Texas Proud (Vincente 2)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Delia lowered her gaze, no longer wanting to look at him. "I'll be leaving today for the Broken Spur."

  He appeared beside her, taking her chin and holding it in a viselike grip. "Don't linger too long or I might be forced to come after you." He shoved her away. "In any case, I'm sending Daniels with you to keep an eye on you."

  "Another of your spies?"

  "Yes, he spies for me, among others."

  "Who are the others?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know? Just remember that you'll be watched. And stay away from Noble."

  "You don't scare me, Whit. And you can't order me about. I'm not one of your sycophants."

  Whit's next words were spoken crisply, with just the hint of a threat. "Just remember that those who work for me are loyal to me. My enemies are their enemies."

  With her husband's threat ringing in her ears, Delia turned away and hurried toward the stairs, shaken. She had just seen that other side of her husband the side she'd rarely witnessed, and it always frightened her. His voice echoed in her head. My enemies are their enemies. Noble was his enemy.

  Whit must suspect that part of her would always be in love with Noble-the part that had not been corrupted by ambition, the part that was still young and innocent.

  When Delia reached her bedroom, she went to the liquor tray, poured herself a snifter of brandy and downed it in one swallow. Then she felt bet ter. The warmth was spreading throughout her body. Now she could cope with Whit.

  Then she thought of Noble and fought back bitter tears. She hadn't cried in a very long time. But she cried now. She took another drink, dried her eyes and yanked on the bellpull, summoning a servant. She had to get to Rachel as quickly as possible.

  Whit entered the room, shut and locked the door, then dropped the key in his vest pocket. He went to the liquor tray, poured a liberal amount for Delia and less for himself. "I will miss you while you're gone. I thought we might have a drink together, and then make love."

  She opened the wardrobe and removed several pairs of stockings and tossed them on the bed. "Not now. I have to pack."

  He handed her the glass. "Surely you won't deny me this time together."

  She gulped down the drink and he took the glass from her. She watched as he removed his tie, his shirt, and then his trousers. "I don't want to do it now, Whit." It was a weak protest; already she had untied the ribbon of her dressing gown.

  He lowered his head, kissed her breasts, then pressed her down onto the floor, lowering himself on top of her. His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, firing her passion.

  "I just want to show you what you'll be missing," he said thickly, spreading her legs and thrusting into her.

  Delia threw back her head, gasping from his powerful thrusts. Somehow, in her brandydrugged, passion-laced state, she felt used and soiled. Something wasn't right but she didn't know what it was. Her nails clawed at his back as he made love to her not just once, but twice.

  Afterward she expected him to leave, but he gave her another drink. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. She was unaware that he carried her to bed, where she curled up to sleep.

  When she awoke the next morning, Whit was beside her. He was charming and attentive. He'd brought her a tray of food, and fed her every bite. Afterward he gave her another drink and they made love again.

  Somewhere in the back of Delia's mind, there was something nagging at her something she needed to do, but she couldn't remember what it was.

  Rachel awoke and lay still for a long moment, afraid to move because of the pain. Slowly the fragments of her memory fell into place. She was still at Casa del Sol. She tried to sit up, but weakness kept her pinned to the bed as if she'd been tied there. After struggling with the weakness, she finally gave in to it.

  Jumbled thoughts swirled through her mind, climbing over each other, and she had to sort them out one by one. Every thought eventually led her back to the scene at the river with Noble, and she was overcome with shame. Noble wouldn't know that such brazen actions were not in her nature, or that she had never behaved that way with another man. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do, but now she saw it as pure folly.

  Her eyes moved around the room. It was sparsely furnished, the furniture old and very valuable. She looked at the massive wardrobe, where the door was slightly open to reveal several pairs of black leather boots. Warmth flowed through her. This was Noble's room. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She was lying in his bed, her head resting on his pillow, her body where his body rested. She could almost feel him beside her. She turned her face and buried it in the pillow, beginning to tremble. Her body was weak, but her thoughts were strong. She remembered the feel of his hard male body against hers. His hands touching, stroking her. His lips plundering hers.

