Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (16 page)

Delia ground her teeth. She couldn't understand
why Rachel permitted that woman to stay on at
the ranch. If it had been up to her, Winna Mae
would have been dismissed long ago.

Once in her own room, Delia removed her dusty
clothing and dressed in a cool, flowered chintz
gown. She tied her hair away from her face and
lay down upon the bed, thinking about her meet ing with Noble. Whit had told her that Noble had
lost everything except Casa del Sol. The hacienda
hadn't appeared run-down to her. If Whit had his
way, he'd own Casa del Sol and the Broken Spur.
Then he would control the whole western tributary of the Brazos River.

The thought of Noble losing Casa del Sol made
her terribly sad. She didn't want to take anything
more away from Noble; she'd already taken too
much.

At that moment Delia heard Rachel's voice. She
moved off the bed and left the room. The minute
Delia saw her sister, she realized there was something different about her. Rachel reclined against
her pillow, her red-gold hair falling in ringlets
about her face. Her skin, usually tanned from being in the sun, was now pale, and there was a wistfulness reflected in her eyes. Delia thought her
stunningly beautiful.

Rachel smiled with genuine fondness. "Delia,
how wonderful of you to come."

Pleasure filled Delia. It occurred to her for the
first time that Rachel really did love her.

"I came as soon as I could." She touched Rachel's face and was satisfied that she had no fever.
"How are you?"

A small smile tilted Rachel's mouth and she
shrugged, then grimaced in pain. "I'm better now
that you're here. I detest being confined to this
room, but the doctor says I can't get up for another week. You can entertain me."

"Poker?"

Rachel nodded. "Make it five-card stud." She
took Delia's hand. "It'll be just like old times. You
being the bossy big sister, me the meek little sister."

They both laughed at that. Neither of them
would ever consider Rachel meek.

"Rachel, you were born knowing what you
wanted and reaching out for it with both hands,
while I stumbled around and still never found
what I wanted."

Rachel's eyes seemed to cloud. "I don't know
what I want anymore, Delia."

"I went to Casa del Sol before I came here."

"Did you speak to Noble?"

Delia nodded. "I understand he was with you
when you were shot."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

"No. He said to ask you."

Rachel was quiet for a moment as she decided
how to answer her sister. "There are only three
people who know what happened that day. Me, of
course, Noble, and whoever shot me. Noble is too
much of a gentleman to speak of it, and I won't
talk about it. The man who shot me can't come
forward because he'd give himself away."

"Have you told the sheriff?"

"No.

"You should so he can be looking for the man,"
Delia exclaimed. "The man who shot you ought to
be brought to justice."

"I know. But we may never know who did it."

Delia looked into Rachel's eyes and saw more
than her sister imagined. "Noble thinks you were
shot by mistake. He believes the bullet was meant
for him."

"Do you remember, Papa always said that those
who stood too near a Vincente got swept away in
a storm? It was very perceptive of him, don't you
think?"

Delia saw a flush rise to Rachel's cheeks and she
knew her sister had been captured by the Vincente
charm. She could only imagine the battle that
raged inside Rachel at that moment. "Just how
near were you to Noble when you were shot?"

Rachel turned her face to the pillow, and Delia
could hardly hear her murmured reply. "Too
close. I was standing too close."

"Delia, will you stop fussing over me!" Rachel said
with impassioned annoyance, feeling smothered
by her sister's constant care. She much preferred
Delia when she was trying to wrestle the Broken
Spur from her, than with this new motherly demeanor that was driving Rachel to distraction.
Her nerves were raw and she had a lot of thinking
to do most of it involved Noble, and she couldn't
do it with her sister's continuous coddling.

Rachel hurried upstairs with Delia right behind
her. She spun at her bedroom door. "Go home and
pester Whit! I'm healed. The wound doesn't even
hurt anymore." To demonstrate her point, Rachel
flexed her arm and made a wide circle with her
shoulder, swinging her arm back and forth. "Go back to Austin. Winna Mae will look after me."

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.