Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (18 page)

Dr. Stanhope probed Noble's ribs, and Noble
gritted his teeth again as agonizing pain ripped
across his back and through his gut. "If this is the
way you treat your friends, I'd not like to be your
enemy."

The older man stood back and surveyed his patient. "You've got cuts and bruises but no broken
bones. You're going to hurt like hell for a few days,
especially when you first get up in the morning. I
could give you something for the pain."

"No, thank you. I have a bottle of good brandy
at home; that's all the medicine I'll need."

Dr. Stanhope took Noble's chin and turned it
toward him, smiling. "The cuts on your face aren't
deep. I don't think the girls need to cry that your
pretty face will be permanently scarred."

Noble took the rumpled plaid shirt the doctor
offered him, since his own was in bloody shreds.
"You know what really hurts most, Doe? The fact
that none of my attackers needs your services."

Dr. Stanhope smiled, and then he became serious. "Today wasn't just a random occurrence.
Someone wants you dead real bad. He's tried
twice; he'll probably try again."

Rachel stalked up to Jess McVee, her anger still
raging. "Tell me, Jess, why didn't you try to help
Noble today?" She glanced over at Mrs. McVee, who was thin and birdlike, with a tight little
mouth and round black eyes. "Or you, Mrs.
McVee, why didn't you intervene?"

"We think Noble had it coming to him," Jess
answered with feeling, although he did not meet
Rachel's eyes.

"I think what you did was disgraceful, Rachel,"
Mary McVee said. "Imagine, getting involved in a
street brawl. I declare, you are a disgrace. What
would your pa have said if he could have seen you
today?"

Rachel turned away from the woman and concentrated on Jess McVee. "Tell me what you know
about your son's death, Mr. McVee."

"I What?" He looked puzzled. "Why would you
want to know about young Jessie?"

"Tell me what you know about how Jessie died,"
Rachel persisted.

Mrs. McVee chimed in. "Why would you want
to bring up a subject that is still so painful to-"

Rachel held up her hand to silence the woman,
while taking several quick breaths to calm herself.
"Tell me, Jess, about your son's death."

His eyes clouded with sorrow and he seemed to
age before her eyes. "I don't mind telling you, Rachel." His voice trembled with emotion. "We got
a letter from our son's commanding officer explaining about his last hours. He told us that our
son didn't die alone, that one of the officers from
Madragon County stayed with him all night talk ing to him, and never left his side. Just kinda
bringing him comfort in his last hours."

"Do you know who the man was who stayed
with your son?"

"No, we never learned his name. Sure would
like to meet him, though. I'd like to tell him how
grateful we are for what he did for our son. I guess
he probably got himself killed too. If he did, I hope
he found someone to sit with him in his final
hours."

"If the man who aided your son that night was
in trouble and needed your help, would you help
him?"

Tears streamed down Mrs. McVee's pale cheeks.
"How can you ask such a thing? Of course we'd
help him! We'd love him like a son. We'd like to
talk to him and know our son's last thoughts."

Rachel walked to the door and turned back to
Mary and Jess McVee. She wondered why she felt
so little pity for them. Perhaps she was becoming
too hard, or perhaps she was sickened by pious
people who preached one thing but practiced another.

"Today," Rachel said, surprised by her steady
voice, "you had your chance to help the man who
stayed with your son in his last hours. But you
stood by with everyone else and watched those
cowardly dogs do their worst to him. I wonder
what your son would have thought of you, Mr.
McVee, Mrs. McVee, if he could speak to you. Noble Vincente was the officer who took care of your
son the night he died."

Mrs. McVee's lips trembled before she clamped
her hand over her mouth, little animal sounds escaping her throat. Mr. McVee's face reddened; he
placed his hand over his heart and sank into a
chair.

For several moments, no one spoke. The only
sound was the soft gasps coming from Mrs.
McVee.

Rachel was still enraged. She shoved the door
open with such force that the tinkling bell could
still be heard when she was halfway to the blacksmith shop.

Zeb was loading the wagon. He took one look
at Rachel and grinned. "You got yourself all riled,
didn't you?"

"Let's go home," she said flatly.

The old man's leathery face crinkled with worry
and he scratched his white head. "I heard there
was a mite of a ruckus in town this afternoon."

She swung around and glared at Zeb. "Where
were you when this was happening?"

He let out a stream of tobacco juice and patted
the rifle at his side. "I had me a good aim on that
redheaded man. I knew you didn't need my help,
but just in case..."

Rachel suddenly started laughing, and Zeb
looked at her as if she'd lost her senses.

"God help us all," she said in a choked voice.
"Papa was right. When you stand too close to a
Vincente, you get swept away in the storm."

Sunflowers bent their heads and danced in the
wind beneath the somber blue sky. The air that
brushed across Rachel's face felt hot and dry. A
slight stirring of the water caught her attention,
and she watched a catfish bob its head up momentarily and then disappear into the shadowy
depths.

She was leaning against the cottonwood tree on
the bank of the Brazos, where she'd swum naked
with Noble. She tried to gather her scattered
thoughts. Why had she come back to this spot?
What need had drawn her here?

She removed her boots, pushed her trouser legs
up and dipped her feet into the river, wiggling her
toes, much as she'd done as a young girl. Now she was a woman, trying to find solace for her troubled mind and her battered heart. Why couldn't
she be like other women her age? Most of her
friends were married with several children, while
all she had was the Broken Spur. She'd worked
hard since her father's death, and there had been
little time for socializing. Several men had come
calling on her, but she had brushed them aside
with one excuse or another. The truth was, none
of them had interested her.

