how much power waited under him.

“Stop right there.” Jackson kept his voice low and firm.

The horse and boy swung their heads toward him. Wide eyes stared at him from under the rim of the oversize battered hat. The boy wore quality clothes, but they were worn and ill fitted. The scuffed boots looked to be a size too big, going all the way up to his knees.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He lowered the gun, but scanned the stables to make sure the boy was alone.

No answer.

He took a couple of steps closer and switched to Spanish, asking the boy what he was doing. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”

The boy’s eyes went wider, obviously surprised he spoke the native language. The kid’s lips remained shut tight.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” he asked him again.

“El caballo quiere correr.” The voice was so low it was hard for Jackson to hear.

Was the kid trying to be funny? Jackson replied again in Spanish. “The horse told you he wanted to go for a run? Kid, that’s still stealing. I should turn you over to the sheriff.”

“No.” The boy’s hands fisted in the dark mane. He kept his head down, cleared his throat and coughed. “My... Señor De Zavala wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s my horse. If Señor De Zavala gave his permission, why are you—” Jackson searched for the word he needed “—sneaking around in the dark?” Approaching the horse, Jackson slipped the gun into his waistband. “Should we go get your boss?” A quick jerk of the boy’s head confirmed what Jackson already guessed. “Kid, do you even belong on the ranch?”

“I belong.” Chin up, he looked so small on the big stallion. Patting the horse’s neck, the boy relaxed his shoulders and turned away.

Jackson reached for the leather reins. “This stallion could have killed you. Don’t think your ma would appreciate losing you over a ride.”

“My mother is dead, señor.” The youth tried to pull the reins from Jackson.

His hands looked too smooth to have ever done any real work. Jackson growled in frustration. The poor kid was an orphan doing what he had to do to survive. He continued in Spanish. “So who’s waiting for you?”

“Nadie.”

Nobody. Such a simple word to describe a devastating existence for a child.

“Right.” Jackson fought down the urge to offer the kid a safe place. He didn’t have the time or resources to take on a lost boy.

Helping people never worked out anyway. His hand felt huge circling the boy’s upper arm as he pulled him off the horse. The warmth coming through the cloth surprised Jackson.

Once on the ground, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest. The youth’s wide-eyed stare stayed glued on the front of his shirt he had left open. Turning red, the boy jerked his head down, then tried to yank his arm free. The underdeveloped muscles weren’t much of a contest to Jackson’s strength.

“When was the last time you ate?” For more times than he could count, Jackson was glad he had learned his grandmother’s native tongue. She had been proud of her homeland of Spain.

“I am not your concern, señor.” He tried to jerk his arm back again. “Release me.”

The boy’s Spanish sounded educated. “So you can steal something else?” With his hands wrapped around the small arm, Jackson pulled the boy closer. Just because he wasn’t turning the youngster over to the law, didn’t mean he couldn’t scare him. “What’s your name?”

The boy glared up at him with his lips pulled tight into a thin line. He had a fresh scrape across the left side of his face.

Jackson gave him a slight shake. The kid was going to end up in a bad way if he wasn’t careful. “You want to dangle from a rope? They hang horse thieves. They won’t care about your age. What’s your name?”

The small jaw locked down and the muscle flexed, stubbornness written all over the soft face.

“Fine. You can tell the sheriff.” He started pulling the boy toward the old tack room. Jackson hoped the kid didn’t call his bluff.

“Santiago! My name’s Santiago.” His voice cracked. The boy started coughing as he fought Jackson’s grip.

Jackson stopped and stared down with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest of the name.

The kid shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. The narrow shoulders slumped. “Smith.” The single mumbled word disappeared into the floor.

“Really? Smith?” The kid either didn’t know his last name, or he lied. Knowing how harsh the world could be, Jackson figured it might be a bit of both.

“Listen kid, why don’t we talk to the boss and see about getting you a job?”

Santiago’s head shot up, his dark eyes large. With a short growl, the boy swung his leg back and kicked Jackson hard in the shin. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip. The ragtag boy took the opportunity to run.

Straight to Dughall. The stallion still stood in the middle of the barn, ground tied when one of the reins dropped in a coil on the dirt-packed floor.

As if he did it all the time, the small body flew onto the bareback of the horse as he grasped the leather reins. With a kick the stallion bolted out the large barn door, past the corrals and into the moonlit pasture with the kid.

Jackson bit down the angry thoughts as he ran after them. The kid was going to get them both killed. At the door, he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that covered the night sounds.

To Jackson’s surprise, Dughall didn’t stop right away. He whistled again.

At the edge of the tree line, the big black stopped and looked back at him. The boy’s seat never wavered. The kid knew how to ride.

The stallion swung his head around, back to the trees. Santiago dug in the back of his heels and slapped the leather reins against Dughall’s rump, urging him forward.

One last whistle pulled the horse’s attention back to Jackson. As the big animal turned and moved toward the barn, he hung his head low.

The kid jumped from the stallion’s back and ran into the trees. The big brute paused as if he wanted to join the little thief.

“Get over here!” Jackson scolded his horse.

A lit kerosene lamp came from the house, swinging as the carrier came closer to the barn. Jackson recognized Rafael De Zavala, the ranch owner.

“What is all the noise about? Is everything all right?” His smooth Spanish accent enriched his crisp English.

“There seems to be a little thief running wild.”

“Híjole, more gangs have moved into the area. Is everyone safe? Did they take anything of value?”

“Tried to run off with Dughall.” The horse stood next to him now and nudged him with his soft muzzle. Jackson wasn’t sure if he was apologizing or asking to leave with the boy.

From the other side of the barn, a few of the ranch hands joined them, guns drawn.

“I’ll send for the sheriff.” De Zavala turned.

“No, don’t worry about it. The kid was beat up and half starved. He didn’t get away with anything. Everyone should go back to bed.”

“Diego.” De Zavala called out. “Stay in the barn and stand guard. Estevan, make sure we have someone every night to watch the horses.”

The men left. Jackson turned to De Zavala and held his hand to midchest. “He was about this tall. His name was Santiago. Do you know him?”

The older man’s mouth fell open, then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be. Are you sure? My son, who drowned during a storm, is Santiago.” De Zavala gave him a tight smile and shook his head. “I’m being foolish. My son is gone, and he would be taller. He was a man, not a boy.”

He walked over to Dughall and placed a hand on Jackson’s horse. “You have a very fine stallion. Is it too late in the night to talk business? I’m unable to sleep, and I have an idea to give you.”

That sounded promising. More so than anything else Rafael De Zavala had said since they started corresponding months ago. Jackson nodded.

“Settle your horse then, and come to the back of the house through the kitchen. We will meet in my study. Everyone is asleep, and we can finish our talk of business.”

“I’ll be there.” His plans were falling into place.

“Good. I have given much thought to what you want, and I think you can take care of a problem I have. It will be a good partnership.”

Jackson watched the man make his way back to the big hacienda. Arrogance and shrewdness radiated off him, much like Jackson imagined it did off the conquistadors of old.

Dughall looked with longing in the direction the boy had disappeared. “I know there was something about the kid, but we can’t save them all, old man. Come on, we offered him a job and he ran. I’ll take you out for a run tomorrow.”

Jackson had one goal, and that was to get De Zavala to sell him a few of his broodmares. Their bloodlines were as old as those conquistadors. There was also a perfect property on the edge of town.

He brushed down Dughall and thought of the ranch he wanted to build. He visualized a place much like this one, but smaller. He wouldn’t need such a big house for just him, and he wasn’t going to marry. Not ever again.

He gave one last look out to the trees. Should he try to go after the kid? He had to be hungry. He sighed and threw the brush back in the bucket. Santiago would know the countryside better than he did. In the morning, he’d ask the ranch hands. Someone had to know the kid’s story.


Chapter Two (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Sofia leaned against the giant oak. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her pounding heart. Eyes closed, she forced her lungs to relax.

Despite the horror of being caught, she had experienced pure joy for a moment. The big stallion’s muscles flexing under her, all the raw power ready to be unleashed.

The imprudent man had to call him back. The American cowboy didn’t even have the manners to button and tuck in his shirt.

Growing up on the ranch, she had been around plenty of men, but the man her father was doing business with made her uncomfortable in ways she didn’t understand.

She never realized how sheltered her father had kept her even as she ran free over the ranch, or maybe she’d just been too young to notice the men. But she noticed him, and he was a distraction.

