Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (9 page)

She was lost.

Noble's iron control snapped and he was almost
beyond reason. In a last attempt at rationality he
groaned, "Rachel, you must go while you still can.
You don't know what you're doing to me." But he
did not push her away; he kept her pressed against
him.

"Yes, I do," she said, as her hand slid up his taut
shoulder and rested there while she met his eyes.
"I know exactly what I'm doing."

He was like a man possessed. He could no
longer control the rising tide of passion that ripped through his body it was too late to stop
now and he knew it. He wanted to drive into her,
deeper and deeper, losing himself in her sweetness. To find release within her for his tormented
soul. Like a man dying of thirst in the desert, his
mouth sought hers and her lips opened to him.

Noble plunged his tongue deep, and Rachel
thought she would faint from longing. She stiffened in surprise, then surrendered against him
with a groan. She slid her hands around his shoulders and up his neck, before sliding them through
his wet, midnight hair, wanting him to go on kissing her and never stop.

She was unaware that Noble had guided them
to the shallows. His feet were now planted on solid
limestone, but she was dangling in his embrace.

Noble's voice was deep and husky with passion.
"I knew you were going to be trouble the minute
you came back into my life. I knew it, and I
wanted it."

She threw back her head when he lifted her up,
his hand sliding sensuously across her breast. He
lifted her higher, and his mouth closed over a nipple, which hardened against his tongue.

For the moment Rachel forgot she was in the
arms of her enemy. She felt no shame in being
held against his strong male body. Noble was passionate and he was tender and he stirred her blood
and brought new pleasure with each touch of his
hand.

Noble lowered her to fit against him, kissing her brow, sweeping his mouth across her cheek to her
lips. "Damn you, Rachel, for making me want you
and for making me feel again."

She clamped her hands behind his head, drawing his wonderful lips to hers once more. When
he gently nudged her legs apart and slid against
her, his intimate hardness swelled and throbbed,
firing her desire.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a small
voice warned, Fool, fool, you are in his trap he'll
break your heart. She felt as though a large fist had
clamped inside her stomach and was squeezing
the life out of her. She gazed into dark, passionfilled eyes and trembled from a force that rocked
her body.

No! she answered the voice inside her head.
He's fallen into my trap. I'll make him love me, and
then I'll break his heart.

The water gently lapped against her skin and all
thought of resistance dissolved. With a soft groan
she surrendered herself to him completely. Noble
supported her weight with one hand while his
other hand moved across her flat stomach. Her
head fell forward to rest against his shoulder
when his hand moved downward to her thighs,
then glided between her legs.

Unleashed desire sang through her, and she
knew that she'd sink to the bottom of the river if
he weren't holding her. His mouth covered hers,
stealing her breath as effectively as the river
would have if she had slipped beneath the surface. Neither of them heard the shot ring out, not
consciously, but the force of the bullet struck Rachel in the chest and ripped her from Noble's
grasp.

She felt hot, searing pain; then a sudden weakness washed over her. She reached out for Noble
just before she slid downward, the water closing
over her head. Too weak to fight her way to the
surface, Rachel was sure she was drowning.

Noble thought Rachel might be playing another
game, but when she didn't surface right away, he
dove under the water, grasping her shoulders and
propelling her upward. He still didn't know what
had happened, but when he saw blood oozing
from her chest enough blood to color the muddy
water red-he knew. He'd seen enough bullet
wounds during the war to know that she'd been
shot. But how-who?

Rachel struggled against the darkness that
seemed to hover over her. She tried to focus her
gaze on Noble, but she was too weak. Her head
fell against his arm and she murmured, "Noble,
why? Why did you do it?"

Then she lost consciousness.

Noble lifted her in his arms and moved toward
the shore, his eyes and ears alert for any motion,
any sound. Rachel's assailant was probably lurking nearby. He heard a horse galloping away, but
he wasn't convinced that the danger had passed.

He stepped onto the bank and laid Rachel gently
upon the grass, then quickly draped his shirt across her nakedness. She looked so small and
helpless, so pale, that he feared she might die. He
had to act quickly if he was going to save her life.
She was losing too much blood.

Primal instinct flamed to life inside him. He was
a man who had witnessed death and had killed,
but the sight of Rachel's lifeblood soaking into the
grass enraged him beyond reason. He was like a
man possessed, a predator, protecting what belonged to him. He wanted revenge against whoever had done this to Rachel.

His gaze scanned the immediate area and then
beyond to the trees that lined the river, but he saw
no one. Reaching forward, he grasped his gunit was empty, thanks to Rachel's playful exhibition. He tossed the weapon aside and turned his
attention back to Rachel. Quickly examining her
wound, he frowned it was bad.

At no time in Noble's life had he felt more helpless then he did at the moment. Dammit, he wasn't
a doctor, but he knew she could die if he didn't
get help. She lay so still, maybe she was already
dead. He breathed a little easier when he saw the
faint rise and fall of her chest.

He quickly slipped into trousers and dropped
down, examining her carefully. The bullet had
lodged in her chest, and it was close to her heart.
He tore a strip off his shirt and tightly bound it
around her, taking care not to move her more
than necessary. With each movement more blood
oozed from the wound.

He gently draped her shirt about her, lifted her
into his arms and laid her across the saddle. With
a fluid motion, he thrust his foot into the stirrup
and mounted his horse, gathering her to him.
With pressure from his knees, he nudged the animal forward into a slow walk. His first instinct
was to ride fast so he could get help for Rachel,
but common sense warned him that any jarring
motion would only aggravate her wound. He
made his way slowly home, praying that Rachel
would not die.

