Delia seemed undaunted by Rachel's outburst. "I have no intention of leaving you until Dr. Stanhope tells me that you are completely well." Delia moved about the room, straightening a picture, shaking the curtain until it fell in even folds, arranging Rachel's dressing table for the second time that day.
"Please, Delia, leave me to myself. I'm well enough to ride a horse. I even roped a maverick without difficulty or pain yesterday. I don't need your mothering."
Delia tightened the covers on Rachel's bed and was in the process of fluffing the pillows when Rachel gave her a warning glance.
"I just never knew how much you meant to me until I thought I might lose you," she said with some affront. "We only have each other."
Rachel's heart softened. Her arms flew around her sister and they hugged each other for a long moment, their closeness conveying more than words ever could.
At last Rachel laughed and stepped away. "I really do appreciate your taking care of me. But I really am well now. You can go home. Whit must miss you terribly."
Delia twisted her wedding band around her finger in a nervous gesture. "I haven't told you." She shrugged as if she didn't understand it herself. "I got a letter from Whit this morning. He'll be here tomorrow."
Rachel rolled her eyes upward, not at all happy that Whit was coming to Broken Spur. "Lord, just think about it our loving little family united under one roof"
"You don't like Whit, do you?" Delia asked in a strained voice. "You never ask about him or invite him to come here."
Rachel fell silent as she pondered her sister's words. She'd never thought of Whit one way or the other. He'd been poor as a boy and had managed to better himself. His friends were now the most elite of Texas society. She had always felt uneasy in his company, although if asked, she could not have said why. She supposed he was good to her sister, and that was what really mattered. "I don't dislike Whit," she said at last, sidestepping Delia's question. "But you said yourself that you don't love him, Delia."
"You think he should have fought in the war, don't you?" Delia looked as if she might cry, and Delia never cried. "You believe he's a coward, don't you?"
In that moment, Rachel knew that her sister was stating her own feelings about Whit. "Every man had to do what was right for him, Delia."
"But most of the men we knew fought in the war.
"And most of them didn't come home," Rachel reminded her.
Something wasn't right about Delia, but Rachel didn't know what it might be. She decided to skip to another topic. "If Whit's coming here because he thinks he can talk me into selling the ranch, he might as well save himself the bother. I haven't changed my mind, and I never will."
"He said in his letter that he wants to attend the Harvest Dance and mingle with the people." Delia appeared diverted for the moment as she moved purposefully to Rachel's wardrobe and looked over her sister's few gowns. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You'll need a stunning creation for the dance. None of these will do. When is the last time you bought a new wardrobe? For that matter, when's the last time you had a new gown?"
"Forget that," Rachel said, bringing the conversation back to her brother-in-law. "Why is Whit attending the dance? He never cared about our little get-togethers before."
"Silly little sister. Whit is coming as a future candidate courting votes." Delia ran her hand down the skirt of one of Rachel's faded calico gowns. "No, none of these will do for the future governor's sister-in-law."
Rachel closed the wardrobe and walked toward the door. "It might interest you to know that I ordered material for my gown months ago. I'm going into town today to visit the dressmaker. I can assure you that neither you nor Whit will be ashamed of my appearance on the night of the dance."
"I'll go into town with you." Delia moved to the door. "You shouldn't go alone."
"No need. Zeb will drive me in the wagon."
To Rachel's surprise, Delia didn't insist on going to Tascosa Springs with her. Her sister probably realized she had nothing in common with the people there.
"Choose a flattering pattern, Rachel. You do have such a dreary notion about fashion."
Rachel picked up her hat and set it squarely on her red-gold head. "Wait until you see my gown."
She hurried down the stairs and out the front door, fearing Delia would change her mind and decide to come with her.
She was free!
Tascosa Springs
Two sullen-faced men stood outside the Crystal Palace Saloon, watching Noble ride into town. The half doors of the saloon swung open, and a third man joined them.
"Look there. It's Noble Vincente," Deputy Harvey Briscal said, crossing the street to stand beside the others. "The bastard comes riding in here big as daylight, thinking we're just dirt beneath his polished boots."
