Emmy's Equal (26 page)

Melatha reached around Kate’s waist while gently lowering the arm holding the gun, all the while cooing comfort in her ear. Kate’s shoulders went limp, and Melatha guided her toward the house.

At the door, the distraught woman lifted startled eyes and spun away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t allow him to live.”

She bolted down the steps with the pistol, passing a cowering Felipe and sailing across the yard with the hem of her robe flapping behind her.

Melatha screamed for Felipe to get help then lit out after her. “Kate, please! Don’t do this thing.”

Not even glancing behind her, Kate disappeared inside the barn. Bounding toward the wide doorway, Melatha prayed for wings on her feet. She dashed inside and froze, holding her breath.

Kate stood before Faron’s stall with the gun trained on him.

Dark as pitch in the shadowy barn, Faron held his nose high, the agitated toss of his head flashing pinpoints of light from his black mane. His ears were pinned back and his wide stare revealed the glowing whites of his eyes. In that moment, Faron looked the part of a devil.

Melatha inched forward. “Kate, don’t. This act will haunt you all your days.”

Kate cocked the hammer.

Faron reared.

Melatha covered her eyes and opened her mouth to scream.

Something tore past her in a
whoosh.
Startled, she opened her eyes.

Isi, his outstretched arms reaching for Kate Rawson, dove. A blast from the pistol rocked the barn.

The wagon bumped along the uneven ground, tossing Willem’s body like corkwood. Magda held his head, trying with little success to hold it steady. She bobbed to see Bertha between the slats of the rear seat. “This isn’t going to work! We’re going to kill him.”

Bertha looked over her shoulder. “This is a rough patch, honey. We’ll be past it soon.” She turned to the front, but her voice carried to Magda. “I see a clear spot just ahead.”

“Hurry and reach it then,” Magda cried.

“If I hurry, you’ll both be tossed out on your ears.”

Fighting tears, Magda let her little finger slide to the back of Willem’s head to probe around the wound for signs of infection. She felt no extra heat or excess swelling in the area and breathed a sigh of relief. She made a mental note to give him a bit of water when they stopped. If she tried it now, she’d likely drown him.

Magda studied his serene face and a smile tugged at her lips. Her husband’s Scandinavian roots had sprouted a fine figure of a man in Willem Dane. Despite attempts to keep him shaded, the sun he staunchly avoided due to his pale complexion had found him in South Texas. It had reddened his cheeks to a rosy glow and masked the deathly white pallor of the day before. Dark lines beneath his eyes and a thin white ring around his blush-colored lips were the only signs of his current distress.

She leaned to kiss him gently on the mouth, and his lack of response broke her heart.

“Magda,” Bertha called. “That ain’t no clearing ahead.” She paused. “Honey, I think it’s a road.”

Rising to her knees, Magda strained to see past Bertha. “Are you sure? That would be an answer to prayer.”

Bertha let out a whoop. “Get busy thanking God then, because it’s a road.”

“Where?”

“Just a few yards in front of us.” She twisted on the seat. “But don’t get your hopes up until we make sure it’s going our way.”

Magda held Willem’s head, and despite Bertha’s warning, clung to her hope until the uneven ground gave way to a smooth track for the wheels.

Bertha pulled back on the reins and set the brake.

Relieved to let go of Willem’s head, Magda shook the cramps out of her arms and scooted off the end of the wagon.

They met in the middle of the dirt road that stretched for miles in both directions.

“Well?” Magda asked.

“It’s headed east, all right.” She peered up at the sun. “At least I think.”

“You think? What kind of answer is that?”

Bertha swatted the air behind her and walked a few steps. “I ain’t good at reading the sky, but, Magda, it must be.”

Turning, she gazed in the other direction. “It has to be the road connecting El Indio with Carrizo Springs.” She slapped her leg. “I’d bet my last dollar, which means we’ll be within shouting distance of the Twisted-R before nightfall.”

They stared at each other for a second while the information sank in. Bertha pulled up her skirt and danced an Irish jig on the hard-packed ground while Magda laughed and kept time with her hands.

Sobering, she caught Bertha’s arm. “Stop that before you have a stroke. In this heat, it ain’t safe.”

Breathing hard, Bertha bent at the waist, panting. “Why didn’t you say that sooner?” She looked up and grinned. “You might be too late.”

Hustling to the rig, Magda reached over the side for the canteen and brought it to Bertha. “Have a sip of water before I give Willem some, and then we’d better get going.”

Still clutching her side, Bertha twisted off the top then gave the canteen a little shake. “This sure feels light. Better hand me a full one.”

