Emmy's Equal (16 page)

Willem yawned. “This soon? With all the stops, I expected to be riding all night.”

John nodded. “So did I.” He looked at the night sky. “This trail saved our hides. It ran farther than I expected, and it’s cleared better than I might’ve hoped for. I’d say it bought us a couple of hours.” He wedged his hat on his head and jutted his chin. “I can see the end of this thing, and once we come out, it’s only a mile or so to my friend’s ranch.”

Magda sighed. “John, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Bertha stood up and stretched. “You reckon they’ll let us take a bath? I’d settle for a washtub and cold water.”

Magda pulled Bertha down so she could see John. “I’d trade the bath for something hot to eat.”

Willem groaned and held his stomach. “I’ll second that motion, dear.”

John laughed. “They’re good people. It’s not the first time I’ve shown up unannounced, but day or night, they’ve treated me like a king.” He dashed a large insect from his boot with the handle of his whip. “Don’t worry. You can count on a table spread with food.”

Willem picked up the reins. “What are we sitting around talking for then? Lead on.”

Melatha had misplaced God.

In a fit of worry, that gnawing state of unrest the Holy Bible warned against, she had stored Him carefully out of sight. In her pantry perhaps, or an apron pocket. Somewhere handy, so she might easily find Him when she decided to trust again.

That time had come, only now she couldn’t locate her Creator. He didn’t show up in that black hour before dawn when she’d awakened, crying out to Him on Isi’s behalf. She couldn’t rouse Him when she slipped from the bed to her knees weeping bitter tears. She didn’t feel Him in her heart, no matter how feverishly she prayed.

She felt abandoned, as unloved as a motherless child. Starved for reassurance, she leaped to her feet and lit the lamp. Clutching her blanket around her, she swept her father’s Bible from the shelf and huddled at the table, desperately flipping through the pages until she found the passage she sought. She read the scripture aloud, allowing the cooling waters of God’s promise to quench her thirst for Him.

“‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”

Instantly He was there, wrapping His love around her as surely as the quilt about her shoulders. Of course, He’d been there all along, if the words she’d read held any truth. She had only to let go of her fear and let Him in. “Chihowa Palami, forgive me for doubting You. Help me to understand what has taken hold of Isi. Show me Your hand at work in his life.”

A shaft of light fell on the page in front of her, startling her until she realized it was only a sunbeam. Pulling aside the shade, she winced at the brightly lit morning. The hour was late. She’d been so engrossed in her troubles she hadn’t prepared breakfast. With a sudden jolt to her heart, she realized Isi had never shown up to eat.

Melatha stood so fast the quilt caught the edge of the chair, sending it crashing to the floor. Her heart in her throat, she scurried outside to the porch. Shading her eyes, she gazed over the property, searching the horizon. She peered toward the pasture, eager for any sign of Isi or his horse. She ran to the side rail and gazed toward the main house, hoping she’d see him loping across the yard or leaned against a tree talking to Cuddy.

The door to the bunkhouse creaked open, sending her flying down the steps, but only Little Pete slipped out, nodding and tipping his hat.

Embarrassed, she looked down at her flowing white gown, wondering if Pete thought she’d lost her mind. So be it, she felt she had. More so every minute that passed. Turning on her heel, she hurried inside to get dressed. She wouldn’t find Isi while gazing barefoot from her porch.

As she dashed toward the basket where clean clothes were stored, a breeze from the open window lifted and fluttered the pages of the Bible, still open on the table. She slowed long enough to close the precious book and return it to the shelf. Another scripture blazed across her mind as her hand left the cracked leather binding.

“A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench...”

She’d learned the meaning of the beautiful words while crouched at her mother’s knees. “It’s a message of trust,” Mother had whispered. “A promise that Chihowa Ushi will never crush the weak or quench our smallest hope.”

