Emmy's Equal (11 page)

The Nueces River wound along the back of the Twisted-R Ranch, providing a source of fresh water and a natural boundary. Like an oasis in the desert, an assortment of trees grew along the banks, stretching in a line as far as the eye could see in either direction. As Emmy and the Rawsons drew closer, the sparse ground cover and mesquite gave way to lush green grass and live oak trees, a scene not unlike the banks of the San Jacinto River back home. It was hard to believe the two environments were part of the same landscape. Once Emmy thought about it, she realized the South Texas terrain had been as fickle as a female since she got off the train in Uvalde.

The horses picked up speed as they neared the slope, and Cuddy winked. “They smell the water.”

Emmy didn’t blame them. If she were on foot, she’d be trotting, too. If Cuddy considered the morning cool, she dreaded the ride home. The sun shone directly at them from above the eastern horizon, already so bright Emmy couldn’t bear it in her eyes. Greta had grudgingly lent her a straw hat that Emmy pulled low on her forehead, grateful for the band of shade it provided.

At Mrs. Rawson’s suggestion, Emmy had changed into riding britches and a light yellow top. Still, sweat pooled and rolled down her back, tickling her between the shoulder blades. She was relieved to reach the cover of the oaks.

They dismounted and Cuddy tied off the reins. He pulled a carefully wrapped bundle from his saddlebag and handed it to Emmy. “Give this to Greta. Tell her to pick a good spot and spread the blanket.”

“I can spread a blanket, Cuddy. I’m capable.”

He caught her wrist. “Let Greta, please. And don’t wander off by yourself. It could be dangerous.”

A chill touched her spine. “Dangerous?”

“Rattlers. They don’t play nice around these parts. And the scorpions ... they’ll invite themselves to lunch. You won’t know they’re there until they sting you.”

Her eyes must have conveyed her fear, because he laughed and patted her shoulder. “Stay close to Greta. For all her prissy ways, she’s well adjusted to her environment.” He took the bundle from Emmy and handed it off to Greta, who had joined them. “Eyes like a hawk. Right, sis?”

She took the pack from him none too gently and stalked toward the bank. “I’m not speaking to my brother, in case he hasn’t noticed.”

Cuddy widened his eyes at Emmy. “This outing holds promise.”

Emmy stifled a laugh.

Though the river hardly lived up to the term
cesspool,
Greta was right in saying there was nothing spectacular about the Nueces. It offered low, murky water and muddy banks, exposed roots along the opposite wall, and stagnant pockets topped by green scum. Still, it was the wettest place Emmy had seen since she’d arrived in South Texas. When she threw in the grass tickling her legs beneath the cover, abundant restful shade, and the wind whistling through the overhead treetops, their little picnic became a refreshing retreat from the heat—and a respite from Papa’s broad thumb. She untied the ribbon of her hat and took it off. Shaking her hair out behind her, she turned her face to catch the breeze.

Greta tossed her half-eaten sandwich aside and pushed to her knees. Staring toward the water, she stretched and yawned, then rose without a word and walked away. Spreading her shawl in a grassy spot near the bank, she pulled out a small green book and pen and sat down to write.

Cuddy chuckled. “She’s writing scathing insults about me in her diary.”

Emmy glanced at Greta hunched over the book balanced on her knees, biting the end of her pencil. “How do you know?”

He winked. “My ears are itching.”

Emmy passed him a napkin. “Your ears deceive you. If she’s writing scathing insults, they’re directed at me.” She wiped her mouth. “She doesn’t care much for me, does she?”

Cuddy lay back on his folded arms, staring at the brilliant blue sky. “You may not believe it, but Greta couldn’t wait for you to arrive.”

Emmy gaped at him.

He gave her a fleeting look. “It’s true. There aren’t many unmarried women her age around Carrizo Springs. She’s looked forward to your visit for weeks, made elaborate plans for you two.” He rolled onto his side, propping up on one arm. “Truthfully, I got tired of her rattling. To hear her talk, you two should be practically sisters by now.”

Emmy scooted around to face him. “So I made a horrid first impression? We haven’t shared three words, yet she hates me.”