The sun had dropped low on the horizon like a
dark, ominous shroud when Noble finally reached
his hacienda. He glanced down at Rachel and saw
that fresh blood had seeped though the makeshift
bandage. She was still unconscious, her dark
lashes lying still against her pale cheeks.

She would not die! He wouldn't let her.

When Noble reached the front of the house, a
puzzled Alejandro rushed forward, his dark face
creased in worry, his eyes filled with questions. He
opened the door for Noble and followed him inside.

"What has happened, Patron?"

"Miss Rutledge has been shot. Ride into town
as fast as you can, Alejandro. Don't spare the
horse, and fetch Dr. Stanhope. Tell him to come
at once."

Alejandro was too well trained to ask why the
Patron and Miss Rachel were soaking wet, or why
they both wore very little clothing. A gran va quero was trained to obey his Patron without question. "Si. I shall ride very fast and bring the doctor
right away."

Rage tore at Noble like thorns, ripping and
chewing at his flesh. Why had this happened to
Rachel? Someone had made a deadly mistake
when they shot her.

No matter how long it took, he would find the
bastard and make him pay with his life!

Noble hurriedly carried Rachel up the stairs to his
bedroom, since it was the only room that was furnished. Alejandro's wife, Margretta, raced ahead
of him, opening the door and following him inside. Noble gently laid Rachel upon his bed, thinking she looked even paler against the white sheets.

Hours passed with Noble sitting beside Rachel,
often replacing a blood-soaked bandage with a
fresh one. Margretta lit the lamps to chase away
the darkness. Still Rachel had not regained consciousness.

Noble glanced at the mantel clock that ticked
away the minutes as if they were hours. It was
nearing midnight. Why hadn't Alejandro returned
with the doctor? Where were they?

He refused the food Margretta brought him and
hovered next to Rachel, feeling a helplessness that
verged on panic. If Dr. Stanhope didn't come
soon, Noble realized, he'd have to remove the bullet himself That thought scared the hell out of
him; the bullet was deeply embedded in her chest,
and only a doctor had the knowledge to operate
so near the heart.

Night passed, and predawn light filtered into
the room. Noble rose from the chair to extinguish
the lamps, stretched his cramped muscles, then
returned to his vigil beside Rachel. Panic lingered
on the edge of his mind. If she died, it would be
his fault because he knew in his heart that the
bullet had been meant for him.

Rachel moaned in her unconscious state, and
began tossing and fretting. Noble pressed her
back onto the mattress, forcibly restraining her to
keep her still. Already fresh blood soaked through
the bandage he'd applied only moments before.

The morning breeze stirred the curtains, and
soon bright sunlight streamed through the open
window. Noble steeled himself for the inevitable.
He could no longer wait for the doctor. He'd have
to remove the bullet or Rachel would probably
bleed to death.

Alejandro's wife, Margretta, poked her head in
the door. She was a tiny woman with even features and looked ten years younger than her actual age. She didn't look strong enough to be the
mother of five strapping sons. Her dark hair was braided and wrapped at the nape of her neck. Her
soft brown eyes were filled with concern and pity.
She advanced into the room and laid her hand on
Noble's shoulder. "Will you let me sit with her
now, Patron, while you rest? You have not left the
senorita's side all night."

Noble glanced down at his hands, which were
trembling in fact he felt as if he were a mass of
trembling flesh. He drummed his fingertips
against his leg, knowing what he must do and rebelling against it. "I have to remove the bullet,
Margretta. Bring me the sharpest knife you can
find one with a good point-and lots of boiling
water, whiskey and more clean linens."

"Si, Patron," she said with understanding. "It is
very bad, is it not?"

"Si, very bad."

Margretta hurried away to accomplish her
appointed task, while Noble removed a bloodsoaked bandage and examined the wound carefully. "The bullet is less than an inch above her
heart. Unless it's lodged at an angle; then it could
be even closer." He felt his palms sweating and he
dragged air into his lungs. Involuntarily his hand
went to Rachel's hair, which was matted and tangled. He softly touched her cheek, now flushed because she was feverish another bad sign.

It seemed to him that hours passed before Margretta returned, her arms laden with the items
he'd need. He moved a small wooden table next to
the bed. Without being told, Margretta laid a clean strip of linen across the table, then arranged the
knife, hot water and bandages in a neat row.

Noble looked at Alejandro's wife, trying to
gauge her character, and wondered if she was
strong enough to assist him. "Ill need your help,"
he told her. "Can you do it?"

Margretta looked somewhat apprehensive, but
she nodded without hesitation. "I will not fail you,
Patron" She crossed herself, and her lips formed
a quick prayer before moving to Noble's side.

Noble reached for the knife, his grip tightening
on the handle the same way his insides were tightening. He'd dug bullets out of people before, but
never this deep, never so close to the heart, and
never a woman-God, help him, not just any
woman but his Green Eyes. All it would take was
one slip of the blade to finish what the unknown
gunman had started. Noble doused the knife with
whiskey, wishing he could have a drink to get him
through this ordeal, but his hand must be steady,
so he resisted the temptation.

"I need more light, Margretta. Bring more
lamps." He was stalling and he knew it. He
glanced out the window that faced the front of the
house, his eyes searching the road. "Dammit. If
only that doctor would get here."

Rachel chose that moment to open her eyes.
She saw Noble gripping a hideous-looking knife
and she tried to raise her head, but she was too
weak. She fell back against the pillow, the room spinning. "Kill me," she said weakly, licking her
dry lips. "I don't care."

"Rachel," Noble said softly, laying the knife
aside, "do you recall what happened to you?"