Her head reeling, Melatha sank onto the side of her cot. Rushing out to scour the ranch for Isi would only prove she still dared to believe she had Almighty God tucked away in her pocket. The Ancient of Days didn’t need assistance from the likes of Melatha Rhona Marcelo, insignificant before Him in her finest hour, which this day was not.

Gritting her teeth against the flood of fear and doubt, she dressed herself with trembling hands then poured out two cups of dried beans. Spreading them over the table, she pushed aside pebbles, clods of dirt, and bits of chaff then pulled the rest into her pot. She would add pork fat and spices, boil them tender and savory, and bake corncakes in time for lunch.

She glanced at her father’s Bible and nodded. When God brought Isi to her door seeking food and comfort, she’d be ready to provide him with both.

His stomach growling in protest, Diego led his horse to the next section of fence in need of repair—miles from the big house and still heading in the opposite direction from his mother’s kitchen. He needed time to think more than he needed food, and time alone with God more than he needed to breathe. Besides, he wasn’t eager to bear the scrutiny of his mother’s searching eyes.

He hadn’t seen her since the day before when she’d run from the barn, fleeing her disappointment in him. If only he could so easily escape himself.

How had he let so dreadful a thing happen? His feelings for Emmy started from the first day when she’d stolen glances at him on the trail. Embarrassment at ruining his hat had warred with obvious admiration as she gazed from beneath her lashes. In the days that followed, the seed of interest in her had pushed to the surface with very little prodding, exploding into a tangled vine around his heart. Despite his mother’s warnings, he hadn’t considered his great affection for her a bad thing. Until now.

He had hurt nearly every person in his life, and just as his mother said, the spell Emmy Dane had spun around him was the cause.

The mare he’d ridden to the pasture snorted and bobbed her head. Kneeling with a fistful of wire, Diego looked up to see what had her attention. Groaning, he threw down his pliers. One would think the Twisted-R Ranch would be plenty big enough for a man to escape his troubles. He’d forfeited breakfast to make good his escape, yet one of his most pressing problems rode toward him with a ridiculous smile on his face.

“Ho, there, Diego!”

Reluctant, Diego stood and raised his hand in greeting.

Cuddy closed the distance between them and slid off his horse. “Try telling someone where you’ll be, amigo. I’ve been on parts of this ranch I’ve never seen before looking for you.”

Diego snorted. “I hope you mended fences while you were there.”

Cuddy laughed halfheartedly and gave him a jab in the arm. “No foolin’, make sure we know where you’re going next time. What if you hurt yourself or stumble onto a rattler? We wouldn’t know where to find you.”

“If a rattler struck me it wouldn’t matter. You’d have plenty of time to find my lifeless body.”

Cuddy grinned. “Not in this heat, brother. You’d swell up and pop. Then I’d be left to mop up the mess.” He wrapped his arm around Diego’s neck and walked him back to the post, giving him a good shake before turning him loose. “I sure am glad things are back to normal between us.” He colored slightly and bent to pick up the pliers. “I really missed being on solid ground with you.” He handed the tool to Diego and kneeled to help him hold the wire. “Truth be told, that’s the reason I came to find you.”

Diego tensed. He knew there had to be a reason as soon as he saw Cuddy riding toward him. He, too, had enjoyed the warmth of restored friendship, no matter how brief. Sensing it was over, he braced himself and breathed a silent prayer.

Cuddy’s gaze darted to his face. “See, I want us to stay on solid ground. I also want you to know I don’t hold it against you that things went sour with Greta, only...”

Diego’s head came up.

Cuddy lifted his brows and nodded. “Mother told me. She said Greta doesn’t ever want to see you again, but she didn’t tell me why.” He screwed up his face as if he tasted something bad. “Diego, I need to know what happened between you two.” He paused. “You didn’t do anything to hurt my sister, did you? If I thought you took advantage of her, I’d—”

Diego shot to his feet. “I took advantage, but not in the way you mean.”

Cuddy stood with his hands clenched at his sides. “So she’s still pure?”

