Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Read online

  "Are you afraid of me, Noble? I'm not holding a gun on you now."

  His voice deepened, his eyes fastened on her mouth as he stared at her with fervent intensity. "You are far more dangerous now than when you held the gun on me." He searched her eyes. "You have not been with a man, have you, Rachel?"

  She was beginning to enjoy herself because she was making him uncomfortable. "No. I haven't. Do you want to be the first?"

  He groaned. "Hell, yes. And therein lies the. trouble, Rachel. You are the kind of girl who should save herself for her husband."

  She lunged forward, taking him by surprise. Their bodies came together, caressed by the soft water. A shock coiled through her and she was momentarily stunned by the way his body welcomed hers. The hardness of his body held her as if she was bound to him.

  CONSTANCE O'BANYON

  This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.

  When you were born, you brought such joy into my life. I held you so tightly reluctant to let you go, but knowing that you had to try your wings. Now, your gentle, loving hands help bring new life into the world. With your kind commitment to others, I can imagine the comfort you bring to so many new mothers. You are my real heroine, my daughter, Kim.

  To Todd Melton, who saw a precious jewel, and took her for his wife. (Hfo)

  Lenore Ambergis, thank you, for allowing me to use your beautiful poem. Poetry shared is a precious gift.

  -Lenore Ambergis

  Texas, 1867

  The rifle rose slowly and a feminine hand lightly touched the stock to take deadly aim at the man the woman intended to kill. With lethal accuracy, Rachel Rutledge swung the barrel downward until it was dead center on Noble Vincente's heart. The rifle followed him as he dismounted and led his horse to the creek to drink. Her finger touched the trigger as hatred burned within her, almost cutting off her breath. She silently shifted her position so she could steady her aim, all the while watching Noble's every move. There was no hurry. She had waited five years for this moment; a little while longer wouldn't make any difference.

  Her lip curled in anger. Noble Vincente was only a trigger away from being the last Spanish grandee of Casa del Sol.

  Noble Vincente pulled the brim of his black hat lower across his forehead to shade his eyes against the sun's glare. But there was no escape from the heat that beat down upon the parched land like fire on an anvil. He untied his neckerchief, dipped it in the water and wiped his face. His gaze swept across muddy Deep Creek past a clump of mesquite trees to the craggy cliffs that looked as if they had been forcefully rammed through the earth by a long-ago earthquake. The land had no continuity; there was an intermingling of canyons, shallow gullies, mesas and long stretches of flatland. The never-ceasing wind rippled through the straw-colored grass, giving the appearance of waves upon an ocean, while a lone hawk circled widely in the blue sky, riding the wind currents, its eyes ever watchful for prey.

  A rattlesnake slithered among the cactus and coiled on a rock to bask in the sun. With its violent beauty, Texas was a harsh, inhospitable land and not for the faint of heart. It was a land of contradictions, the merging of cultures: Indian, white, Mexican, Spanish, all interwoven like a patchwork quilt-yet united in one respect. They all loved Texas.

  Memories, emotions, old hatreds saturated Noble's mind and twisted his heart. Rage was never far from the surface, but he controlled it by sheer strength of will. He'd seen so much killing in the war senseless killing. Many of the dead had been only boys, too young to die. Hell, they hadn't even begun to live.

  For two years following the war, Noble had wandered with no particular destination in mind he knew only that he could not go home. Without any conscious thought in mind, his wandering had taken him to Mexico, where he'd blended in with the vaqueros on a horse ranch. He'd become a faceless, nameless being with no past and no future. In the beginning, he'd forced himself to get up in the mornings, trying to find some reason to go on living. Revenge, perhaps. Hatred, maybe. Two months ago he'd realized that he could never free himself from the tangled past until he came home.