He smirked like a naughty little boy. “It’s not that she hates you, sweetheart.” He stole a quick look to be sure Greta wasn’t listening. “Little sister wasn’t prepared for how much Diego would like you.”

Heat flooded Emmy’s neck. She stared hard at the red plaid blanket between them. “Diego doesn’t...”

Cuddy pushed up and sat cross-legged, his knees touching hers. “Oh, yes, ma’am. He does.” He pulled a long stalk of grass and tickled her hand with the seedy head. “Does that knowledge please you?” He ducked, trying to see her eyes. “I suppose it makes Greta’s ill treatment worthwhile, doesn’t it?”

Emmy changed her position and brushed off the weedy stalk. “You’re the most vexing man I’ve ever met, Cuddy Rawson.”

He flashed a grin. “And you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, Emily Dane.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“It’s true, honey.” He tapped her on the chin. “Don’t try to act like you don’t know.”

Emmy shrugged. “Some days I know. Some days I’m not so sure.” She peeked at him from under her lashes. “I wanted to thank you for this morning.”

Cuddy sighed. “The old man is pretty tough on you, isn’t he?”

She grimaced. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I knew why. Not knowing keeps me off balance, keeps me guessing.”

Compassion warmed his pale blue eyes. “That’s part of their game, darlin’. To make you doubt yourself.”

She studied his face. “I don’t think so. Not in my case, at least. I know in my heart there’s a reason Papa deals so harshly with me.” Her throat swelled unexpectedly. She swallowed. “He wasn’t always this way. When I was younger, he was quite affectionate, which makes it even harder.” She paused. “You know?”

He scooted closer and pulled her head to his shoulder. “As it happens, I do know.”

Emmy’s chest ached with unshed tears. “If I could pinpoint the day everything changed, I’d be able to figure out what I did wrong.”

She raised her head and they gazed into each other’s eyes. Cuddy lifted two fingers and caressed her cheek. “Don’t let him change who you are, Emily.”

“Diego!” They sprang apart as Greta rushed by. “Look! Diego’s here.”

Emmy stretched to look past Cuddy’s shoulder. Diego sat his horse at the top of the slope, staring down at them. As Greta rushed toward him, he dismounted and walked to meet her.

“You came after all,” Greta cooed. “I’m so glad.” The change in the girl was astounding. “Come sit with us and share our food. Have you eaten lunch?”

Sit with us?
Under different circumstances, Emmy would find Greta’s statement quite funny. At the moment, she was busy fretting over how her shared moment with Cuddy looked from atop the rise.

Cuddy whirled around, coming to rest with his arms propped on his knees. “They sent you out here to spy on us, didn’t they?”

“Don’t be a dolt,” Diego growled, a rosy glow on his cheeks. “Your mother feared you might keep the women out in the heat too long. From the look of things, it appears she was right.”

Cuddy stood and brushed off his hands. “It is getting late. Pack up, ladies, and we’ll head on back.”

“There’s no need to rush, Cuddy.” Greta plopped down and patted the spot beside her. “Sit for a spell, Diego, and have something to eat. We’re just now starting to have fun.”

Emmy shared a look with Cuddy. He rolled his eyes and she nearly bit her lip in two trying to stifle a laugh.

Diego smiled sweetly and patted his midsection. “Thank you, but I’m still working off Mother’s sunflower seed cakes. Besides”—he drew closer to Greta’s face—“unless I’m mistaken, the real reason she wants you home has something to do with the pachanga. When I left the yard, she was airing pretty dresses on the clothesline.”

Greta spun toward her brother. “Let’s go, then. She’s bound to be freshening that horrid green gown for me. I don’t know why she loves it so. The ruffles make me look like a dowdy schoolgirl.”

The mischievous glint in Cuddy’s eyes shouted the taunt he bit back. “If you’re in such a hurry, pack up these things while Diego helps me water the horses.”

Emmy began gathering utensils and tying up the cloth holding the leftover tortillas. To her surprise, Greta squared around to face her, a warm smile on her lips. “I hope you enjoyed yourself this morning, Emmy. I come here often just to think and write in my diary. It’s quite a peaceful spot.”