“What! Yes, of course.” He buried his hands in his hair and whirled away from Cuddy. “I can’t believe you had to ask.”

Cuddy released his breath in a
whoosh.
“I’m sorry I had to, and I want to believe you. But my sister has cried a river since yesterday, and she hasn’t left her room. Can’t you tell me why things took such a bad turn?”

Diego gathered his courage and faced him. “I’m not going to lie to you, Cuddy. I hurt Greta.”

Cuddy’s eyes bored into his, bright with unshed tears. “How? I need to know.”

“I kissed her.”

“I saw that much.”

“Likely the first kiss she’s ever had.”

Cuddy nodded. “I think I can guarantee that.”

Diego drew a shaky breath. “Only I wasn’t thinking of Greta when I kissed her.”

Tilting his head to the side, Cuddy’s eyes narrowed to accusing slits. “And you were thinking of...” He held up his hand. “No, wait. Let me guess. You kissed my little sister while pretending she was my girl.”

Diego held Cuddy’s gaze, refusing to take the coward’s way out. “I’d say that about covers it.”

Cuddy frowned. “I don’t understand. How could Greta know what you were thinking?”

Diego’s stomach flipped. Beginning to reconsider the coward’s way, he gritted his teeth and spit out the truth. “I called out Emmy’s name.”

Dangerous fury swirled in Cuddy’s eyes, softening to pain in one blink of his lashes. His jaw tightened. “You did that to Greta? For a woman you hardly know?”

Frustration jangled Diego’s nerves. “Listen to yourself, won’t you? If I hardly know her, the same applies to you. Yet you just called her your girl.”

Cuddy looked stunned.

Vindicated, Diego nodded. “Right. You see my point now. She slithers out of nowhere and coils up in your head. A man doesn’t stand a chance until he gets wise to her ways.” He placed his hands on Cuddy’s shoulders. “But I’m wiser now. I don’t know how I’ll manage to fix the mess I made with Greta. I may not get the chance when your father gets wind of what I’ve done, but you can bet I’ll do whatever it takes to set things right.”

At the mention of his father, fear blanched Cuddy’s face. He dropped to a squat, staring at the ground. “He’ll run you off. I know he will.”

Watching him curiously, Diego sank to the ground beside him. “I hope not. I pray not, but if he does, that won’t affect our friendship, will it?”

Cuddy lifted his gaze to stare across the pasture, countless emotions jerking the muscles in his face. “If you leave, the old man will do what he’s always wanted. He’ll put me in charge.” He swung tortured eyes to Diego. “I can’t run this ranch, brother.”

Diego patted his back. “Sure you can.”

He gave his head a forceful shake. “Even if I tried my best, my best would never be good enough for the old man. I’d be compared to you every minute.”

Knowing it was futile to deny a truth they’d both heard Mr. Rawson admit, Diego decided the kindest thing would be to change the subject. “Don’t borrow trouble, amigo. Let’s hope for a better outcome, shall we? I have no wish to leave the Twisted-R.” He stood to his feet and Cuddy followed.

Squinting, Cuddy hunched his shoulders and thrust out his jaw. “I just have one more question. Is Emily still inside your head?”

Diego swallowed. “I’d like to tell you no, but I can’t. Not yet anyway.”

Cuddy nodded thoughtfully. “Where does that leave Greta?”

Patting Cuddy’s boyish cheeks, Diego gave him the honest answer. “When I figure that out, you’ll be the fourth to know.”

“The fourth?”

He smiled. “After me, Greta, and my mother.” His mood serious again, he gripped Cuddy’s arm. “One thing I can promise you. God willing, I plan to stay as far from Emmy Dane as I possibly can.”

Magda’s fingers picked at the edge of her hem. The unease in her stomach grew as the sun settled lower in the sky, and no amount of chatter from Bertha could quench it. The open road to Eagle Pass seemed treacherous compared to the secluded Indian trail, and Magda felt vulnerable and exposed to danger.

