Greta, who had followed her down the stairs, pulled out a chair opposite her startled mother.
“What a thoroughly pleasant surprise!” Mrs. Rawson said, a rosy flush tinting her pale cheeks. “I’m happy to see you both feeling better.”
Rosita couldn’t say the same about Emmy. She dropped the dish in her hand on the table with a hollow thud and a wobble, startling Mrs. Rawson.
Emmy boldly met Cuddy’s shamefaced glance. “Greta and I felt it might be time things got back to normal around here. I believe we’ve both missed the fellowship.” She shot Rosita a winsome smile. “Not to mention the bountiful spread.” Rosita flounced away and Emmy prayed she wasn’t in the kitchen poisoning her food.
Mrs. Rawson passed Emmy the breadbasket. “I’m so glad, dear. I hated that we were missing so much of your visit.” She filled two tall glasses with lemonade and handed one to Greta. “And you’re looking much better, too, darling. I’m so happy you decided to join us.”
Cuddy and Greta exchanged quick glances. Cuddy’s impudent grin and cocky sneer had gone, replaced by the sympathetic smile of a doting brother. Watching him, Emmy could hardly believe he was the same man who’d made such bold advances. Of course, sitting in the well-lit dining room with his mother in attendance must feel very different than riding alone with Emmy in the dark, his belly filled with liquor.
A swish of the swinging doors, and Rosita returned with the main course.
Mrs. Rawson filled heaping platefuls and passed them around the table. “Has anyone seen Diego this evening?”
Four sets of hands stilled and fours pairs of eyes lifted to her face. Watching her in silence, they waited.
Distracted, she quietly returned the ladle to the serving dish. “I’d like for him to come up to the house. I have something important I wish to discuss with him.”
Rosita wiped her hands on her apron and scurried toward the kitchen. “I will go and send him word.”
Greta scooted to the edge of her chair. “Mother?” Her trembling voice held disbelief. And fear.
Shaking herself free of her thoughts, Mrs. Rawson patted her daughter’s hand. “Oh, Greta. Nothing so dire.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m growing a tad concerned about the length of your father’s visit to the Campbells’, that’s all.”
Dread clutched Emmy’s middle. She laid aside her napkin and smoothed her skirt. “You think there’s a problem?”
Mrs. Rawson clutched the silky bow on her chest. “Forgive me, Emily. Here I go, causing you concern with my silly musings. I’m only thinking aloud, dear.”
Emmy swallowed, but not Kate Rawson’s explanation. The unease on the woman’s face contradicted her words. “But you think they’ve been gone too long, don’t you?”
Cuddy snorted and picked up his fork. The understanding brother gone, his expression more resembled the Cuddy Emmy knew. “I wouldn’t waste a lot of worry, folks. They’re having a high old time, so they’re not ready to come back to this pretentious graveyard.”
Mrs. Rawson flashed him a sharp look. “Cuddy! Mind your manners, please.”
“Sorry, Mother.” He lifted one shoulder and shoved in a huge bite of food. “I know Father, that’s all,” he said with bulging cheeks. “He’s too busy to think about any of us here. His mind is occupied by playing the highfalutin ranchero for the Danes.”
“Some bread, brother?” Her own cheeks turning pink, Greta tossed the roll at Cuddy’s plate. It tumbled through his spicy mole poblano and landed in his lap.
He retrieved the mess with two fingers, a storm building on his face darker than the chocolaty sauce. “You did that on purpose.”
Greta patted the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Mother asked you to mind your manners, Cuthbert. I was merely trying to distract you from your disobedient display.”
His movements slow and exaggerated, Cuddy dragged the soggy bread through his plate and held it up. “Allow me to return the favor.”
Greta narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
With a wicked grin, he tossed the roll across the table. It slid down Greta’s chest, leaving a brown trail, then flipped off her bosom and landed in her waiting hands.
“Cuthbert Rawson!” his mother cried.
Greta reached for her plate, but Cuddy was quicker, upending his food in her lap.
