Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (11 page)

"I already told her that," said Dr. Stanhope,
gripping his bag and moving away.

Noble leaned against the wall and crossed his
arms. "She's afraid of me. She thinks I shot her."

The doctor paused. "She did at first, but not
now."

"Will you remain here until she's well enough
to leave?"

"Can't. But I'll be back tomorrow or the next
day. I'll just slip down to the kitchen and have
some of Margretta's coffee and delicious tortillas.
I'll need to instruct her on how to take care of our
patient."

Noble walked down the stairs, out the front
door into the morning air. He raised his head upward, his gaze tracing the high, thin clouds. Rachel was going to be all right. But somewhere out
there was an unknown assailant who'd shot her.

The prayer he'd tried to say at his father's grave, but couldn't, slipped from between his lips now.
"Thank you, God, for letting her live."

Rachel awoke only once more that day. She witnessed a golden sunset, and heard the mournful
sound of the wind whispering through the trees
outside the double doors.

Margretta entered with a happy smile and a
bowl of thin beef broth. After Rachel had pushed
the bowl away, the housekeeper gave her a spoonful of the foul-tasting medicine, and Rachel fell
asleep.

Later that night, Noble threw a blanket on the
floor of the empty bedroom across the hallway
from Rachel. Although Margretta was sleeping in
the room with her, he wanted to be nearby so he
would hear if Rachel should need him during the
night. And he wanted to make certain that whoever shot her would not get that close again.

He lay down on his back and clasped his hands
behind his head. The big house didn't seem quite
so empty now. There was life here there was Rachel.

He rolled to his side, trying to find a comfortable position. He couldn't shake the guilt that
weighed heavily upon him; Rachel had been shot
because of him. No one would want to harm her.
The bullet had most certainly been meant for him.

He closed his eyes, but they crept open again
and he stared into the darkness, watching the moon play tag with floating clouds. Unable to
sleep, he got up and wandered to the window. Absently he gazed down into the courtyard, listening
to the wind whispering through the trees and the
rustle of dead leaves swirling about in the fountain courtyard. He made a mental note to have
one of Alejandro's sons clean the courtyard tomorrow.

His mind turned again to Rachel. Who would
want him dead badly enough to endanger her life
to get at him?

Hell, it could have been any one of a dozen people. He was certainly not without enemies.

Whoever it was, he'd find them eventually.

Austin, Texas

The butler walked with practiced dignity across
the ornate, red-and-gold Chinese carpet on his
way to the dining room.

In the background, there were sounds of the
house coming to life -a servant waxing the dark
oak banisters, another shining the brass door handles downstairs, while still another washed the
windows. Somewhere in the distance, faint
kitchen sounds filtered into the front part of the
house the banging of pots and pans, the sound
of a chopping knife, the murmured voice of the
head cook giving instructions for the day.

The Chandler residence exuded wealth- although if asked, few people could have said how
Whit Chandler came by his fortune. He was popular with almost everyone Texans, as well as
Yankees. He walked the difficult path of courting
both camps without offending either-a talent he
was proud of Such was Whit's personality that
most people liked him, although, again, none
could have said why. His easy charm, perhaps. His
ability to listen to whoever spoke to him as if that
person had his whole attention. He was likable,
charming, and he did have a beautiful wife, which
didn't hurt.

Delia sat across the table from her husband, observing him as he read the daily newspaper. Whit's
face was angular, handsome in a boyish sort of
way, and he looked much younger than his thirtyfive years. His hair was blond and curly. He had a
slightly crooked nose that had been broken in his
youth, the result of his quick temper - a temper
he'd long since learned to control. His eyes were
deep-set and a nondescript color, somewhere between gray and blue. He was a complex man.
Delia wasn't sure she understood him at all, nor
did she really care to.

Her role was to play the dutiful wife when the
world was watching, and she did that well. It was
easy to fool everyone by pretending to adore her
husband and hang on to his every word as if they
were pearls of wisdom. But within their own
home, they were little more than strangers. Whit
came often enough to her bed, because lovemak ing was the one good thing they shared. But there
was no love between them, at least not on Delia's
part. And Whit had never said he loved her, so she
assumed he didn't not that it mattered.

The butler entered the room, cleared his throat
and held out a silver tray to Whit.

"Good morning, Hamish." Whit smiled as he
took the note, then looked puzzled. "It's from Harvey Briscal."

"That little weasel. I didn't even know he could
write," Delia said with disgust. She leaned closer
to her husband, trying to read the letter, but it was
badly written and most of the words were misspelled. "He's Ira Crenshaw's deputy. I only met
him once, and he impressed me as being a fool. I
didn't like him in the least."

Whit scanned the note and raised his gaze to
Delia. "Dammit," he exploded, glaring at his wife.
"That sister of yours has gone too far this time!"

