Lone Star Bride. Jolene Navarro

Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Epilogue

       Dear Reader

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Blood raced through Sofia De Zavala’s veins as she stepped to the edge of the spacious veranda. The native stone floor kept the area cool in the Texas heat. It was only April, and the sun had already become a relentless rival to the numerous layers of material she wore. Wearing pants would be so much easier.

      The sounds of the vaqueros and American cowboys filled the area near the horse barns.

      Ignoring her father’s orders, she planned on going to the stables today. Rumors of a new stallion that had come all the way from Ireland were impossible to ignore.

      “Señorita Sofia, wait!” Her mother’s maid ran after her. “I have your bonnet and gloves.”

      Not wanting to upset the older woman, she bit back a sigh. “I left them behind on purpose.” Rosita went ahead with her mission and started pulling the long white gloves onto Sofia’s hands. “These will be ruined.”

      “Your mother never allowed you to leave the house without them.” The large overly decorated bonnet went on next. Tears hovered on the edges of the maid’s russet eyes. “I can’t believe they are gone.”

      “I know.” She still expected to hear her mother’s voice in the house. A voice that she took for granted and now dearly missed. “We all miss her, but I can’t see as well with the bonnet on. It completely blocks my side view.” What she wanted was a flat wide-brimmed hat like the men wore. If it wouldn’t upset her father so much, she’d go get one of her brother’s hats.

      Her father still refused to talk about their loss, and Rosita cried at the mention of her mother. There was no place for her own grief to be shared.

      Head high, more so in order to see in front of her than pride, Sofia hurried to the pens.

      There were more people than she had ever seen at the corrals. Many of the women who lived on the ranch stood on the railing, watching the activity that stirred the dust. She loved being around the horses and had missed them.

      On most of the ranches she had visited with her father, there were women working alongside the vaqueros, but her mother had believed that women belonged in the home. So, on their ranch, the men worked the livestock, and the women stayed inside.

      This was her chance to change that for the De Zavala ranch and her people.

      Her gloves immediately lost their whiteness when she grabbed the top of the wood fence and stepped up.

      As she looked over the railing, she felt as if her heart and lungs stopped working. The most magnificent animal she had ever seen loped on the opposite side of the corral. Tucking his tail, he stopped and turned in one quick motion.

      The glossy black coat lay over sculpted muscles. Long solid legs covered the ground in fluid motion. The stallion tossed his head, sending his mane flying in the breeze.

      She was in love. “He’s gorgeous.”

      Maria, Rosita’s granddaughter, leaned in close to her. “They say he’s from Kentucky.” The younger woman sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”

      “Kentucky? I thought he was from Ireland.” Maria had never shown an interest in horses before. Frowning, Sofia turned her head to get a better look at the man working the horse. Oh, my.

      He stood a head above any of her father’s men. Booted feet planted in a wide stance, he held his right arm out, commanding the horse without a lunge line or whip.

      It was more than just his height that made it obvious he was not one of her father’s men. Without a hat, his hair was tousled. Streaks of wheat ran through his sandy-brown locks. She had never been so fascinated by a man’s hairstyle or color.

      Now she understood why all the females loitered around the horse pen. Not many visitors made it out to the ranch, and never men of this caliber.

      The clothes he wore didn’t help, either. No baggy trousers or loose shirt like many of her father’s workers. He wore a black fitted vest over a white button-up that showed off a trim middle and long legs. Not a sound came from his mouth as he communicated with the horse.

      How was he getting the stallion to move the way he wanted? Narrowing her gaze, Sofia focused on the man’s movements. The man slightly flicked his fingers, and the horse stopped and spun to face him.

      Head lowered, the big black beast walked forward and set his forelock against the man’s broad chest. Nimble fingers rubbed the big jaw. All the women sighed as one.

      Sofia glanced at the men surrounding the corral, many of them sitting on the top rail. Admiration was visible on the faces of the vaqueros, people she considered the best horsemen in the world.

      A hand clasped on her shoulder. “Mija, what are you doing? It’s too hot and dusty out here for you.”

      Her father’s quiet voice startled her from the sight of horse and man. “Papi, I wanted to see the new horse. I hear he’s from Ireland. Why didn’t you tell me about him?” She glanced back to the cowboy.

      “There is nothing to tell. It’s business between Jackson McCreed and myself.”

      “But I love these horses. You allowed me to ride all over the ra—”

      “That was years ago. Now you have house responsibilities and should be preparing for your marriage.”

      It was as though a mule had delivered a kick to her gut, almost had her doubling over. Marriage?

      “I thought with the new Texas Republic, our contracts with Mexico were canceled?” This couldn’t be happening. She had escaped the arrangement her mother set up. Her dreams had nothing to do with being the perfect wife.

      “Yes, we have severed our ties to the old country, but to secure our future and legacy, we need connections