  Noble's nostrils flared, and memories unwound in his head as he inhaled the familiar pungent odor of cedar mingled with the fragrance of multicolored wildflowers. There was no use lying to himself-even though he'd sworn never to return to Texas, the land had called him back. This land was in his blood, in every fiber of his being, in every intake of his breath.

  Unaware that death stalked him, Noble allowed his gaze to turn westward in the direction of his family's ranch, Casa del Sol. If he rode hard, he'd be home before dark. But even now a part of him wanted to mount his horse and ride away and never look back.

  No, he thought angrily. This time he would not allow the hatred and suspicion of others to matter. He was going home.

  Years of war had honed and shaped Noble; he was no longer the young man who had left five years before. He had come home to erase the tarnish from the Vincente name, and he would not leave until that had been accomplished.

  Rachel's aim followed Noble when he bent down and cupped his hands to drink thirstily from the creek. She was attuned to his every move, and her finger was never far from the trigger. The heat left her breathless and jabbed through her like a dagger, perspiration plastered her clothing to her body, and she could taste the dust like grit in her mouth. Every breath scorched her throat. She was so thirsty that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and even though her canteen was within reach, she must endure the thirst because any movement on her part might give away her hiding place.

  She continued to observe Noble through her gun sight, wondering what he was thinking at that moment. Her gaze moved across his strong jawline. He hadn't changed much; though perhaps he looked a little older than she remembered. His coal black hair curled damply at the nape of his neck, and sweat molded his shirt to his chest and emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. He wore black leather Spanish trousers that outlined his long, lean body. She watched him remove his hat, toss it carelessly across his saddle, and brace his back against a cottonwood tree as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  Suddenly Noble glanced in her direction, and Rachel could almost feel the heat of those dark eyes. His eyes were what she remembered most about him. When he'd laughed, they seemed to dance with mirth; when he was angry, his eyes became an intense, swirling tide that could consume and burn whomever he chose to single out. She also remembered his silent arrogance, and the way he'd hidden his true feelings behind a mask of indifference.

  Rachel suddenly felt faint. With effort she dragged air into her lungs, speculating whether the sensation was caused by dread or expectation. Reverend Robinson had once preached a sermon on how Satan came disguised in beauty, and Noble Vincente was certainly a man created in beauty, and surely Satan's own disciple. There had not been a day since Noble had left that she hadn't thought of him and prayed for his death. Damn him, now she would see her father avenged at last!

  Rachel rested her cheek against the stock of her rifle, licked her dry lips, and cocked the hammer. No one would blame her if she killed Noble. Few people from Madragon County would mourn him, and most of them would probably thank her if she ended his miserable life.

  All she had to do was squeeze the trigger and he would be dead. So why, then, did she hesitate? It was what she wanted to do, had dreamed of doing for years.

  Noble continued to stare in her direction. Although Rachel was well hidden, she had the strangest feeling that he could see her. Her hand trembled and she gripped the rifle tightly against her body to steady it.

  The Jingle of Noble's Spanish spurs jarred her back to reality, and once more she
aimed her rifle dead center at his heart. Yet she felt frozen, her fingers stiff, her heart hammering in her chest. Taking a steadying breath, she watched him mount and ride his gelding in the direction of Casa del Sol.

  Slowly she lowered the rifle, feeling sick.

  It wasn't as easy to kill a man as she'd thought, even Noble Vincente. She would let him live today because only a coward would shoot a man when his back was turned. She had given him the chance he'd never given her flesh and blood. She would force Noble to admit that he'd cravenly shot her father in the back. Then, with him facing her, she would shoot him. She wanted to be the last image he saw before he closed his eyes in death.

  Noble approached Casa del Sol with a strange detachment. After being away for so long, there was no feeling of homecoming and no feeling of belonging. His mother had died ten years ago; his sister, Saber, had been only a child when he'd left to join his unit. He'd had no contact with his father since the day he rode away from Casa del Sol. Perhaps his father wouldn't welcome him back, since he'd brought so much trouble down on their heads.