  She made a fist, and her nails dug painfully into her palm. "I won't think about him like that," she told herself firmly. "I won't!"

  Moments later the door swung open and Margretta entered. When she saw that Rachel was, awake, she smiled cheerfully and her dark eyes brightened.

  "What time is it, Margretta?"

  The woman spoke rapidly in Spanish, while Rachel fumbled with the few Spanish words she knew.

  "No...hablo espanol I do not speak Spanish very well, senora."

  Margretta smiled and nodded, rubbing her stomach and pointing at Rachel.

  "Yes. I am hungry," Rachel said, feeling frustrated because she couldn't communicate with Margretta. She wanted to ask her for her clothing. She wanted someone from the Broken Spur to come for her, but how could she make Margretta understand? With resigned helplessness she said, "Si, I am very er...hambriento." She pointed at her mouth. "Hungry I am hungry."

  Margretta nodded brightly. "Si, Si, senorita." She hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Rachel sank into Noble's bed, feeling his strong presence beside her once more. If he had wanted her dead, he'd certainly had ample opportunity to get rid of her. Instead he'd saved her life. It did not sit well with her that she owed him her life.

  A light knock fell on the door and Rachel turned in that direction. "Come in," she said, thinking Margretta had returned with her breakfast.

  Noble entered the room, his eyes on her face. "Do you feel up to talking? I promise I will only stay a moment."

  She had dreaded the moment she would have to face him after her performance at the river. She was acutely aware of him as a man since she'd felt his naked body against hers. A blush tinted her cheeks and her gaze wavered. She couldn't meet his brilliant brown eyes, fearing he would read her thoughts.

  "I don't feel well," she said, wishing he'd just go away.

  He ventured farther into the room and she looked up at him as he stood there, so handsome with the light from the window creating a halo around him. He wore tight-fitting black leather chaps and a stark white shirt. His ebony hair was slightly windblown, as if he'd been riding. She had the strongest urge to run her fingers through his hair and

  Dear God, what was she thinking?

  Rachel closed her eyes because he seemed taller, more intimidating with her lying down and him standing over her.

  "Are you in pain?" he asked with concern.

  "Only when I breathe," she answered, trying to sound humorous while still avoiding his eyes.

  Drawing the wooden chair close to her, he sat down. "Dr. Stanhope said you will be fine. There's no infection." His gaze dropped to the bandage wrapped across her shoulder. "You were fortunate the bullet wasn't lower."

  Her intake of breath was painful, and she swallowed past her parched throat. "You saved my life." Now she did meet his eyes. "I feel obligated to thank you for that, and for your hospitality, which I'm forced to accept."

  "Don't speak of it." He looked as if he hadn't slept, and there was stubble on his face he hadn't shaved. "We both know whoever shot you was really aiming at me, Rachel. We must also consider that he saw us together in the river."

  She lowered her gaze, feeling her shame
like a knife in her heart. "Yes, I've thought about that."

  "I'll find out who did it." He'd spoken softly, but there was tempered steel in his tone. "You can depend on that."

  "If he doesn't find you first. As you said, whoever shot me was probably aiming at you. Since he missed his original target, he will probably try again."

  Noble was silent for so long she glanced up to see him staring at her. He dropped his eyes.

  "I wanted you to know you may remain here as long as necessary. I have sent word to your housekeeper and she will be here shortly. Perhaps you'd like her to remain with you until you are well enough to go home."

  Rachel considered how comforting it would be to have the formidable Winna Mae with her. "Thank you. I would like Winna Mae here with me."

  He crossed his long legs and laid a hand on his boot. Still feeling shy in his company, she concentrated on his hands. There was strength in those hands, but she had felt the gentleness in them as well. She blushed when she thought about him touching her in the most intimate way.

  "Don't think about it, Rachel," he said, reading her thoughts. "It will never happen again."