Emmy gave her a sideways glance. “I thought you didn’t like to come here at all.”

Greta blushed and ducked her head. “I suppose I did give that impression.” She looked up, regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Emily. I’ve acted the shrew, haven’t I? I don’t know what came over me. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She picked up Emmy’s hand. “Is it possible that we could start over?”

Shocked, Emmy stared wordlessly at their tangled fingers.

“If we’re friends, tonight will be so much more fun. We can help each other dress. I’d love to pin your hair. You have such lovely blond curls.”

Emmy’s hand rose to her hair. “Why, thank you.”

“Did you know I had a quince años party, too?” She dreamily rolled her eyes. “It was a grand affair! Quince años means fifteen years. Of course, it’s not our custom, but when I turned fifteen, the locals insisted out of respect for my family.”

Greta gazed over Emmy’s shoulder with a dazed expression, as if she could see into the past. “I wore the sweetest little dress.” She grinned and touched Emmy’s arm. “No, not the one with green ruffles.”

Emmy laughed to be polite.

“Mama piled my hair on my head,” Greta continued, “and wove flowers into the curls like a crown.” She sighed. “We danced until dawn. All of my friends attended.” A wistful shadow stole over her eyes. She squeezed them shut and shook her head. “They’re all married now, except for Mary English. She moved to New York last year to become a journalist. Nearly broke her mother’s heart.”

Emmy widened her eyes as Greta came up for air. The girl had uttered more words in thirty seconds than she had for two days. Still reeling from the sudden change of heart, Emmy sat speechless.

Smiling prettily, Greta touched her cheek. “I’m elated to see you and my brother are getting along so well.”

Ah,
Emmy thought,
the reason for the change in her attitude.

“Cuddy needs someone,” Greta said. “He has me to talk to, but a brother won’t confide in a sister the way he would a ... well, a special friend like you.”

Greta beamed so brightly Emmy watched for cherubs with harps to alight on her shoulders. She groped for something to say. “We have a lot in common.” It was the best she could do.

“We do!” Greta squealed. “I’ve noticed it, too. We’re both fair-haired and about the same age.” She nodded matter-of-factly. “You prefer tea to coffee in the mornings just as I do.” She wiggled her hand wildly and sat up on her heels. “And look! We’re wearing the same colored blouse.”

Her cheeks warming, Emmy offered a tight smile.

“Oh.” Greta drooped like wilted lettuce and withdrew her hand. “You meant Cuddy, didn’t you?”

“Well, I...”

“Enough chitchat, ladies,” Cuddy called from behind them. “Let’s get you back to the ranch. I’d prefer not to incur the wrath of the fair Katie Rawson.”

Diego bent to pick up Emmy’s hat and gave it to her then offered his hand. She caught a glimpse of Greta’s slight scowl as he pulled her to her feet first and took her arm to walk her to her mare. Holding her ground, she lifted her brows and tilted her head toward Greta.

Flustered, he back-stepped to the blanket. “Forgive me, dear girl. I thought Cuddy...”

It seemed a struggle for Greta to maintain her serene expression. The tiny creases on her forehead gave her away. “Never assume Cuddy will behave properly, Diego. The poor boy’s ill equipped in situations requiring a show of manners.” The creases deepened as she glared at her brother. “You see he has none.”

Though Greta took out her frustration on her brother, Emmy guessed her irritation had little to do with him. Diego helped Greta onto her horse then turned to assist Emmy. Disappointment clouded his eyes when he found her already mounted.

“Let’s ride,” Cuddy said, still seeming oblivious. He turned his horse in a half circle and crowded between Emmy and Diego, in effect cutting them off from each other. One look at his satisfied face told Emmy he’d done it on purpose.

Melatha’s breath caught in her throat when Isi stepped over the threshold of the jacal. He wore his finest clothes, glossy black pants and a matching short jacket, adorned with shiny buttons in front and on the sleeves. A tanned snakeskin served for a hatband, fastened to the hat by a silver
concha
stamped with the Texas star. He had attached matching conchas to the strap of his best leather boots.