One of the men who'd been drinking all morning raised his voice so it carried to Noble. "He oughta be run out of town. Killing's too good for him."
Noble gave no indication he'd heard the man, but rode toward the bank and halted his mount.
"Someone needs to tell Noble Vincente he ain't welcome in this town," Harvey said, stirring insurrection among his companions. He'd never take Noble Vincente on by himself.
"You could arrest him," Bob Foster suggested. "Just walk up to him and take him in."
"Nope. The sheriff won't let me," the deputy stated, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Noble Vincente's too powerful to touch. He just goes about like he never killed nobody."
Red Berner, a drifter who'd been hanging around town for a few weeks, downed his whiskey and turned bluny eyes on Noble. His hand rested on the handle of his gun. "Are you sure that's Noble Vincente?"
"'Course I'm sure," Harvey replied sourly.
Red Berner was a huge man, barrel-chested, with a rough-hewn face. His gray eyes were closeset and bloodshot. His broad shoulders rolled with muscles, making it apparent that he could handle himself in any situation. He looked mean as hell.
Harvey decided this just might be the man to best Noble in a fight. "You act like you've been waiting for Noble Vincente. Do you know him, stranger?"
"I don't know him, but I heard of him," Red stated, hitching up his gun belt. "Nothing good, though." Red's small eyes narrowed. "117n anyone was of a mind to stand me a round of drinks," he offered with a sneer, "I might rid you of Senor Vincente."
Harvey glanced across the street to see if Sheriff Crenshaw was watching. The sheriff had ridden out to one of the ranches that morning and apparently hadn't yet returned. Harvey's gaze dropped to Red's hairy hands, which looked as though they could crush the life out of a man with very little effort. He noticed the man's six-gun and counted six notches on the scuffed handle.
"What's your name?" Harvey asked.
"Are you asking as a lawman, or friendly-like?"
"Hell, don't let my badge bother you. I can see that you don't like Noble any more than I do. That makes us on the same side."
"Name's Red."
"Red what?"
"Just Red."
"Well, Red, I reckon I could buy you a whole bottle if you was to rough Mr. Vincente up a bit."
With an ominous laugh, Red Berner swooped down the steps, paused at a horse and removed a rope from the saddle horn. "Set the bottle on the bar, Deputy. I'll be back to collect it."
Noble was in the process of dismounting and still had his boot hooked in the stirrup when a rope loop fell over his head with deadly accuracy. Giving him no time to react, Red yanked on the rope, tightening the noose about Noble's neck. With a hefty yank he pulled Noble to the ground.
"Who in the hell do you think you are?" Noble said through clenched teeth, scrambling to his feet with lithe quickness. He swung around and landed a fist in his assailant's stomach and watched the man double over in pain.
In a tight voice Red called out, "He's stronger than I thought! Help me with him or are you all yellow-livered cowards? He can't take us all."
Harvey Briscal and Bob Foster needed no further encouragement.
The two men circled Noble, and Bob pulled his gun while Harvey grabbed for a shovel that was leaning against a wall, and sneaked up behind Noble.
By now, a crowd had gathered, providing the attackers with a false sense of courage. The three men worked as a team now, each circling so two of them were always behind Noble. Harvey drew the shovel back and struck Noble hard across the back, and Noble crumpled to his knees. Bob hit him with the handle of his gun, while Red yanked tighter on the rope.
Noble tried to shake off the pain, but he saw the ground come up to meet him. He fought against the blackness that threatened to overtake him.
Red grinned and moved in quickly. He was swinging his end of the rope and wielding it as if it were a whip. He struck Noble's cheek, carving a deep gash. He struck again and again, cutting into Noble's white shirt until it was red with blood.
Noble tried to rise, but the corded rope tight ened around his neck and he fell to his knees gasping for breath. Harvey kicked Noble in the ribs while Bob kicked him in the stomach. Smelling the fresh blood of a kill, Red slashed at Noble's back over and over. Then, with a wolfish look, Harvey retrieved the shovel and slammed it hard across Noble's shoulders.