Greta screamed and stood to her feet just as Diego cleared his throat behind them. He stood in the arched doorway, his hat in his hands. “You asked to see me, Mrs. Rawson?”
Kate Rawson couldn’t speak. Her gaze hopped from Diego to the dark greasy stain on Greta’s dress then to Cuddy, casually licking sauce from his fingers.
Cuddy jutted his chin at Diego. “Hungry, brother?”
Greta’s face and the skin of her chest, the part not covered in savory sauce, turned a frightening shade of red. Gathering the soiled area of her skirt as best she could, she bolted from the table, managing to ball herself tight enough to shrink past Diego without touching him.
Just as embarrassed, Emmy wanted to gather her skirts and brush past him, too.
Mrs. Rawson turned her rage on Cuddy. “I’d like you to leave as well, son.” Her low, even voice contradicted her flashing eyes.
From beneath her lashes, Emmy watched Cuddy push up from the table, in no hurry to obey. “I’d like to be part of this conversation, Mother.”
“Well, you won’t be. Good night.”
He stood with his hands clenched at his sides. Sighing dramatically, he tried once more. “Greta started the whole thing—”
She whirled on him. “Do you see your sister at my table?”
They remained silent until Emmy could stand it no longer. She stole a glance at each of them.
Cuddy stared straight ahead, gnawing the inside of his cheek.
Mrs. Rawson gripped the tablecloth on each side of her plate, her knuckles like white cypress knots. “I feel taken advantage of, Cuddy. None of this would’ve happened if your father was home.”
He looked at her with dispassionate eyes.
“John would be so disappointed in you.”
Cuddy gave the chair behind him a vicious kick. It crashed into the wall, sending a picture frame sliding to the floor.
Rosita, her eyes wild with fright, peered through a crack in the kitchen door. In her distress, she laid aside her dislike for Emmy and questioned her with raised brows.
Emmy drew up her shoulders.
Barreling around the table, Cuddy roared by Diego, slamming into him with his shoulder as he passed.
In the stillness that followed, Emmy felt an urge to crawl beneath the table. She felt Diego’s presence by the door as strongly as if he were sitting in her lap.
Thankfully, Mrs. Rawson broke the silence. She heaved a labored sigh and released her death grip on the lace cloth. “I’m appalled at my children’s conduct. I hope you won’t think this is usual mealtime behavior.”
Emmy looked up to see whom she had addressed.
Diego didn’t wait to figure it out. “I can come back later, Mrs. Rawson.”
She lifted her hand. “No. Sit down, please.” She gave a shaky laugh. “If you can find a clean chair.”
The door burst open and Rosita charged out, all busy hands and dishcloths. She stacked the dirty plates and the charger filled with food on the sideboard then expertly peeled away the splattered tablecloth.
Passing on the empty chair next to Emmy, Diego waited until Rosita dragged Greta’s soiled chair away from the table and slid a clean one in its place, the legs scraping loudly across the wooden floor.
Her voice deceptively calm, Mrs. Rawson bid Rosita forward. “Dish a serving of mole for Diego.”
He raised his hand. “No thank you. I’m having supper with my mother.”
“Very well, if you’re sure.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She made a feeble gesture toward the door. “I apologize for my children. I can’t say why they behaved so atrociously.”
He smiled. “You don
’t have to apologize to me.”
Mrs. Rawson was silent for so long Emmy’s gaze swung back to her. Studying her hands, the usually eloquent woman seemed to be fishing for words. She lifted troubled eyes to Diego. “Don’t you think John should’ve been home by now?”
He cut his eyes to Emmy. She laid both palms on the table and lifted her chin. “I believe this concerns me, too. My parents are with him.”
Diego lifted his brows at Mrs. Rawson.
“She’s right, son. Besides, we’re merely discussing at this point.”
He nodded. “What would you have me to do?”
She picked up the napkin in her lap and twisted it as she stared at Mr. Rawson’s empty chair. “I’m not sure we should do anything just yet. I don’t want to fret prematurely. John detests when I fuss.” She gazed at Diego with searching eyes. “What do you think we should do?”
