"My mother's piano?" Noble didn't know why that was so important to him when there were many things that were more valuable than the piano. He could see Saber as a child, climbing up on the piano stool with her chubby legs dangling and her tiny hands banging away at the keys.
"It is safe." The old man shook his head. "Men drunken men bent on mischief-came many times, shooting out windows and rummaging through the house. But when my sons and I returned their gunfire, the cowards came no more. They rustled most of the cattle, though. We saved less than a hundred head, and they took all but five horses." Alejandro lowered his gaze. "It is my shame that I failed you."
Noble felt a rush of affection for the man who had stayed at Casa del Sol when everyone else had gone. He could only guess at the difficulties Alejandro and his family had faced. His voice caught when he said, "You did more than anyone could expect. I am indebted to you and your family, Alejandro."
"You are home, Patron, and that is thanks enough for me. My wife, Margretta, kept your room just the way you left "it." Alejandro looked somewhat unsure. "You are going to stay?" Fervent hope shone in his dark eyes. "You will not go away again?"
Suddenly Noble felt the weight of his responsibilities, and knew what his father would expect from him. "No, amigo. I am home to stay."
"We will make Casa del Sol great again," Alejandro said with a wide smile. "When the other vaqueros learn that you have come home, then they will return, Patron" The gran vaquero watched his Patron's eyes take on a tortured look.
"I can't pay them wages, Alejandro." Noble swallowed hard. "I can't even pay you."
Alejandro's expression became indignant. "Pay! What are these words coming from you? This is my home, as it is yours! I was born here and my papa before me, and his papa came from Spain with your grandpapa. It is the same with many of the others. They will return because they have always worked for the Patrons of Casa del Sol."
Noble turned away and stared through the jagged glass of the broken window, wishing he could express his gratitude but unable to speak for a moment. Finally he said softly, "It will not be easy, Alejandro."
"You have but to tell me what to do, and it shall be done."
Noble pivoted, meeting Alejandro's questioning gaze. "First we need to rebuild the herd. We will also need horses, and that takes money."
Alejandro grew sober and nodded in agreement. "Your papa wrote you a letter. Perhaps there is something in it that will help you."
When Alejandro hurried away, Noble moved to the window and stared out at the dusty courtyard. How would he ever take his father's place? He was not wise or dedicated as his father had been. But he owed his best to the Vincentes, who had died carving this ranch out of the wilderness. He owed it to his father to save Casa del Sol.
Alejandro returned, puffing to catch his breath. "Here is the letter, Patron. Read what your papa said to you. Everything will be good again-you will see. They can't beat you; you are too much like your papa to let anyone defeat you."
Noble looked about the dust-covered room, trying to imagine it as it once had been. "I hope you're right."
"There are many who will try to stop you," Alejandro warned.
"Let them come; they have already done their worst." Pain cut through him, which he tried to conceal by concentrating on opening his father's letter. He was determined never to be taken unaware again, and he would never, never trust a woman.
His father's handwriting was shaky and the paper was splotched with ink. Noble had trouble reading the scribbled words.
My son,
If you read this I shall be dead. Do not grieve for me, but take your rightful place as Patron of Casa del Sol. Hold on tightly to what belongs to you, and let no man take your heritage away from you. I have placed money in a bank in New Orleans. Contact attorney-atlaw George Nunn in New Orleans. He is a man of integrity, so put complete trust in him. Mr. Nunn has a copy of my will and he will direct you in any of your needs. Send for your sister as soon as you feel it is safe to bring her home. Keep together what is left of the family. My body and soul have left this earth, but my heart walks with you.
I love and honor you, my son.
Noble stared at the page a long time. He felt as if his father had spoken to him from beyond the grave; it fired his blood and gave him the courage he needed to do what had to be done.
He wondered why his father had chosen to deal with an attorney in New Orleans rather than in Texas. He slipped the letter into the envelope and placed it in his breast pocket.
"Who can I trust to go to New Orleans for me, Alejandro?"
