Texas Proud (Vincente 2)

by Constance O'Banyon

  For the moment Rachel forgot she was in the arms of her enemy. She felt no shame in being held against his strong male body. Noble was passionate and he was tender and he stirred her blood and brought new pleasure with each touch of his hand.

  Noble lowered her to fit against him, kissing her brow, sweeping his mouth across her cheek to her lips. "Damn you, Rachel, for making me want you and for making me feel again."

  She clamped her hands behind his head, drawing his wonderful lips to hers once more. When he gently nudged her legs apart and slid against her, his intimate hardness swelled and throbbed, firing her desire.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind a small voice warned, Fool, fool, you are in his trap he'll break your heart. She felt as though a large fist had clamped inside her stomach and was squeezing the life out of her. She gazed into dark, passionfilled eyes and trembled from a force that rocked her body.

  No! she answered the voice inside her head. He's fallen into my trap. I'll make him love me, and then I'll break his heart.

  The water gently lapped against her skin and all thought of resistance dissolved. With a soft groan she surrendered herself to him completely. Noble supported her weight with one hand while his other hand moved across her flat stomach. Her head fell forward to rest against his shoulder when his hand moved downward to her thighs, then glided between her legs.

  Unleashed desire sang through her, and she knew that she'd sink to the bottom of the river if he weren't holding her. His mouth covered hers, stealing her breath as effectively as the river would have if she had slipped beneath the surface. Neither of them heard the shot ring out, not consciously, but the force of the bullet struck Rachel in the chest and ripped her from Noble's grasp.

  She felt hot, searing pain; then a sudden weakness washed over her. She reached out for Noble just before she slid downward, the water closing over her head. Too weak to fight her way to the surface, Rachel was sure she was drowning.

  Noble thought Rachel might be playing another game, but when she didn't surface right away, he dove under the water, grasping her shoulders and propelling her upward. He still didn't know what had happened, but when he saw blood oozing from her chest enough blood to color the muddy water red-he knew. He'd seen enough bullet wounds during the war to know that she'd been shot. But how-who?

  Rachel struggled against the darkness that seemed to hover over her. She tried to focus her gaze on Noble, but she was too weak. Her head fell against his arm and she murmured, "Noble, why? Why did you do it?"

  Then she lost consciousness.

  Noble lifted her in his arms and moved toward the shore, his eyes and ears alert for any motion, any sound. Rachel's assailant was probably lurking nearby. He heard a horse galloping away, but he wasn't convinced that the danger had passed.

  He stepped onto the bank and laid Rachel gently upon the grass, then quickly draped his shirt across her nakedness. She looked so small and helpless, so pale, that he feared she might die. He had to act quickly if he was going to save her life. She was losing too much blood.

  Primal instinct flamed to life inside him. He was a man who had witnessed death and had killed, but the sight of Rachel's lifeblood soaking into the grass enraged him beyond reason. He was like a man possessed, a predator, protecting what belonged to him. He wanted revenge against whoever had done this to Rachel.

  His gaze scanned the immediate area and then beyond to the trees that lined the river, but he saw no one. Reaching forward, he grasped his gunit was empty, thanks to Rachel's playful exhibition. He tossed the weapon aside and turned his attention back to Rachel. Quickly examining her wound, he frowned it was bad.

  At no time in Noble's life had he felt more helpless then he did at the moment. Dammit, he wasn't a doctor, but he knew she could die if he didn't get help. She lay so still, maybe she was already dead. He breathed a little easier when he saw the faint rise and fall of her chest.

  He quickly slipped into trousers and dropped down, examining her carefully. The bullet had lodged in her chest, and it was close to her heart. He tore a strip off his shirt and tightly bound it around her, taking care not to move her more than necessary. With each movement more blood oozed from the wound.

  He gently draped her shirt about her, lifted her into his arms and laid her across the saddle. With a fluid motion, he thrust his foot into the stirrup and mounted his horse, gathering her to him. With pressure from his knees, he nudged the animal forward into a slow walk. His first instinct was to ride fast so he could get help for Rachel, but common sense warned him that any jarring motion would only aggravate her wound. He made his way slowly home, praying that Rachel would not die.

