be worth a little trouble.”
Sofia nodded. “The best horses are.”
Maria giggled. “You are not a normal girl, señorita.” She started walking toward the hacienda. “I was speaking of the man. All the women are talking of him. Wondering if he will be staying. What have you heard?”
“Nothing.” Her father no longer talked to her as a partner. Following Maria, Sofia started making plans.
Sometimes a little trouble was needed to achieve a goal. Why would God give her a talent and desire to work with horses if she was just meant to live in town taking care of a home for some man she didn’t even know? “I don’t know anything. Father no longer talks to me about the ranch.”
Eyes sad, Maria nodded. “He feels the heavy burden of taking care of you and all the people who have remained on the ranch. With your mother and brother gone, he has much to worry about.”
“You’re right. We need to help him ease the burden.” The cooler air under the veranda calmed Sofia a bit. Getting angry and arguing wouldn’t convince her father of anything. He was too stubborn. She had been accused of being much like her father once too often for her to ignore.
Arguing would not get her anywhere. Her mother taught her that. She needed to show him how she could help.
Once alone, she made her way to the small crawl space upstairs, where the old trunks were stored. Dust and blankets covered everything. Digging through the piles, she found what she needed in the bottom of an old cedar chest—the clothes her brother had outgrown years before.
She ran her hand over the worn clothes. So many memories flooded her. Images of wonderful days with no worries, running free with the vaqueros and learning their skills. They grew up riding all over the ranch side by side. She could shoot a gun and hit a target, and lasso a steer faster and with more accuracy than her brother.
He would tease her and tell her she should have been born a boy. With a smirk, she would tell him she was too smart to be a boy.
She buried her face in a shirt and cried. She had lost her best friend, and no one would let her talk about it.
Wiping her face, she pulled out a pair of his riding boots. These would give her the freedom she needed. She was going to ride out to the cattle camp. If Santiago was there, he would encourage her, join her even.
With the right attire, she was one step closer to proving that she was just as capable as Santiago had been. Her brother’s laughter rang in her heart. He would be the first one to point out that she was better with horses.
Tonight, the full moon would provide enough light. She was going to ride her father’s new stallion.
Her mother had banned her from the stable a year ago, but tonight she was going to run free. Her blood was already racing. Yes, on the ranch, on the back of that great horse, that was where she belonged.
Her father needed riders for the drive to New Orleans. If she went to the camp and gathered and branded the cattle her father would see how much she could help. After hiding the new clothes and hat in her room, she headed to the kitchen.
It was hard to remain composed. She wanted to jump and laugh already. She could ride and rope with the best of the vaqueros, the same men who had taught her everything she knew. She would finally be putting those skills to the real test.
Now to keep busy until everyone went to bed. It was time to take her life into her own hands. She refused to be trapped in a marriage with a stranger who might not even love the land.
Glancing out the window, Sofia studied the sky. It would be hours until the moon was out. Then that black giant would be hers.
She was tired of waiting for life to happen. Tonight would be the first step in claiming her destiny.
* * *
Jackson McCreed sat up in his narrow bed, breathing hard. Goose bumps tightened his skin. A clammy sweat covered his body. One fast movement and his stocking feet touched the dirt-packed floor. The air hung heavy on his shoulders.
He reached for his silver pocketwatch and ran his thumb over the engravings. Not sleeping had become the only way to stop reliving the nightmare that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.
On the other side of the door, he heard his stallion Dughall give a low rumbling whistle. Jackson had been invited to stay in the hacienda, but he preferred to stay close to his horse.
The old tack room was better than some of the places he had slept the last couple of years. Hopefully that would change if the negotiations with Señor De Zavala produced the business deal he wanted.
The sound of a hinge opening, followed by another soft whistle from Dughall, brought his attention back to the stalls. Someone was messing with his stallion. Again.
There had been attempts to steal the horse in Galveston and San Antonio. His jaw locked. Anger turned his gut. He was sick and tired of people taking from him.
Jackson slipped on his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders. He didn’t waste time with the buttons or tucking it into his pants. Not bothering with his boots, he picked up his Colt, checking to make sure the chambers were loaded as he headed out of the tack room.
Slipping through the door, he scanned the area. The wide corridor was better lit than his windowless room. He stayed close to the wall. At the opposite end, he saw Dughall’s door open. The great stallion tossed his head as he stepped out.
To Jackson’s shock, a boy sat on the brute’s back. It’s just a kid.
At best, the stallion tolerated strangers around him. The boy looked to be about twelve years old, maybe thirteen. He didn’t recall seeing him on the ranch earlier today. The boy leaned over the black’s neck. His small hand patted the quivering muscles ready to run. The kid had no idea how much power waited under him.
“Stop right there.” Jackson kept his voice low and firm.
The horse and boy swung their heads toward him. Wide eyes stared at him from under the rim of the oversize battered hat. The boy wore quality clothes, but they were worn and ill fitted. The scuffed boots looked to be a size too big, going all the way up to his knees.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He lowered the gun, but scanned the stables to make sure the boy was alone.
No answer.
He took a couple of steps closer and switched to Spanish, asking the boy what he was doing. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”
The boy’s eyes went wider, obviously surprised he spoke the native language. The kid’s lips remained shut tight.
“¿Qué estás haciendo?” he asked him again.
“El caballo quiere correr.” The voice was so low it was hard for Jackson to hear.
Was the kid trying to be funny? Jackson replied again in Spanish. “The horse told you he wanted to go for a run? Kid, that’s still stealing. I should turn you over to the sheriff.”
“No.” The boy’s hands fisted in the dark mane. He kept his head down, cleared his throat and coughed. “My... Señor De Zavala wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s my horse. If Señor De Zavala gave his permission, why are you—” Jackson searched for the word he needed “—sneaking around in the dark?” Approaching the horse, Jackson slipped the gun into his waistband. “Should we go get your boss?” A quick jerk of the boy’s head confirmed what Jackson already guessed. “Kid, do you even belong on the ranch?”
“I belong.” Chin up, he looked so small on the big stallion. Patting the horse’s neck, the boy relaxed his shoulders and turned away.
Jackson reached for the leather reins. “This stallion could have killed you. Don’t think your ma would appreciate losing you over a ride.”
“My mother is dead, señor.” The youth tried to pull the reins from Jackson.