The gran vaquero didn't hesitate. "My eldest son, Tomas, can go for you, Patron. He is very responsible."
"Send him to me at once. I shall draw up the necessary papers for him. Can he leave within the week?"
"Si, Patron. You give the order and he will obey."
Noble shook his head. "I hope I can be the man my father expected me to be, Alejandro."
"Cada quien construye su propio destino, Patron."
"Si, amigo, we do make our own destiny."
Rachel dismounted and tossed her horse's reins to Zeb, the old cowhand who had worked for Broken Spur Ranch for over forty years. As much a part of the ranch as the land itself, Zeb was bent and aging, his hands misshapen and gnarled. When it had become impossible for him to keep pace with the younger cowhands, Rachel had put him in charge of the horses, which suited him just fine. Zeb loved horses, and they responded to the gentle care administered by those misshapen hands.
Zeb gave her a wide grin, which showed that most of his teeth were missing. Long white hair touched his shoulders when he respectfully removed his dusty hat, slapping it against his bowed leg. "Sure is a scorcher today, Miss Rachel." He patted the rump of her lathered horse. "Looks like you've been riding hell-bent in this heat." There was no reproach in his voice; he knew if Rachel had ridden her horse hard, there must have been a good reason. "I'll just give Faro a good rubdown and cool her off slow-like."
Rachel's mind had already settled on other matters, and she gave Zeb the merest nod before entering the ranch house. Winna Mae, the housekeeper and cook, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
Rachel had been twelve the winter her father had found Winna Mae by the river, half-frozen, severely beaten, and with horrible burn scars on her arms and hands. Her father had brought her to the ranch house to recover. When Winna Mae had regained her health, it seemed only natural for her to remain at Broken Spur as cook and housekeeper. Her hands were never idle, and she ruled the house as though it was her domain. Few people ever dared to tangled with her.
Not much was known about Winna Mae's past. No one questioned her about it, and she never volunteered any information. Her dark skin and high cheekbones suggested that she could be half Indian. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and she wore it in a tight bun. Her face reminded Rachel of the map hanging in the back of the schoolroom-the lines reflecting the hard life she'd led, the sadness she'd known, the pain she tried to hide.
To Rachel, Winna Mae was invaluable, and she didn't know what she would have done without her, especially in the months following her father's death.
Winna Mae nodded toward the narrow staircase. "Your sister's here. Said she's resting and don't want anyone to bother her."
Rachel removed her gloves and hat and dropped them onto a leather settee, disdainfully rolling her eyes and wishing she didn't have to face her sister today of all days. "Delia never comes to Broken Spur unless she's displeased about something or she wants something."
Winna Mae merely nodded and made her way back to the kitchen.
Rachel knew why Delia had come all the way from Austin in this heat. For the last two years Delia had been pressuring her to sell Broken Spur to Delia's husband, Whit, and she'd probably come today to renew that argument.
Reluctantly, Rachel climbed the stairs, berating herself because she'd had Nobel in her gun sights and had allowed him to just ride away. Her shoulders s
agged with weariness. She had broken the promise that she'd made at her father's grave site. Gathering her composure, she knocked on the door of the bedroom that had been her sister's before she'd married Whit Chandler and moved to Austin - a room always kept in readiness for Delia's infrequent visits.
An irritated voice bade her enter. Rachel found her sister, stripped down to her petticoat, lying across the bed and fanning herself with a silk and ivory fan.
"Why is it so hot?" Delia asked plaintively as she flipped tresses of golden hair from her face. "I can scarcely draw breath."
Rachel walked to the heavy green curtains and forcefully jerked them aside, then shoved open the window. "If you'd let in some fresh air, it wouldn't be so hot, Delia."
"I'm accustomed to servants doing that for me. Winna Mae never sees to my comfort. I don't know why you kept her here after Papa died. I don't like looking at her scarred hands they're horrible and make me shudder."