She had always felt as if she were waiting for
something or someone. Now she knew that someone was Noble, and it wasn't to put a bullet into
him either. No matter what had passed between
them, he had always occupied her heart. She
could admit that now. But she would get over
him she had to.

Suddenly she choked back a sob, trying not to
cry, but her throat burned from the effort. Noble
had been so terribly alone yesterday in town. And
no one had wanted to help him. She had wanted
to tear the hearts out of the men who'd hurt him.
Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
Burying her face in her hands, she cried and cried
until she had no tears left.

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand,
remembering Noble's words. You don't believe I
killed your father. All doubts had been purged from
her heart. Noble had not killed her father. How
could she ever have thought he had?

Who, then, could have killed her father, and
why?

Rachel was so lost in her own wretchedness that
she didn't hear a rider approach.

Noble dismounted and walked toward her.
"Hello, Rachel. This is becoming my favorite
place."

Then she turned in his direction and his heart
contracted. She had been crying. In all the years
he'd known her, he'd never seen her cry.

His voice caught in his throat and it took him a
moment to speak. He knelt down beside her and
looked at her with concern. "Are you hurt? Ill?"

"No. Just go away."

He stood up, knowing she was embarrassed because he had seen her weeping. He gazed across
the river. "Sure is hot."

Her gaze went upward to all beautiful six feet
of him. Black leather chaps fit tightly about his
long legs. She saw the gauze dressing on his
cheek. "How are your wounds?"

"Not so bad."

"I'm glad."

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for what you
did for me yesterday, Rachel."

Her voice was strained as she tried to sound indifferent. "I'd do the same for anyone."

"Be that as it may, I'm still grateful to you."

"As I told you, that makes us even. I don't owe
you anything now."

He laughed.

She didn't find anything funny.

He suddenly became solemn and glanced down
at her, knowing she was troubled. So was he, if
she but knew it. He couldn't get her out of his
mind; the sweet, intoxicating smell of her lingered
with him long after she was gone, and came to
him unbidden at night when he lay awake, unable
to sleep.

"We still have unfinished business between us,
Rachel."

"I suppose you want me to tell you the name of
the men who attacked you yesterday."

"No. I already know their names. Let's just say
that I had a talk with Bob Foster. The deputy and
that redheaded man had both left town."

"Cowards. That doesn't surprise me."

He said almost too casually, "I'll find them eventually."

She stood up and pushed her trouser legs down.
"If I were a betting woman, I'd say you did more
than talk to Bob Foster. I know all about the Vincente pride. And those men stepped on your pride,
didn't they, Noble?"

He reached out and cupped her chin, turning
her fully toward him. He gently touched her damp
cheek and she allowed it, not knowing what else
to do. "Pride is something I can ill afford these
days, Rachel. This isn't the same Texas I left. I
wonder if it ever will be."

"As you told me that night in your garden, nothing stays the same."

His gaze fell on her upturned face. "You remain
the same. If you loved a man, I believe that you
would fight for him to the very end. Would you do
that, Rachel?"

She realized she'd been holding a sunflower in
her hand and she'd shredded all the petals. "First
I would have to find a man worthy of loyalty."

"Rachel, Rachel." Her name sounded like a caress on his lips. "Yesterday your eyes burned like
green fire because you saw what you thought was
an injustice and did something about it. That was
your pride at work, wasn't it?" He looked at her
closely. "Or was it something more?"

"It was pride. Mine. I told you yesterday that I
didn't like the odds."

His gaze went across the river, and it seemed
that he was a long way off. "Pride can sometimes
be a good thing, Rachel. It separates the men from
the animals."

"Winna Mae always says `Pride goes before a
fall."'

"Perhaps." His strong fingers moved across her
face and lingered there while his expression softened. "But you know something has happened between us, Green Eyes. You may not want to admit
it, but you know it's true."

Pain stabbed through her. She silently struggled
against her own heart and finally won the battle,
at least for the moment. She jerked away from
him and stared down at her bare feet. "Nothing
happened between us."

He smothered a smile, thinking how like a little
girl she seemed at the moment. Yesterday she had
been a flame-haired Amazon ready to fight the
whole town. "And who takes care of you, Green
Eyes? Are you as alone as I am?"

His mesmerizing gaze flowed through her like
a warm stream, and left her with the same giddiness that she'd felt when her father had allowed
her a glass of champagne one Christmas Eve. "I
can take care of myself" She looked up at him,
frowning reprovingly. "I don't need anyone."

"You could let me take care of you," he said,
laughing at some private jest. Then he went on to
explain. "Perhaps you are right and it's the other
way around. After all, it was I on the ground yesterday, and all that stood between me and hell was
you and that damned rifle of yours. Maybe I need
you to take care of me, even if my pride takes a
beating for it."

"As far as you are concerned, Noble, it would
take the whole Yankee army to take care of you.
As far as I'm concerned, you still have much to
answer for. What good is pride if it comes at the
price of honor?"

"My honor or yours?"

"Yours."

"You are speaking of your sister." His voice
sounded stilted. "Are we back to that again?"

"So it would seem," she answered in a sharp
voice. "You wronged her, Noble. Don't you care
that she suffered so after you went away?"

"Have you discussed this with Delia?"

"I... we always end up in an argument when
we talk about you."

"And so, it would seem, do we. I told you before,
Rachel, ask Delia about what happened between
the two of us. I can tell you nothing."