Texas Proud (Vincente 2)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Someone had locked her in the barn and set it on fire! The loft would be her only escape because there was no lock on the upper door. She had to make it out in time to save the horses!

  She ran toward the steps that led upward, but a streak of fire seemed to dive at her from above, the dry hay only serving to feed the blaze until it was an inferno. In no time, the loft was a blinding wall of flame.

  With her hand in front of her face to protect it, Rachel climbed the first step, but the heat from the flames drove her backward. Now the horses were fear maddened and they thrashed and kicked against their stalls, trying to get free.

  Without thinking, she ran to the stalls, fumbling until she unlatched each half door, then throwing them open. Her lungs were filling with smoke, and she stumbled toward the front of the barn. That would be her only route of escape, because the loft was now totally enveloped in flames.

  In spite of the intense heat, Rachel felt a chilling sensation like a snake winding itself around her heart and squeezing. The smoke rolled toward her like a dark, ominous beast, stinging her eyes and stealing her breath. A great wall of fire lunged forward, devouring everything in its path.

  With wild terror she banged on the door, crying as loud as she could, knowing the thickness of the door muffled her cries, and Winna Mae was too far to hear her anyway.

  The heat was so intense that she couldn't breathe, and smoke made it impossible to see. She dropped to her knees, breathing the air from the crack at the bottom of the door. Coughing, she couldn't catch her breath as three barn cats circled her legs, mewing, pushing, circling in fear. This time, whoever had been trying to kill her would probably succeed, she thought, her arms falling limply at her sides and blackness engulfing her.

  Winna Mae wondered what could be keeping Rachel. The noon meal was laid out on the kitchen table and the stew was ready to serve. She walked to the front porch-something was making her feel uneasy.

  That was when Winna Mae saw flames crackling from the roof of the barn, climbing, swirling serpentine toward the sky. "Rachel!" she cried loudly. "Where are you?"

  No answer.

  Winna Mae realized that Rachel would undoubtedly rush heedlessly into the barn to save the stock and would need her help. She ran across the porch, down the walk and toward the barn. She was out of breath by the time she reached the barn door. She paused for only a moment, wondering why the wooden bar lay across the double doors, locking them into place. She could hear the shrill, unnerving sound of terrified horses and shoved the bar aside, swinging the doors open.

  The sudden rush of air drew the flames like a magnet toward Winna Mae. She saw Rachel lying so still that she feared she might be dead. Grabbing both of Rachel's arms, she dragged her outside. Three barn cats scampered ahead of the five terrified horses stampeding into the open air.

  Winna Mae bent over Rachel, feeling for a pulse at her throat. She bent low and felt her warm breath on her cheek. Relief washed over her when she felt the strong beat of Rachel's heart. She turned her on her side and rushed to the well, wet her apron and rushed back to Rachel.

  Winna Mae washed the soot from Rachel's face and shook her gently. "Rachel, Rachel. Open your eyes."

  Nothing.

  "Rachel," she said forcefully, lightly slapping her on each cheek. "Wake up!"

  Rachel's eyelashes fluttered, and she took in a gulp of air, and then another, bringing color back to her face. She wanted to tell Winna Mae she was all right, but the words clung to her dry lips and she could not utter a sound.

  "Rachel, breathe deeply," Winna Mae instructed her. "That's right. Now more."

  Rachel coughed and gasped. Her parched lungs were hungry for pure air. After a fit of coughing, she finally sat up with Winna Mae's help and drew more precious, life-giving air into her lungs. They both watched silently as the barn exploded outward, then collapsed into ashes and flames.

  Rachel turned to Winna Mae and had to try several times before she could find her voice. Even then it was little more than a throaty whisper. "The horses?"

  "I don't know. I hope they all got out."

  "Faro?"

  "I don't know. Hush now. Don't try to talk."

  Rachel shook her head and tried to rise, but fell back. Her mouth felt so dry. She attempted to swallow, and by the third try she was successful. "Someone... tried... to-"

  "I know," Winna Mae said incredulously. "Someone locked you in the barn and set fire to it." She took Rachel's trembling hand. "Do you think you can walk with my help?"