As night approached, John peered into every shadowy clump of bushes and jumped to attention at the slightest rustle or snap. So far, instead of skulking bandits lying in wait, every sound had proved to be the harmless stirring of animals on the prowl.

John’s unease grew contagious. Poor frazzled Willem whipped around to look each time John did, his bulging eyes darting from his friend to the trail. Bertha abandoned her folded blanket and slipped to the edge of her seat, her eyes watchful, and the muscles in Magda’s tensed legs began to tremble from the strain. The relaxed fellowship they’d shared around the table the night before and again at breakfast had dimmed to a pleasant memory.

Bertha seemed to read her mind as usual. “John, your friends sure were nice folks. They took us in and treated us like family.” She paused. “Better than that, more like kings and queens, just like you said.”

John answered without taking his attention from the road. “You’ll find most folks in this region just as hospitable. They’re a kindhearted, generous people.” He smiled over his shoulder. “It’s one of the reasons I rooted my family here.”

Bertha’s brows gathered like storm clouds. “Then why are you as jumpy as a cat?”

“Good question, Bertha. There are many fine citizens in Eagle Pass. Unfortunately, opportunists and thieves roam the streets as well. Saloons and gambling halls make life hard. Decent folks are fighting back and have recently cleaned up a lot of the garbage, but they have a ways to go before I’ll breathe easy within ten miles of the place.” He chuckled. “And we’re considerably closer than that right now. Those lights you see up ahead mark the outskirts of town.”

Magda moaned. “Bad element or not, that’s blessed good news. Right now I’d welcome the sight of a gambling hall if it offered an empty bed.”

John shot her a sympathetic glance. “An empty bed may be farther away than you think, Magda. We’re not there yet, and we still have to find suitable lodging.”

“That part will be easy,” Bertha chimed in, reaching to pat her bag under the seat. “We’ll stay at the best hotel money can buy.”

“That’s exactly what we won’t do,” John said. “Flaunting your wealth in Eagle Pass would be an act of suicide.” He shook his head. “No, we’ll book a room in the cleanest low-cost establishment we can find.” He pointed at her. “You need to keep that satchel close to your body with the latch shut.”

Magda took Bertha’s chin and pulled her face around. “The same goes for your mouth.”

Bertha slapped away her hand. “There’s no call to take that tone.”

“This is serious, Bertha. Your foolishness could get us killed in our sleep.”

Arms crossed over her chest, she pouted. “I heard the man. Give me credit for having a thimbleful of sense.”

Scooting closer to her on the seat, Magda wrapped her in a hug. “I’m dreadful sorry, honey. This trip has me on edge, that’s all.”

Bertha reached around Magda’s waist and gave her an answering squeeze. “Aw, that’s all right, sugar. I’m a bit jumpy myself.”

Willem groaned. “John, you may need a drink to wash down all the confection those two tend to slosh about.”

“
Buenas noches,
amigos.”

The deep, unfamiliar voice nearly jolted Magda over the side, not to mention free of her bloomers. The only thing that held her on the seat and in her drawers was Bertha, whose grip around her middle tightened severely.

John pulled his pistol, the click of the hammer loud in the sudden stillness. At the same time, Willem yanked back on the reins and held up the lantern.

A short, swarthy man wearing a straw sombrero stood by the edge of the road. If he noticed that John cocked the gun, he pretended he hadn’t. “Good evening, friends,” he repeated in English. “If you please ... I won’t mind a little sip of that drink I heard you speak of.”

John eased Faron closer, the horse balking at the stranger’s scent. “Stepping out of the shadows can get a man killed, mister. Are you alone over there?”

The question roused Willem. He hurriedly lifted the rifle and scanned the darkness.

“Sí, alone.” The man smiled and held his hands out to his sides. “Only me ... Marcos.” He took off his hat and held it over his chest. “I no mean to frighten you, señor.”

John steadied the gun on Marcos’s chest. “What are you doing hiding out here in the bushes?”

