No, she couldn’t think that way. She had to protect Ricardo. Se?or Reynolds had taken him off the herd because of his drinking, or so he said, and threatened to fire Ricardo if there were any more problems.
“Caro.” Chisholm’s voice was soft. “Do you think you could ask him if he knows more than he’s saying?”
“And then tell you?” She couldn’t keep the mica-hard edge from her voice. “I will not betray him for you or for anyone else. He and my mother are all I have left.”
Chisholm lay in bed, staring at the streaks of moonlight on the ceiling. His six-foot-three frame meant his feet hung over the end of the bed, the curse of being George Washington Hart’s son.
Caro’s words, “He and my mother are all I have left,” kept replaying in his mind. Did Caro allow Ricardo to court her because she thought she had no other options? Or was it out of a sense of duty to her mother?
He’d kept watch over her until she’d delivered the basket and then, keeping his distance, he’d followed her back to the house. He’d upset her not once, but twice, in one night. He reckoned he was the last person in all of Texas she wanted to see tonight.
Raised voices outside put him on alert. He crawled out of bed and moved to the window. Pushing the thin curtain aside, he peered down into the yard below. Whom was Caro talking to?
He eased the window upward and immediately recognized the second voice as Ricardo’s. Guilt nudged him as he eavesdropped on their animated conversation, all in Spanish. Chisholm mentally translated as much of the conversation as he could. Ricardo seemed to wobble, and Caro steadied him. Had he been drinking again?
After he heard Caro beg Ricardo to tell the truth, Chisholm sat on the bed and tugged on his boots. Ricardo muttered an answer Chisholm couldn’t hear, but he didn’t miss Caro’s promise to protect Ricardo, no matter what.
That was it. Enough was enough. He stormed through the house and threw open the front door. Caro and Ricardo spun, but the quick movement sent Ricardo flailing. He landed on his knees at Caro’s feet.
Chisholm marched toward her. “I know you love him, but why are you protecting him?”
“Of course I love him.” Caro reached to help Ricardo stand, then reeled to face Chisholm. “Don’t you love your family? Wouldn’t you do anything to protect them?”
“By all means.” Chisholm sucked in a breath. “But he isn’t your family. He’s your suitor.”
“My suitor?” Caro snorted aloud. “You are loco.”
“Don’t try to deny it. He calls you ‘mi prima,’ and I heard you beg him to tell me the truth.”
“You understood that, but not ‘mi prima’?”
“My Spanish is rusty.”
“Apparently.” She released a little giggle, which irritated him even more.
“Well?” Chisholm crossed his arms over his chest. “What does it mean, then?”
“Prima means cousin.” She brushed the dirt off Ricardo’s back. “And for your information, he told me nothing of which you would be interested. He’s had too much to drink—again—and I got no answers to the questions you wanted me to ask.”
“Ricardo is your cousin?” Chisholm needed to say the words aloud to confirm them. How could a trained tracker miss those clues? “I guess that changes everything.”
“Indeed.” She slipped her arm around Ricardo’s waist. “Go to bed, Chisholm. There’s no duty for you to perform here. I am perfectly safe with my cousin.”
But Chisholm’s boots seemed leaded as he watched strong, loyal—beautiful—Caro usher Ricardo to his bed in the barn.
Her cousin. Well, that certainly did change everything.
Caro lay down on her bed and sighed. After last night’s escapades with Ricardo and Chisholm, she needed a little nap.
She awoke with a start only to find her mamá standing at the foot of her bed. She could not believe her own mother would help Chisholm, but one look at the freshly pressed shirtwaist in her mother’s hands confirmed it.
“Chisholm said he wants to look at the area near the bluebonnets after lunch, so he needs you to show him the way.” She set the shirtwaist on Caro’s bed. “I did this up for you, since the one you’re wearing is smeared with jelly and is not presentable.”
“I didn’t say I’d go with him.”
“No, but I did.” Her mamá folded her hands in front of her. “And I am as stubborn as you, but more sweet about it. You’ll learn this someday. Now, hurry. He’ll return soon.”
Mouth agape, Caro watched her mother stroll out of the room. Caro had taken extra care to avoid Chisholm Hart this morning, and now her mother was thrusting the man into her day. But she knew better than to fight with Maria Valenzuela. Her papá had called her mamá a silent warrior and said she won every battle by sheer will. Over the years, Caro found his words to be true. She could only pray to be more like her.