  Rachel nodded. But when she stood on shaky legs, she sagged toward Winna Mae and leaned heavily against her. Walking slowly, they finally made it to the porch. Rachel turned to look back at the barn, which was only smoking embers. Her gaze searched frantically for Faro, but she didn't see her.

  Winna Mae assisted her into the house and seated her at the kitchen table while she poured milk into a tin mug.

  "You... saved my-"

  "Hush. Don't talk just now," the housekeeper told her, adding a liberal amount of honey to soothe Rachel's throat. "Drink this." She extended the mug to Rachel. "Later we will talk. Tomorrow, perhaps."

  Wetting a cloth, Winna Mae wiped more soot from Rachel's face and was relieved to find that her skin wasn't burned. Then she saw the redness on Rachel's hands and doused them in a pan of water. There were burn blisters on both palms and on her upper right arm. Winna Mae deftly covered them with ointment and then wrapped them in white gauze.

  "Winna Mae, who would want me dead?" Rachel asked worriedly. "Who would"

  "I don't know," Winna Mae interrupted her again, her tone uneven. "But it's time we found out."

  After Rachel had drunk the milk-and-honey concoction Winna Mae mixed for her, she found her throat didn't hurt quite so much. But Winna Mae insisted she go to bed, and Rachel agreed, after making Winna Mae promise that she would find out if Faro had gotten out of the barn safely.

  Although Rachel didn't think she would be able to rest, she was so exhausted, her eyelids fluttered shut and she fell into a deep sleep.

  She did not know that Winna Mae stood over her with a troubled frown. Someone was definitely trying to kill Rachel, but who? Winna Mae tried to think who would hate Rachel enough to lock her in the barn and then set fire to it.

  Winna Mae reached out and laid her hand against Rachel's cheek. "Sleep easy. I will watch over you."

  That night the much-longed-for rain came. Lightning dove across the sky on jagged wings like a fire-breathing dragon. Intermittent wind gusts bowed the trees, and rain capered across the land, settling the dust and washing down the gullies toward the Brazos River, filling the river to its banks. The storm tore across the land, downing trees and cutting a path through the tall, dry grass.

  Rachel awoke to the patter of rain against her window. She thought she must be dreaming. Could it really be raining?

  Lightning pulsed, streaked, illuminated the land, but the rain had come too late to help the ranchers who had lost their spreads, and it had come too late to help Rachel.

  She heard movement and turned her head to see Winna Mae sitting beside her bed, a rifle across her lap.

  "You should get some sleep," Rachel said. "Don't worry about me. The men will be home day after tomorrow."

  "I'll go to bed directly." Winna Mae had no intention of leaving Rachel tonight, but she knew Rachel wouldn't sleep if she thought she was staying up on her account. "Faro's fine."

  Relief resounded in her voice. "You found her?"

  "No, she found me. She came to the back door stomping and noisily demanding attention. I led her to the corral and gave her hay and water, then latched the gate."

  Rachel let out a grateful sigh and closed her eyes. "It's raining."

  "Yes, it is."

  Rachel slept peacefully while jagged streaks of lightning played tag with boisterous thunder that made the ground tremble. The long-awaited rain pelted against the cracked and scarred land, which thirstily soaked up the deluge, and began to heal.
r />   Rachel walked toward what remained of her barn, which was now just a hideous dark thing that smelled sickeningly of wet ashes. She reached up and touched her throat; it was still dry and hurt like the devil. Even the rain that had come in the night, ending the drought, brought her no joy. With a heavy heart she entered the corral where Faro waited for her.

  After examining the mare closely, Rachel was satisfied that she'd escaped injury. She patted her horse's sleek neck, and gave her a carrot.

  Her saddle and all the tack had burned in the barn, so she formed a makeshift bridle out of leather rope and slipped it over Faro's head; then, clutching her rifle, she bounded onto the mare's back.

  "Let's go round up the other horses," she said, leaning close to Faro's head. She shivered when she thought of how close she'd come to losing this creature that was so dear to her.

  Winna Mae called out to her, but Rachel was too far away to hear. The housekeeper shook her head. "That Rachel," she mumbled to herself. "Someone tried to kill her yesterday, and today she thinks only of the horses."