His face unreadable, Diego fingered the rim of his water glass. “I decided if they weren’t here by morning, I’d ride out and take a look.”
She reached across the table and clutched his hands. “You’re that concerned? I knew something wasn’t right. I just knew it.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she drowned him out. “When will I learn to trust my instincts? I should’ve sent you last night.”
“That might’ve been premature fretting, ma’am. Tomorrow’s soon enough.” He gathered her trembling fingers in both of his big hands. “Please don’t work yourself up, Mrs. Rawson. I’m sure they’re socializing or seeing the sights. Relax and get a good night’s sleep. I plan to be on the road before dawn. By this time tomorrow, we’ll all be pulling past the front gate.”
She gave him a firm nod. “Good. Then I’ll show that man of mine what it means to fuss.”
Diego laughed low in his throat and squeezed her fingers.
Emmy had heard enough. “I’m going with you. What time do we leave?”
They turned together and stared at her.
Diego started to shake his head, but she held up her hand. “I mean it. I’m going.”
He looked baffled. “Why? There’s no reason.”
She felt her eyes bulge. “No reason?” She pointed behind her toward the tall curtained windows. “Those are my parents out there with banditos and bloodsuckers!”
Mrs. Rawson pushed away from the table and came around to where Emmy sat. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she gave her a tight hug. “I’ve upset you with my foolishness. Trust me on this, Emily. Diego is a very capable young man. He’ll find your parents for you.” She raised her face to Diego. “And my husband for me. Won’t you, dear?”
Diego stood. He put on his hat, then jerked it off again and held it to his chest. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll find them and bring them home.”
Mrs. Rawson straightened. “That’s all, dear. I won’t keep you from your supper. If Melatha’s food is ruined, you may blame it on me.”
He started for the door. “I’m sure it’s fine. Good night, Mrs. Rawson.”
“Good night, son.”
He ducked his head at Emmy but didn’t call her name.
She gave an answering nod, and then he was gone.
Mrs. Rawson patted her arm. “Do you need anything else before you go up to your room?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Then I hope you’ll excuse me. I’m suddenly very tired.”
Her heart in her throat, Emmy caught Mrs. Rawson’s hand before she pulled away. The poor dear’s heaviness had little to do with fatigue.
Giving Emmy’s fingers one last squeeze, Mrs. Rawson glided from the room with a swish of her skirts.
Rosita entered from the kitchen.
Emmy stood and pushed in her chair. She risked a chance. “Good night, Rosita.”
The tall, slender woman smiled and nodded. “El muerto y el arrimado a los tres días apesta.”
Having no idea what Rosita said but pleased with her gracious manner, Emmy tilted her head and returned her smile warmly. “Very well. Thank you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
She heard Cuddy laughing before she made it to the stairs. Staring at him perched on a step midway up, she put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing sitting there? And what’s so funny?”
He cocked his head. “I’m sitting here because I had as much right to hear that little discussion as you did.” He grinned. “I’m laughing because Rosita just told you that corpses and annoying guests stink by the third day.” He chuckled merrily. “And you thanked her.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, my. I’m firmly on her bad side, and I don’t know how to change it.”
Cuddy’s smile vanished. “Am I firmly on your bad side, Emmy?” Her heart flipped. She knew she should be furious with him, but he reminded her too much of herself before that fateful day when she allowed God to come in and change her. She raised her eyes to his pleading gaze. “I only wish you’d stop being so naughty. You really upset your mother tonight. And Greta.” She gave him a penetrating look. “You’re not going to tell Greta’s secret, are you?”
He looked surprised. “Over a skirmish with mole poblano? Of course not. Besides, it wouldn’t be in my best interest, now would it?” He patted the step beside him. “Come sit with me.”
She caught hold of the banister and pulled herself even with him. Before she sat, she aimed a warning finger. “Have you been drinking?”
He held up his hand. “On my honor, I’m as parched as a crusty cow patty.”