For a bit, she had forgotten she was supposed to be a boy. That would’ve been disastrous.

He had said the horse was his. That didn’t make sense. She thought he was some cowhand delivering a new stallion for her father’s stables. How did a poor cowboy get such a magnificent stallion?

Her breathing slowed to normal as she pushed herself off the rough tree bark. Her hands ran down the bottom of her oversize shirt. The ease of movement in her brother’s old clothes was liberating. The thought of being trapped in a corset and dress again depressed her.

She could have her own clothes fashioned in such a way that gave her freedom of movement. Just because she was a female, her mother had convinced her father she needed to stay in the house, but she was different from her mother.

Sofia closed her eyes and bit hard on her lower lip, clearing her thoughts. The back of her head bumped the trunk. Above her, stars danced through the tree branches, winking at her.

Life was too short to live by someone else’s expectations. She loved the land. Running the ranch with her father was all she wanted. She could be his partner.

He needed her. With her mother and brother gone, it was just the two of them. This was her legacy also.

The light was still coming from inside the barn. First, she needed to convince him to buy that stallion. She would find a way to go for a real ride on the horse the cowboy called Dughall. Maybe the man could stick around, too.

She would love telling him what to do. As his boss, he would have to follow her orders. She touched her arm where he left his handprint. The warmth of his touch lingered.

With slow steps, she moved back toward the hacienda. Inside the courtyard, she eased along the adobe wall. As she got closer to the window that provided her escape earlier, her father’s voice drifted through the air.

She groaned. Getting back into the house would not be as easy as leaving now that he was awake. Sofia flattened against the wall as a light moved across the room.

Trapped.

She crossed her arms and slid down the rough side of her home. Her father’s voice carried through the night. He didn’t usually talk to himself. All the political upheaval had him more stressed than she thought.

“Thank you for taking my offer into consideration, Señor De Zavala.” The rough baritone voice joined her father’s.

Sofia’s hand covered her mouth. The cowboy was having a late-night meeting with her father? Maybe he had seen through her disguise. Her heart jumped in her chest.

Staying low, she peeked over the windowsill and watched as the tall cowboy shook hands with her father.

A dark jacket covered his shoulders now, and leather boots had him standing taller than he was earlier in the barn. Her father was not a small man, but he lost some of his size next to the cowboy.

They turned, moving closer to her. She dropped to the ground, waiting to see if they were coming to the window to call her out. Instead, she heard the chairs at the small table scrape across the wood floor. They settled in and started talking about horses.

The cowboy wanted to buy some of their top broodmares? No way would her father sell his best mares to this man.

“Mr. McCreed, I have a trade in mind that would get us both what we want. With all the uncertainty of Texas winning its independence from Mexico, many of my people have fled back to our homeland.”

A pause followed, as if her father needed to gather his thoughts.

“Texas is my home, and here is where I want to build my legacy. Losing my wife and son leaves me desperate to secure my land, my daughter’s future and the future of her sons, my grandsons. I have a cousin in Galveston, and I need to send her to him in order to set my plans in motion to marry her to a well-connected American.”

Sofia’s stomach twisted. Her father intended to send her away, to marry her off. Not to Mexico this time, but it was just as far. She had hoped he changed his mind, but the only thing that changed was he no longer talked to her about his plans for the future.

“Sir, I completely understand the need to protect one’s family. Especially a daughter, but what does this have to do with our deal?”

Her father gave a deep short laugh. It sounded as if he hit the cowboy on the arm or shoulder. “Forgive me. If you are ever burdened with a daughter, you will understand my worries. I love her, but she needs protection.”

Burden? Slow tears trailed down her cheeks. She heard the familiar tapping her father did when he was thinking. “I have a buyer for cattle in New Orleans. With so many of my families leaving for Mexico, I’m shorthanded. I need a range boss I can trust to get them to that point. You have driven a herd to market, sí?”

There was a pause in the conversation. She tilted her head to see if she could get a visual of them.

Her father continued. “The cash will fund my daughter’s trip to Galveston. I also have a small herd of geldings I’m selling. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can settle her future and the future of the ranch.”

A cold sweat on her skin battled with the burn in the pit of her stomach. She tightened her arms around her middle. Her father wasn’t even considering her request to stay and help him on the ranch. He was in a rush to marry her off. To get rid of his burden.

Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, she tried to stop the tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. It would just prove her father right. She was not weak.

The stranger’s deep voice carried through the window again. Making sure to be silent, she leaned in to hear more of the conversation.

“We haven’t been acquainted long, Señor De Zavala. I’ve been on a couple of drives, but never as the boss. What makes you think I can be trusted with your cattle, horse and cash?”

“You have more experience driving cattle than anyone else. I like to think I’m a good judge of character, and I know how important a man’s dream can be to motivate him. You have one of the finest stallions I’ve ever seen. He will be well taken care of in my stables while you drive my herd to New Orleans.”

Sofia heard the scraping of the chair. Her father was moving to his desk from the sound of it.

“Mr. McCreed, I have written out what I need in order for a trade to happen between us. As you can see, I’m being very generous. I have included five mares if you allow me two guaranteed breedings.”

The men moved away from the window, so she couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation.

Her stomach twisted. She had always thought of them as her horses, as well. How was she going to stop this?

* * *

Walking through the kitchen, Jackson picked up an apple from a wire basket. At the back door, he made a sharp turn to the left. The kid had been spying on them. Had he planned to steal something else, or was he sleeping in the courtyard at night?

Pausing at the edge of the rock fence, Jackson waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

He spoke out in Spanish. “Santiago, I saw you at the window. I know you’re here. Come out.” He allowed silence to hang in the space between them. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

He leaned against the stone wall that enclosed the little bit of Spanish garden. The bright moon highlighted a fountain in the center, surrounded by exotic flowers and three giant oaks to sit under. It was a good place to hide. He tossed the apple up and caught it. Waiting.

Using his grandmother’s language, he spoke loud enough for the boy to hear, but soft enough to not alert anyone in the household. “Does Señor De Zavala know you are sulking in his courtyard? Maybe I should go get him.”

A few more minutes of silence, and the boy left his hiding place. Head down, he made his way to Jackson.

“What were you doing sneaking around the house so late at night? The last I saw of you, was you running to the trees.”

“Pardon my bad manners, señor. I panicked. Your horse wanted to run.”

“So it was Dughall’s fault?”

The boy sighed and, after a heartbeat of silence, looked at the gate. “No, señor. I made a mistake, one I will not make again. He just wanted to go for a run. In the morning, he would have been in his stall. I’m a hard worker, not a thief. I heard you will be driving a herd to New Orleans. You won’t find anyone better with a lasso.”

Jackson had to smile at the kid. “You mean you overheard.”

The kid’s body went rigid. From under the wide-brimmed hat, he looked Jackson in the eye. The big eyes looked too delicate to survive in this rough world.

“You know I’m good with horses.”

“Here.” Tossing the apple to Santiago, Jackson watched as the soft hands caught it effortlessly. “If you’re going to do a man’s job, you need to add some muscles. And no stealing or sneaking around.” Jackson turned to make his way back to the barn.

The kid ran after him. “I don’t steal.”

“You want me to trust you? To give you a job? Why should I?” The boy kept his head down, but his spine remained stiff, and Jackson could hear the sharp hard breaths coming from the kid’s nose. He got the impression little Santiago was angry. It reminded him of barn kittens whenever they hissed at him.

“The horse wanted to run. You keep such a fine animal in a small place. Maybe you don’t deserve him.”

Jackson suppressed a laugh. Despite his small size, the little guy had plenty of gumption. “So you were saving my horse. And I should thank you by giving you a job?”

Santiago followed him to the barn and through the doors.

“I’m sorry, señor. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my good manners. Hire me. You’ll not regret it. I promise.”

Walking into the dark barn, Jackson paused at Dughall’s stall. “So you think you can handle a job on the trail?”

The kid didn’t even look at him, but made a beeline to the gray mare a few doors down. One of the mares Jackson had wanted, but De Zavala had not included in the deal.

He leaned against the wall and studied the kid. Something was not right, but he couldn’t identify the problem. The boy moved like he owned the place, and he sounded educated. He knew horses, how to handle them, how to ride. Not your typical lost orphan.

“Do you have a place to sleep, or were you sleeping in the courtyard?”