Standing in the shadows cast by the waning light, he looked like Reynaldo on their wedding day, and the sight brought tears to Melatha’s eyes. “Oh, Isi. You will leave the Bosques home tonight with the hearts of all the women in your breast pocket.”

Wearing a silly grin, he clicked his heels and bowed to kiss her hand. “There’s only one heart I care about, Mother, and it’s yours.”

Snorting, she waved off his teasing. “It’s not like you to lie, son. We both know there’s another.”

He colored and shoved past her. “She’s a charming and beautiful girl, but she means nothing to me. Besides, she’s already smitten with Cuddy.”

Melatha pinned him with an innocent stare. “I was referring to Greta. Who do you mean?”

Caught, he glared over his shoulder. “Why can’t you at least leave my thoughts to me? Why must you lay snares with twisted words until you expose my deepest feelings?” He stalked to her and spun her around, fumbling with her apron strings. “And why are you still wearing this? It’s time to go.”

Melatha turned and caught his hands. “If I have exposed what you feel for White Hair to the light then leave it there, so you might see it clearly.” She shook her head. “I recognize her restless spirit, Isi. You have as much hope for breaking that devil, Faron.”

He tossed her apron aside and lifted the basket of food she’d prepared for the party. With a haughty grin, he herded her toward the door. “That’s encouraging, Mother. You see, I have Faron eating out of my hand.”

Diego loaded the vexing little woman and her sloshing crock of frijoles into the wagon and drove to the main house. He pulled in behind Cuddy’s two-seater and set the brake. Mr. Rawson had parked his wagon in front of the line.

As the families filed onto the porch, the flurry of activity drew Diego’s attention, but his eyes found and fixed on Emmy. She had on a gown of iridescent silk, the top rose-tinted beige, the bottom a shimmering deep purple. Black velvet ribbon crisscrossed the bodice and rimmed the billowing skirt. He feared she’d be too warm until the sun had set and the wind picked up. Frowning, he wondered why the women didn’t tell her.

“She looks lovely.”

He decided to turn his mother’s game against her. “Greta? Yes, she does.” Truthfully, he couldn’t have named the color of Greta’s dress, much less said how she looked. It shamed him that the same girl he’d finagled a chance to spend time with every chance he got now sparked as much interest in his heart as the backside of the barn. In truth, the last two days had opened his eyes to her true nature. Where was the teasing, smiling Greta hiding, and where had the scowling, pouting Greta come from?

“Do you like my new frock, Diego?”

He jerked his gaze to the ground. So Greta’s dress was yellow. She wore an awful lot of yellow. “Yes, it’s very nice.”

Greta twirled. “Perfect for dancing. Wouldn’t you say?”

Diego’s grip tightened on the reins as Emmy started down the steps on Cuddy’s arm. “Um, yes. I suppose so.”

To Willem Dane’s obvious displeasure, Cuddy escorted Emmy to his rig then climbed up beside her. Mrs. Bloom got into the rear.

Diego’s mother nudged him with her elbow. Forcing his attention back to Greta, he smiled down at her. “It’s a striking dress and perfect for dancing. I’m sure you’ll get the chance to prove it tonight.”

Mrs. Rawson paused to stare toward her daughter before climbing aboard the lead wagon with her husband and the Danes. Twisting on the seat, she waved her lace fan. “Greta? Come along. You’re holding things up.”

“Yes, Mother.” She waited to catch Diego’s eye one last time before dashing to join Mrs. Bloom on the back seat of Cuddy’s wagon just as Mr. Rawson pulled away from the house.

Diego didn’t look at his mother, tried not to feel her eyes watching him. They rode to the Bosques ranch in silence.

The sun had begun to slip toward the horizon as they pulled past the gate to the house. Mariachi music filled the evening air with the beat of a lively song. Señor Bosques had brought the band all the way from Cocula, in the Mexican state of Jalisco.

The wagons followed the singing and the laughter to the rear of the house and parked in the grass beside a large wooden dais. Before the party ended, the floor of the platform would be reduced to splinters by hard-driving heels pounding out the rhythm of the dance.