  She entered the house and placed the coffeepot on the back of the stove. The men wouldn't be home until tomorrow. Until then, she wanted to be sure that Rachel was safe. But how could she protect her if she went riding about the countryside as if she didn't have a care in the world?

  Rachel held her rifle across her lap, her eyes sweeping the terrain ahead of her. Someone wanted her dead, and she didn't know who it was. But she wasn't going to hide in the house like a witless coward.

  She just had to be more careful from now on, and trust no one but Zeb and Winna Mae, and maybe Tanner.

  She tried to think who could want her dead. Delia? No, not her sister. She knew Delia had faultsshe drank, and deep down she was unhappy-but Rachel also knew that her sister loved her and would never hurt her. Could it be Whit? Perhaps. He was capable of anything. But she doubted he would go as far as trying to kill her. What about Noble? Her breathing closed off and she experienced a stabbing pain in her heart.

  "Please don't let it be Noble," she said aloud.

  The weather had suddenly turned bitterly cold, and dark thunderheads dominated the western sky, while the eastern sky had an eerie yellow glow.

  Rachel stepped off the porch and watched the cowhands ride in with Tanner at their head. She allowed her glance to linger on each face, wondering if one of the men who worked for her had locked her in the barn and then set it on fire. She decided that none of them would have committed such a heinous act. Besides, they had been in town with Tanner and Zeb.

  The cowhands stared in dismay at the charred remains of the barn; then each turned his gaze to their lady boss. They noticed that Rachel's hands were bandaged, and they looked even more puzzled.

  "We had a fire,' she said, stating the obvious, unwilling to explain what had really happened when she wasn't even sure herself. Later she would explain to Tanner and Zeb what had happened, and they could warn the others to be on their guard against any strangers who showed up at the ranch.

  "Lightning must've struck the barn," Tanner said, dismounting and moving toward the blackened ruins for a closer look. "Did the animals get out, Miss Rachel?"

  "Yes," Rachel answered. "All of them."

  Zeb reached down and picked up the hinges from the ashes and studied them for a moment. Then his canny gaze swung to Rachel's face and to her bandaged hands, which she'd kept clasped behind her. He read more from what she wasn't saying than from what she'd said. "I knew I shouldn'ta gone into town and left you alone. There's too many strange calamities been happening lately." He closely examined the twisted hinge and scratched his head reflectively. "Any fire hot enough to melt this weren't nature made. No siree, it was a man done this 'less I miss my guess."

  Winna Mae met the old man's eyes, sending him a silent confirmation of his suspicions.

  Meanwhile Rachel drew Tanner aside, while the other hands strolled toward the bunkhouse, anx ious to put the coffee to brewing before Zeb set his hand to it.

  Tanner looked down at Rachel's hands. "You got that in the fire?"

  Rachel nodded. "I'll tell you about it later. How much did you get for the herd?" she asked.

  The roughness of Tanner's face smoothed out and he smiled. "I brought you some good news, Miss Rachel."

  "What?" She could use some good news, she thought.

  "I sold the cattle at the stockyard like you said. And as we suspected, a Yankee sergeant bought them all for the army."

  "Is that supposed to cheer me up?" She shifted from one foot to the other, while trying to follow his reasoning. "I didn't want to sell to the Yankees, but what choice did I have?"

  "They're offering even less than we figured," Tanner continued. "Three dollars a head and not the four we wanted. But I took it like you told me to.

  She sighed inwardly, calculating the total. "It's not nearly enough. Did you pay the men?" That was her first concern.

  "Yes, ma'am." He gazed back at the charred remains of the barn. "Then I took myself over to the tax assessor, thinking I might be able to talk him into taking part of the taxes now and the rest after spring roundup."

  Rachel's eyes brightened with hope. "Tanner, are you telling me he agreed to wait until spring for the rest of the taxes?"

  "Nope. Better than that. He said they'd made a mistake in your tax assessment. Said your taxes were only two hundred and fifty dollars. I paid him right then, knowing that was what you'd want me to do." Tanner looked pleased. "I didn't know those tax people could make mistakes. 'Specially not such a whopper."

