"Will we drive them to Kansas City, Patron?" leathery-faced Carlos inquired hopefully. "I have heard it is a good market."
"Not this year, amigo. The few head we have will go on your tables to feed your children." Noble's gaze traveled over each familiar face. "Should the day come when we prosper again, I can promise each man here a sizable bonus. But there is no guarantee that this will happen."
"It will happen," Alejandro said with confidence.
Noble looked doubtful. "I feel I should give you another chance to consider. Who is to go and who stays?"
Alejandro spoke for them. "They will not go, Patron."
Noble's throat tightened with emotion and it took him a moment to speak. "Gracias, amigos. I will never forget this day." He turned to the gran vaquero. "Alejandro, see that each man has a place to sleep. Make arrangements for them to bring their families home as soon as possible. Casa del Sol will soon know the sound of children's laughter again."
Noble turned and walked toward the house. He no longer stood alone. For the first time since returning to Texas, hope began to grow within his heart.
Rachel had too much time to think while she was convalescing. She relived the scene at the river many times in her head, and she became more convinced than ever that the shot had been meant for Noble. She had no enemies that she was aware of, and Noble had many.
She resented the nameless, faceless person who'd shot her, not because of her wound but because she had prior claim on Noble. She must be the one to bring him down, not some coward who'd hidden behind trees to ambush him. She knew Noble was alone and friendless, and she tried to find satisfaction in his misery. But strangely enough she pitied him, and that was her torment.
She closed her eyes, sinking into the pillow. Even the smallest exertion seemed to weary her. Moments later, her eyes flew open when she heard the sounds of hammering and banging from downstairs. What was Noble doing, tearing the house apart? She didn't care; her eyes drifted shut and she floated in the arms of oblivion.
A flurry of activity swirled through Casa del Sol. Under the gran vaquero's direction the younger vaqueros had been sent into the hills to round up stray longhorns, while the older men had been set to work repairing the hacienda. Missing stones were replaced, the roof tiles put back into place. The courtyards were swept clean. The fountains were scrubbed until they sparkled, although they remained without water. In the house Margretta directed the women in scrubbing and cleaning each room. Neglected fireplaces became spotless, banisters were waxed. The stone floors in the kitchen were scrubbed until they shone. Copper pots and pans were polished until the fastidious Margretta could see her own reflection in them. The furniture and rugs had been retrieved from their different hiding places and arranged as they had been before.
Casa del Sol was being reborn, but Noble knew the change was only outward. The day might well come when he could no longer keep the ranch going. But his footsteps were lighter, and the sadness he carried within his heart had lessened. He had a purpose now, a reason for living. And he had a debt to repay to the vaqueros and their families, who had stood by him when most people turned their backs on him. He would not forget their loyalty.
It was early evening and the western sky was still bloodred from a magnificent sunset. Rachel had convinced Winna Mae that she was well enough to go outside into the beautiful enclosed fountain patio she could see from the bedroom window. She was becoming restless and irritable, a sure sign that she was recovering.
Rachel reclined on a woven rope lounge in the inner courtyard, listening to a Spanish guitar somewhere in the distance, a nightly ritual she was beginning to look forward to with relish. Time passed peacefully, and she realized that it had grown dark. The moon was glorious, big and golden, looking as if it were magically suspended among the stars with the single purpose of bathing the garden with its magnificence.
She turned her head and stared at the huge fountain of a goddess riding a chariot pulled by four rearing steeds. Another statue, a young god of myth, stood atop an ornate pedestal, muscled and fierce-looking, with his bow drawn as if ready to fire at some unknown enemy. Rachel thought it was a pity that there was no water flowing through the fountains. She would have liked to have seen them as they were when Don Reinaldo was alive.
She leaned back to enjoy the beautiful plaintive song that wove its way through the courtyard.
"It's good to see you up and about, Rachel."
She turned to meet Noble's level gaze.
"I will be going home tomorrow," she said, voicing the first thought that came to her mind.
He pulled a chair up beside her. "So I've been told."
Her chest grew tight and she had trouble taking a deep breath. She felt almost shy in his presence, and she didn't like that feeling. "I was trying to imagine what this courtyard would look like if there were water for the fountains."
His gaze swept past her as if he were remembering. "There are three courtyards. This one is called Courtyard of the Gods. Did you know that, Rachel?"
"No, I didn't, but it is a fitting name. It must have been a glorious sight with water rushing through it and emptying into the pond."
He glanced back to her. "You have not seen the fountains before?"
"No. I was never in this courtyard until now."
"It was once very peaceful here." He inhaled deeply and turned his gaze on the marble steeds. "But that was in another lifetime."
The conversation lagged as they both searched for something to say. Rachel knew her feelings were too deep and confused to put into words.
Noble leaned back and glanced upward, his mind returning to the past. "Beyond this courtyard was once my mother's garden. The flowers are all dead now." His looked at her. "Nothing stays the same."
She sensed such a sadness in him. She had the strangest urge to reach out and take his head to her breast to comfort him. The urge passed quickly when she realized what his reaction would be to such an overture on her part.