With a soft whistle, the kid moved to the next horse. They acted as if they knew him. Necks arched over the doors, trying to get the kid’s attention. The boy laughed as he shared the apple with one of the mares. The small shoulders shrugged. “I like the quiet of the moon and horses.”

Jackson understood the need to be alone. Dughall made a rumbling noise in his throat. He seemed to want the boy’s attention also.

With a sigh, Jackson headed to his own small room. Maybe this time he could actually sleep. As he walked down the corridor, he yelled back to the kid. “I’m driving a herd east. I could use a helper for the cook.”

That got the kid’s attention. His head shot up. “Why can’t I work with the horses and cattle? I don’t want to cook.” He ran a dirty sleeve across his nose and ran to catch up to Jackson’s longer strides.

“You’re too small.” Jackson hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He avoided entanglements with people, but this kid pulled on all his protective strings. The kid was too small to handle the dangers of a cattle drive. He shouldn’t have said anything.

In his room, he poured the fresh water into a bowl and removed his jacket.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” he mumbled in English.

“No, señor, I’ll be a great help for the cook. Please, I just want to go on the drive.”

One of his eyebrows shot up as he gave the boy a pointed stare. The kid gasped and covered his mouth. He must have realized his mistake. “So you do speak English? Any other lies I need to know?”

“Oh, no, no. I understand little. I will...try to speak good.”

He narrowed his eyes at the kid.

Santiago lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“You sure find yourself apologizing a lot.” He ran his hands over the stubble on his chin. “Be at the north bunkhouse Thursday morning. Can you do that?” Jackson untucked his shirt.

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Santiago’s face turned red as he nodded. With a quick turn to leave, he ran hard into the wall next to the door. A loud yelp followed.

“Are you all right?” The kid didn’t answer. Jackson reached for him, but Santiago bolted.

Jackson watched him run past the horses as if a bear chased him. That boy confused him. One minute he acted like the son of privilege, the next a scared gutter rat. And little Santiago knew English.

Normally, he had no tolerance for liars, but when someone was alone and fighting to survive, he could not really hold it against them. He turned and put as much mental distance as he could between himself and the kid. Once on the trail, he would be the cook’s problem.

* * *

Sophia ran all the way back to the courtyard. Excitement roared through her body like the flooded Guadalupe River. She was going on a real cattle drive, and when she got back, her father would have to acknowledge her skills.

Nothing but riding all day, seeing the country and traveling to new places. Arms wide, she twirled under the full moon, laughing at the stars. She spent hours dreaming about this life, but never really thought she’d have the opportunity.

How would she leave without her father worrying about her or searching for her? Maybe she could trust him one more time. She could tell him, despite all his plans and his talk of burdens. Then, at least, she would not have to mask her true identity from the crew.

If she had to stay in disguise, she wouldn’t be able to take one of her own horses. Mr. McCreed would think she stole it. It would be easier if her father allowed her to join the cattle drive as a De Zavala.

The wind caught her brother’s hat, knocking it off. Her hair tumbled down. The long thick waves were hard to control on a good day. With a heavy sigh, she knew if her father was not open to her new goal, it would have to be cut.

She picked up the hat and put it back on. In the morning, she would talk to him. They were the only De Zavalas left.


Chapter Three (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Sofia sat the plate of sweet breads on the edge of her father’s desk. Next to the vase of roses and starburst she had cut from her mother’s garden this morning.

“Father, it’s nothing. I fell while cutting the fresh flowers for your study.” She sat in the chair Jackson McCreed had occupied last night. “The bricks were wet from the morning shower. Distracted, thinking about ways to help on the ranch, I slipped.”

Taking one of the large rolls with sugar and icing, her father shook his head. “You should not be concerned with matters of the ranch. You are twenty-two years old. Way past the time to be married and giving me grandsons.”

“I can help you here on the ranch. I used to—”

“There are many things you used to do that are inappropriate for a young lady of good breeding. We have enough cattle gathered to drive to New Orleans.”

He looked through some papers on his desk. “We will use the money to send you to Galveston. There, my cousin Perez has connections with good American families.” He picked up a letter and handed it to her. “We’re making arrangements now. You, marrying into one of these families, will do more to secure our legacy here in Texas than working on the ranch. It will give us solid ground to stand on, no matter the vote from the new congress. I will allow you to marry the one of your choosing.”

“That’s very generous of you, Papi.” He didn’t seem to pick up on her sarcastic tone. Or ignored it. That had been his style since the flood that took her mother and brother—avoid any emotion. He expected the same from her.

He put the document down and sighed. “I don’t want to lose the ranch. If congress votes not to honor our land grants, I want to have a plan to ensure we keep it in our family, for my grandchildren.”

Reaching for his hand, she wanted him to understand she could ease some of his stress by staying. “Papi, you supported the new Texas, they will support you now. You know I can ride and rope better than some of the men out there. I don’t want to leave to find a husband, a man who will be a stranger.”

Desperation gripped her as she thought of ways for him to see her as a partner and not a burden.

“Your mother raised you to take your place in polite society and run a well-managed home. With the changes here in Texas, I’m not sure what our future holds. I want you protected and safe. This is what your mother wanted.”

“My mother wanted me to marry a good family in Mexico. Now you want me to marry a good American.” She stood. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remain calm. “I don’t want either, Papi. I want to stay with you on our land. This is where I belong.”

“No, it’s too dangerous, and who would you marry? There are no proper suitors for you here.” He looked at the family portrait that hung over the fireplace. “Politics have changed the country of origin, but not the intent. You will go to Galveston and find a proper husband.”

“This canyon that holds our ranch is where I belong. This is the life I want, not city streets and walls. Papi, how can you send me away?” Tears threatened to fall. She couldn’t believe he was doing this. She moved around his massive dark oak desk, which anchored the room. “Please, I’m all you have left. You’re all I have left. I can help at the cattle station.”

He looked at her. In the depths of his eyes, she still saw the clouds of sadness that formed the moment they found her mother’s body in the swollen river.

“Mija, you are my future. My life. If something happens to me, you would be all alone with no protection. If anything happened to you? I would have no reason to live.”

“We can’t live in fear. In Galveston, I’ll be alone. Please, Papi.” She moved closer to him, reaching out to touch his hand.

His body went rigid. “You can help by doing what your mother wanted. You, to have your own beautiful home, a family, children and a proper place in society. I would be pleased with grandsons to carry on our family legacy, and little granddaughters as beautiful as their mother.” His hand came up and cupped her face. “Your tears will not change my mind. When you hold your firstborn in your arms, you will thank me.”

Sofia stepped back, away from his touch. She knew without a doubt his mind was set. Unless she did something drastic, she would be sent to Galveston to marry.

She looked at the shelves with its books all in neat and tidy rows, all in their place. She did not want to be put in place. She made a decision.

Jackson McCreed was taking their cattle to market, and he had offered her a job. Her father might be stubborn, but she could match him. She would show him she brought more to the ranch than just social graces and babies. By the time she returned home, he would welcome her by his side.

“Papi, the Schmitts have invited me to go to Galveston with them for some spring shopping. I had told them no, thinking you needed me here, but maybe I should go. I could meet my cousins and look at the list of potential husbands.”

She touched the soft petal of a yellow rose. “They plan to be gone for a few weeks. If I’m going into Galveston society, I could use new gowns.”

With a few steps, he was next to her. He kissed her on the forehead as if she were still a little girl. “That’s a fine idea. You can become familiar with the city before we start going to socials. When are they leaving?”

“At the end of this week. I can go into town with Juanita.” And by the end of next month, her reputation might be ruined, but she didn’t enjoy town anyway. Here on the ranch, it wouldn’t matter.

She didn’t need or want a husband who cared more about social graces than daily life on the ranch. An image of the tall cowboy rubbing the jaw of his stallion popped into her mind, but she shook her head. She would not allow the cowboy to distract her, either.

* * *

A few days later, Sofia made her way through the tree line in the dark, an old work saddle on her hip. She had to move slowly in order not to trip. The boots were a size or two too big and made moving awkward.

A few shirts and a pair of pants, along with extra strips of cloth to keep everything hidden, were stuffed into a worn leather saddlebag. The bag came from a raid of her brother’s room. With a rolled-up blanket, a hunting knife and his prized Hawken rifle she had everything a cowboy would need to survive.

From her own closet, she pulled out the rawhide rope she’d made herself a few years ago. The vaqueros who helped her make it taught her that it was even more important than the horse under a person. It was an extension of the vaquero’s arm.

She loved working with the rope. Her brother got mad whenever her skill outdid his.