“Oh, no, señor. Not hiding. Merely walking along the road, that’s all.”

“Where are you headed?”

He gestured to the glow of lights in the distance. “I think to the same place you are going, no? Into town?” He raised his chin to the east. “My sister, she lives over that way about one mile. I go for visit three days ago, and now I go home.” His smile broadened. “To Eagle Pass.”

The way John’s eyes flickered from Marcos to the thick brush on the roadside said he didn’t quite trust the man. “Well, don’t let us keep you, Marcos. I think we’ll sit here for a spell and rest the horses.” He waved with his gun. “Go ahead, be on your way.”

Marcos leaned his head to one side. “Please, señor, allow me walk alongside you into town. There is safety in the company of friends. Do you agree?”

Eyes wary, John studied the little man.

Marcos laughed. “Still you don’t believe me? I have more to fear of you.” He offered his empty hands. “You see? I am alone and unarmed.”

John looked over at Willem. “What do you think?”

Looking none too sure, Willem shrugged.

Marcos seized the advantage. “I will help you in return,” he promised eagerly. “Whatever business brings you to Eagle Pass, I can help.” He looked at them as if sizing them up. “You come for to buy coal?”

John shook his head.

“No? Business at the courthouse, then. Fort Duncan, perhaps.”

Bertha released her hold on Magda and sat up. “We’re looking for a man named Raul.”

Marcos turned with startled eyes then began to laugh. “A man named Raul? There’s one on every street corner, señora.”

John laughed, too. “This one works in the Piedra Parada Saloon.” Grinning, he held up his finger. “Sí, sí, Raul. I know of him. One of Father Darius’s boys.”

Bertha leaned to see past Willem. “Can you help us find him?”

“It’s no that easy. Raul no longer works at the saloon.” At their obvious disappointment, he hurriedly amended his words. “But I can take you to Father Darius. He will help you to find Raul.”

John dipped his head. “You just bought yourself an escort into town.”

Grinning, Marcos rubbed his hands together. “Bueno. We can talk about that drink now?”

“I’m afraid there is no drink.” John’s eyes twinkled. “Unless you’re thirsty for water.”

Marcus pointed to Willem. “But, he said—”

“No drink.”

The man gripped his head. “Ah, señor! Please, tell me you jest.”

The men laughed heartily while Bertha leaned close to Magda to whisper. “It’s a dirty shame he wasted his finagling skills for nothing.” She cackled so loudly she turned everyone’s head. “All that work with no payoff,” she continued, her breath warm in Magda’s ear.

“Bertha, behave yourself.”

They rode for a spell before Willem’s curiosity got the best of him. He cleared his throat, and Marcos glanced up at him. “You said this Raul was one of Father Darius’s boys. That’s got me baffled. How can a priest have a son?”

Marcos chuckled. “Raul is no son birthed to Father Darius, just as Father Darius is no priest of the church.” He wagged his head. “Father Darius has many sons of the spirit. He runs a mission for wayward souls near the ferry crossing on the Rio Grande.”

Willem opened his mouth to ask another question, but John’s excited voice drowned him out. “Up ahead are the lights of Fort Duncan. Welcome to Eagle Pass, folks.”

One thing was certain. Hiding in her room, no matter how charming the furnishings or comfortable the bed, had grown to be an irksome bother for Emmy. She yearned for her mother’s counsel—even Aunt Bert’s slapdash advice. However, she didn’t look forward to Papa’s reaction to the stink swirling around the rafters of the Rawson home, the whole sorry mess centered on her.

Neither Papa nor anyone else could blame her for what had happened. She’d done nothing to cause Cuddy’s and Diego’s sparring over her, snarling and snapping like hounds on a pork chop, and could do nothing to prevent it. Diego’s indiscretion landed squarely on his own shoulders. In her opinion, any discomfort he felt over what he’d done to Greta wasn’t harsh enough.