Diego helped his mother down. She stood swaying to the music while he lifted out her contribution to the night, her prized bean soup. Señora Bosques directed him to a line of tables laden with every sort of brightly colored food imaginable. So full was the table, his mother had to help him find a place for the huge pot of beans. She skillfully shifted a few platters and bowls, and he set her offering among them.

Following his mother across the yard, he got his first look at the band. They were dressed in white cotton trousers, loose flowing shirts, and big smiles. Leather sandals graced their feet. One played the five-stringed
vihuela,
blending with the haunting strains of two violins and the strum of the
guitarrón.
The tempo stirred Diego’s blood and urged his feet to move.

The thought of dancing brought his mind instantly to Emmy. If he was to be honest with himself, he’d planned to dance with her since he first got wind of the pachanga—a plan he’d see fulfilled if he had to waltz across Cuddy in the process.

When it came to dancing, Cuddy couldn’t compete. Having less rhythm than a bucking mule, he seldom tried, unless he’d had too much to drink, a trick he dare not pull around so many of his father’s close friends. The penalty for so foolish an act would be grave.

Diego searched out Emmy, sitting between a chattering Greta and a wide-eyed Bertha Bloom. For all he knew, Emmy danced no better than Cuddy and had less inclination. He watched her for a sign that the music moved her and was rewarded by her swaying shoulders and furiously tapping toes.

He smiled. Just a bit longer to wait. In South Texas, feasting came before dancing.

Cuddy passed by grinning, weighed down with a heaping plate of food. He held it up and pointed. “I’m waiting on you like one hog waiting on another.”

Diego smiled. “I see that.” He glanced around to locate his mother. She stood out of earshot, chatting with one of the locals. “I hope there’s a portion of bean soup on that plate. I don’t look forward to the ride home unless that crock is empty. I’ll never hear an end to her moaning.”

Cuddy changed his route and came to thrust the deep plate under Diego’s nose. “Is that enough to suit you?”

He chuckled. “I knew I could count on you.”

With a jaunty salute, Cuddy went his way.

Diego was about to call him back and suggest he offer the plate to one of the women, but they had stood up and were making their way to the line. He met them there.

“I ain’t never seen such a spread in my life,” Mrs. Bloom announced to no one in particular.

Mrs. Dane nodded. “I don’t see how they’ll ever eat all this.”

Diego handed her a plate. “Ma’am, you’d be surprised how much a hungry band of vaqueros can put away. Just ask Rosita. She feeds our men every day.”

He stepped aside to allow her and Mrs. Bloom to go first. Smiling, he handed Emmy and Greta a plate each. “Hungry, ladies?”

Greta’s fingers deliberately brushed Diego’s when she took the dish. “We’re starved, right, Emily?” Before Emmy could answer, Greta rushed ahead. “Be sure and take plenty of everything. Otherwise, you’re certain to offend someone. They all worked so hard preparing the food.”

Diego wondered how Greta would know the meaning of hard work. He also wondered why she didn’t take her own advice. While Emmy was careful to spoon a little from each pot, Greta barely covered her plate.

He didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as the first couples lined up on the floor, Greta pushed her meager portion aside and smiled at him. She had plied Emmy with food and the fear of offending the cooks so she’d be too busy eating, or worse, too full to dance.

Emmy bravely shoved another bite in her mouth.

Angry, Diego took away her fork and set her dish on a nearby table.

She flashed him a grateful look.

Greta flashed him one of a different sort when he led Emmy onto the dance floor.

Emmy felt just as he’d expected in his arms, only better. How could he have imagined the smell of her, a blend of lavender mixed with jasmine, stronger each time the wind blew her hair?

He saw right away that she loved to dance. She matched him step for step as they whirled about the edge of the platform, dodging the other couples and laughing. When the song ended and the slower tempo announced a waltz, he pulled her closer and tightened his arm around her waist.

Her scent enveloped him, and the warmth of her body through the silky fabric teased his fingertips. Fighting to control his rapid breathing, telling himself the dancing was the cause, he caught her eye and smiled. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yes. Very much.”

“That’s a beautiful dress.”

She blushed. “Thank you. Until the sun went down, I feared I’d picked the wrong one. It’s much cooler now, though.”

He nodded. “Yes, it is.”