Her left hand went to the back of her neck, bare of the long braid she had since her earliest memories. Now it was gone. In the bottom of her brother’s drawer along with a note to her father. She had heard him in there late at night. It seemed once a month her father had developed the habit of going through every corner of her brother’s room. What if he didn’t?

Maybe if he found it with her cut braid, he would understand how important this was to her.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of the cold metal scissors pressed to the base of her neck.

The thick hair had fought the destruction. In chunks, the braid came loose in her hand. Soft curls sprang around her face, choppy and uneven until she ran a handful of hair grease through it.

She could imagine her brother teasing her about still looking like a girl. Choking back tears, she buried her thoughts of him. At times, she still expected him to walk into the room, make a joke about her being a girl and hug her until she was laughing. He would have loved this adventure.

A moment of sadness overcame her as she rubbed her bare neck.

Then anticipation rolled in her stomach. She was about to start a whole new adventure on the open range.

Sofia stopped at the edge of the trees. The sun wasn’t up yet, but a group of American cowboys moved around the old shed, getting ready for the day. She was about to live with them on a daily basis. Could she do this?

Yes! If she started doubting herself now, she might as well go back to the house.

Connected to the building was a covered cooking area, open on two sides. The smell of bacon and beans made her stomach rumble. Between her nerves and getting out of the house without being caught, she had missed the last two meals.

She still couldn’t eat anything at this point. Fear tangled her in its net. Air had a hard time finding its way to her lungs.

Would she be able to pull this off? She was relieved to find none of the men were from around the area. It would have been hard to hide her identity from someone who knew Sofia De Zavala, the rancher’s daughter. What would the trail boss do if he found out?

Boots that had been worn by her brother helped her take the first steps to this new journey. All she needed to do now was introduce herself to the cook and cowboys. She would be living with, working with and traveling with these rough men.

“Santiago?”

The sound of her brother’s name caused her to jump.

Jackson stood behind her. “What are you doing hiding out here?”

“I’m here to join the drive.”

For a few heartbeats, he stared at her. Not sure what to do, she studied her boots.

“You’re early, but that’s good. I’ll introduce you to Francisco Luna. He’s the cook.” Jackson nodded at a man who walked out from the back of the building.

Not wanting to hear her brother’s name over and over again, she had to come up with something else. She needed a nickname. “Call me Tiago.”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re changing your name?”

“No, it’s what I want to be called. It’s shorter, and this is a new adventure. I need a new name.”

“Okay, Tiago. Follow me. By the way, your English greatly improved since I saw you last.”

There was nothing to say to that, so she trailed behind Jackson, walking faster than she was used to in order to keep up with him. Stepping out from the protection of the trees, she took a deep breath and reminded herself she was a boy.

Cook was wider than he was tall, not that it was a difficult feat. Straight up on his toes, he might be five feet tall. Under a bushy mustache and white beard, he had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He called out to the cowboys to come get their meal.

When Jackson introduced her, the little man lifted his chin and looked down at her. “You know how to work hard, mijo?”

“Sí, señor.” She forced herself to nod with confidence she didn’t feel. Sweat ran down her spine.

He looked apprehensive.

“Whatever you need, I’ll do it. You won’t know how you did it without me on all those other drives.”

He laughed and reached up to pat Jackson on his shoulder. “I think I like our little Tiago.”

“Yeah, he has that effect on people. I’m going to talk to the boys before we head out.”

Without pausing, Cook handed her a knife. “Take care of the bacon.” He moved quickly around her, getting several things done at once. All the while, making jokes she didn’t understand.

He explained her job was to tend the mules and chickens along with hauling, fetching, cleaning and anything else he needed doing.

This was happening. She was part of the crew that would drive cattle to New Orleans for her father. She might be cooking right now, but she was cooking outside, not in the kitchen like a woman. She was ready to ride over the country and out of Texas. She wanted to sing and dance.

Head down, she flipped the bacon and whistled as she checked the pot of beans. She was a boy on a trail drive.

In front of the bunkhouse, her new trail boss talked to a few of the men. She forced herself to look away. He could be her biggest threat to this new life.

When he was around she’d have to keep her head down and make sure not to look like, talk like or act like a woman. Jackson McCreed might make that difficult.


Chapter Four (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

The sun started peeking over the hills and highlighted the details of the rugged camp. Several cowboys walked outside, their boots hitting the old wood of the porch. They gathered around Jackson. After a few minutes, they started heading directly toward her as a group.

She wanted to find a place to hide. She hadn’t really thought what it would mean to live as a boy for the whole trip.

“It’s a kid. Where’d you come from?” She had never heard that cowboy’s accent before, and she wasn’t sure what he looked like because she kept her eyes down, focused on the sizzling bacon.

“I could use someone to polish my boots.” Laughter followed.

Someone pulled her hat off. “Not sure I’d trust him. He has the look of a scamp who would steal everything he could and sneak off in the night.” The new one speaking had a very strong Southern accent.

“Give me back my hat.” She grabbed for the black felt hat that belonged to her brother.

The cowboy laughed and held the hat high above his head. Even if she jumped, she wouldn’t be able to reach it. All she could do was glare.

“He looks more like two bit of nothing than a cowboy.”

“Boss, we running an orphan camp now?”

“Hey, Two Bit, you gonna stare at your boots or actually pass out the bacon?”

All the excitement she felt earlier drowned under a wave of doubt. She had been stupid to think that putting on her brother’s pants would immediately help her fit into the world of men. These cowboys would never talk to her like this if they knew she was a De Zavala. She was tempted to tell them, just to see the look on their faces.

The closest cowboy to her spat on the ground by her feet.

Jackson joined the group. “That’s enough, Will. This is Santiago. He goes by Tiago. He’ll be helping Cook and only answers to him.” He took the hat from the man named Will and handed it to her. “You stay with Cook. We’ll be heading out to the cattle station as soon as these yahoos finish eating.”

Standing as straight as her spine allowed, she used the knife to pass the bacon onto their plates, along with a ladle full of gravy and a biscuit.

Under the mesquite trees, she made a resolution. No matter what they threw at her for the next few weeks, she would ride and learn with these men.

As they sat on the ground to eat, they joked and harassed each other. Jackson stood in front of her.

“You sure about this?”

She couldn’t back out now, just because the cowboys teased her. That would only prove she didn’t belong here, and she knew she did. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She added a shrug to make sure he knew she could be one of the cowboys.

“Okay. Once you get everything packed, you and Cook will head out first thing in the morning. The horses, then cattle will follow the wagon.” His eyes narrowed. “This is it. There is no way out once we start moving the cattle.”

She hesitated. To the core of her soul, she knew the next step would decide the direction of her life. Independence she never dreamed possible would be hers, along with all of the dangers.

Could she move back into the safe world her father had created for her? Where he also had an unknown groom waiting.

The men who worked for him, the business, the family...everything would be better off with her being a true partner of the ranch. In order to prove it to her father, she had to first prove it to these men. And herself.

Looking around the bare bunkhouse and outside cooking area, she knew this was easy living compared to the trail. She’d be sleeping on the ground, surrounded by wild animals.

Jackson looked at her expecting an honest answer. He didn’t rush her, just stood waiting. He didn’t know it, but she just put her life in his hands.

With a quick nod, she ran to the spot she had dropped her things.

The minute she walked back to the wagon, carrying her saddle, rifle and lasso, laughter erupted from the wranglers on the porch.

“That there’s some pretty fancy equipment for Two Bit of a cook’s helper.”

“Two Bit, you going to be riding the big stew pot over hills and hunting down our dinner?”

“Naw, he’s going to use his papa’s rope there and saddle the biggest bull. You going to lead us all the way to New Orleans.” They laughed at their stupid jokes.

They weren’t even funny.

Cook put dirt over the fire. “Toss your gear in the wagon. And start hooking up the mules.”

If Cook ignored the cowboys, so would she.

Jackson grabbed a saddle off the porch railing. “We’ve got work to do.” All the men went to the round pen and picked a horse to saddle.

The wagon was the biggest one she had ever seen. Usually, they used one with two wheels. This monster had four large wheels and siding that was taller than her. De Zavala was painted on the side. Leave it to her father to make a grand statement.

The mules for the wagon grazed nearby with long ropes attached to their leather hackamores. There were six. One of her jobs would be hitching them to the wagon that carried all the food supplies. Cook told her the placement was important to keep everything balanced.

