Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (14 page)

"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 unsuitable 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, and 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."

"I do not use my father's title," Noble said in a
placid voice. "I am Senor, or Mr. Noble Vincente,
whichever you prefer."

"Yes, er, Mr. Vincente."

"You are my mother's attorney?"

"Yes. I represented her family for many years.
It was agreed long before your good mother died
that the money held in trust for you and your sister would be under the guardianship of my firm."

Noble indicated a chair. "Please be seated and
feel free to remove your coat. We are not so formal
here at Casa del Sol. It is much too hot."

George Nunn looked grateful. Draping his coat
over the back of the chair, he unbuttoned his
waistcoat and loosened his tie. "Thank you. I was
a bit warm," he said.

Noble went to the door and spoke hurriedly to
Margretta, then moved to the desk and sat down.
"My housekeeper will bring you something cool to
drink. Unless, of course, you prefer something
stronger."

"It's a bit early in the day for spirits, but something cool would be nice, sir. My throat's so
parched it feels like I swallowed half the dust between here and town."

Noble folded his hands on the desk, hiding his
impatience. "You spoke of trusts for my sister and
myself. I was not aware that such trusts existed."

"Oh, yes-yes, indeed they do exist. Your sister's
trust is quite substantial, and yours is a very sizable fortune, Mr. Vincente."

Noble was too stunned to respond. He was glad
that Margretta had entered with refreshments,
giving him time to gather his thoughts.