Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (27 page)

"Damned big one." Tanner lifted the disgusting
thing and dangled it at arm's length. "Must be over
six feet long."

"How'd a snake get up them stairs, and what's
it doing on Miss Rachel's bed?" Zeb asked the
question that was on all their minds.

"Ain't no snake going to climb no stairs," Tanner
said. "Besides, they'd be looking for someplace to
hole up this time of year. Somewhere away from
people."

Winna Mae went to Rachel and took her trembling hands in hers. "Come on downstairs." She
turned to Tanner. "Get that thing out of here. Zeb, bring Miss Rachel's bedding. I'll remake the bed
later."

Rachel was still trembling when she sat at the
kitchen table while Winna Mae shoved a cup of
coffee at her. "Drink. The warmth will do you
good."

Rachel shuddered. "Why didn't it strike me? I
was on the bed with it and it actually touched my
hand with its tongue."

"Smelling you."

"Yes."

"The Creator seems to look out for you, Rachel.
By rights, you should be dead or dying right now."

Zeb came into the kitchen and dumped Rachel's
bedding. He then sat down beside Rachel and
poured himself a cup of coffee.

Rachel took a drink of the hot brew and then
another, wishing she could stop trembling.
"Someone had to have put the snake in my room.
But who? Why?"

Zeb and Winna Mae exchanged glances.

"Could Harvey Briscal have done it?" Zeb asked.

"He would have had time while I was out back,"
Winna Mae answered. "I believe we should suspect him unless we learn otherwise. We shouldn't
trust anyone," she added.

Rachel took another drink of coffee, wishing it
were her father's whiskey. She couldn't stop shivering. She was hardly aware of the conversation
between Zeb and Winna Mae. "This is the third time in as many months that I've faced death," she
said in an amazed voice.

Again, Zeb and Winna Mae exchanged glances.

Winna Mae answered a knock at the door. She
was surprised to see Noble Vincente standing
there, hat in hand.

"I am sorry, Senor Vincente, but Miss Rachel is
not at home. Two of the horses broke out of the
corral and she's helping round them up."

"I know. It's you I came to see. May I come in
and talk to you for a moment, Winna Mae?"

She nodded, wondering what Noble Vincente
would have to say to her. "Can I get you anything,
coffee or, if you like, something stronger?"

"No. Nothing, thank you."

She led him into the parlor and offered him the
cushioned chair by the window. With his polished
manners, he remained standing until she was
seated.

Winna Mae's face was stoic. She was accustomed to hiding her feelings that was the Indian
in her. "How can I help you, Senor Vincente?" she
asked politely.

"I have come to help you, if that's possible."

"What makes you think I need help?"

He smiled slightly, and Winna Mae thought he
was the handsomest devil she'd ever seen. She
wondered if any woman, regardless of her age,
would be safe when Noble Vincente displayed his
charm.

"Tell me about your husband and son."

"What? How can you know about them?"

"Zeb told me. I hope you won't scold him; he
only wanted to help Rachel. It seems she won't be
happy until you have news of your family."

"They are dead." This was said with conviction.
"So you see, you can't help me."

"They may very well be dead, but I have a man
who can look into the matter for us. I'm not saying
he'll find your family, but if anyone is capable, it's
he."

"And who might this man be?"

Knowing her story, Noble was amazed by the
peacefulness that seemed to surround her. He answered her with directness. "A lawyer from New
Orleans named George Nunn. I trust him completely."

"And you think he can help me?"

"I don't honestly know. But what have you got
to lose?"

She nodded, seeing the sense of his words. "I
will tell you what you need to know," she said,
realizing he was helping her for Rachel's sake. She
looked into his eyes and saw raw emotion there,
although he was almost as good at masking his
feelings as she.

Winna Mae knew in that moment that he was
in love with Rachel. She wasn't sure if he knew it
yet.

She told him her story and he listened patiently.
He took no notes, but she could see that he was memorizing names and places. When she could
tell him no more, he stood.

"I hope we can help you, Winna Mae. But I don't
put too much faith in the endeavor. It's been such
a long time. As you said, the army doesn't keep
records on their Indian prisoners."

She walked him to the door, where he turned
back to her. "I would appreciate it if you didn't say
anything to Rachel about my visit today. You
know how proud she is."

Winna Mae opened the screen door for him and
stood back for him to pass. "I will say nothing to
her."

Winna Mae watched Noble ride away on his
mahogany horse, his back erect, his head at a
proud tilt. Rachel would be happy with this man,
she thought. But he had been right when he said
that Rachel was very proud, and pride, when
wrongly directed, could kill love. Or perhaps Rachel did not return his love. Winna Mae did not
know.

Noble dismounted before the telegraph office and
went inside. Moments later, after sending a telegram to George Nunn in New Orleans, he crossed
the street and entered the sheriff's office.

Ira Crenshaw's head was bent over his book
work. He glanced up with an amused glint in his
eyes. "I guess you don't have enough to keep you
occupied at Casa del Sol and have to come into
town to ruin my day." His broad smile and the dancing light in his gaze bore witness to the fact
that he was glad to see Noble.

"I thought you might get fat and lazy in your
mundane job, and need a diversion."

Ira reared back in his chair, balancing it on the
back legs, and shook his head. "I hear nothing but
good things about you these days. I'm getting
mighty sick of the sugary praise heaped on you by
Jess McVee and his missus. They've got the whole
town thinking you can sprout wings and fly, or
even walk on water."

Noble sat down in the rickety wooden chair opposite the sheriff and folded his arms across his
chest. "I know. They can't do enough for me. It
always amazes me how quickly a person can
change sides. When I first returned, they hated me
so much they didn't want my money."

"Yep. I know what you mean." Ira shoved aside
his paperwork. "What brings you to town?"