"Winna Mae has more things to do than see to your comfort, Delia. And you know that I keep her because I need her and this is her home. As for her hands being scarred, have you no pity? Something dreadful must have happened to her."
Delia frowned. "She never did like me, and I don't care for her either. And no, I don't pity her; she has you to do that for her."
Rachel gathered her thoughts before she answered. "Winna Mae treats everyone the same. You just don't understand her."
Delia eased herself to a sitting position while gazing disapprovingly at the way her sister was dressed. Rachel wore a dusty green shirt, chaps and scuffed brown boots. Her red-gold hair, which she'd gotten from their father, was windblown and tangled about her face.
Delia realized for the first time that Rachel was pretty, almost beautiful with her unusual green eyes and delicate features. Of course she was tall for a female, and if that didn't chase the men away, her temper or her manner of dress certainly would.
"Why do you insist on dressing like a man, Rachel? For God's sake, can't you take a little pride in yourself? If you don't care what people think about you, you might at least consider me and Whit. After all, everything you do reflects on us, and could affect his chances to run for governor when the time comes."
Rachel took in an impatient breath and scoffed, "With a Yankee military governor sitting in the capitol building, and Texans unable to vote, I'd like to see how Whit accomplishes that feat."
"Well," Delia said irritably, fanning herself with renewed vigor. "When Texas is admitted back into the Union, which it will be, Whit intends to be the first elected governor since that awful war ended."
"Texas is nothing more than a Yankee stronghold," Rachel stated with distaste. "I'm not so sure well ever be free of Washington's yoke, or if we'll see free elections in our lifetime."
"That's what little you know. Whit has cultivated the friendship of the right people. Our friends believe that Texas could be readmitted to the Union as early as three years from now. Whit intends to lead Texas into a bright new future when that happens."
Rachel could almost hear Whit spouting those words to anyone who would listen to him. "I never was quite sure if Whit was a Yankee sympathizer or if he was loyal to the Confederacy." There was a stilted pause before Rachel said, "He never quite makes his loyalties clear, does he?"
"That's called politics, sister dear. You play one side against the other and you go with the winner." Delia skillfully turned the conversation back to Rachel. "The last thing Whit needs is his sisterin-law flouting convention and riding about the countryside like a hellion."
Rachel had heard this argument before; undaunted, she walked to the other side of the room and shoved open another window to allow a cross breeze to circulate through the room. She was in no mood to be lectured today.
"A ranch the size of Broken Spur doesn't run itself. Papa made it my responsibility, and if the way I dress offends your husband, I just don't care!
Delia yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "Whit's still willing to take the responsibility of the ranch off your shoulders, but you're so determined to do everything yourself. Look at you; you're as brown as an Indian browner than Winna Mae."
Rachel dropped down on the bed beside her sister, trying to see her through the eyes of a man. Delia was incredibly beautiful, with golden hair, a creamy complexion and big, cornflower blue eyes. She'd inherited their mother's soft beauty as well as her slender and petite form. Rachel felt clumsy compared to her sister, but she didn't envy her-she loved her too much.
"If only I could make you understand how I feel about the ranch, Delia. Papa put his heart and soul into Broken Spur he and Mama are buried here. It's my home, and I won't sell it to anyone. Not even your husband."
Delia studied a broken nail with a pensive frown. "I don't understand or forgive Papa for leaving the ranch to you. It's a humiliation that I'll never get over, and neither will Whit."
"Papa knew how much you hated the ranch and how much I loved it. It's as simple as that, Delia. He left you the house in town which you soldand most of his other holdings. As I recall, when his will was first read, you were happy enough about the arrangement."
"Maybe, but since then, Whit has convinced me that Broken Spur is the jewel in the crown." Delia's eyes became misty. "Papa always liked you better than me, Rachel you know he did. That's why he left you Broken Spur."
Rachel had a sudden rush of affection for her sister, who could be so childlike at times, needing everyone's approval and attention. Their father had made no secret of the fact that Rachel was his favorite. "This will always be your home, Delia you know that. You can come here as often as you like and stay as long as you want."