  When Noble rode through the gates of Casa del Sol a sudden gust of wind caught the sign hanging above the entrance, and it made a ghostly sound as it rocked back and forth on rusty hinges. Glancing up, Noble could hardly read the name of the ranch because the sign was so weatherworn. His senses became alert all about him was evidence of neglect and devastation. With the eyes of a rancher, Noble took inventory of his surroundings. The north pasture, where once a thousand head of cattle had grazed, was now deathly quiet. The evidence of drought was all about him the buffalo grass was strawlike, and tumbleweeds were carried frivolously about by the hot, torturous wind. The lone trill of a mockingbird broke the eerie silence, and the call of a raven was lost on the wind.

  Noble's father had once told him that Texas was not a land for the faint of heart, and he'd been right. The land had almost claimed Noble as a victim, and it still might, but not without a fight.

  As Noble drew near the hacienda, uneasiness gripped him. The stately oak trees that lined the roadway to the house were almost dead from neglect. Their branches dipped and sagged as if in sorrow; most of the leaves were autumn colors, and it was still high summer. As he rode beneath the arched branches, fallen leafage sounded dry and brittle beneath his horse's hooves. His mother had brought: the oaks to Texas as saplings from her native Georgia when she'd arrived to marry his father.

  Noble spurred his horse forward until he reached the slight incline where he could look down on the hacienda that had once been the showplace of Texas. Sam Houston had frequently been a guest at Casa del Sol. His father's friendship with Houston went back many years. They'd fought side by side at San Jacinto. Later, when Houston had become President of the Republic of Texas, he'd attended many parties there. Now Sam Houston was dead and a part of Texas had died with him-the part that was courageous and exciting. Casa del Sol stood like a ghostly reminder of graceful living - a time that belonged to the past and that was gone forever.

  Noble was relieved when he saw that the hacienda was still standing, even though many of the red roof tiles littered the ground. His horse's hooves clattered against stone as he rode through the fountain courtyard. The ponds were filled with dead leaves, and water no longer flowed from the beautiful marble fountains that had been imported from Spain when the house was built.

  Something was wrong. The place was deserted. Casa del Sol had once employed over a hundred vaqueros and servants. Where were they now?

  He dismounted and walked through the broken tiles that crunched beneath his boots. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the steps and shoved open the massive front door, only to hesitate before entering. It was dark inside, and the aroma of dust and decay permeated the air. When his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw that the imported furniture and valuable paintings were gone. His boot struck broken glass, and he bent to pick up a broken vase that had been in his father's family for generations.

  "Father, I am home." His voice resonated through the house, echoing against the high vaulted ceilings and through the unfamiliar emptiness.

  He heard no reply.

  He went into his father's office, but it was empty like the other rooms.

  "Father, where are you?"

  With dread in his heart, Noble raced across the entry, up the stairs and down the darkened corridor to his father's bedroom. Slowly he pushed the door open and stepped quickly inside.

  Empty.

  "Father!" He cried out in agony as the significance of the silence hit him full force. "I'm home," he whispered, knowing no one would hear him.

  Heaviness settled on his shoulders as he stood there imagining the room as it had once been, with the warmth of a loving family, smelling of lemon oil, seasoned wood and leather.

  After a time he slowly walked downstairs.

  Had his father died? Had Don Reinaldo Vincente, Patron of Casa del Sol, suffered because of his only son's disgrace? Where was his sister, Saber?

  Without thinking, he went into his mother's music room. He leaned against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. His mother's piano was gone; it had been a wedding gift from his father. Noble closed his eyes, remembering when this room had been filled with music and laughter. If he concentrated, he could still see his mother sitting at the piano, her nimble fingers dancing across the keys.

  He shook his head as if to clear away the ghosts of the past. But there were too many ghosts and too many memories left to haunt him. Loneliness pressed in upon him like a heavy weight. Perhaps his father and sister had gone to visit relatives in Spain but no, a Patron would never leave his ranch while such a destructive drought endangered his cattle.