  She plucked at the sheet. "You must think that I'm"

  "I think you were an innocent, playing with fire. Thank God you didn't get burned."

  "Only shot," she said with irony.

  "I must not tire you. I just wanted you to know that I intend to do everything in my power to find out who shot you."

  She watched the pulse beating at his throat. He was such an intense man and she had felt the passion that burned within him. She must not forget that he was her enemy. "This is your bedroom?" she asked, changing the subject.

  "Yes." He smiled slightly. "It's the only room with a bed."

  "Where do you sleep?"

  "The room across the hall."

  "I'll try not to put you out of your bed longer than necessary."

  He stood, the smile still playing on his sensuous lips. "I like you in my bed."

  Against her will, pleasure pulsed through her, and she could almost feel the touch of his hands on her body.

  Without another word, he moved to the door and was gone, leaving her pondering his words.

  Rachel realized that her life and Noble's seemed unendingly linked together. No matter how hard she tried, she would never forget that for a short time, their bodies had touched. And she had a feeling that Noble would never forget either.

  She felt suddenly cold, and a shudder raced down her spine. Someone had seen her and Noble in the river. Who was it?

  She closed her eyes. Whoever had shot her would still be gunning for Noble.

  Winna Mae had been residing at Casa del Sol for a week. On arriving, she had made her presence felt right away. She had immediately taken over, issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed. Fortunately, she spoke enough Spanish to convey those wishes to Margretta, who gladly relinquished Rachel's care to her and eagerly did Winna Mae's bidding.

  Winna Mae had just finished braiding Rachel's hair, and now fanned her with a brightly colored folding fan. "You will be well enough to go home next week," she announced in her usual abrupt way.

  "I've been here for twelve days," Rachel said ruefully. "I can't get back to the Broken Spur fast enough to suit me." She could have added that during the time she'd been there, Noble had visited her only twice. She didn't know why that should matter to her, but it did. She could imagine all sorts of reasons that kept him away, but only one seemed likely. He didn't trust her not to repeat her little performance at the river.

  Would she ever be able to live down the humiliation?

  Winna Mae was smoothing out the covers and she glanced up at Rachel, speaking with her usual directness. "You have been shown every kindness." There was reproach in her voice. "You are alive because of Noble Vincente's quick action. You should remember that."

  "Yes, I know," Rachel concurred. "I have so much to think about. I have never been so confused."

  "If you are worried about your health, the doctor said there would be no lasting effects and only a small scar. He praised Noble's steady hand as the reason the scar was not larger."

  "It doesn't sit well with me that I must accept the hospitality of the man who murdered my father."

  "There would be a strange contradiction in a man who kills the father but saves the life of the daughter. Don't you agree?"

  "I admit that I have recently begun to have doubts about Noble's guilt," Rachel admitted grudgingly. "Do you think he did it?"

  Winna Mae straightened and fluffed Rachel's pillows. "No. I never thought he killed your father, and I know he didn't shoot you either."

  "No. He couldn't have shot me. But I am still not wholly convinced that he didn't kill my father."

  "His gun beside your father's body was damning, I'll admit, but I'd stake my life on the fact that other hands put the gun there to make it appear as if Noble Vincente did the deed."

  "Is that the only reason you believe in his innocence? If so, your reasoning isn't sound."

  "I use my eyes and ears and not my voice," Winna Mae stated calmly. "That way I see and hear things."

  "Such as?"

  "All I'll say at the moment is that there are those who envied the Vincente family. Noble is the kind of man many want to be but never can be. There are those who were too eager to put a noose around his neck. I am glad for people like Sheriff Crenshaw, who is a wise and sensible man."

  Rachel lay back against the pillow while doubts played in her mind. "I wish I were as certain as you are."

  "Do you think Noble is a half-wit?" Winna Mae asked, her eyes boring into Rachel's.

  "Hardly that."

  "Then why would he commit a murder and leave his gun to be found?"