"I have been hearing some nasty rumors about
high taxes and families being forced off their
ranches. Is it true?"

The sheriff nodded, his expression suddenly
somber." 'Fraid so. The culprit is a company
called Land and Trust out of Austin."

"Could they be land speculators? What do you
know about them?"

"It's possible. I can't seem to find out much
about them. I wrote to the state tax assessor last
week and should hear something soon. I wager
they slapped a high tax on Casa del Sol."

"You'd win your wager."

"But you can pay."

"Yes. But many others can't." Noble looked at
his old friend. "I'd like to know if the high taxes
are statewide, or if they're merely focused on Madragon County."

"If you can find out, you're a better man than
me." Ira grinned broadly. "'Course, I don't have
the power you wield, with the Vincente name behind you."

Noble smiled. "Hell, you're much too modest."
He rolled to his feet. "I'm going to speak to Thomas Bradley at the bank and find out what he
knows about the sudden rise in taxes."

"He doesn't know anything. He's as sickened by
this mess as the rest of us. His two brothers lost
their spreads."

Austin, Texas

"You did what?" Whit looked at Harvey Briscal in
anger and disbelief.

"I put a rattler in her bedroom-a big one.
There were four bedrooms upstairs, but I didn't
have no trouble finding hers. Thought a snake
would be better than just shooting her outright."

"Fool! Do you think Winna Mae isn't clever
enough to have figured out that you're the culprit
who put the snake in the bedroom? Dammit, do I
have to do everything myself?"

"You said to get rid of Rachel Rutledge, and to do it in such a way that everyone would think it
was an accident."

Whit paced the floor, his eyes revealing little of
what was hidden behind them. "Oh, so they are
supposed to think that you just happened by on
the day a rattlesnake was found in her room? I
believe we can safely assume that the snake has
been found by now. If she's been bitten, God help
you, because I won't."

Harvey wondered why Mr. Chandler was so
riled. He'd had to hunt for five hours to find that
snake. Then he had had to catch the damn critter
and bag it. "Your sister-in-law might be dead,"
Harvey said hopefully.

Whit looked at Harvey as if he'd lost his mind.
He'd hired him after failing to enlist Tanner or any
of the other hands at the Broken Spur to keep him
informed of Rachel's movements. He'd ended up
with the biggest, most feebleminded bastard in
the state of Texas.

Whit's anger was apparent from the thick veins
that stood out on his forehead, and Harvey realized that this was a dangerous man to cross.

"I want you to do one more thing for me, Harvey. Then I want you to lay low for a while. This
time I want you to follow my instructions exactly.
And be careful. If any of that bunch from the Broken Spur gets hold of you, they're so protective of
Rachel, they'd as soon shoot you as look at you."
His eyes hardened. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir, you do." Harvey's gaze darted to the door, then nervously back to Whit. "After I do this
one thing for you, I reckon I'll just take myself
down to El Paso for a spell. Go across the border
and have me a look-see."

"Now you're using your head." Whit bestowed
an enigmatic glance on Harvey. "I'll have someone
contact you in El Paso with money enough to keep
you in style for a long time to come."

Harvey nodded vigorously. "Just tell me what
you want me to do, and I'll do it."

"We have to act fast, Harvey. Now that Noble
Vincente has started looking into-" Whit's voice
broke off. He'd confided too much in Harvey already. If he was caught, the fool would probably
spill his guts. "Time is running out, and if you fail
me this time, Harvey, you'll regret it."

"I won't fail you this time, Mr. Chandler," he
said, looking into the coldest eyes he'd ever seen.
A chill started at the base of his skull and ran all
the way to his spine. If he failed this time, he
wouldn't live long afterward.

Whit glanced down at his desk and tapped his
finger impatiently. Word had reached him that
Noble Vincente was asking questions and poking
his nose where it didn't belong. It wouldn't take
long for a man with Noble's connections to discover that Land and Trust was owned by Whit and
some of his business partners, or that some of
those partners were getting scared and wanted to
pull out of the deal.

Whit felt eaten up with hatred for Noble. Noth ing and no one must stand in his way of buying
Broken Spur for back taxes. Broken Spur was just
a river crossing away from the real prize Casa
del Sol.

Whit could hardly wait to see himself as owner
of that great hacienda.

It had always been Rachel's habit to wake before
sunup, but this particular morning she was up
even earlier. The bunkhouse was still dark, so the
hands weren't even stirring yet. Usually she ate a
quick meal and then joined her men, ready for the
day's work.

This morning she carried her cup of coffee out
onto the front porch, absorbing the essence of the
land she loved so well.

She listened with her heart to the night sounds
that were just giving way to the whispers of day:
the hooting of the barn owl was soon replaced by
the cooing of the morning dove, and the howling
of the wolf gave way to a mockingbird's trill. Two
scissortails were perched on the corral fence, ner vously watching one of the barn cats crouched
nearby.

Rachel feared she would soon lose everything
that someone else would own the Broken Spur
before spring. She watched as the lamps were lit
in the bunkhouse, sending out a glow from the
windows. The men were preparing for the day's
chores. She took a sip of coffee and inhaled the
sweetness of the earth, feeling anguish so sharp it
stole her breath. If she lost the Broken Spur, she
would have failed her father a second time-the
first was in not discovering who had killed him.

How could she live with such failure? she wondered bleakly.

She watched the sunrise, at first just a faint,
ghostly glow in the east, and then a splash of color,
a radiance that washed the land in golden light.

She placed her coffee cup on the porch railing,
her hand fisted at her side. She swallowed several
times, overcome with heartsickness. She could
sell the Broken Spur to Whit. That would at least
keep the ranch in the family. Every fiber of her
being cried out against such an outrage, while
sickening turmoil churned inside her.