  Beautiful little Saber, blessed with her mother's china blue eyes, had been only a young girl of thirteen when Noble had left. She'd be eighteen now, a young lady. He felt shame because he'd given her so little thought over the years. Now he had the strongest urge to see her, to know that she was all right.

  "Raise your hands, senor-slowly. Do it now if you value your life."

  The man spoke in Spanish, and Noble could feel the gun jammed against his ribs.

  "Turn around, senor, and do not make any sudden moves. I shall have no regrets if I am forced to kill you."

  Noble raised his arms and turned slowly, a smile tugging at his lips when he recognized the familiar voice of Alejandro Salazar. A member of the Salazar family had held the title of gran vaquero of Casa del Sol for three generations. Ale jandro had been gran vaquero for as long as Noble could recall.

  "Would you shoot me, amigo?" Noble asked.

  Noble watched astonishment cross the old man's wrinkled face, followed by an expression of disbelief and then joy. Alejandro was tall and slender, and his hair was as white as his mustache; his eyes were so dark that they were almost black.

  "Senor Noble! God be praised. You have come home at last!"

  Noble answered in Spanish. "Is this any way for you to welcome me home, Alejandro? Would you mind if I lowered my arms now?"

  The old man's leathery face was transformed by an expression of happiness, and he pushed a shock of white hair out of his face, while his once brilliant eyes glittered with tears. "I waited for you each day. I never gave up hope that you would return, Patron"

  Noble laid his hand on the gran vaquero's shoulder as the significance of his words hit him hard and confirmed what he'd suspected but didn't want to believe. Alejandro would never address him as Patron unless his father was dead.

  His took several deep breaths before he could speak. "Where are my father and my sister, amigo?"

  Alejandro sadly shook his head. "I am grieved to tell you that your papa has been dead these last two months. He was very ill for a long time." Alejandro wiped a tear from his cheek Patron, he tried so hard to stay alive so he could see you again, but he was too weak. It was almost a blessing when he no longer had to suffer."

  Grief knotted inside Noble like a fist twisting, turning, pounding against his heart. He
tried to speak, but it took him a moment to find his voice. "You were with him until the end?"

  "Si, Patron."

  Noble wanted to strike out at the injustice of it all. He should have been with his father in his final days, but he'd been too consumed by his own troubles. Self-loathing coiled like a poisonous viper inside him. "Did he ask for me?"

  "Every day, Patron, while his mind was clear. At the end, he spoke only to your good mother as if he could see her in the room with him. I like to think they are together now."

  "And my sister?"

  "When your father became ill, he sent Senorita Saber to your great-aunt in Georgia. She begged your papa not to send her away, but he would not give in to her. It is good that she was not here to see his decline. It would have broken her heart."

  Noble tried to imagine what his Saber would look like as a young woman. She was the only family he had left, and he needed to see her.

  "Senorita Saber should be sent for, Patron" Alejandro said as if he'd read Noble's mind. "This is her home and she needs you."

  "Does she know about my father's" Noble could hardly bring himself to say the word "death?"

  "Si, Patron."

  Noble made a gesture around the room. "There isn't much for her to come home to, amigo. It looks like thieves took whatever they didn't destroy. But you are right, Saber must come home. I shall post a letter asking my Great-aunt Ellen to make arrangements to send her home. But not right away."

  "Senorita Saber will be so happy to see you again. She did not want to leave, fearing you would come home and she wouldn't be here for you.,,

  "How can I allow her to come home to this?" Noble said dispiritedly. "I must make the house habitable before she can return."

  Alejandro managed to smile, and said with satisfaction, "Patron, the looters who came to Casa del Sol did not take so much, although they tried. When your papa became confined to his bed, he had me hide the valuables. Much of the furniture is in the hayloft-some in the bunkhouse."