She bit her lip and put her hands on her hips.

For years, she rode with her father, learning how to handle a horse, rope and brand cattle. Not once did she wonder how it all came to be. That had been someone else’s job.

Now she was expected to harness mules that didn’t look very cooperative. She could do this. Really, how difficult could it be? She knew tack and how to...she lifted the pieces of leather.

Long lines, straps, loops and the large collar with loose pieces that she didn’t have any knowledge of.

When Jackson realized she didn’t even know how to do her first job, he would leave her behind.

Maybe if she got the mules in line, the pieces would come together. The mules ignored her when she tried to move them. “Boys, this would be a great deal easier if you would stand in front of the wagon.”

After pulling and pushing, coercing and urging, she stood with her hands on her hips. It appeared that figuring out how to arrange the tack was not her biggest problem.

The creaking of leather warned her she wasn’t alone. “It helps if you attach the mules to the wagon.”

At the sound of Jackson’s deep voice, her shoulders sagged. She was caught. With a deep breath, she turned, making sure to stand tall.

Confidence was all about how the world saw you. Leaning across the saddle horn, the grim set of his mouth was at odds with the merriment in his eyes.

Everything about Jackson confused her.

He dismounted and let the reins drop to the ground. “Here.” From his pocket, he pulled wedges of apples. “Make friends with them, and they will do whatever you want. A good wrangler can get his mules to line up in order with one signal. They like routine and treats.” He laid his hand flat, and the dark gray mule followed him to the wagon.

“Cook wanted oxen, but the mules move out faster and are easier to train.”

She approached the one closest to her. It reached for the apple with its large lips and nudged her. Taking the rope, she placed him next to the gray mule in front of the wagon.

As they moved the six mules, Jackson explained the importance of their order. Step by step, he walked her through attaching the collars and lines.

“Make sure to use the pads, and that all the straps are lying flat. If they develop sores, they can’t pull and we can’t move.”

“How does this look?” She stepped back and watched him check her work.

Testing the cinches and traces, he nodded. “This is good. You want to make sure they don’t get tangled. Once you get this down, it will go by much faster. You’ll be doing this on your own from now on, so make sure to do it correctly.” He went on to explain all the things that could go wrong if she messed up.

Not that she didn’t already have enough to worry about. This was it. Now it was her responsibility.

Once the mules stood ready, Jackson leaped onto his horse with one swing of his leg. He tipped his hat and left for the cattle station.

Alone, she turned to the gray long-eared mule. “I can do this.”


Chapter Five (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Teams of cowboys gathered small groups of steers into holding pens to finish the last brandings. Jackson leaned over the saddle horn and watched the ranch’s Mexican cowboys lasso and brand. They were doing two to three for every one steer his cowboys covered. The Americans were proficient. They just weren’t as fast as the Mexicans.

One of his men, Rory Brosnen, went over to see how they were moving through the herd so quickly. The local men seemed to anticipate what the longhorns were going to do every step of the way.

From behind him, the boy yelled a warning. With a sharp movement, Jackson turned to see a two-thousand-pound bull charging at him.

He pulled on the reins to move his horse, but before he had time to do anything else, Tiago had his rope swinging over his head and caught the bull by both back legs, causing it to stumble. The vaquero who had been showing one of the American cowboys some tricks, had his rope around the bull’s wide sharp horns.

The angry animal forgot his original target and turned to the horseless vaquero. Jackson swung his rope and caught a front leg of the bull, bringing him down for a short time. The cowboy joined the vaquero and looped his rope over the horns.

Once the bull was down, the horses and men set back and kept the rope taut, the boy jumped from his horse and ran to the bull, ready to tie him. Worried about the kid’s size, Jackson did the same and met the boy at the sharp hooves. “Give me the tie, and I’ll do it.” He held his hand out. Without hesitation, the kid dropped the short tie into his grasp.

While the others kept the dangerous horns out of the way, he tied the legs and stepped back. Turning to the newest member of his crew, he slapped him on his small shoulder. The kid’s chest moved in double time, and his whole body had a slight tremor. He might have been scared, but he reacted quickly. He was stronger and faster than his height would indicate.

“Good work. You saved my horse and me from a tussle with an angry bull.”

Head down, the boy took a step back and cleared his throat. “What’s a full-grown bull doing here? I thought we were driving steers?”

“Good question.”

“Don’t worry, jefe.” One of the vaqueros yelled over his shoulder. Jackson wasn’t used to being called boss, in English or Spanish. “He’ll be a steer before you leave mañana.”

The boy was already back on his horse. Jackson watched him as he coiled his rope and left the work area. He narrowed his eyes and studied the boy’s movements.

Something was off. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the young Santiago moved like a girl.

He frowned and shook his head. There was no way, with those kinds of skills, that he was a female. He’d hardly seen grown men act so fast with such precision. It would be impossible for a young female.

The crews worked together, starting to mix and talk. He hoped his cowboys learned a few tricks before going on the drive.

He scanned the area and decided now was a good time to solve the Tiago mystery. He hated surprises.

They had a tendency to turn good days into bad ones in a blink of an eye, especially when the warning signs were ignored. He would not let his impulse to help someone override his instinct that something was wrong. Not again.

Making his way to the wagon, he planned an in-depth chat to get this feeling in his gut settled. The kid was hiding something, but he didn’t have time to find a new assistant for the cook. He sighed. If it came down to it, he’d rather be shorthanded there than run into unforeseen trouble later.

Dismounting, he paused behind the wagon loaded with supplies. Jackson was sure the kid had come this way, but didn’t see him.

A sweet giggle came from inside the wagon. Jackson looked for the cook. He knew the man had several daughters, but he said they were all back in Mexico with his wife.

Looking between the canvas flaps, he only saw Santiago. The kid’s head was bent over a wood box, curls falling forward, hiding his face. Chirping noises mixed with soft girlish giggles floated through the warm air. It was Tiago.

The giggles came from Tiago.

Looking up, the youngster had a small chicken cupped in his hands. Jumping from his knees, he walked to the back of the wagon. With one hop, he stood next to Jackson. Without a hat, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest.

“Cook has a few hens and some half-grown chicks. I have to keep the crate clean.” Lifting the awkward looking bird up for his inspection, the giggle came again. The chicken was half yellow chick fuzz, and half new red feathers. It looked like an experiment gone wrong.

“This one hopped on my shoulder and wanted to sit under my hair. I never knew chickens had personalities.” Tiago brought the chicken to a rounded cheek, and it cooed as it rubbed against the soft skin.

Jackson’s eyes narrowed and disbelief flooded his thoughts. How had he missed it? The orphaned boy he hired...was a female.

* * *

Sofia looked up at Jackson, and her heart slammed against her chest. The fire in his normally cool eyes warned her that she forgot who she was supposed to be.

This close, she could see the details in his irises. The green as bright as the new growth on the cypress trees. Now they burned with suspicion.

Stepping back, she tucked her head and locked down her lungs. If he discovered she was a girl now, he’d make her pack her saddlebag and send her back to the ranch, back to the plans her father had for her.

This adventure would end before it even began, and she’d be married to a stranger by the end of the year.

How could she be so stupid?

Turning to the wagon, she tried to climb inside and hide, but he reached for her arm. His strong hand holding her in place without effort.

“I think you have some explaining to do. Remember, I don’t do well with liars.” He started walking away from the safety of the wagon, pulling her along behind him.

Boots planted, she tried to stop him, but he didn’t seem to even notice.

“Please.” Lowering her voice, she wasn’t above begging. “Please, release me. I need to return the chick and finish my job.”

He didn’t slow. “You need to answer my questions. And think about your answers, because it’s starting to look like you don’t have a job.”

The chick squirmed in distress. Relaxing her hold, she tried talking to him again. “Please, let me return the chicken to the wagon.”

Halfway to the trees that lined the Frio River, Jackson stopped. He released her and crossed his arms. “Make it fast, and come straight back here. Don’t even try to run...again.”

With boots planted wide, and his forearms over his chest, he made an impressive sight. A sight she would be better off not appreciating.

Hurrying to the wagon, she talked to calm the chick. To be honest, it was more to calm herself. What could she say to convince Jackson she was a boy? Picking up her brother’s hat, she scanned the interior of the wagon, searching for anything that would help her.

“Santiago!” The command made it clear time had run out.

She had nothing.

Hat back on her head, she stepped out of the wagon and saw Jackson still standing the way she left him. She’d seen stone carvings softer than his face.

