He didn’t blame her. The bluebonnet fields would stop anyone—man or woman—in their tracks. Only God could paint this kind of picture, but Chisholm was more enraptured by the view of her.
He forced himself to turn back to the flowers before them. “ ‘Consider the lilies how they grow.’ ” Chisholm whispered the words from the book of Luke that came to mind. “ ‘They toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ ”
Caro smiled at him with her soft, full lips. “Perfect scripture, Chisholm. Thank you.”
“It seemed appropriate.” He cleared his throat. No more looking at her lips. “Hey, Caro, look.” He pointed west.
She squinted against the sun. “Is that a calf by that bush? Right in the middle of the flowers?”
“Sure is. I wonder where her mama has gotten off to.”
“Maybe she’s lost.”
“Then her mama will find her.” He chuckled. “And by the way, she could be a he.”
“Or she could be a she.” She pulled off her riding gloves and tucked them in her waistband. “Can we stay here and make sure her mother comes? I’d hate for her—or him—to be left alone.”
His gaze swept the area. “Sure. I see no reason to hurry. I’m pretty sure the rustlers aren’t keeping that stolen stock out here in the bluebonnet field. Any caves nearby?”
“None that I’ve ever seen.”
“Good.” He sat up. “I’ve done my duty. Let’s eat.”
Hurt flashed across Caro’s face, and then her lips narrowed in a thin line. In an instant the hedge around Caro’s heart seemed to grow like the flowers in the field. Why? He hadn’t done anything to put her off, or at least he didn’t think he had. His pa told him once that a quiet man was usually thinking, but a quiet woman was usually mad. Hmm.
He set the basket between them like a shield. “What’s got your hackles up? Everything was fine one minute, and then you became as cold as ice the next. What did I say to get you all rankled?”
She glared at him, her dark eyes flickering with anger. Was that how she kept folks at a distance? Scared them out of talking to her? Well, he didn’t intend to back down. He softened his tone, gentling her like he would a foal. “Talk to me, Caro.”
“It’s that word.” She spit out her reply like it pained her, then lowered her gaze and clutched the handle of the basket.
“What word?” When she didn’t answer, he slipped his knuckle under her chin and lifted her face. “What word, Caro?”
Tears filled her molasses-colored eyes. “Duty.”
“You don’t like the word duty.” He lowered his hand and chewed on the thought. “Does this go back to what you told me that first night I came? You think I want the people to praise me? That I’m a Texas Ranger because I want to be a hero?”
“I don’t believe that anymore.” Her voice caught. “You are a Texas Ranger because you love Texas and Texans. You take your responsibilities seriously. I know you aren’t doing this for the glory.” She dashed away a tear with her index finger. “My father was a man of duty.”
“And he left you.” Chisholm could see the pain in her eyes. He could think of a hundred reasons why her father might have felt he had to make that choice, but none of them would heal the vulnerable little girl inside the woman standing before him. What could he say to bandage those wounds?
“Caro, he loved you.”
“Not enough to stay.”
There it was. The crux of Caro’s pain, and the truth of her admission throbbed inside him. If he let this seed of affection he was feeling blossom, he could never leave her—not even if Texas called.
Chapter Seven
Caro lifted the checkered napkin covering the food in the basket—meat-and cheese-filled empanadas and a glass jar of salsa she’d canned herself. She forced a smile. She needed to get this conversation back on even ground. “Chisholm, tell me about your brothers.”
Chisholm released a long breath. Was he as relieved as she to return to a casual topic?
As she set out the food her mother had packed, he rattled off the list of siblings and Caro tried to memorize each name and what he said about them. One brother was a storekeeper and one was a doctor. One had been badly hurt in the war. The youngest was twenty-one and Chisholm said he was four years older.
“Are all of your brothers tall like you?”
“Some are. Some aren’t. My pa and Bowie are six-foot-four and I’m six-foot-three. I couldn’t quite measure up, I guess.”
Caro opened a tin of cookies. “Was it hard being the second to the youngest?”
“I think I’m a little like Hays. I was too young to help fight in the war, so in a strange way, I felt like I sort of missed out.” He chuckled. “Guess I’ve wanted to live up to the things my big brothers did most of my life. Show them I can be something, too.”
“So you became a Texas Ranger?”
“That was probably part of it. At least at first.” He tucked a napkin into his shirt collar. “Caro, I’m a good Ranger.”
“And you’re a good person.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “We’d better eat now.”