  The sun had dropped low on the horizon like a dark, ominous shroud when Noble finally reached his hacienda. He glanced down at Rachel and saw that fresh blood had seeped though the makeshift bandage. She was still unconscious, her dark lashes lying still against her pale cheeks.

  She would not die! He wouldn't let her.

  When Noble reached the front of the house, a puzzled Alejandro rushed forward, his dark face creased in worry, his eyes filled with questions. He opened the door for Noble and followed him inside.

  "What has happened, Patron?"

  "Miss Rutledge has been shot. Ride into town as fast as you can, Alejandro. Don't spare the horse, and fetch Dr. Stanhope. Tell him to come at once."

  Alejandro was too well trained to ask why the Patron and Miss Rachel were soaking wet, or why they both wore very little clothing. A gran va quero was trained to obey his Patron without question. "Si. I shall ride very fast and bring the doctor right away."

  Rage tore at Noble like thorns, ripping and chewing at his flesh. Why had this happened to Rachel? Someone had made a deadly mistake when they shot her.

  No matter how long it took, he would find the bastard and make him pay with his life!

  Noble hurriedly carried Rachel up the stairs to his bedroom, since it was the only room that was furnished. Alejandro's wife, Margretta, raced ahead of him, opening the door and following him inside. Noble gently laid Rachel upon his bed, thinking she looked even paler against the white sheets.

  Hours passed with Noble sitting beside Rachel, often replacing a blood-soaked bandage with a fresh one. Margretta lit the lamps to chase away the darkness. Still Rachel had not regained consciousness.

  Noble glanced at the mantel clock that ticked away the minutes as if they were hours. It was nearing midnight. Why hadn't Alejandro returned with the doctor? Where were they?

  He refused the food Margretta brought him and hovered next to Rachel, feeling a helplessness that verged on panic. If Dr. Stanhope didn't come soon, Noble realized, he'd have to remove the bullet himself That thought scared the hell out of him; the bullet was deeply embedded in her chest, and only a doctor had the knowledge to operate so near the heart.

  Night passed, and predawn light filtered into the room. Noble rose from the chair to extinguish the lamps, stretched his cramped muscles, then returned to his vigil beside Rachel. Panic lingered on the edge of his mind. If she died, it would be his fault because he knew in his heart that the bullet had been meant for him.

  Rachel moaned in her unconscious state, and began tossing and fretting. Noble pressed her back onto the mattress, forcibly restraining her to keep her still. Already fresh blood soaked through the bandage he'd applied only moments before.

  The morning breeze stirred the curtains, and soon bright sunlight streamed through the open window. Noble steeled himself for the inevitable. He could no longer wait for the doctor. He'd have to remove the bullet or Rachel would probably bleed to death.

  Alejandro's wife, Margretta, poked her head in the door. She was a tiny woman with even features and looked ten years younger than her actual age. She didn't look strong enough to be the mother of five strapping sons. Her dark hair was braided and wrapped at the nape of her neck. Her soft brown eyes were filled with concern and pity. She advanced into the room and laid her hand on Noble's shoulder. "Will you let me si
t with her now, Patron, while you rest? You have not left the senorita's side all night."

  Noble glanced down at his hands, which were trembling in fact he felt as if he were a mass of trembling flesh. He drummed his fingertips against his leg, knowing what he must do and rebelling against it. "I have to remove the bullet, Margretta. Bring me the sharpest knife you can find one with a good point-and lots of boiling water, whiskey and more clean linens."

  "Si, Patron," she said with understanding. "It is very bad, is it not?"

  "Si, very bad."

  Margretta hurried away to accomplish her appointed task, while Noble removed a bloodsoaked bandage and examined the wound carefully. "The bullet is less than an inch above her heart. Unless it's lodged at an angle; then it could be even closer." He felt his palms sweating and he dragged air into his lungs. Involuntarily his hand went to Rachel's hair, which was matted and tangled. He softly touched her cheek, now flushed because she was feverish another bad sign.