Taking her time to get out of the wagon, she was at a loss as to what to say to him. How could she convince him she was a boy?

The boots became heavy as she walked, each step a chore. She was more scared now than when she saw the bull charging. Dealing with Jackson was new territory. Being a boy was out of her experience.

A few feet from him, she stopped and looked at her boots. He was the one who wanted to talk, so she’d let him. It gave her a bit of time anyway.

“Follow me.” Without waiting, he turned and walked past the trees to the riverbed. Away from the cattle station. No one would see them there. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

At the edge of the smooth rocks that made up the riverbed, he finally stopped. “What’s your name?” His jaw was tight.

Threads hung loose where they began to unravel at the end of her long sleeves. All her attention now focused on them as she rolled them between her fingers. Not knowing what else to do, she shrugged. “Santiago. Tiago.”

He snorted. Stepping closer, he cupped her jaw in one large hand and lifted her face, turning it to the right, then the left. His stare cut through her as if he saw right to her core. She had nowhere to hide.

One movement and he had the hat off her head. His eyes moved as he scanned her features. He shook his head. “How did I ever think you were a boy?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she worked to keep her breath slow and steady. Showing fear was not an option.

“How old are you?” He moved in an inch closer.

“Twenty-two.” Forcing herself to keep eye contact, she didn’t blink. “Old enough to make my own decisions.” There had to be a way to save her job. She refused to admit she was a woman.

He dropped his hands as if they were burned. “Are you married? Is there an angry husband who will run us down and shoot us?”

“No. I’m not running from anyone or anything. Returning to the ranch after the drive is the plan, so I can work there. That’s all I want, and the only reason I’m here.”

He didn’t look convinced.

It was time to remind him what she had already done. “Just like I did when the bull was about to gore you. All that matters is I can handle the work. I’m fast at learning, too. One lesson, and I hitched the mules.”

“The trail is not the same as the ranch. It’s even more dangerous and unpredictable. It’s no place for a female of any age.”

“I didn’t say I was a woman.” She talked from the back of her throat, hoping it sounded rough and manly. “I have a dream for my life, and riding out across the country is part of that. What about your dreams? That’s why you’re here, right?”

“This isn’t about me.” Each word slipped between gritted teeth. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “There’s plenty of work on the ranch. Why do you need to leave to do that?”

“If I can go with the herd and come back, that’ll prove how good I am at the work that needs to be done. I have to prove I can do this. I might be small, but I’m strong. The thought of being trapped inside all day for the rest of my life, planning meals and making sure the dust is gone, is a nightmare. It makes me sick.”

“Some men don’t come back from the trail.”

She stood straighter. “I’ll come back.”

Confusion and bewilderment clouded his face. “You’re a strange female.”

She heard that already this week. Narrowing her eyes at him, she took a step back. “I’m just telling you why I want to ride with the herd.”

A grim slant tightened his lip. He looked off to the river moving over the rocks and around the roots of the old cypress. “You’re still claiming to be a male?” He cut his gaze back to her.

Her throat constricted. Life was so unfair. All the power to change the direction of her life was in his hands.

Closing her eyes, she prayed. She prayed for wisdom, for fortitude and for guidance.

Standing as tall as she could manage, she made sure to look him in the eye and hold his gaze. Show no fear. “You hired me to work with the cook. I’ll be cleaning the chicken crate, taking care of the mules and starting fires. I have the safest job on the drive. Please, you don’t have time to replace me. Let me do the job. You won’t regret it.”

Last year, during a father and son lesson, she overheard her father talk about tending to business. He said the best way to ruin a deal was to overtalk when you were nervous. State your requirements, then stay quiet. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain silent.

He crossed his arms, glanced at her, then went back to studying the water. Moving his hands to his pockets, he sighed and looked down.

She held her breath.

“Okay, Tiago.” Sarcasm coated his voice. “I think we’ll stick with that name. It’ll be easier if the rest of the crew continues to believe you’re a boy. Less disruptive. Plus, I don’t really know all of them, and I’m not sure we can trust them.”

Her heart thumped against her chest. She was staying. “Thank you. I’ll be the best cook assistant you’ve ever had.”

“Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble.” Jaw tight, he squinted at her. “You sure about this? There’s still time to go back to the ranch. It’s going to get rough out there, and you’re not going to get any special treatment.”

“I don’t have anything to go back to right now.” Her heart wanted to jump out of her chest. Holding her smile at bay the best she could, she gave him a nod. “I’ve been ready for this longer than I remember.”

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and she ran to the wagon. It was official. Jackson knew she was a woman, and she still had a job. One less thing to worry about. Every moment from here on out was a gift from God. She was going across the country with a herd of cattle, all the way to New Orleans.

It was time to get her job done. Going through the crates and barrels and making a list of the supplies wasn’t as fun as roping and herding, but it was what she had for now. With a glance, she checked the location of her boss. He stood with Cook.

Back there, he gave in so quickly. She mentioned dreams and his expression changed, but that couldn’t be all. She wondered if her seeming to be of low status had anything to do with it. Would he be willing to give her this chance if he knew she was De Zavala’s daughter?


Chapter Six (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Jackson took a deep breath, drawing in the morning air. A light fog hugged the low ground between the hills. Sounds of soft rumblings from the cattle and calls from the cowboys assured him all was going well.

The herd looked good, and everything was going as scheduled. The six drovers were in place, guiding the steers.

Cook had done this trail several times and started earlier in order to stay in front. The wrangler, Estevan, had the horses following the wagon. Jackson had checked on Tiago at daybreak, and she had seemed eager to get started.

One night on the ground hadn’t scared her off. He wondered if she would have the same smile by the end of the week. His wife had hated traveling. She had joked that if they went anywhere, he would need a wagon big enough for a bed and a tub.

His thoughts returned to the wagon’s petite passenger. Had he made a mistake that would put the whole trip in jeopardy?

He needed to stay focused to make sure everyone got home safely.

A horse ran up behind him. He put his hand on the butt of his rifle and turned to face the newcomer head-on.

It was the woman. He had a hard time thinking of her as Tiago now that he knew the truth.

Her smile was wider than the Mississippi. “Cook said it would be easier on the mules if my saddle and I weren’t in the wagon. I saw you up here and wanted to see the herd moving out.”

“This is not a sightseeing excursion. You can’t be running all over the place without—”

“Cook knows where I am, and I don’t need a chaperone. I’m Tiago, remember.” She pulled her horse up next to his as if she wasn’t afraid of him one bit.

He allowed his gaze to take in her profile. Even with the short hair and baggy clothes, she was perfectly feminine.

“If I had any sense, I’d send you home now, before we get too far out.”

The smile disappeared, and with one quick motion she pinned him with a hard stare. “No. We came to an agreement. You have to honor it.”

“Yeah, you also agreed to stay close to the wagon. Less than twenty-four hours out, and you’re running wild.”

The hat wobbled with the panicked shake of her head. “I’m not close to the herd.” The rawhide gloves tightened over the slacked reins. “You need me and I’m...”

Oh no, was she tearing up? He cleared his throat and turned away, not sure what to do or say.

“Look at this, Jackson. It’s breathtaking. I want to hold it close to my heart and never forget it. The sounds and the sights. An endless motion of animals moving as one over the land I love. How could I miss seeing this?”

She looked back to the never-ending line of moving longhorns. “This is what I dreamed about.” Turning to him, her smile was faint, but making its way back. “Thank you.”

He sighed and scanned the wide-open vista. Texas was a place where big dreams found a home. “No reason your dreams can’t come true just because you’re a woman.” What kind of woman would his daughter have become?

Would he have allowed her to have plans outside of the roles set for women? She had been six when she was killed, so he’d never get to know.

That morning he rode out she had asked to go with him, but he thought she’d be safer at home with her mom and baby Jack. The anger that simmered in his gut flared.

If he had taken her with him, she’d still be alive and turning eleven soon. “If you’re not with the wagon, stay close to me. I don’t want the others figuring out you’re a female.”

She nodded, happiness back on her face. “Thank you.”

“Come on.” He nudged his horse down the hill toward the sea of cattle. “What we want is an uneventful trip. That takes awareness and anticipatory action.” In order to make sure he did his job, he had to stay focused. Maybe keeping her close would be easier. Wondering where she was at any given moment was going to wear him out.

* * *

Sofia took in everything around her. Later tonight, she would write it all down. She wanted to burn every detail into her memory.