"House of the Sun, Casa del Sol. It is a tragedy that it's fallen to ruin."
"Yes," he said, gazing upward to the stars. "Few families in West Texas have escaped the aftermath of the war."
"These are sad times for Texas," Rachel agreed, caught by a strange melancholy. "So many people I loved are dead."
"We cannot go back, Green Eyes. If we could, every man, woman and child would mend their mistakes, and this would be an ideal world."
His voice sounded wooden to her. "Surely the great Noble Vincente would have nothing to mend. Would you ever admit to a mistake?"
"Ah, Rachel, stack my mistakes one atop the other and you would have an archway to the stars. I am as flawed as the next man, maybe even more than most."
She could feel his gaze upon her, and she dipped her head to study her hands, quickly changing the subject. "I had heard that your sister, Saber, is staying with relatives in Georgia. Will you bring her home now that you have returned?"
"I have sent for her. She should be home before winter sets in."
"Although she was several years younger than I, I liked her very much."
"I believe she was fond of you as well." He studied her closely. "But then, all of the Vincentes were fond of you."
Noble turned his head from Rachel and she stared at his wonderful profile, thinking he could have been the model for the statue of the young warrior atop the fountain pedestal.
"When Saber returns, this will be a real home again." Noble's gaze caught and held Rachel's for a long moment. "A man needs his family around him. I have come to know this."
"My father is dead."
"So is mine. We have both known the hardship that comes with loss, Rachel."
She felt a pang of pity for him and she gripped her hands until her fingernails cut into her skin. She must not think of him with pity, and she must not think of him as a fountain god. "What do you know of hardship, Noble? When did you ever suffer? Have you ever known hunger? Did you ever have to boil parched wheat as an unsuitabl
e substitute for coffee? Where were you when our men were fighting and dying on Northern battlefields?"
Noble's eyes suddenly flamed with anger, and they pierced Rachel. "What was I doing while our men were dying on Northern battlefields? I was at Antietam, holding the head of Jess McVee's seventeen-year-old son on my lap. My hands were pressed on both sides of his shattered skull to hold his brains in."
She heard the catch in his voice and choked back her tears.
"I stayed with him until he died, thinking he was too young to be fighting a war we couldn't win. I wanted to die in his place, but fate was not so merciful."
"Oh, Noble, how horrible. Have you told Jess and Mary?"
There was a coldness in Noble's eyes. "No." He shook his head. "I was in their store and I wanted to tell them about-" He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Pity, though. Their son was a good soldier, and died bravely. I think they should know."
"You could have written them."
"It wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to put into a letter."
"Where else did you fight, Noble?" There was a heaviness in her heart. Here was a man of deep commitments, a proud man who didn't like to share his feelings with anyone. She could only imagine what it was costing him to tell her.
"I was at Gettysburg firing at a faceless enemy and watching my fellow soldiers die all around me. I watched the South lose the battle, and finally the war." His voice sounded devoid of feeling now. "You asked if I'd ever been hungry? I lived for three weeks on a diet of oats that I shared with my horse. Of course, I gave the lion's share to the horse, because as we know, the Confederate Calvary was nothing if it couldn't ride horseback."
She felt a sob building up inside her and she attempted to suppress it. She had never considered that Noble might have gone to war. Please, she told herself, don't cry now not in front of Noble. She felt so ashamed of accusing him of never going hungry. He'd known hardships she could never imagine.
Noble stood, bowed and clicked his heels together. "Captain Noble Vincente of the Texas Light Horse Brigade-at your service, ma'am."
"I thought you'd run away after my father was killed."
He drew in a breath and walked to the fountain, where he placed a hand on one of the rearing horses. "Rachel, I got my orders to report to Galveston the week before your father died. I didn't run away. I went to war for Texas." He gazed not at her, but just above her head, as if he were looking inward. "Every time I fired my gun in battle, I was aware that I was killing fellow countrymen, not enemies." His gaze caught her. "Rachel, if we'd won that war, we'd have lost our souls. It was wrong from the beginning."
"You sound like Sam Houston."
"God, I hope so."
"And yet, feeling the way you did, you still fought for the South." She was trying to understand his reasoning.
"I fought for Texas not for the South or any of the Confederacy's misguided beliefs."
He was quiet for a moment, as if he were grasping for words. When he turned to her, his eyes were transfixed. "Did you go hungry, Green Eyes?"
"No, I didn't, but I knew those who did. I hated the war, and I hate what it's done to Texas. It would have been far better if we had remained a country apart, like Sam Houston wanted us to do."
"I felt much the same way you do, Rachel. I didn't believe in the war, but I believed in Texas. And if she was going to war, I was going to be there to represent her as a native son."
It took her a moment to speak. "So you were courageous for the land, if not for the cause."
"No. Not courageous. Misguided like many others, but nonetheless a Texan. I make no apologies to anyone for what I did."
Her heart was beating violently. She tried to imagine him in a uniform. The gray and yellow of an officer's uniform would only have enhanced his handsomeness. Then a startling thought came to her. Noble could have been killed by a Yankee bullet! She drew in her breath and let it out slowly. "If I had been a man, I would have gone to war."