  It seemed to him that hours passed before Margretta returned, her arms laden with the items he'd need. He moved a small wooden table next to the bed. Without being told, Margretta laid a clean strip of linen across the table, then arranged the knife, hot water and bandages in a neat row.

  Noble looked at Alejandro's wife, trying to gauge her character, and wondered if she was strong enough to assist him. "Ill need your help," he told her. "Can you do it?"

  Margretta looked somewhat apprehensive, but she nodded without hesitation. "I will not fail you, Patron" She crossed herself, and her lips formed a quick prayer before moving to Noble's side.

  Noble reached for the knife, his grip tightening on the handle the same way his insides were tightening. He'd dug bullets out of people before, but never this deep, never so close to the heart, and never a woman-God, help him, not just any woman but his Green Eyes. All it would take was one slip of the blade to finish what the unknown gunman had started. Noble doused the knife with whiskey, wishing he could have a drink to get him through this ordeal, but his hand must be steady, so he resisted the temptation.

  "I need more light, Margretta. Bring more lamps." He was stalling and he knew it. He glanced out the window that faced the front of the house, his eyes searching the road. "Dammit. If only that doctor would get here."

  Rachel chose that moment to open her eyes. She saw Noble gripping a hideous-looking knife and she tried to raise her head, but she was too weak. She fell back against the pillow, the room spinning. "Kill me," she said weakly, licking her dry lips. "I don't care."

  "Rachel," Noble said softly, laying the knife aside, "do you recall what happened to you?"

  She felt so helpless, and her voice seemed trapped in her throat. Why did her chest feel as if it were on fire, and the rest of her felt ice cold? Why couldn't she move? "Where... am 17

  "Rachel, you are at Casa del Sol. I brought you here after you were shot do you remember?"

  She tried to think past the nausea that rocked her in waves, and past the throbbing pain that sapped her strength. Shot had he said she'd been shot? Her eyes widened and terror iced through her veins. She flinched when Noble reached out to her. She wished she could get up, move, run! But when she tried to rise, Noble's hand came down on her shoulder to hold her in place. It didn't take much effort for him to subdue her, because she was as weak as a newborn baby.

  His voice came to her muted, as if he were speaking to her from a deep cavern. "Rachel, you've been shot and "he started to explain.

  "You... shot me." She licked her lips. "And now you want to finish me off?" Her eyes fell to the knife and deeper terror took possession of her. "Go ahead I can't stop you."

  Noble felt sick inside because she feared him. How could she think he'd harm her? He remembered her at the river, beautiful, tantalizing, irresistible, and he spoke to her with gentleness. "You mustn't distress yourself Try to remain calm." He wanted to wipe away her fear. "I only want to help you, Rachel. You should know that I would never do you harm."

  Rachel tore her gaze away from Noble's and looked for help from the Mexican woman who seemed to be studying her with compassion. "H-help me, senora...he...he will" Darkness hovered over Rachel like an ominous bird of prey, circling, circling until there was only a tiny pinpoint of light. Her instincts were sharp, but her body was encumbered by weakness. Her hope, like the light, was quickly being swallowed by darkness, leaving her powerless to defend herself. Rachel allowed the blackness to win. She floated on an endless sea where there was no pain - a safe, dark place to hide.

  If this was what it felt like to die, she thought, it wasn't so bad.

  Noble took a deep breath and gripped the knife handle, nodding at Margretta. "It's a blessing that she's lost consciousness again." He crossed himself, a prayer lingering on his lips. He needed God's help to guide his hands on his quest to save Rachel.

  Rachel awoke in a state of confusion. She felt as if a weight were pressing down on her chest, and when she attempted to move, searing pain made her head spin, and bile rose in her throat. She gasped for breath and was finally able to take air into her lungs. After a moment, she turned her head to stare at the lamp flickering on a nearby table. The feeble flame lent very little light to the darkened corners of the room.

  Everything was unfamiliar. She had never seen the massive hand-carved wardrobe that was in her line of view. Inch by inch she turned her head to puzzle over the double doors that stood open, allowing a slight breeze to circulate through the room. She surmised that the doors led to a balcony, because she could see the treetops.

