Caro giggled. “Poor fellow.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for him. He’ll get me back.” Chisholm quieted, trying to form his thoughts into words. “Caro, I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t say it. I’m not sure I can bear it.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “I know. It can never work.” Then she turned from his embrace and went back to her washtub, tears shimmering in her eyes.
A lump the size of Texas filled Chisholm’s throat. Dear Lord, what have I done?
Caro couldn’t sleep. It seemed like a waste to lie there tossing and turning when there was more work to be done in the summer kitchen. She rose, donned her work dress and apron, and padded her way through the house. The mantle clock gonged eleven times, and she promised herself she’d work only an hour before trying to sleep once again.
She undid the latch on the back door and stepped into the moonlit, cool Texas night. Smoke still clung to the air, but she went ahead and drew in a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around her waist to stave off the chill as she listened to the cacophony of night sounds—frogs croaking, owls hooting, and insects chirping.
And hushed voices? She concentrated. Yes, she heard voices in the barn. Had Ricardo returned? Or could the rustlers be right here?
If she went to wake Chisholm and it was nothing, she’d feel foolish. Surely, checking it out herself wouldn’t be dangerous if she was careful.
She slipped across the yard, keeping her footfalls light. Lantern light leaked from beneath the barn doors. She peeked through the crack between the doors, and her heart plummeted.
Duty had called, and Chisholm was leaving.
Chisholm shook out his bedroll and spread it on the hidden spot he and Whit had chosen overlooking the Mesquite Ranch’s herd. Between riding most of the day, putting out the fire, and then splicing the beam in the summer kitchen, every muscle in his body ached for rest.
Whit had agreed to first watch, so Chisholm lay down using his pack for a pillow. He rolled to his side and punched the lumpy pack. He’d slept this way hundreds of times. Why was tonight any different?
He knew the reasons. The touch of Caro’s lips still burned on his, but it was her words that plagued his sleep. “I know,” she’d said. “It can never work.“
His chest felt as if someone had set an anvil on it. Never work? He was a smart man. Couldn’t he figure something out?
He loved her.
The realization was mind-spinning. Here he was in the heart of Texas losing his heart to a woman who couldn’t stand him a week ago. Marrying her would let him receive his share of the ranch back home, but at what cost?
He flopped onto his back and stared at the stars dotting the sky, but no answers came to him. He prayed. Still nothing. He prayed some more, but it was no use. He was a sworn Texas Ranger. Even if he wanted to leave the Rangers, which he didn’t, he couldn’t do it right now, and Caro Cardova couldn’t love him if he stayed. He might win her heart, but if he succeeded, what kind of husband would he be to leave her like her father had, even for a good reason?
Someday Caro might understand why her father had to go off and fight, but she wasn’t there yet, and he had to accept that. She’d been through enough. If loving her meant leaving her for her own good and losing his share of the ranch in the process, no doubt about it, that’s what he’d do.
Sleep had eluded Caro most of the night, so when dawn broke, she welcomed the chance to go down to start breakfast. She dressed quietly, leaving her mamá sleeping.
When she reached the main floor, she stared at the hall tree. Se?or Reynolds’s boots and hat were not in their customary place. Had he stayed out all night with the herd? Maybe there’d been another cow that needed help, or worse, trouble with the rustlers. If Chisholm and Whit were still here, she’d ask them to go check, but they’d skipped out in the night. Why had they left without catching the rustlers? Had they received word from their superiors? It didn’t make sense, but perhaps Ricardo would know something.
She crossed the yard to the barn and tugged open the door. The acrid scent that greeted her told her the stalls had not yet been tended. She made her way to the area that contained Ricardo’s cot and personal effects. His bed was still made up. That was odd. Glancing around the area, her gaze landed on Ricardo’s edged sheath knife. Its silver handle, inlaid with mother of pearl, made it hard to miss. Ricardo was never without the weapon. Ever. It had been given to him by his father, and he cherished it almost as much as his—
She whirled and looked above the doorway. Ricardo’s rifle was there, too. He knew too much about the dangers of Texas to leave either of the weapons at home. Even if he’d gone to town to drink, he’d have taken both weapons.
Fear inched up her spine, prickling her skin. Something was wrong, but what? If only Chisholm hadn’t left when she needed him most.
Chapter Ten