Magda dug in the box where they kept the canteens, testing the weight of them and growing more upset with each one she lifted. “They’re all light.” She spun to stare at Bertha. “I think they’re empty.”

Bertha lowered her head and gave Magda a menacing look. “That can’t be. I told you to fill them.”

Magda waved her finger back and forth. “No, you didn’t. You said
you
filled them.”

Running to see for herself, Bertha buried her arms in the wooden box, tossing the empty containers like a crazed juggler. Turning, she gave Magda a scorching glance. “What sort of dim-witted stunt have we pulled?”

The enormity of the situation slammed Magda between the eyes. A mix-up had cost them six canteens of water. “Check the drums John brought for the horses.”

Bertha shook her head and rattled the barrel. “Empty. I heard him say so. He planned to fill them before we left the river.”

Magda’s eyes darted to Willem. She raised her head and squinted at the blazing overhead sun. “Bertha, this is awful.”

Reading the panic on her face, Bertha patted her arm. “Don’t fret, now. We’re bound to run across a creek or something.” Glancing at the canteen still in her hand, she licked her dry lips and held it out to Magda. “Meanwhile, we save every drop for Willem.”

Magda placed her hand on the life-giving gift. “But you’re thirsty.”

Bertha shoved it away. “For Willem.”

Diego raised himself to his elbows then sprang to his feet and leaned over Mrs. Rawson. “Are you all right, ma’am?” He glanced at Faron. The frantic horse paced his stall.

Mrs. Rawson huddled on the ground crying softly, ignoring him.

Cuddy knelt behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll take it from here, Diego. See about Faron.”

The horse’s name triggered hysterical wails from the prone woman. She pushed off the ground and staggered from the barn with Cuddy and Diego’s mother at her side.

Diego hurried to the stall. Faron still snorted and pawed but settled down some when Diego slipped inside and began to slide his hands over the horse’s body. He explored every inch of the trembling stallion, checking his fingers often for any sign of blood.

Emmy stood at the door, gripping the top slat with white-knuckled fingers.

Little Pete stood beside her, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets. Watching Diego check Faron, Pete moaned and shifted from side to side. “It’s my fault, Diego. If I’d told you sooner...”

Diego spared a tight smile for Pete then returned his attention to Faron. “Nonsense. It’s no one’s fault.”

Greta, her eyes wide with fright, hurried inside the barn with Diego’s mother on her heels. The women stared toward Faron.

“Is he all right?” Diego’s mother asked.

Diego gazed at her in wonder. “There’s not a mark on him.”

“Thank God!”

He grinned. “I already have.”

Greta reached for Emmy’s hand. “I’m so glad, Diego.”

Diego returned her warm smile. “So am I. For your mother’s sake as much as Faron’s.” He gave Faron one last pat, signaling for Pete to take over his care, and stepped out of the stall. He walked to Greta and gave a slight bow. “I pray I didn’t harm your mother.”

Greta bit her bottom lip. “She’s fine. Physically, at least.” The wistful smile disappeared, replaced by despair. “Do you think my father’s really dead?”

Emmy’s arm went around her shoulders. “We refuse to think it. Cuddy says Faron got away from your father and came home, that’s all. He’s convinced our parents and my aunt Bertha are having a high old time in Eagle Pass.”

“Do you believe him?”

Emmy gave her a gentle squeeze. “I choose to believe it for now. I suggest you do the same.”

Helplessness welled in Greta’s eyes. “So we’re just going to sit here and wait for them to return?”

Diego shook his head. “No, Greta. In fact, I’ll be heading out to search for them again as soon as I get a bath and a couple of hours’ sleep.” He stretched and glanced at his mother. “I wouldn’t mind a bite of food.”

She dipped her head and hurried for the door.

Diego smiled and nodded after her. “That means I’d better hurry. She’ll expect me to arrive clean at her table, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Emmy latched onto his arm as he passed. “What time do we leave?”

Diego stiffened. He had dreaded the question. Facing her, determination sharpened his tone. “Not this time.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not coming this time.”

Her searching gaze bored under his skin. “What are you saying? Of course I’m coming.”

He tried to fill his voice with authority. “I’m taking Pete with me this time. We can make better time alone.”

Emmy’s fingers tightened on his arm. “Wait a minute. What about Cuddy?”

“Since Cuddy needs to stay behind and tend his mother, he’ll be in charge of the ranch.”

She released him, her eyes like burning coals. “Who are you to make these decisions for us? You have no right.”

He drew in a breath to help calm his anger. It didn’t work. “This country’s too rough for you, Emmy. There’s no place in South Texas for frills and piled-up hair.”

She drew back and glared. “You don’t waste words, do you?”