He led her around the floor again, past a sea of men’s faces, young and old watching her with admiring glances. “I never thanked you for last night.”

She raised her tapered brows. “For?”

“Helping me with Cuddy.” He winked. “You make a fine distraction, Miss Dane.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I assure you, it was most sincere.”

She lifted her chin. “Then I thank you.”

They giggled like children at their teasing formality, her laughter warming Diego’s heart.

“So...” She cocked her head to one side. “Why doesn’t your mama like me?”

Her question stunned him. Her boldness stunned him more.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Cuddy swaggered toward them, interrupting the lie. “I’m cutting in, brother.”

Diego tightened his hold on Emmy’s hand. “You’ll only trample the poor girl’s toes. Show some mercy, my friend.”

Cuddy snorted and held his ground.

“Not now, Cuddy. Perhaps she’ll save you a dance.”

“No, now, Diego. Stop fooling around.”

Frustrated, Diego searched Emmy’s face. “Only if the lady agrees.”

Blind to his pain, Emmy watched Cuddy with obvious amusement. Diego winced at the affection shining in her eyes. “I’d love to dance with you, Cuddy.”

With a slight bow, Diego released her and stepped away. Cuddy glided into his place, catching Emmy’s hand in his, sliding his arm around the warmth of her slender waist. Laughing, they whirled away from him and disappeared.

Churning inside and struggling to contain his passion, Diego strode across the floor to join Greta. Too late, he realized she seethed like a roiling kettle.

Hoping to calm her, he danced with her at last. By the second song, she began to relax until she caught him stealing a glance at Emmy and her brother. She grew rigid in his arms. “They make such a nice couple, don’t they?”

He stiffened. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“But you must have. They’re both blond and attractive. Cuddy’s short like Emily. He doesn’t tower over her the way you do.”

“I meant I hadn’t noticed they were a couple.”

She drew away from him, tilted her head, and stared. “Of course they are! On the way to it at least.” She glanced around then lowered her voice. “Yesterday morning they were caught sitting together in the hallway outside their rooms.” She leaned closer for emphasis. “Holding hands.”

Diego’s stomach lurched. “Caught?”

She failed at hiding a smirk. “Willem Dane. Haven’t you noticed how he watches them?”

Diego scanned the crowd for Emmy’s father. Indeed, he scowled at her and Cuddy across the sea of swirling dancers.

“You caught them yourself at the river.”

He vacantly studied Greta’s face. What did he see at the river? They were sitting together on a blanket staring at him on the rise, though Emmy did wear a curious expression of guilt.

What took place right in front of him that he’d missed?

Diego stopped dancing mid-note. Catching Greta by the wrist, he hauled her back to her chair.

She squirmed away from his grip and whirled to face him. “What’s wrong with you tonight? I’ve never seen you so restless.”

“I’m tired of dancing, that’s all.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I need something cool to drink. Would you care for one?”

“I would.”

He spun.

Emmy stood behind him, a plastered smile on her face. She clutched his arm. “In fact, I’ll help you.”

Ignoring the rage on Greta’s face, he allowed Emmy to steer him toward the punch bowl. On the way, he decided to put himself out of his misery. He would ask her straight out if she had feelings for Cuddy. If she said yes, he would bow out of the picture. If she said no—

“Diego, we have a problem.”

He blinked down at her. Had she read his mind?

“It’s Cuddy.”

His heart pounded. Even as she prepared to crush his hopes, he admired her strength. No woman he’d ever known got straight to the point. “It’s all right, Emmy. I understand.”

She took his sleeve and jerked him around. “No, you don’t.” Angling him toward the wooden platform, she pointed.

Cuddy wove drunkenly through the crowd—one hand splayed over his heart, the other arm stretched to the sky—singing along with the mariachis with all of his might. Some of the dancers laughed and shoved him away; others scowled when he bumped them from behind.

Diego swallowed. “I don’t believe my eyes. He seemed fine before.”

Emmy’s gaze darted anxiously from him to Cuddy. “I smelled it on his breath as soon as you left us. There’s a flask in his pocket, and he keeps taking long swigs.” She met his eyes. “I believe he’s getting worse every second.”