Suddenly Bob and Harvey backed off, their eyes fearful, when Noble rolled to his feet and wound the rope about his hand, jerking the redheaded man forward.
Red's gaze shifted to Noble Vincente, and he cringed inside he saw a vision of his own death in the Spaniard's cold, brown eyes. His bravery shattered, he looked at Bob and the deputy for help. Their frightened expressions attested to the fact that they were having similar visions.
Red leaped quickly on his horse, wrapped his end of the rope around the saddle horn and nudged the animal forward-first at a walk, then at a gallop, jerking Noble forward and dragging him through the dusty street.
Noble grabbed the rope, clawing at it, trying to keep from being choked to death.
The crowd was strangely quiet now. Even Bob had backed away, trying to distance himself from Harvey and Red. No one had ever dared treat a Vincente in such a way. Mothers shielded their children's eyes from the cruel spectacle, and some of the men watched the cowardly act with disgust.
But no one came to Noble's defense. Noble tried to work his fingers between the rope and his neck, but Red urged the horse onward. "You aren't such a big man now, Mr. Vincente, are you?" Red taunted.
Noble felt blackness closing in on him and pain shot through his body like knife wounds. He didn't know who the hell this man was, but he suspected he might be a hired gun. In his pain-dazed state he wondered if this might be the man who'd shot Rachel.
Red whipped his horse into a full run, tightening the rope so it cut into Noble's flesh and he couldn't breathe. Still, no one stepped forward to help him.
Suddenly a gunshot rang out and a woman stepped into the street, courageously placing herself in front of the charging horse. The animal reared on its hind legs and she aimed her rifle at the rider.
"Rein in your horse, mister, if you want to see another sunset."
Red gawked at the woman and made a quick decision. Her rifle was aimed right at his heart. Even a woman couldn't miss at this close range. He controlled his horse as he spoke to her. "Lady, if you'll just step aside and let me get on with this, I'll buy you a drink afterward and we can get to know each other, kinda friendly-like."
"Get off the horse and release Mr. Vincente now!" Rachel said quietly, drawing on the rage buried deep inside her. "I don't waste my time on cowards like you."
"Out of my way, little gal," he ordered. "Or I'll swat you aside like a pesky fly."
Rachel cocked her rifle and said in a soft voice, "Mister, I don't know who you are, and you don't know me, but you can take this for the gospel truth I never aim at anything I can't hit, and you're too big a target to miss."
Red threw back his head and laughed. "Tell me, should I be afraid of a little lady wearing a man's britches and carrying a man's gun?"
"You tell me, mister did you know when you got up this morning that you were going to die today?"
At that moment fear crept up Red's spine, and he lost some of his swagger when he looked into those determined green eyes. "What do you care if this man gets what's coming to him?"
Rachel followed the stranger's gaze as he looked at his two cohorts for assistance. "Let's just say," Rachel told him coldly, "that I don't like the odds." Her gaze fastened on the deputy, who'd struck Noble from behind with the shovel, and then she turned her attention to Bob. "Tell this man that I'll not hesitate to shoot if he doesn't do what I say. I don't think he believes me maybe he'll believe you."
"You'd better do as she says, Red," Bob Foster warned him. "Let Vincente go or she'll shoot you deader than dirt."
With a surly expression, Red dismounted and retrieved the rope from around Noble's neck with a savage yank. "This man'll not soon forget that he tangled with me."
In a protective gesture, Rachel stepped across Noble so she straddled his body. "You'd better hope he does forget. I'd sleep with one eye open from now on if I were you. Noble will come after you. Perhaps not today or even tomorrow, but he'll come, you can be sure of that."
Red took several stumbling steps backward. "I ain't afraid of him or no other man."
Rachel bent down to Noble, her rifle aimed all the while at the stranger. "If you're smart which I doubt you are-you won't let the sun set on you in Tascosa Springs. If you hang around, you'll be a dead man."
Red dropped the rope and took a few more steps backward. "Let him come. I'll not run from the likes of him."
