Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (22 page)

She set her chin firmly. "I will overcome this. I
will."

Her head sank into her pillow. She squeezed her
eyes tightly shut. "Starve it to death. If I don't see
Noble again, my love for him will soon shrivel and
die."

She didn't believe it, even as she said it.

The smell of strong coffee wafted through the air
as Rachel neared the bunkhouse. She smiled and
stopped to speak to Zeb, who was sitting on the
steps whittling something resembling the figure of
a horse.

"Want some coffee, Miss Rachel?" he asked,
glancing at her from under bushy eyebrows.

"Did you make the coffee again, Zeb?" She sat
down beside him and watched his deft hands
whittle away at the wood. While the other cowhands liked their coffee strong, they complained
that Zeb's coffee was more like witches' brew and
so bitter it was undrinkable. Rachel also knew
that they had an agreement between them that
Zeb was not to be allowed to make the coffee.

The old man's eyes lit with pleasure as they always did when his lady boss stopped to talk to
him. "Yep. I made it, Miss Rachel. Charley and
Bud complain they have to pick the grounds out
of their teeth for a week when I make it." He
chuckled. "But they drink it all the same, and
they're glad to get it. Want some?"

She grinned. "No, thank you."

He shrugged, and continued whittling while the
two of them basked in companionable silence.

Rachel glanced up and watched the smoke curl
from the chimney to disappear against the slatecolored sky. She was reluctant to return to the
house because Delia and Whit were there. She had
purposely avoided their company today, knowing
that Delia would want to question her about Noble's appearance at the dance last night. For the
time being, she didn't want to talk about Noble
with anyone, and especially not her sister.

"Winter's coming early this year, Miss Rachel.
Gonna be a bad'n. Worse than in fifty-three," Zeb
mused aloud while his gnarled but creative hands
worked their magic on the horse he was carving.
He'd presented Rachel with many of his carvings
over the years, and he was proud that she displayed them on a shelf in her office for all to see.

It never occurred to Rachel to doubt Zeb's
weather predictions. He was seldom wrong. "I can
stand some cold weather after the heat of the summer," she remarked, her eyes going wistfully to
the cloudless sky.

Zeb kept at his whittling. "Heard the dance went
right nicely last night."

"Yes, I suppose it did."

He watched her carefully. He'd known Rachel
all her life, and he took liberties none of the other
ranch hands would dare. "Heard Noble Vincente
was there."

She looked at him and then lowered her eyes.
"If you know that, then you also know that I
danced with him and then went outside with
him."

He chuckled. "I heard that too. Some say Noble's right taken with you, Miss Rachel."

She drew in a tight breath. "Well, I'm not taken
with him."

The wily old eyes fastened on her face. "But you
don't think he killed your pa anymore do you?"

"No. I'm sure he didn't." She regarded his steady
gaze. "Do you think he did it?"

"Never did. There was nary a reason for Noble
to kill your pa. I liked Noble when he was a boy;
I like him now."

"You've seen him since he came back?"

"Sure. He ain't high on himself like folks that
don't know him might think." Then the old man
said with pride shining in his eyes, "We call each
other by our Christian names-he calls me Zeb
and I call him Noble."

"When did you see him?"

Zeb ran his hand along the stubble on his chin
in contemplation. "Now, let's see. It was the day I took myself off catfishing down ta' the river. Noble
came upon me and we kinda talked for a spell."

"About me?"

He started to whittle faster. "No, not about you,
at least not directly. He's a gentleman and would
never talk `bout no lady not personal-like, anyway. But he did ask if we needed anything here at
the ranch. Wanted to know if he could do anything to help, and he said I was to let him know if
you ever needed anything."

Rachel stared at Zeb in disbelief "I consider
that very personal. Noble assumes too much. Does
he think I need help from him, or that I'd accept
it if I did?" Her eyes were blazing with anger.
"What did you tell him?"

Zeb's busy hands did not falter. "I told him
nope." He grinned at her. "I said you'd get riled if
I did that."

"What right does Noble have to interfere in my
life?" Her words vibrated with raw emotion. "Noble Vincente...is...he's"

"Neighborly and kindly," Zeb said, sober faced.

At that moment Bud Cadey ambled by and
tipped his hat. "Ma'am, we rounded up twelve
more strays today."

Rachel tried to push all thoughts of Noble to the
back of her mind to deal with later when she was
alone. She looked up into Bud's angular face. He,
like the other cowhands on Broken Spur, was protective of her, although they tried not to show it
since she was the boss.

"Are they all branded?" she asked.

Bud nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Branded and bedded
for the night."

Bud went inside the bunkhouse, soon to reappear to join Rachel and Zeb on the steps. He balanced a mug of coffee in his hand. "It's a right
pretty evening, ain't it, Miss Rachel?"

A sudden breeze touched her cheek and stirred
her hair. "I love this time of year," she said softly.
"It was Papa's favorite, too fall roundup."

"Not me." Zeb carefully watched Bud as he
raised the coffee mug to his mouth. "My bones
ache in cold weather. `Course, this year's been dry
so I ain't ached as much."

Bud took a sip of coffee and shuddered, grimaced and closed his eyes. "Zeb, did you make the
coffee again?"

Zeb's amused howls and triumphant whoops
could be heard all the way to the big house. "I
made it and you can drink it, Bud, if'n you're man
enough to."

Rachel had to smile. What would she do without Zeb? He was as kind as he was full of mischief.
And the one person with whom she could be herself. Sometimes, though, she thought that he
knew her too well.

Several other cowhands ambled up from the
corrals, respectfully removed their hats and nodded at Rachel.

