Sofia De Zavala wants to help her father run their family’s Texas ranch—but he has other ideas for her future. Faced with an arranged marriage, Sofia dresses as a boy and joins a cattle drive, determined to prove herself to her father. But her plan backfires when she’s forced to save her reputation by marrying trail boss Jackson McCreed.

Jackson thought he was hiring a scrappy young boy—instead, the wary widower has landed his business partner’s feisty, headstrong daughter as his bride. He believes a marriage of convenience is the best they can hope for. But Sofia dares him to look to the future again...and find a love strong enough to lasso a lifetime of happiness.

“He can’t make you marry me.”

“We might not have much choice if we want to have a chance at the dreams we both want.”

“All I want is to work on the ranch with my father, and you want to raise your horses.”

Jackson nodded, his jaw sore from the tension. “Despite you lying to me, we were friends, right?”

Sofia nodded.

“We talked about you working for me.”

“But that is different than getting married.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

That got her attention. Moving back, she wiped her face clear of the tears. “What do you mean?”

“We can treat it like a partnership. I didn’t plan on ever marrying again.”

“I know. I don’t want a husband.”

“Good. Because I don’t want a wife. We could just stay friends. Have our own rooms, our own lives.” He shrugged. “Just friends, business partners. But I’m not going to let your father force us into this. You have to agree.”

A seventh-generation Texan, JOLENE NAVARRO fills her life with family, faith and life’s beautiful messiness. She knows that as much as the world changes, people stay the same: vow-keepers and heartbreakers. Jolene married a vow-keeper who shows her holding hands never gets old. When not writing, Jolene teaches art to inner-city teens and hangs out with her own four almost-grown kids. Find Jolene on Facebook or her blog, jolenenavarrowriter.com.

Lone Star Bride

Jolene Navarro

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Be still, and know that I am God.

—Psalms 46:10

Dedicated to my grandmother, Jo Ann Crawford. She gave me the spark to tell stories and to pass down stories from our own family. Thank you for inspiring me and allowing me to read all your Zane Grey books. This one is for you and the women in our family who made Texas their home before it was Texas.

Acknowledgments

Some say that writing is a solitary endeavor, but I find I’m surrounded by many people who help me along the way.

First, to my amazing brainstorming team, Storm Navarro, Sasha Summers and Willa Blair and the SARA to SARA Sundays.

Special thanks to the family of the late historian W. T. Block. His article on the Opelousas Trail inspired my pirates on a cattle drive.

To editor extraordinaire Emily Rodmell. Thank you for your insight and eye for detail. To executive editor Tina James for giving Jackson and Sofia a home beyond my computer. I discovered them six years ago. That they are in the world is a dream come true.

To the most wonderful agent, Pam Hopkins, for being a mixture of kindness, support and honesty. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

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

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 to the new government. We could still lose our land grants.” His jaw flexed as he looked over his people who had gathered to watch the new stallion.

“There are many political issues that need to be settled, and I want to ensure our ownership of the land is not questioned.”

“But you stayed loyal to Texas. You provided horses and supplies to our fight for independence.” Her father had stood by their new neighbors against the unfairness of Santa Anna.

“When it comes to greed, you can’t count on fairness.” His ebony eyes cut back to her. “You’re no longer a child. Your mother wanted you settled in society with a family of your own. I will ensure her wishes become reality. By the end of the year, you will have a husband. A husband who can anchor our legacy in the new republic.”

“Papi! I can—”

“Maria, take Sofia to the house. Go now. There is no business out here for you.” He turned his back to her. Dismissing her and her wishes. She watched as he joined the cowboy with the magnificent stallion. They led the horse back into the stables where she wouldn’t be able to see him.

A tug of her hand caught her attention. “Señorita, we must go to the house as your father ordered.” The younger girl looked around Sofia. “My abuela says he’s trouble, but he might 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.

His hands looked too smooth to have ever done any real work. Jackson growled in frustration. The poor kid was an orphan doing what he had to do to survive. He continued in Spanish. “So who’s waiting for you?”

“Nadie.”

Nobody. Such a simple word to describe a devastating existence for a child.

“Right.” Jackson fought down the urge to offer the kid a safe place. He didn’t have the time or resources to take on a lost boy.

Helping people never worked out anyway. His hand felt huge circling the boy’s upper arm as he pulled him off the horse. The warmth coming through the cloth surprised Jackson.

Once on the ground, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest. The youth’s wide-eyed stare stayed glued on the front of his shirt he had left open. Turning red, the boy jerked his head down, then tried to yank his arm free. The underdeveloped muscles weren’t much of a contest to Jackson’s strength.

“When was the last time you ate?” For more times than he could count, Jackson was glad he had learned his grandmother’s native tongue. She had been proud of her homeland of Spain.

“I am not your concern, señor.” He tried to jerk his arm back again. “Release me.”

The boy’s Spanish sounded educated. “So you can steal something else?” With his hands wrapped around the small arm, Jackson pulled the boy closer. Just because he wasn’t turning the youngster over to the law, didn’t mean he couldn’t scare him. “What’s your name?”

