She hefted the tray into her arms and carried it through the summer kitchen’s door and into the main house. When she found Chisholm standing there, she came to an abrupt stop. The dishes clinked and the tray nearly toppled.
Chisholm Hart grabbed the edge. “Here. Let me take that.” He took the tray and walked through the house’s regular kitchen and into the dining room. After setting the tray on the sideboard, he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you earlier.”
Caro nodded mutely. This tough Ranger apologized? She began unloading the tray and arranging the food. It was going to be hard to remember how much she didn’t like him if he kept being so nice. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
His rain-blue eyes lit up. “I’ve already spent some time with the Lord, and I’ve got Whit’s horse and mine saddled. I’ll hitch a buggy for you after breakfast.”
“I don’t need a buggy.” She planted her fisted hands on her hips. “I ride as well as any man.”
“I saw that yesterday, but I thought you might be more comfortable in a buggy.” Chisholm poured a cup of coffee. “Whit will be down in a minute.”
His consideration touched her. She stepped aside and motioned to the spread on the sideboard. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
“Ladies first.”
“But…”
“It’s going to be a long morning, and you need to eat. Besides, we can discuss our plans.” He picked up a plate and handed it to her. “Please.”
Caro heaved a sigh. How did this man catch her off-guard at every turn? And how was she supposed to continue disliking him if he was a God-fearing gentleman? She’d prayed as her mother had recommended last night. She begged God to heal her aching heart, and she’d asked for an extra measure of kindness to get through the day. Maybe making the Ranger extra-nice was God’s doing.
Whit thundered into the dining room as she finished filling her plate. He dropped into a chair and released a loud yawn. “The rooster isn’t even awake yet.”
“Coffee?” Caro held up the pot.
Whit ran his hand through his bed-tousled, sandy hair. “Just give me the whole pot.”
Chisholm loaded his plate with scrambled eggs. “In case you couldn’t tell, mornings and Whit aren’t really on speaking terms.”
Caro laughed and passed the newcomer a steamy cup. A few minutes later, she found herself sitting across from the two Texas Rangers, enjoying the flaky biscuits and creamy gravy she’d whipped up before the sun had made an appearance. The Rangers didn’t know it, but she’d also packed biscuits and ham in a lunch basket for them along with cinnamon-and-sugar-dusted churros. Perhaps it would make up for her cruel act last night. She’d put so many hot peppers in Chisholm Hart’s tamale that his mouth was probably still burning today. At the time, she felt like he deserved it, but later guilt had poked at her for hours, making her toss and turn. Perhaps her mamá was right. He reminded her too much of her father. Today she would be as helpful as possible. Besides, it was in her best interest. The sooner the Ranger solved the rustling mystery, the sooner he’d leave.
Chisholm pushed back from the table. “Whit, I’ve been thinking. I reckon we shouldn’t remove Ricardo Alvarez off the list of suspects just yet.”
“He is innocent!” Caro set down her cup so hard coffee sloshed out. She bit her lip and chastised herself for not controlling her tongue, but these two men did not know Ricardo like she did. “You have my word. He is not involved.”
“Miss Cardova.” Chisholm stood and put on his hat. “If, as you said, Mr. Alvarez was not responsible for the rustling, why were those men so ready to lynch him?”
Caro stiffened, fear making her stomach tighten like a noose. “I have no idea.” If she explained, it would only make Ricardo look guiltier, and she had to protect him at all costs.
Chisholm frowned. “I don’t believe you.”
“That, sir, is your choice.” Tears burned in her eyes. She rose, gathered the plates, and swept from the room.
So much for getting along.
Chisholm slipped Bullet, his golden palomino, a lump of sugar as he watched Caro sashay across the courtyard toward the buckskin mare Ricardo Alvarez had saddled for her. With her dark eyes and hair and wearing a bright yellow dress, she looked like a sunflower in full bloom.
Caro slid a shotgun into the scabbard, then leaned close and spoke to Ricardo. Was she telling him that they still suspected he might be involved? Although Caro seemed genuine to the core, Chisholm couldn’t help but worry she might be fooling them. It was the hardest part of this job—always suspecting the worst in folks—but he’d learned to trust his instincts.
“They look pretty chummy.” Whit mounted Buckshot, his spotted pinto. “Guess you can check her off your list of possible brides.”
“Caro Cardova Valenzuela? My bride?” Chisholm let out a hearty laugh, and Caro turned. “You’d better watch your back. I think she’d poison you for suggesting such a thing, and then shoot me for letting you think it.”