  Where was she?

  As she became more alert, she could hear the mumbling of male voices just outside the door, but they weren't speaking loud enough for her to hear what they were saying. And did she really care? She was so weary, she just wanted to sleep.

  Suddenly the door opened and Noble stepped into the room, his dark gaze going directly to her. "She's awake," he said to someone behind him.

  Vague memories flickered through her mind. She remembered now she was at Casa del Sol. She took a deep breath, allowing air to rush into her lungs. Bits and pieces of memory fell into place. She'd been swimming naked with Noble. She clutched at the sheet, remembering how wantonly she had thrown herself at him. But after that everything was a blank. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't recall how she got to the Casa del Sol.

  Rachel cried out with relief when Dr. Nathan Stanhope came into the room. Calm settled over her and she was comforted by the presence of the doctor who had brought her, and most of the babies born in Madragon County, into the world.

  Rachel tried to rise but she didn't have the strength. She tried to speak but her throat tightened and she couldn't utter a word. She wanted to tell Dr. Stanhope that she was in danger in this house. Again she tried to move but it felt as though she were pinned to the bed. Her eyes were pleading as she said in a raspy voice that was hardly audible, "Please... take me away from here, Dr. Stanhope."

  The short, wiry, slightly balding man bent over her, his soft gray eyes reflecting serenity. His broad brow wrinkled as he smiled at her. Rachel knew that his profession was his life. He'd never married, so his devotion was to the babies he'd brought into the world. Rachel looked into his calming eyes, knowing she'd been rescued.

  "I'll have to examine your wound, Rachel, so I can determine if you can make the trip to the Broken Spur."

  Rachel's eyes went to Noble and then back to the doctor, her heart contracting with fear. "I want to speak to you... alone, Dr. Stanhope."

  He turned to Noble. "Wait outside while I examine her. I'll call you if I need anything."

  Noble nodded grimly and left, closing the door quietly behind him. He leaned against the wall outside his bedroom, waiting for the doctor to tell him Rachel's condition. He hoped that by removing the bullet, he hadn't done her more harm than good.

  Rachel's tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. "You have to get me away from here." She paused to catch her breath. "Noble will.. .kill me." />
  Dr. Stanhope's voice was compelling, his eyes sympathetic. "Rachel, it just doesn't make any sense to me that Noble would put a bullet in you and later remove it."

  She closed her eyes, feeling more helpless than she had at any time in her life. When she opened them and looked at Dr. Stanhope, she tried to sound composed and not like some hysterical female. "I saw him with a knife."

  He nodded and patted her hand gently. "You saw him with the knife he used to remove the bullet from your chest." His winsome smile dug deep crevices in his face as he dropped a spent rifle shell into her hand. "The souvenir that Noble removed from you."

  Rachel stared at the shell in confusion. "Are you saying that Noble took this out of me?"

  "Yes, he did." Dr. Stanhope set his black bag on the bed and opened it, removing his scissors. "Noble sent his foreman, Alejandro, to town to fetch me. Unfortunately I was delivering Helen Simon's baby and couldn't come right away. Her delivery wasn't an easy one." While he talked, his scissors deftly snipped at the bandage. "However, mother and baby are doing fine, and Gilbert is now the proud papa of his seventh son."

  Rachel scarcely heeded the news of Gilbert Simon's seventh son. She was trying to reach back into her memory so she could keep a grasp on reality. "I still think Noble will try to kill me. There was a woman here with Noble, a Mexican woman-ask her what Noble tried to do to me."

  "That would be Alejandro's wife, Margretta." Dr. Stanhope made the last snip in the bandage and pulled it away. After a moment he nodded in satisfaction. "And a fine job Noble did too. I couldn't have done better myself"

  Why wouldn't Dr. Stanhope listen to her? "You don't understand. Noble has his reasons for wanting me dead."

  The doctor spoke to her as if he were speaking to a child. "What reason would that be, Rachel?"

  "He...I despise him. I swore to avenge my father's death. He knows I'll do it."

  "Hell, Rachel. Noble had the whole Yankee army shooting at him. Do you think he's worried about one small woman?"