  Instead of looking pleased, Rachel's eyes became like sword points. She felt her heart plummet and she was overwhelmed by agony. For a long moment she stood like a statue while her mind whirled. "They don't make mistakes, Tanner," she exclaimed.

  Before Tanner realized what Rachel was doing, she jerked the reins out of his hand, crammed her booted foot into the stirrups and swung onto his saddle. "Tell Winna Mae not to worry about me. I'm going to see Noble Vincente."

  "Miss Rachel," Zeb called, hurrying after her, "the river's up. Could be flooding by now. 'Sides, I feel a coldness in my bones there's worse weather on the way could be one of those blue northers coming. Don't go riding off anywhere."

  Usually just the words blue norther struck fear in the heart of anyone who had ever felt the effects of the uncommon storm. Rachel merely looked at the old man for a moment and then urged the horse into a gallop, leaving Zeb to eat the horse's dust.

  Tanner watched Rachel ride away astride his horse. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never understand women especially not that pretty little filly. He'd thought Rachel would be pleased about the taxes. But she sure as hell hadn't been. What bee was buzzing around in her bonnet? he wondered. He turned to Zeb and shrugged, noticing that the old man looked worried.

  Tanner wanted a cup of coffee to warm him. It had dropped at least ten degrees since they'd ridden in.

  Zeb had been right about the river. It was full to its banks and running swiftly, with uprooted trees and other debris being swept downstream. Unmindful of the danger, Rachel plunged the horse into the swollen current, and after being carried downstream, they made it safely across.

  Rachel set her eyes on the distance while anger gnawed at her. She hadn't a doubt in her mind that Noble had paid the bulk of her taxes. Yes, and he had concocted the story that the tax assessor had told Tanner. If he thought she would be grateful to him, he was mistaken. She would rather lose the Broken Spur than take Noble's money.

  Wet and bedraggled, Rachel dismounted and hurried up the walkway to Noble's house. Knocking on the door, she braced herself, ready to do battle with him and wishing she had the money to throw in his face.

  Margretta opened the door and smiled brightly when she saw Rachel. "Pardon, Senorita Rachel, el Patron" she hesitated, trying to find the words in English "is away. Please to...enter."

  "Gracias, no," Rachel replied in frustration. "Tell Senor Vincente that I want to see him at once."
/>   Margretta looked puzzled. "Pardon, senorita?" She looked behind her and motioned for someone to come forward. Her husband, Alejandro, appeared at her side. His lips curved into a smile when he saw Rachel.

  "Come in, senorita," said Alejandro, who had a better command of English than his wife. "You are welcome in this house."

  "Is Senor Vincente at home, Alejandro?"

  "No, senorita. He will not be back until afternoon."

  Rachel had torn the bandages away from her hands before she entered the river, and they were cold. She reached into the pocket of her heavy coat and removed her gloves. Impatiently she worked her fingers into them, wincing at the pain from her burns. "Tell Noble when he comes home that I want to see him."

  "Si, I will tell him, Senorita Rachel. But he will be sorry to miss you. Will you not come inside and wait? I am sure that Senorita Saber would be glad to see you."

  "Saber has come home?" Rachel asked, knowing if it were any other time, she would be happy to see Noble's sister.

  "Si, Senorita Rachel." He stepped away from the door to allow her to enter. "Come in."

  As much as Rachel would have liked to see Saber, she was too angry for pleasantries. "Just give my message to your Patron." She turned away and mounted her horse.

  With a troubled expression, Alejandro watched her ride away. As he glanced at the clouds, his anxiety deepened. There was a storm brewing, and it looked as if it would be a bad one. He hoped the senorita would reach home before it struck.

  As often happened in West Texas, the blue norther struck without warning, making Zeb's prediction come true. The temperature plummeted to below freezing within minutes. Snow fell eastward, slowly at first, and then with blinding intensity. The wind whipped across the land, bending trees, its howl sounding like a woman's scream.

  Rachel had not yet reached the Brazos when she was surrounded by a world of swirling, bonechilling cold. The snow was so heavy, she couldn't see past her horse's head. She knew that she had to find shelter soon or she would freeze to death. She became disoriented. Frantically she glanced behind her, wondering which direction to take.