The boy glared up at him with his lips pulled tight into a thin line. He had a fresh scrape across the left side of his face.

Jackson gave him a slight shake. The kid was going to end up in a bad way if he wasn’t careful. “You want to dangle from a rope? They hang horse thieves. They won’t care about your age. What’s your name?”

The small jaw locked down and the muscle flexed, stubbornness written all over the soft face.

“Fine. You can tell the sheriff.” He started pulling the boy toward the old tack room. Jackson hoped the kid didn’t call his bluff.

“Santiago! My name’s Santiago.” His voice cracked. The boy started coughing as he fought Jackson’s grip.

Jackson stopped and stared down with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest of the name.

The kid shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. The narrow shoulders slumped. “Smith.” The single mumbled word disappeared into the floor.

“Really? Smith?” The kid either didn’t know his last name, or he lied. Knowing how harsh the world could be, Jackson figured it might be a bit of both.

“Listen kid, why don’t we talk to the boss and see about getting you a job?”

Santiago’s head shot up, his dark eyes large. With a short growl, the boy swung his leg back and kicked Jackson hard in the shin. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip. The ragtag boy took the opportunity to run.

Straight to Dughall. The stallion still stood in the middle of the barn, ground tied when one of the reins dropped in a coil on the dirt-packed floor.

As if he did it all the time, the small body flew onto the bareback of the horse as he grasped the leather reins. With a kick the stallion bolted out the large barn door, past the corrals and into the moonlit pasture with the kid.

Jackson bit down the angry thoughts as he ran after them. The kid was going to get them both killed. At the door, he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that covered the night sounds.

To Jackson’s surprise, Dughall didn’t stop right away. He whistled again.

At the edge of the tree line, the big black stopped and looked back at him. The boy’s seat never wavered. The kid knew how to ride.

The stallion swung his head around, back to the trees. Santiago dug in the back of his heels and slapped the leather reins against Dughall’s rump, urging him forward.

One last whistle pulled the horse’s attention back to Jackson. As the big animal turned and moved toward the barn, he hung his head low.

The kid jumped from the stallion’s back and ran into the trees. The big brute paused as if he wanted to join the little thief.

“Get over here!” Jackson scolded his horse.

A lit kerosene lamp came from the house, swinging as the carrier came closer to the barn. Jackson recognized Rafael De Zavala, the ranch owner.

“What is all the noise about? Is everything all right?” His smooth Spanish accent enriched his crisp English.

“There seems to be a little thief running wild.”

“Híjole, more gangs have moved into the area. Is everyone safe? Did they take anything of value?”

“Tried to run off with Dughall.” The horse stood next to him now and nudged him with his soft muzzle. Jackson wasn’t sure if he was apologizing or asking to leave with the boy.

From the other side of the barn, a few of the ranch hands joined them, guns drawn.

“I’ll send for the sheriff.” De Zavala turned.

“No, don’t worry about it. The kid was beat up and half starved. He didn’t get away with anything. Everyone should go back to bed.”

“Diego.” De Zavala called out. “Stay in the barn and stand guard. Estevan, make sure we have someone every night to watch the horses.”

The men left. Jackson turned to De Zavala and held his hand to midchest. “He was about this tall. His name was Santiago. Do you know him?”

The older man’s mouth fell open, then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be. Are you sure? My son, who drowned during a storm, is Santiago.” De Zavala gave him a tight smile and shook his head. “I’m being foolish. My son is gone, and he would be taller. He was a man, not a boy.”

He walked over to Dughall and placed a hand on Jackson’s horse. “You have a very fine stallion. Is it too late in the night to talk business? I’m unable to sleep, and I have an idea to give you.”

That sounded promising. More so than anything else Rafael De Zavala had said since they started corresponding months ago. Jackson nodded.

“Settle your horse then, and come to the back of the house through the kitchen. We will meet in my study. Everyone is asleep, and we can finish our talk of business.”

“I’ll be there.” His plans were falling into place.

“Good. I have given much thought to what you want, and I think you can take care of a problem I have. It will be a good partnership.”

Jackson watched the man make his way back to the big hacienda. Arrogance and shrewdness radiated off him, much like Jackson imagined it did off the conquistadors of old.

Dughall looked with longing in the direction the boy had disappeared. “I know there was something about the kid, but we can’t save them all, old man. Come on, we offered him a job and he ran. I’ll take you out for a run tomorrow.”

Jackson had one goal, and that was to get De Zavala to sell him a few of his broodmares. Their bloodlines were as old as those conquistadors. There was also a perfect property on the edge of town.

He brushed down Dughall and thought of the ranch he wanted to build. He visualized a place much like this one, but smaller. He wouldn’t need such a big house for just him, and he wasn’t going to marry. Not ever again.

He gave one last look out to the trees. Should he try to go after the kid? He had to be hungry. He sighed and threw the brush back in the bucket. Santiago would know the countryside better than he did. In the morning, he’d ask the ranch hands. Someone had to know the kid’s story.

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