Delia's expression hardened. "I resent your stubbornness, Rachel. Wouldn't you like to be free of tiresome obligations that go with running a ranch this size? Just think you could do anything you desired. You always said you'd like to travel. You could visit San Francisco. You could come to Austin and stay with us. You would be a sensation! There isn't a woman in town who can match your beauty. You could have your pick of beaus."
"Try to understand, Delia; I don't want to leave here. If I sold Broken Spur to Whit, it would be like selling a part of Papa, and I'll never do that."
Delia gripped her sister's shoulders and said heatedly, "Let the dead go, Rachel. I have."
"Never!"
Seeing the anger reflected in Rachel's green eyes, Delia released her hold. Rachel had a fiery temper to match her red hair, and it wasn't wise to provoke her not if she was ever going to convince her to sell Broken Spur.
"How can you even suggest such a thing?" Rachel asked passionately. "I won't rest until Papa's murderer lies six feet under." She sprang off the bed and walked to the door, then paced back to her sister.
"He's back."
Delia was puzzled. "Who?"
"Noble Vincente."
Delia leaped from the bed, her heart thundering. "Noble's home? Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw him."
"I knew he'd come back." A smug smile curved Delia's lips. "I knew Noble couldn't stay away from Texas for much longer."
Rachel studied her sister closely: Delia's eyes were bright and her face was flushed with excitement. At one time Delia had fancied herself in love with Noble, and that was the beginning of all the trouble that had led to their father's death.
"I could have killed him today. I had him in my rifle sights, and I just let him ride away."
Delia gripped Rachel's shoulder and swung her around so forcefully that Rachel winced in pain.
"I don't want Noble hurt do you understand me?" She shook Rachel hard. "Remember that any scandal that touches this family will ruin Whit's chances to win the election."
Rachel pushed her sister away and glared at her. "You are the last one to worry about scandal after what happened between you and Noble. You're fortunate that the gossips didn't find out, or Whit's political career would be over before it started."
"You're cruel to bring up the past, Rachel. I don't want t
o think about it."
"Be warned that when the time is right, I'll bring Noble Vincente to his knees. Just how I accomplish that is for me to decide." She smiled secretively, suddenly aware that she was baiting her sister, and worse still, that she was enjoying it. "I might let Noble live and wound him to the heart. He always had an eye for a pretty girl maybe that's the weapon I'll use against him. What do you think, Delia: am I pretty enough for him?"
Delia laughed scornfully. "You, pitted against Noble? I don't think so, little sister. What will you wear to entice him your usual male attire? Noble wouldn't even notice you as a woman." Her eyes swept over Rachel. "Besides, you know nothing about a man like Noble, and he surely wouldn't be interested in someone like you."
"As I recall, he wasn't too interested in you either." Rachel watched the color drain from her sister's face. "He smiled at you, flirted a little, and you fell into his arms, giving him everything he wanted. Noble didn't love you or he would have married you when he learned you were going to have his baby."
Delia lowered her lashes, looking like a wounded bird. "I made a mistake but I've paid for it. God knows I've paid and paid."
Rachel felt a rush of pity for Delia and softened her tone. "Noble didn't care about you or the baby. Even now he probably wouldn't even care that you lost the child."
"You don't understand; it wasn't his fault."
Rachel had tired long ago of Delia's defense of Noble. "You should be thinking about your husband. I don't like Whit much, but at least he married you and made sure that no one knew about the baby."
"And you are too quick to condemn Noble for our father's death, when the law found no evidence that he shot Papa."
Rachel looked thoughtfully at her sister. "Most of our friends are convinced that Noble killed Papa. Fortunately for you, they believed that the quarrel was over water rights to the Brazos."
"Our friends and neighbors have always hated the Vincentes because of their wealth and power. Most of them would latch on to any excuse to drag the Vincente name through the mud."
Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Page 2