It troubled Emmy that Mrs. Rawson hadn’t come to speak to her directly and had only sent Rosita to tap on her door after lunchtime the day before. When Emmy said she wasn’t hungry, Rosita turned away with a grim look on her face. After that, no one had bothered.

Greta still hadn’t left her room. In the afternoon, Emmy overheard Mrs. Rawson tell Rosita she would take her evening meal at her daughter’s side. Driven by hunger, Emmy dared to slip downstairs where an oddly subdued Rosita had served her a meager late supper. After she ate, she begrudgingly returned to the room, having nowhere else to go.

A muffled rattle sounded from the balcony, like the disjointed clatter of a hailstorm back home. Considering the sweltering heat had diminished very little at sunset, she could likely discount hail as the cause. Frowning at the patio door, she jumped when a shower of pebbles hit the glass and rained down onto the porch.

Diego!
It had to be him. Anyone else would simply knock on the bedroom door.

She checked her appearance in the mirror, pinching her cheeks and patting a stray curl into place. Yes, Diego’s behavior had proved disappointing. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t be thrilled to see him.

She tucked her fingers inside the corners of her square neckline and tugged. The simple white dress, cut to a flattering V in back with a large circular buckle at her waist, might be the latest fashion, but it covered less of her skin than she liked. She twirled once in front of the vanity, noting how small the flowing fabric and cinched belt made her waist appear. Satisfied, she opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.

Trying not to seem eager, she walked casually to the rail and peered into the yard below. Seeing nothing, her heart sank. She’d taken too long with her primping. Diego must have given up and gone his way. She turned to slip back inside her room.

“Emily!”

The hoarse whisper jolted her heart. Fighting a grin that would give away her pleasure, she pressed into the rail. “I’m here.”

“I see that,” he hissed.

Losing the battle with her smile, she scoured the ground. “Where? I can’t see you.”

Cuddy stepped into the light. “Here. Right under your pretty nose.”

Emmy wilted with disappointment. “What on earth? Why are you sneaking around under my window?”

His exaggerated leer made him look like a simpleton. “I thought you might come out and play.”

Laughing louder than she meant to, especially considering her room lay directly over Greta’s, she covered her mouth. “I can’t, foolish boy.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. It’s not proper.”

“Since when did Emily Dane give two hoots about proper?” He cocked his head at her. “Come down. I’m harmless. I promise.”

“In that case, march inside and request permission from your mother.”

He widened his eyes.

She laughed. “Ah, ha! Just as I thought.”

The mention of his mother reminded Emmy of the way Mrs. Rawson had ignored her and her needs. The woman hadn’t cared if she ate, much less chaperoned her properly. Offended, Emmy rashly changed her mind. Cuddy was right, proper be hanged. “Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”

“Now you’re talking, sugar.”

Gliding silently down the stairs, careful to make not a sound, guilt niggled the edges of Emmy’s resolve. The swirling stink already raised would seem a trifle against the resulting stench of getting caught sneaking out of the house. Certain she’d taken leave of her senses, Emmy peeked once more toward the kitchen and lower hallway before slipping out the back door.

Growling in her ear, Cuddy caught her around the waist and twirled her away from the house. He caught her wrist and ran, pulling her along behind him. Their laughter stifled to giggles until they reached the barn. Once they stumbled inside, they howled like demented coyotes. Cuddy’s horse stood waiting, already saddled.

Emmy curled a hand on her waist. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, Cuthbert Rawson.”

He grinned over his shoulder then reached for the reins. “Why do you say that?” He scowled. “And don’t call me Cuthbert.”

She waved him off. “Never mind. You’re hopeless.”

Cuddy mounted the horse then freed the stirrup for her. He offered his hand, pausing to hold her suspended at his side. His face inches away, he peered into her eyes. “Get ready for the ride of your life, darlin’.”

Emmy stiffened. Too late, she caught the pungent odor of alcohol on his breath.

Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her up behind him. “Hang on,” he cried and thundered past the wide double doors of the barn into the dark, moonless night.