He grinned. "I'm surprised that you would allow a small thing like being a female to stop you. You should have gone to war; then the Yankees wouldn't have stood a chance of winning."
She looked indignant. "You would not have-"
He held up his hand to silence her. "Forgive my poor attempt at humor. Since you will be going home tomorrow, I just wanted to tell you goodbye, since I won't be here when you leave." He reached out to her but let his hand fall to his side. "If you need anything, you have only to ask. Now or in the future."
"Noble, I..." She twisted her hands in her lap, wishing she could say what was in her heart. He'd given her so much to think about tonight. "I don't ...don't hate you anymore."
Sadness like an encroaching mask moved across his face. "El amor vence al odio."
She watched him walk away, her mind whirling and sorrow eating at her. Dammit, why hadn't she learned Spanish? She repeated his words over to herself so she wouldn't forget them.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the night sounds around her. It was so beautiful here in Noble's garden. It was a home. There should be children laughing and playing, children with their father's dark, fiery eyes. She shook her head. No, she didn't want to think about Noble fathering a child, because that made her think of Delia and the baby Noble had fathered.
For a long moment she made her mind a blank, but Noble's likeness returned unbidden. He had fought in the war she hadn't known that. If their neighbors knew he'd gone to war, they would be more tolerant of him. She knew why he hadn't told anyone about serving with the Confederacy; his pride wouldn't let him. Moments ago she'd felt his loneliness and wondered what torment he carried within his heart. And why should she care?
But she did.
Rachel was beginning to believe in Noble's innocence. But she reminded herself that he was a master at manipulating people and making them believe in him. Why did she have this strong urge to lay her head against his shoulder and cry out her misery? Why did she feel as if she were breaking apart inside, piece by piece?
Standing on shaky legs, she stumbled through the door and across the room. Breathlessly, she grasped the banister and slowly made her way upstairs. When she reached the bedroom, she threw herself onto the bed, exhausted physically and mentally.
She buried her head in her hands, wishing she didn't have to think about anything at the moment. There was trouble ahead for Noble she knew it, and so did he.
"I want to go home," she whispered as Winna Mae entered the room carrying a tray of food.
"Tomorrow," Winna Mae stated firmly. "Tonight you eat and rest. Every day you rest makes you that much stronger."
Rachel rose up on her elbow. "Winna Mae, what does el amor vence at odio mean?"
Winna Mae's brow creased and she placed the tray on the bed beside Rachel. "It translates to something like, love conquers hate."
Warmth spread throughout Rachel's body. Love conquers hate. Could it be true?
Noble stood in the gloom, staring through the doorway of his mother's music room. Her piano had been returned to its former position, the broken windows had been replaced and the wooden floors were clean and waxed to a fine shine. But it was just a room like any other because it would no longer reflect the essence of happier days; the echoes of laughter had long since disappeared with the ghosts of the past.
Like a man caught in a dream, Noble moved from room to room, finding the same emptiness. He wondered if Casa del Sol would ever feel like home to him again. It felt emptier than it had the day he'd come home and found the furniture gone and everything in ruin.
Now that Rachel had left, she'd taken her warmth with her, and his loneliness had become more crushing. Like the house, he was cold and empty inside.
His footsteps halted short of the door that led to the fountain garden. He feared that in his melancholy state of mind, he might conjure up visions of Rachel there. He was beginning to question his sanity. He took several steps backward, and with a resigned set of his jaw, walked toward the front door. He had things to do, an
d Rachel had no place in his life. After what had happened between them at the river he must avoid her in the future. His life was still in a tangle and he didn't need her to further complicate matters.
His most immediate problem was the vaqueros and their families, who were returning daily in great numbers. They were like his children, and they looked to him for guidance. At the moment he couldn't even guide his own life; how would he help them?
"Patron," Alejandro said, breaking into his musings. "My son, Tomas, has returned from New Orleans, and he has brought with him a man who wishes to see you."
"Who is it?" Noble asked irritably. He was in no mood to entertain guests.
"He is a very fine gentleman, and he came all the way from New Orleans to see you, Patron."
Noble brushed aside his annoyance. If the man had come so far, the least he could do was talk to him. "Show him into my study, Alejandro."
"Si." The gran vaquero rushed away. "I'll send him to you at once."
Every time Noble entered the study he expected to see his father sitting behind the massive oak desk, issuing orders that would set the day in motion at Casa del Sol. His gaze ran the length of the east wall, over the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. He felt sure his father had read all the books, some of them many times. He removed a thick volume on animal husbandry and quickly leafed through the pages. Some of the pages were dog-eared, and he felt his father's presence as he never had before.
Hearing footsteps, Noble placed the book back on the shelf and turned to greet his visitor.
The portly stranger had the look of a prosperous gentleman. His hair was gray at the temples and thinning a bit. His heavy, black frock coat and matching waistcoat were not suitable for the heat of West Texas, but would be more at home in some fancy New Orleans drawing room.
"Don Noble Vincente, allow me introduce myself. I'm George Nunn. I was your mother's attorney, and later your father engaged my firm to handle his legal work. I'm glad to meet you at last."
Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Page 9