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Authors: Marie Ferrarella
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the last week, it had been nothing short of painful.
Rosita had her own theories as to what was bothering their son. She’d sent Ruben here today to check it out. As if he needed an entreaty from his wife to see what was wrong with his son.
Hooking his arms around the top railing, Ruben hoisted himself up for a better view. The horse was roaming about the corral, waiting for Cruz to make a move. But Cruz was just standing still, lost in thought.
“It isn’t going well, is it?”
Cruz turned around at his father’s question and forced himself to wipe the scowl from his brow. Normally, he didn’t mind being watched, but today the results he was after weren’t materializing. Hedidn’t like looking like a fool, even to his own family.
His broad shoulders moved up and then down carelessly. “Some horses are slower than others.”
“The same could be said of some women.” Ruben smiled. “Some take more patience. Those are the ones that are worth waiting for.”
Cruz studied his father’s sun-bronzed face. “Did you come here to lecture me about women or horses?”
Ruben’s eyes were solemn. “I didn’t come here to lecture you about anything. You seem restless. Your mother worries.”
And so did his father, Cruz thought. But he couldn’t help that. He couldn’t live his life for others; he had to find his own way. He’d always thought that the path was straightforward. Ever since he was ten, he’d known exactly what he wanted.
And yet…
Cruz stared off toward the horizon. Things had been much clearer before Savannah had come here. “Yes, I’m restless. I’m tired of working for someone else. I want something of my own.”
Ruben patted Cruz’s thigh in sympathy. “Patience, Cruz.”
Cruz felt he’d already been patient far too long,and it had gotten him nowhere. “Patient people grow old.”
Ruben knew what it felt like to be young, to want things immediately. “Patient people live to grow old.” He thought of his life with Rosita. “Half the pleasure of victory is the path that it took to get there.”
“I’ve been on the same path for a long time—scrimping, saving every dollar. And somehow, it just never seems to be enough. Just a little more, a little more. I want a piece of land—nothing huge—just something my own to start out with. Something to leave my mark on. I want a ranch of my own before I’m too old to sit on a horse.”
“I’m more than twenty-five years older than you,” replied Ruben. “I can still sit on a horse, still keep up with the likes of you. And my father rode until he was almost eighty.”
Focused on his frustration, Cruz didn’t hear the encouragement in his father’s words. He only gleaned what he wanted to. “That’s probably how old I’ll be before I can put together enough money to buy a ranch. Seventy-nine, like Grandpa.” It was the age at which his grandfather had died.
For a moment, Ruben said nothing. But he knew it wasn’t ambition that was making his son so short-tempered today. The drive that burned inCruz’s chest so brightly was nothing new—the flame had been there for a long time now.
No, it was something else. Something, he had a feeling, that Cruz was not accustomed to dealing with.
Ruben leaned back, looking toward the ranch house. Maybe Rosita was right, after all. “I hear the new woman on the ranch is with child.”
Ruben watched in fascination as Cruz’s jaw tightened. “Word gets around fast.”
“Is it yours?” Even as he asked, he felt he had his answer. That would go a long way toward explaining why his son was acting the way he was. Silently, Ruben tipped his hat to his wife’s intuition.
Cruz shot him a look. The question drew fresh irritation. “No.”
Children did not always tell their parents the truth, Ruben thought. He hadn’t always himself. But there was more than the truth involved here. There was a child’s welfare. “A man should never deny his own child.”
“I said no!” Cruz
Rosita had her own theories as to what was bothering their son. She’d sent Ruben here today to check it out. As if he needed an entreaty from his wife to see what was wrong with his son.
Hooking his arms around the top railing, Ruben hoisted himself up for a better view. The horse was roaming about the corral, waiting for Cruz to make a move. But Cruz was just standing still, lost in thought.
“It isn’t going well, is it?”
Cruz turned around at his father’s question and forced himself to wipe the scowl from his brow. Normally, he didn’t mind being watched, but today the results he was after weren’t materializing. Hedidn’t like looking like a fool, even to his own family.
His broad shoulders moved up and then down carelessly. “Some horses are slower than others.”
“The same could be said of some women.” Ruben smiled. “Some take more patience. Those are the ones that are worth waiting for.”
Cruz studied his father’s sun-bronzed face. “Did you come here to lecture me about women or horses?”
Ruben’s eyes were solemn. “I didn’t come here to lecture you about anything. You seem restless. Your mother worries.”
And so did his father, Cruz thought. But he couldn’t help that. He couldn’t live his life for others; he had to find his own way. He’d always thought that the path was straightforward. Ever since he was ten, he’d known exactly what he wanted.
And yet…
Cruz stared off toward the horizon. Things had been much clearer before Savannah had come here. “Yes, I’m restless. I’m tired of working for someone else. I want something of my own.”
Ruben patted Cruz’s thigh in sympathy. “Patience, Cruz.”
Cruz felt he’d already been patient far too long,and it had gotten him nowhere. “Patient people grow old.”
Ruben knew what it felt like to be young, to want things immediately. “Patient people live to grow old.” He thought of his life with Rosita. “Half the pleasure of victory is the path that it took to get there.”
“I’ve been on the same path for a long time—scrimping, saving every dollar. And somehow, it just never seems to be enough. Just a little more, a little more. I want a piece of land—nothing huge—just something my own to start out with. Something to leave my mark on. I want a ranch of my own before I’m too old to sit on a horse.”
“I’m more than twenty-five years older than you,” replied Ruben. “I can still sit on a horse, still keep up with the likes of you. And my father rode until he was almost eighty.”
Focused on his frustration, Cruz didn’t hear the encouragement in his father’s words. He only gleaned what he wanted to. “That’s probably how old I’ll be before I can put together enough money to buy a ranch. Seventy-nine, like Grandpa.” It was the age at which his grandfather had died.
For a moment, Ruben said nothing. But he knew it wasn’t ambition that was making his son so short-tempered today. The drive that burned inCruz’s chest so brightly was nothing new—the flame had been there for a long time now.
No, it was something else. Something, he had a feeling, that Cruz was not accustomed to dealing with.
Ruben leaned back, looking toward the ranch house. Maybe Rosita was right, after all. “I hear the new woman on the ranch is with child.”
Ruben watched in fascination as Cruz’s jaw tightened. “Word gets around fast.”
“Is it yours?” Even as he asked, he felt he had his answer. That would go a long way toward explaining why his son was acting the way he was. Silently, Ruben tipped his hat to his wife’s intuition.
Cruz shot him a look. The question drew fresh irritation. “No.”
Children did not always tell their parents the truth, Ruben thought. He hadn’t always himself. But there was more than the truth involved here. There was a child’s welfare. “A man should never deny his own child.”
“I said no!” Cruz
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