The future her mother had wanted for her was a pale watercolor compared to the real-life energy brushed across the valley they were passing through.

Jackson checked in with each of the drovers.

Will Redmond and Rory Brosnen covered the end of the herd. Rory, the one she learned was from Ireland, was the first rider they approached.

“You got a bodyguard now, boss?” He smiled at her. “So we have the honor of riding with the tiniest bullfighter in all of the country.” He clicked a couple of times to the cattle before turning back to her. “Maybe we should trade places. I’ve been known to cook up a mean meal, and my ropin’ skills don’t touch yours.” He followed that with a wink.

Sitting straight in the saddle and staring at the horizon, she didn’t respond.

Jackson frowned. “Tiago will be staying with the cook or me. There will be no trading.”

Rory laughed. “Easy, boss, I was kidding with Two Bit here. You Yanks are so serious.”

“I’m not a Yank.” Jackson grumbled something else under his breath, but she couldn’t make it out.

“Where I’m from, you’re all Yanks. Except for Two Bit here. What are you, kid?”

“I’m a Texan. Why did you leave your home and come all the way here?”

“Oh, you don’t know the rules on the trail.” He shook his head as if truly disappointed in her.

In a panic, she turned to Jackson. “Rules?”

Jackson sighed. “You don’t ask a man about his past, ever. If he wants to tell you, he will, but you never ask.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brosnen. I didn’t mean to offend you.” There was so much about being a boy she didn’t know. Her brother would have known not to ask those questions.

“No worries. Call me Rory. I have a clean shirt, a clear conscience and enough coins in my pocket to buy a pint. Life is meant to be lived in the moment with no regrets. But I can tell you already know that.” He winked again. Maybe he had a tick.

Jackson cleared his throat and urged his horse forward, cutting between her and Rory. “We’re going to talk to the others. See you tonight, unless you run into trouble. Let me know.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice had a touch of laughter in it as he saluted them. “See you tonight, Two Bit.”

Once they got out of hearing, Jackson looked at her. “You need to stay away from the men.” He shook his head. “You don’t look anything like a boy, you’re too pretty. I’m not sure we can maintain your disguise.”

Normally, that would be a compliment. Coming from a man like Jackson, it made her want to blush, but she knew he wasn’t flattering her. To him, it was a problem.

“I’m not sure what else to do.”

“It was a mistake to let you ride with me to the herd.” He squinted at her.

“What?” She wiped at her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe you could rub dirt on your face. That might help.”

She already had an inch layer of dirt, and they weren’t even two full days out yet. “I don’t see how that will help.”

“Stay away from Will. Of all the men, he’s the one I trust the least. I’m taking you back to Cook, and you need to stay there.”

“He said I—”

“You don’t have to ride in the wagon, but I want you right next to it. No wandering off. It’s not just the longhorns that are dangerous. There are all sorts of hostiles that roam the area, two legged and four legged. With the herd, we’ll probably draw their attention. I don’t want you caught alone.”

Her hands fisted around the reins. Arguing with him would make her look childish, so she locked her jaw and studied the countryside opposite him.

As they rode in silence for a bit, a wooden cross appeared on the top of the hill they were climbing. As they got closer, she saw a pair of worn boots that looked out of place sitting next to the cross.

Without thought, she stopped her horse. The name Hank Winfield was crudely carved into the wood. Grass and weeds had started growing over the mound of dirt. Jackson took off his hat and lowered his head. She followed suit and took the time to pray. To remember. To listen to God.

After a moment of silence, Jackson raised his head and turned his horse back to their path.

“Why do you think they left his boots there by the cross?” Whispering seemed appropriate, even though there was no one else around.

“Don’t know. I’ve never seen the like before. It meant something to the men who rode with him and buried him.”

“Jackson, I know the dangers. I have lived in this country all my life. I thought I had gained your respect enough for you to trust me.”

“This has nothing to do with respect. I’ve also told the men not to wander off alone, but you’re the only one I fear will actually ignore that order. I don’t want to leave any of you in this ground.”

There wasn’t a thing she could say to that. “I’ll go straight to Cook. You go on and check on Will. I promise I won’t wander off.”

He sighed. “We already have a small team, so don’t do anything to make us smaller.”

She smiled at him. He was a good leader, the kind who cared about all his people. She needed to stop thinking it was all about her.

“Sí, jefe.” She laughed at the expression on his face. He didn’t seem to like the title “boss.”

With a kick to her horse, she galloped away from him. For all her bravery, she knew she needed to be careful. She was all her father had left, and if something happened to her, he might not survive.

If she was a good daughter, she probably wouldn’t be here. But on the other hand, when she returned from a successful cattle drive, he would know he had more than just a daughter to marry off. Not a burden to be dealt with, but a partner who could help run the ranch.

Maybe then they could think about a future where they both could have what they wanted.

She wanted to be part of the ranch. Did that mean she’d never have a family? New people were moving in all the time. Maybe there would be a way to get both.

For the first time, she had hope that her dream and her father’s could be one and the same.


Chapter Seven (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

They had been on the trail for a week, and she found herself always looking for ways to spend time with Jackson. His mission seemed to be avoiding her.

He was so different from any man she met before. Sofia pulled up on the reins and straightened her legs. It wasn’t midday yet and stiffness held every muscle hostage.

Her thought about Jackson confused her. For this trip, she needed to remember to be a boy, but it was hard around him.

The urge to giggle irritated her. Settling back into the saddle, she patted the withers of the mare she was riding today. “Life was a lot easier when all I cared about was horses.” Her mount tossed her head and Sofia snorted. “So is there a male horse that is giving you serious self-doubt?”

With a sigh, she realized she missed the company of other women. That was a surprise. If she had been asked over a week ago, she’d claim boredom with the endless gossip and talk of fashion.

Right now, she’d love to talk about silly things. Well, she wanted to talk about Jackson, but he was the only one she could talk to, so that was not possible.

The mare nickered. Sofia looked around. To the right, there was a water hole, more like a mud puddle, but she gave the mare her head and let her go to the muddy edge.

Dropping her head, the horse pawed, splashing the shallow water over both of them. Sofia laughed. Now mud joined all the dust layering her skin.

“Come on, girl. Jackson wants us with the wagon.” The horse leaped to the other side of the small drop-off. “I think we can cut across here to meet Cook up ahead.”

The mare stopped and lowered her head. Her ears pointed forward. She took a step back. Sofia kicked her. “Let’s go!” The horse refused to move.

Raising her head high, ears pointed forward, the mare snorted. Three horses with half-dressed warriors approached from the top of the grassy slope. They stopped when they saw her.

She bit her lip so not to scream. Blood ran over her tongue. Her hands clutched the reins until they were numb. Did she go for her rifle or run? Her heartbeat throbbed in her head, leaving no room for a clear decision.

The ground dropped away a few feet to the right. How far would the fall be? God, please help me.

She didn’t want to die here. Would they even find her body? What if they didn’t kill her? What if they took her?

The horror tales shared in hushed voices clouded her brain. Her horse took another step back. Did she lift her hands in peace or pull the rifle? Her father taught her to never point a gun at someone unless she was ready to kill.

She could kill only one, and the others would be on her. If they were slow, she could get two, but there was no way to kill all three.

What if her life was over right here and now?

“Santiago.”

For a moment, she thought someone had called out to her brother, but he was dead. Was she already dead and didn’t know it?

“Back your horse to me.” It was Jackson’s low steady voice that offered sanctuary. One slow step at a time brought her even with Jackson. He was holding up a rifle.

Without thought, she pulled hers from the casing and rested it against her shoulder. It was two against three now. This was doable.

Lungs filled with sweet air. She might live to see home again. The three dark warriors stared at them.

“Go on to the wagon. I’ll follow you.”

Gulping down a few breaths so she could find her lost vocals, she cleared her throat. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

He growled. She held her weapon firm and steady despite the trembling of her heart. She couldn’t help but think her father and brother would be proud.

Her mother? Horrified.

“Start backing straight out, keeping them in your sight.” He lowered his gun, resting it across the saddle. She mimicked his action.

With a slight nod to the men across the water hole, he moved his horse back. She did the same.

The three painted horses stepped to the water and started drinking. With Jackson by her side, she breathed a little easier. A quick glance, and she saw his jaw flex. Other than that small tick, his posture was relaxed.

“We are going to turn to the direction of the wagon, nice and easy. I need to tell the boys to keep an eye out. They might grab a steer or two.”