She laughed and eased down beside him. “Oh, Cuddy, you’re incorrigible.”
He smiled and took her hand. “So you forgive me for my stupidity? I swear I only wanted a kiss. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She stared at her feet, trying to work up her nerve. When she felt she could speak the truth, she confronted him. “But you did scare me, Cuddy. I know it would never have happened if you’d been sober. This tells me you simply must stop drinking.”
Sneering, he drew back. “Don’t tell me you’ve banded with the abstinence club?”
“I’m sorry, but they’re right. It’s obvious alcohol alters your judgment. I can’t help but wonder what might’ve happened had Diego not come along.”
He stiffened. “You don’t need Diego to defend your honor from me.”
“I did last night.”
He shook his head. “You only thought you did. Which is my fault, and I accept the blame.” A brooding shadow crossed his face. “Diego’s another matter. He should know me better.”
Emmy jumped at the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house.
“Don’t worry,” Cuddy said. “That’s just Rosita leaving for the night.” He rubbed his hands down the front of his trousers, not the first time since his food fight given their stained condition. “I suppose I’d better get cleaned up then find a place in the bunkhouse to lay my head. Sounds like I have an early start ahead of me.”
“An early start?” She studied his profile. “Cuddy, you’re not thinking of going with Diego?”
He met her gaze. “Not thinking—my mind’s made up.” Determination burned in his eyes. “Diego doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going.”
Her heart skipped. “Then you’re worried, too?”
He shrugged. “Call it insurance. I have to keep my old man alive until I prove myself to him.” His boyish features hardened with determination. “He’s planning to go to his grave disappointed in me, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”
***
Melatha’s heart soared with joy at the familiar sound of Isi’s boots hitting the porch. She whispered her thanks over folded hands and turned at the counter, ready to greet him. Certain her fervor reminded God of the parable of the persistent widow in Luke’s Gospel, she also repented for wearying Him.
Isi stood on the threshold, his hat in his hands, as if hesitant to press on without an invitation.
His contrite manner pierced her heart. She smiled sweetly and motioned him in. “Good evening, son. Are you
hungry?”
He ducked his chin, but his eyes burned into hers. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pot of mole poblano, would you? I’ve developed a sudden urge for some.”
Already turning to lift the lid on her kettle, she paused. “Mole? No mole, son. Only—” She was hesitant to admit what she had to offer him instead—pounded corn boiled with beans, a traditional food of the Choctaw.
He dropped his hat on the hook and approached the table. “Is that Tafula I smell? Even better.”
Sighing with relief, she ladled a large bowlful and set it in front of him. Isi blew on a bite then took a taste from the end of the spoon. He nodded vigorously. “Very good, as usual.”
Melatha’s joyful heart swelling like the breast of a dove, she grinned at him. “You say the same every time. I find myself starting to doubt you.”
Her chest deflated in a rush of shame when he halted mid-bite and laid down the spoon. She hurried to him, enveloping him with her arms from behind. “Stop it now, Isi. I will never really doubt you.” She gave him a shake. “You know this.”
He reached back to wrap his arm around her neck, drawing her closer. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I promise not to disappoint you ever again.”
She laughed against his ear. “An impossible promise to keep. A mother’s expectations are unreasonable.” She swung around to kneel at his feet. “You will disappoint me many times if you’re to live your own life.” Her brown eyes bored into his. “It doesn’t mean I won’t worry, but I have to allow you to make your own mistakes, whatever the cost. I see this truth now.”
His brows crowding together, Isi took hold of her arms. “Wait a second while I catch my balance.”
“Your balance?”
“Yes, Mother.” His eyes darted to the floor. “It seems the ground has shifted beneath my feet. Did I just hear Melatha Marcelo telling her son to live his own life? What happened to bring about this change?”
She lowered her gaze. “The old teacher is still teachable, I suppose.”
He placed his big hand on her head then let it slide until he held her cheek. “You show me such respect after I’ve ruined both our lives?”
She pressed his palm to her face and shook her head. “But you haven’t ruined our lives.”
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