“H … How could I?” Caro spit out. “We only spent one afternoon together. It’s too soon and—”
“And he is too much like your father.” Her mother smiled. “I saw it when he first arrived. Caro, being like your father is not a bad thing. I keep telling you that your father was a good man. I know you remember how much he loved you, but you refuse to recall that. You only see the end, when he left us.”
“And Chisholm is a Texas Ranger. His heart is Texas. Even if he grew to love me, he’d leave like Papá.” Hot tears filled her eyes, and she palmed them from her cheeks. “I don’t understand it. Why do men feel such a great sense of duty?”
“What about you, Caro?” Her mother’s voice was tender as she shaved soap into the pot. “What would your loyalties cause you to do? Protect Ricardo? Do something for me? Are you truly so different from the Ranger?”
Confusion filled Caro’s thoughts. Loyalty. Fear. Love. Too many feelings to consider. How could she separate them?
“My child, your father wanted to make the world a better place for you.” Her mamá placed her hands on Caro’s shoulders. “Standing beside a man who was so easy to respect was my greatest joy, and I cherish every minute I had with him. Do not let fear steal away the joy God has planned for you.”
Caro shifted so she could see her mother’s face. “You think I’m afraid?”
“Aren’t you?”
Chisholm was afraid the rustlers had struck again. He led Bullet from the stables and watched Slade McCord ride in hard and come to a stop in front of the barn.
“What can we do for you, Slade?” Chisholm finished cinching Bullet, then glanced at Whit, who was putting a saddle blanket on Buckshot.
“I came to thank you.” He pressed both hands to the saddle horn. “I wasn’t there when you brought that calf in, but I wanted to express my gratitude. My men are bucket-feeding the calf. It took a while for her to catch on, but she’s doing fine. Thought you might want to know.”
“Yes, thanks, I’ll tell Caro. She’s the one who got the calf to take milk from her glove.”
Slade seemed to ignore his reference to Caro. “Could you tell how the cow died?”
“There were no obvious reasons, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was a birth complication of some sort.”
“Always sad, but it happens.” Slade sighed. “Any news on the rustlers?”
Chisholm tugged on his gloves and mounted Bullet. “Whit and I are about to ride out to Tall Trees and ask around.”
McCord scowled. “Tall Trees has hardly been hit at all. Shouldn’t you be at my place, searching for clues or something?”
“We’ve already searched a lot of your ranch, but we’ll be back at the Mesquite soon. You have my word.”
“Guess that will have to do.” McCord tipped his hat in farewell and rode off.
Whit looked over his horse’s saddle at Chisholm. “Who was that man? Not the Slade McCord we’ve met the last few days. Maybe he wants us to think better of him.”
“I guess anything is possible.” Chisholm shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
Whit pulled his horse alongside Chisholm’s. “Speaking of strange things, what happened yesterday between you and Caro? She wasn’t prickly or sassy this morning.”
“She was quiet. Lots of women are quiet.”
“Not her.” Whit laughed. “Especially not when you’re around. So, what happened? You might as well tell me, because we’ve got a long ride, and I’ll badger you until you spill. One of us should be having fun, and unfortunately, it looks like that someone is you.”
“It was one afternoon, and there won’t be any others.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
Chisholm cleared his throat. “No, I did. We had a great time.”
“So?”
“So, it won’t work, and we have a job to do.” He spurred Bullet into a gallop, leaving Whit in his dust. How could he explain to Whit that he couldn’t see Caro because he did care for her?
Chapter Nine
Caro entered the barn and looked around. Ricardo must have finished mucking the stalls, because it smelled of dust and fresh sweet hay. She followed the clang of hammer against iron and found him behind the barn at the forge reshoeing Se?or Reynolds’s black roan. She paused to watch Ricardo work, mesmerized as he shaped a glowing horseshoe. Once the shoe was the way he wanted it, he used metal tongs and plunged it into a barrel of water. Steam rose with a hiss.
“Good morning, mi prima. What brings you to see me?”
She leaned against a pole. “Ricardo, it’s time for the Rangers to move on. Don’t you think?”
He nodded slowly. “But will they do that without finding the rustlers?”
“I don’t think so, but if you help them—”
“I’ve told you before, Caro, I cannot.” He lifted the roan’s back hoof and held the cooled shoe against it.
Caro stepped forward. “But I think you know something.”
“And if I did—note that I said ‘if’—I must have a good reason for keeping it secret.” He began to nail the shoe in place.