Rachel looked into the stranger's eyes and saw fear. She knew he'd be gone from Tascosa Springs long before sundown. "Someone go for the doctor," she called out, sitting down and placing Noble's head on her lap. He was a bloody mess. She couldn't tell how badly he was hurt, but he must be bad, or he wouldn't still be lying on the ground.
Noble opened his eyes and managed a smile that turned to a grimace of pain. "Forgive me if I don't get up." He bit his lower lip when she dabbed at his bloody face with her neckerchief. "But then ...I like it just fine where I am."
"Your face is dirty," she said, brushing dust from his cheek.
He tried to rise and she pushed him down. "Lie still," she commanded. "Or must I use my gun on you?
"You no doubt enjoyed my humiliation today, Rachel." He groaned when he tried to shift his position. "Did you?"
"I don't like rogue animals that run in packs to find their courage. And I take no pleasure in anyone's humiliation, not even yours." She glanced around her, raising her voice so the gathering crowd could hear. "Not one of you cowards would have taken Noble Vincente if he'd been facing you. You had to catch him from behind."
Noble tried again to rise but Rachel held him down. He smiled wanly and said, "I didn't know you held me in such high regard."
Rachel glared down at him. "I don't. Let's just say we're even now. After today I owe you nothing."
"No." He gritted his teeth when pain stabbed through his ribs, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. "I still owe you, Green Eyes."
She forced him back down. "What can you owe me?"
"To find out who killed your father."
"You killed him."
"You know I didn't." His expression softened. "You just can't admit you were wrong about me." He managed a smile. "You can't admit you like me.
He had come too close to the truth. Her voice was almost gentle as she touched his cheek. "Let's just say I'll miss hating you. You made such a worthy adversary."
He burrowed deeper into her lap with a devilish grin on his bloody face. "How long do I get to stay like this?"
She took a deep, aggravated breath, upset by her growing concern for Noble. "Just lie still and be quiet until help comes."
Dr. Stanhope appeared at that moment. He bent down to Noble and tested him for broken bones. When he determined there were none, he called on several men to help him get Noble to his office.
Noble insisted that h
e could walk, but his first step convinced him otherwise, and he leaned heavily on the doctor for support.
Rachel watched three men assist Noble; then she walked away without a backward glance. She suddenly heard the sound of a galloping horse and dodged out of the way just in time to keep from being run down by Red Berner's horse. The stranger was riding out of town as if the devil himself were pursuing him.
Sheriff Crenshaw had just returned to Tascosa Springs. When he heard what had happened, he grabbed Harvey and spun him around. "I'll take your badge and your gun."
"Why? If it'd been anyone but that Spanish bastard, you wouldn't have cared."
"Your badge."
Harvey dropped the badge in the dirt and ground it beneath his heel. "To hell with you and to hell with this town."
"So long, Harvey."
"You'll all hear from me again, Sheriff." His gaze went to Noble, who was being assisted up the stairs to the doctor's office. "It's his fault. Him with his arrogant ways, thinks he can walk on the rest of us like we was nothing."
The sheriff squinted at the afternoon sunlight, and without looking down said, "You are nothing, Harvey. I don't squander my time on cur dogs, cowards or fools, and you're all three."
Harvey stalked away, hatred burning strong within his heart. He glanced at Rachel, who was just entering the mercantile. That woman was the cause of his public humiliation-the root of his trouble-and she'd pay. Sooner or later, she'd pay.
Dr. Stanhope's office was small but efficient. Bottles, jars, bandages and scissors cluttered the shelves that lined the walls. Noble was aided onto a table.
Dr. Stanhope examined Noble's head. "You've got quite a bump here. It'll pain you for a few days."
Sheriff Crenshaw ambled in and glanced at the wound on Noble's head. "Someone said you were hit with a shovel. Bet it hurts like hell."
"Where have you been?" Noble asked in an irritated voice. "I've tried to see you several times, but you're always out of town." Noble leaned back against the wall, suddenly feeling weak. His whole body ached and throbbed.
Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Page 11