  Delia had given Rachel the same argument and Rachel had dismissed it. But coming from sensible, reliable Winna Mae, it sounded believable. "Perhaps Noble had not planned to kill my father, and when it happened, he panicked and ran away."

  "Noble is a coward, then?"

  Rachel pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. "No. Of course not. But why didn't you say any of this to me before now?"

  "You never asked me. It's not my habit to offer my opinion unless invited to do so."

  "If he's innocent, why did he run away? Where has he been all these years? He fathered a child by Delia and then left her to face the shame alone. He had no way of knowing that Whit would save Delia from disgrace by marrying her."

  Winna Mae picked up the water pitcher and moved to the door. "Why don't you ask Noble what happened?" She paused in the doorway. "And while you're at it, why not ask your sister some questions?"

  Noble walked through the stable, looking into the stalls, unconsciously counting the six horses that made up his entire herd. He had no aversion to hard work. Already this morning he'd cleaned the stalls and tossed fresh hay to the horses. Without money and men, how would he keep up with all the repairs? Without rain, how long could he hope to keep Casa del Sol?

  His jaw settled into a formidable line. He would never turn away from the heritage his father had entrusted to him. A Vincente did not surrender when life got hard. A Vincente fought to win.

  He blotted sweat from his face with his sleeve. The weather had grown even hotter, and it was stifling inside the brick structure. He rolled up his sleeves and walked out of the stable to stand beneath the spreading branches of a tall oak tree. One thing that could be said about West Texas: if you stood beneath a tree, and the wind was blowing-which it always was you could cool down. His gaze went to the cloudless sky. If only it would rain to break the heat and end the drought, he thought wearily.

  Noble narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun, gazing at a dust cloud that indicated several riders were approaching. His hand automatically went to his holster, and he realized he'd left his gun at the hacienda. With grim determination he waited for the horsemen. When they were near enough for him to make out their number, he counted fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three men.<
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  Alejandro had gone into town that morning, and his sons had ridden to the river to check its depth. Noble would have to face the trespassers alone and unarmed. He stood his ground and waited for them to approach.

  He was puzzled when he heard shouting in Spanish and saw the riders waving. When they were near enough for him to make out their faces, he smiled.

  Alejandro rode at the head of the vaqueros who had made their home at Casa del Sol; evidently they were returning, as the gran vaquero had predicted they would. Noble felt a lump in his throat and couldn't speak.

  "Patron!" Alejandro yelled. "Nothing could keep them away when they heard that you had returned. They have come ready to work. Their families will come later."

  The vaqueros bounded off their horses, grinning at their Patron. Each man stepped forward and vigorously shook his hand, while Noble inquired about their wives and children.

  At last they stood silent, waiting for the Patron to instruct them, each face with an expectant expression.

  Noble spoke to them in Spanish. "Muchas gracias, amigos. But I must tell you that I have no money to pay you. I will think no less of any man who rides away, for I know most of you have families to feed."

  Noble waited for a response but none came, so he continued. "If you agree to stay, we are in for a difficult time. To my way of thinking, you are the greatest vaqueros in Texas, and any rancher who hires you will be most fortunate. Please consider this before you make a commitment to me out of loyalty. While loyalty is a fine thing, it will not put food in your children's bellies."

  Silently they watched him as if they were waiting for him to say the right words to them.

  He nodded in understanding. "Very well, Casa del Sol is your home. Bring your families here and I promise none shall go hungry."

  Many wide-brimmed sombreros were tossed into the air, and the men shouted in unison, "Viva patron! Viva Casa del Sol!"

  Alejandro smiled. "You have only to tell them what to do and it will be done."

  "Welcome home," he said, with pride swelling in his chest. "We shall begin by rebuilding corrals, patching the roof of the barn and setting the house in good order. Carlos, Miguel, the two of you ride to the eastern butte. Find what strays you can and drive them to the west pasture where the grazing is better along the Brazos."