He wanted to shake her. “Don’t you remember the condition you were in last night? You could hardly walk and fell asleep the first time you laid your head down.”

She dropped her gaze.

“At the first hint of bad news, I had to carry you inside the house.”

She flinched.

He wished he’d bitten his tongue before adding the last part, but he had to make her see.

She stood silent, offering no more resistance.

He nodded toward Little Pete. “Get some rest. We’re pulling out in four hours. We’ll be heading to El Indio then along the river to Eagle Pass. They’d take that route if they were driving cattle. We’ll circle back around to Carrizo from there. I think we’ll know something by then.” Striding from the barn, he stopped on the threshold. “And Pete...”

“Señor?”

“Have Faron saddled and ready.”

“Sí, señor.”

Emmy stormed from the barn, raging fury stealing her peace, her good sense, her very breath. Seeking privacy, she circled the house and sat in the shade of the seldom-used front porch, gulping to breathe and struggling to compose herself.

Self-disappointment burned hotter than her anger toward Diego. There would be no more rash threats to borrow a horse and search for her parents alone. She was weak, a failing she couldn’t deny after the last two days. Diego had merely shined a light on her limitations. But if he knew what she’d finally admitted to herself—that she couldn’t find Mama and Papa without him—how could he so cruelly deny her?

The front door opened and Cuddy stepped out. “Mind a little company?”

Emmy gaped at him. “How did you know I was here?”

He hooked his thumb toward the house. “We have windows, and you were hard to miss. You shot past the parlor blowing enough steam to boil potatoes.”

She grimaced. “I could still simmer a couple.”

He chuckled. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Emmy considered not telling him. Why make it easy for Diego? Let him gaze at Cuddy with steel in his jaw and explain how he’d made all his decisions for him.

Cuddy angled his head and peered at her. “Why am I certain this has something to do with Diego?”

Propping her elbows on her knees, she hid her face in her hands. “You’re only half right.” She peeked at him. “I’m just as mad at myself.”

He reached for her hand. “No one should get mad at you.” He grinned. “Not even you.”

Swiveling toward him, she groaned. “You won’t be in a joking mood when I tell you what’s about to happen.”

Suddenly serious, he squeezed her fingers. “Tell me.”

“In four hours, Diego’s headed for Eagle Pass to find our parents.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t think he’d wait that long, but—”

“We’re not invited.”

He lifted his brows. “What?”

“Diego decided I can’t handle the trail, and he thinks you’re needed here.”

Color flooded Cuddy’s freckled cheeks. He closed his eyes, tightening his fingers around hers. “He decided that, did he?” He scowled. “That’s our Diego. If you’re ever short on opinions, he has one to spare.”

He faced her and took her other hand. “How tired are you?”

She took a quick breath. “Me? I’m too wound up to be tired.”

“How would you like to accompany me to Eagle Pass?”

“But Diego won’t let—”

“You said Diego’s leaving in four hours. I can be ready to go in three. How about you?”

She stared. “Really, Cuddy?”

He nodded, his eyes twinkling.

“What about the ranch?”

He waved off her concern. “Diego trained his men well. They can run the Twisted-R for a few days. Besides”—he sneered—“unlike Diego, I wouldn’t care if the earth opened up and swallowed this place.”

“And your mother? Shouldn’t you be here with her? Diego said she needed you to take care of her.”

“She has Greta.” He glanced away. “Besides, the best thing I can do for her right now is find my father.”

Emmy sighed, excited and afraid at the same time. “I don’t know, Cuddy. Aren’t you exhausted?”

He rolled his shoulders. “A little sore but not tired. I’ve perfected the art of sleeping in the saddle.”

She laughed and gripped his hands. “Are you sure we should do this?”

He drew back and gave her a sideways look. “Oh, yes. Very sure. Are you in?”

She leaped to her feet, pulling him with her. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “Yes! Oh, Cuddy, this means so much to me.”

He gave her one more squeeze then set her at arm’s length. “Go get ready, then.”

She gave him a jaunty salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Emily?”

She turned.

“I’ll meet you right here in three hours with the horses. I’ll have Rosita pack our provisions, but don’t forget to bring plenty of socks.”

“Plenty of socks.” She grinned. “Good thinking.”

She threw open the door and hurried into the parlor.

Rosita, pretending to dust the low table in front of the window, shot her a frosty glare. She’d obviously seen everything—the laughter, the handholding, the kiss—and pinned her own interpretation to each detail.

So be it, let her think what she would. Emmy had grown tired of trying to sway the woman’s opinion.

Lifting her chin and adding a little extra strut to her step, Emmy flounced from the room.