"Coffee's on the stove." Zeb gave them a furtive
glance; then he howled with laughter when they disappeared into the bunkhouse to get a cup.

"You're hopeless, Zeb," Rachel said softly.

"Ain't I though?" He gave her his brightest
toothless grin. "Ain't I just?"

By the time Rachel returned to the house, night
had fallen. She stepped into her office, where a
single lamp burned, adding a ring of light to the
darkened room. She glanced toward the stairs,
hoping Delia and Whit were tucked in for the
night. She had managed to avoid them all day by
leaving the house early, staying busy, and returning late. If Delia and Whit left in the morning as
they'd planned, she'd have to spend only a few moments more in their company.

Rachel stood over her father's scarred desk, feeling lonely and lost. For a time after he'd been
killed, she had felt his presence in this room,
where he'd spent so much time going over the
books. But now she didn't feel him with her, and
the loneliness was almost more than she could endure.

Her hand swept across the desk as she tried to
recapture the essence of her father, but his memory was fading. It had occurred to her today that
she had kept his memory alive by blaming Noble
for his death by dreaming of revenge. Now that
she knew Noble was innocent, she had to let the
bitterness go.

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think
of Noble. Had he waited long for her by the river last night? Had he known how much she wanted
to go to him?

"Rachel, I left you a plate warming on the back
of the stove." Winna Mae stepped out of the shadows and into the light. "You look all done in. You
should eat and go to bed."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway at least a little."

Rachel nodded wearily. It did good to argue
with Winna Mae, because she'd only lose. She cast
a cautious gaze toward the stairs.

"Your sister and her husband went to bed about
an hour ago," Winna Mae said with her uncanny
perception.

As Rachel walked to the kitchen Winna Mae followed her, and when Rachel sat down at the table
the housekeeper put a plate in front of her.

"Does my sister still plan to leave tomorrow?"

"She says she is."

Rachel felt so exhausted she wanted to drop her
head on the table and sleep. She saw Winna Mae
watching her as if she could read her thoughts.

"Just take a bite of my stew and drink your milk.
You can't go to bed on an empty stomach. If I
know you, you didn't eat lunch."

More to satisfy Winna Mae rather than from
hunger, she took two bites of stew and drained the
glass of milk. Then she smiled and stood up, walking to the door and calling back laughingly over
her shoulder, "Was I a good girl, Winna Mae?"

"You're too good for that unwholesome pair upstairs," Winna Mae mouthed to herself.

Moonlight flooded Rachel's bedroom, so she
didn't bother to light the lamp. She removed her
boots and stripped off her trousers and shirt, folding them neatly and placing them across a chair.
She might wear men's garb on the outside, but the
feminine side of her chose frilly undergarments.
She was unlacing her camisole when she heard a
noise.

"Delia, is that you?"

A dark shadow detached itself from the corner
and walked toward her. It was a man, but she
couldn't see his face. It flashed through her mind
that a man would not come into a woman's bedroom uninvited unless he had something sinister
on his mind.

"Who are you?"

A strong hand reached out and clasped her arm.
She smelled the strong fermented scent of whiskey and she knew who it was. "Whit, what are you
doing in my bedroom?"

"Don't you know?"

"Is my sister ill does she need me?"

"I need you," Whit said in a slurred reply. "I've
needed you for a long time. Don't tell me you
didn't notice that I've been burning for you."

She jerked free of him, her heart thundering
against her chest. "Get out of my room," she
threatened, "or I'll call out to my sister."

"Delia wouldn't hear you," he said with a sneer,
and stepped closer to her. "Your sister drank too much of your father's fine stock of whiskey." He
grinned ominously. "I had my share too."

Rachel recoiled from his touch. "Delia doesn't
drink enough to get drunk." Even as she said the
words, she realized what she'd known all along
but hadn't admitted even to herself Delia did
drink too much.

He laughed, tightened his hold on her, and she
could sense the unleashed malice in him. "You
don't know the things your sister does. But I don't
want to talk about her." His mouth fastened on
her neck. "Don't you know you have half the men
in the county panting after you? You sashay
around in tight-fitting britches, daring a man to
take what he wants."

"I'm not like that," she said disbelievingly. "Get
out of here! You're crazed."

"Yes, crazy to have you."

Rage tore through Rachel like a whiplash, and
she managed to wedge her elbow between herself
and Whit while she shivered with revulsion. "Get
out."

Whit staggered backward, almost losing his balance, and Rachel took the opportunity to move
toward the door. "Get out of here now and my
sister won't ever have to know you were here." Her
voice sounded unsteady, and she could feel fear
tighten her stomach. "You are drunk and need to
sleep it off."

Whit lunged at Rachel, whirling her around
with a strength that took her by surprise. His arms enfolded her and he brought her body against
him. "Do you think Delia gives a damn what I do?
She only wants me for pleasuring her in bed." His
hand swept up to tangle in Rachel's hair, and he
jerked her face toward his. "I want to bury myself
deep in you. I want to pump you so hard that you'll
cry my name, begging for more."

Rachel thought she was going to be sick. Faint
moonlight illuminated the room, and she caught
his expression. His eyes were menacing and his
expression colder than a West Texas norther.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" She shoved him
away and backed up several steps, wondering if
she could make it to the door before he caught her
again. "If you ever touch me again, I'll kill you."

He was like a mad bull charging at her. He hit
her with the full force of his body and drove her
backward onto the floor.

Rachel struggled and fought, but he was too
strong for her-she was losing the battle. She
could scream, but who would hear her?

"I thought a lot about you as I waited for you to
come to bed tonight. I watched you undress, wanting to tear off your clothing. But I was patient, and
now I'm going to have you, Rachel. We both know
nothing can keep me from taking you."