“What do we do to stop them?”

“Nothing. Consider it cost of business. The one thing we don’t want is a full-on attack. They take a couple of cows to their people, and we move on to the border.”

“So we’re just going to let them steal our cattle?”

He sighed. “Yes. You need to keep the mules in their harness tonight. They are more valuable than anything else we have here.”

She looked over her shoulder. The warriors were gone. “Where did they go?” Chills ran down her spine as she scanned the hills. “Are they watching us?”

“Probably.” He slid his rifle back into its leather scabbard.

“What do we do?” Forcing herself to look straight ahead was hard to do when her skin felt tight from the unseen men studying her movements.

“Nothing. Three don’t travel far on their own. Stay close to the wagon and make it hard for them to get to the mules. Once we join Cook, I’ll go warn the others. Stay vigilant.”

With a nod, she looked over her shoulder again. “How long will they follow us?”

“A day or two. We don’t want to make it easy for them to get into the camp.” He looked over his shoulder. “If we allow them to take a couple of the steers, and make sure we have the wagon and horses covered, they should move on.”

Nodding toward her rifle, his eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that? Ever shot a living thing?”

“Yes. My father taught me to shoot what I was aiming for. I never missed my target. Even the moving ones.”

He chuckled and looked at her. She couldn’t tell if the spark in his eyes was amusement or admiration.

“Good. I tell you what—you are one strange woman, and for once I’m very happy about that. Tie your horse to the wagon and sit with Cook. You can ride shotgun.”

The pounding of her heart seemed to have changed directions. Instead of fear, something else jolted it.

A different kind of anxiety. Jackson trusted her to protect the wagon. She sat straighter. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me.”

“What’s your real name?” A grim line replaced any smile he might have had.

“I thought we agreed I would be Tiago so there was no confusion.” Was he going to get all manly and protective on her? Riding with Cook might not be about her protecting the wagon, but keeping her locked away.

She glared at him, trying to figure out his motive.

“You know I can help. You don’t have to keep me in a safe place.” She didn’t want to admit that her heart had soared with relief when he had joined her.

“When I saw you across from the warriors, I wanted your real name. What if something does happen? My first thought was...if I have to bury her, I won’t know the name to carve into the marker.” There was an angry clip to the edge of his voice. “I want to know the real you. Not the fake name.”

“I am Santiago. If I die on the trail, that is who you will bury.” Pushing her hat lower, her hands trembled.

He reached across his horse. Under his large hand, hers disappeared. “I will not be burying you on this trail.”


Chapter Eight (#u7854eef5-f5fb-52de-90da-fc69d83141bb)

Sofia wrapped the colorful blanket tighter. Weak and tired, her body still refused to go to sleep. There were saddle sores on top of saddle sores.

Images of Rosita in the kitchen making tortillas appeared like a fantasy, a dream from a fairy tale that didn’t really happen.

Now she ate more dust than chow. Unable to sleep, she studied the colors in the woven patterns.

It would be easier to think about the parts of her body that didn’t hurt, maybe her head. That was it. Everything below her jaw ached. She thought she had worked hard before, but she had been a sheltered baby.

The woman who returned to her father would be different from the woman she was before she left.

A quick glace to the loaded rifle laying within reach was evidence of the change. She glanced at the mules, making sure they were still safe.

Still in the harness, they lay on the ground a few yards away from her. She scanned the edge of darkness for any threats.

Today, she had faced the possibility of her own death. She had survived without much of an incident other than going numb with fear.

She hated that she hadn’t known what to do. That Jackson had come to her rescue. Would she have made it back to the wagon if he hadn’t shown up?

Sometime during the week, she started waking up looking forward to seeing him. The chores were done in fast order, and she got the wagon moving quickly so she could ride out and find him.

He sat a horse better than any man she had ever seen, but it was more than that. He was more than a good-looking man that knew how to ride well. At his core, deep in his eyes, he not only understood her, but he needed someone to understand him.

Not that it was where her mind should go. Rubbing her face, she hoped to scrub the thoughts of the quiet talking Kentucky man from her brain.

The sounds of campfire companionship drifted over the night. The men still sat around the low fire, laughing and playing music. The songs were all foreign, not the kind she was used to.

Jackson warned her to keep as much distance as possible from the cowboys. She never felt so alone around other people.

She licked her lips. That was a mistake. So, she hurt above her jaw, too. They had never been so dry and cracked before. The taste of dirt and dust came with every painful breath she took.

She dreamed of riding alongside the longhorns, but instead most of her days were spent sitting next to Cook or going into the wagon and doing prep work for him. The one time she rode off, she got in trouble.

She coughed again. All the dust was never going to clear her lungs.

“Here, drink this.” Jackson stood above her and handed her a metal cup. He tossed something on the ground behind her, but she was more intrigued with the content of his gift. It looked like tea. It smelled like tea.

A small sip confirmed her guess. She sighed as the warm liquid slid down her sore throat.

She moaned. Tea. “Where did you get this? I would trade my kingdom for another cup.”

He just smiled at her, then stared off into the velvet night sky.

“It’s pure bliss.” She closed her eyes and groaned again as she took a slow sip. It was bad manners, but she didn’t care.

Digging in his vest pocket, he pulled out a small tin before lowering his long body on the ground next to her. He draped one arm over his knee and with the other offered the small box. “Here, coat your lips with this. It tastes bitter, but it’ll soothe the skin.”

Too tired to ask questions, she smothered the damaged skin.

Relief. Closing her eyes, she sighed and leaned against the large wagon wheel. “Thank you.” She handed it back to him. As much as she wanted to stash it away, she didn’t want to appear weak and needy.

“You keep it. I always bring two, and if you keep a light layer on during the day, you won’t need as much at night. You should also cover your face. The sun will eat your skin right off your bones.”

“Right now my bones are so sore they wouldn’t notice.” There was a heat to her skin she’d never experienced before. Another pesky insect made a buzzing noise before landing on her face. She slapped at it and got it, leaving a splatter of blood on her hand. Gross.

Taking her hand, he used a bandanna to wipe the bright red stain away. “I hear the closer we get to Louisiana the bigger the mosquitoes get. Soon enough we’ll be able to saddle them and fly over the herd.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Now that would be a sight. Driving the herd from the air.” She groaned. “Maybe we could even breathe some fresh air that isn’t heavy with dust. I really don’t know how the bugs are even finding my skin.”

“Cook says we’ll be getting rain soon, which will create a new mess of troubles.”

A star fell from the sky, leaving a trail. “Did you see that?” She pointed. “A falling star. It looks different out here than it does from a porch.”

Scooting down, she lay flat on the ground and studied the endless sky. “Do you think our loved ones are looking down on us?”

“Never really thought about it that way.” A few feet away he stretched out on his back, his hands behind his bare head.

He sighed. Silence lingered between them. The music from the cowboys softened as some moved out to watch the herd. Cook rambled around in the wagon.

“Do you have family back in Kentucky?”

“Not anymore.”

The gruff reply reminded her about the code she had learned earlier today.

Man, she was a slow learner. “Oh look, Leo is out.” Maybe he’d let her blunder slide if she changed the subject. Scanning the sky like her father taught her, she found the Big Dipper. “Ursa Major is really clear tonight. You can see all seven hunters.”

“You know the constellations?”

“Not as well as my brother. No matter how hard I tried, he always found more and could remember all their names. He would even beat our father.”

“You have a brother?”

The stars blurred, and moisture hovered over her bottom eyelashes. “I had a brother. I lost him when I lost my mother.”

“So you’re completely alone in the world?”

Her father came to mind. “What happened to the rule of not asking about someone’s past?” Today she thought of her father as the three fierce warriors had stared at her. Somehow Papi had become a stranger who wouldn’t even talk to her or listen. Had he found her braid and her letter yet? Guilt burned her insides. “Is there a way to get a telegram to someone? I’ve never sent one before.”

“You’re pretty educated to know about sending telegrams. Little Tiago, there seems to be a great deal you haven’t told me. The code does not apply to you because you lied to me. And you’re a woman. The code is a man’s code.” He turned and leaned on his left arm. “Who do you want to send a message to?”

“That’s not fair. But then again that wouldn’t surprise me. Women have always had to deal with uneven scales.” With a shrug, she tried to keep it uneventful. “It’s no big deal. Just someone back at the ranch who might be worried. What about you? Is there someone waiting for you?”





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