Delia nodded for Hamish to leave, and waited
until he departed to speak. "What are you talking
about? What's Rachel done now?"

He slid the note across the smooth surface of
the table, and Delia scanned it hastily. "If I read
this correctly, it says she's been wounded"-her
face drained of color-"but it doesn't say how bad
she is or who shot her!" Delia rose quickly to her
feet. "I must go to her at once!"

Whit gripped her arm and jerked her back into
her chair. "Read on."

Her gaze went back to the letter and she sucked in her breath. "It says she is recovering at Casa del
Sol." She looked at Whit with a puzzled expression. "Whatever does it mean? Why would she be
with Noble? She despises him."

"That's exactly what I intend to find out." Whit
threw his napkin forcefully across the table. "Although I have someone watching her, she still
finds a way to get in trouble. It's time I paid your
sister a visit. You surely haven't gotten anywhere
with her. This time you'll remain here and I'll go
to see her. Your sister will ruin us all."

Delia glared at him. "You are too cold-blooded.
My sister's been shot. We don't know how badly,
and all you can think about is how it will affect
you. Well, know this: Rachel's my sister, and not
you or anyone will keep me from going to her
when she needs me. And as for her ruining us,
what about your own family? You never see your
mother or your brother. You never invite them
here. They're the only family you have left, and
you act as if you are ashamed of them."

Whit's forehead furrowed with a frown, and his
blond eyebrows almost met across the bridge of
his nose. "I admit my family will never be a part
of my life." He smiled, not with humor but with
cruelty. "Do you think I don't know that my
brother, Frank, always lusted after you? He
wanted you, but I got you, God help me."

Delia dropped her gaze. "I have to pack if I'm
going to leave this morning."

Whit's eyes narrowed. "I don't want you to go near Noble, do you understand me? He's probably
still in love with you."

Delia continued to keep her eyes averted so he
wouldn't read her thoughts he was good at reading people's thoughts, and especially hers. She
had allowed Whit to think that Noble had once
loved her, but it wasn't true; it never had been.

Wanting to change the subject, she pushed Harvey Briscal's note back toward whit and said,
"Have you set this man to watching Rachel? If you
have, I don't like it. Is your spy the deputy?"

"That's none of your concern. But if Rachel isn't
watched, who can say what she'll do next? She has
no regard for what I'm trying to do for this state."

"What are you trying to do for Texas?" Delia
asked, avoiding his hand when he reached out for
her. "I thought you were doing it all to line your
own pockets. And you've done quite well there,
haven't you?"

He pretended not to hear her. "Your sister could
ruin everything if she's playing the harlot with Noble. The Rutledge sisters seem to have a thing for
Spanish blood, do you not-hmm?"

Anger started in the pit of Delia's stomach and
burned a path upward, until her face was flushed.
"How dare you say such a thing to me? Rachel is
not like that. And you know she despises Noble."

Whit walked across the room, leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb and stared at her.
"What upsets you most about this, Delia? Your sis ter's reputation or the fact that Noble might be in
bed with her right now?"

"Don't go on with this, Whit."

He was silent for a moment as if he were pondering his next words carefully. Whit never said
or did anything without thinking about it first. A
mask slid across his face, and he glanced at Delia
with a dreadful intentness that made her shudder.
"Go get your sister and take her back to the Broken Spur, but stay away from Noble-is that understood?"

Delia walked over to him. "Ill take her home.
And remain with her until I know she's all right."

"And you won't see Noble alone?"

"Why pretend you're so upset, Whit? You don't
care what I do as long as I do it quietly and secretly, and don't upset your election plans."

He grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her and
brought her face close to his. "You know nothing
about my feelings. As long as I keep you in jewels
and expensive gowns, you're happy. You have no
notion just how much it costs me to keep you
happy, my dear." He flung her away. "Don't you
ever question where the money comes from, or
what I have to do to get it?"

"Go to hell!" She rubbed her bruised wrist. "I
don't want to know your dirty little secrets."

His smile was humorless and somehow frightening. "I undoubtedly shall, but I'll take you with
me." His gaze took on a faraway look. "I'm sure
your precious Noble is already in hell. He's no longer the studhorse for simpering young girls to
dream about. He's touched the ground like the
rest of us without his father's money, he's just
another mortal."

Delia looked at him with new understanding.
"You are jealous of Noble. I knew you hated him,
but I never realized that you were envious of him."

"Why should I be?" He took out his pocket
watch and gauged the time, trying to act casual,
but she saw that his hand shook. "Think what I
have and look at what he doesn't have, and then
tell me I envy him."

"What do you have?"

He made a wide sweep with his hand. "Why, my
dear, I have all this and you. Noble has lost everything. He's hated and despised by his neighbors,
and most probably he'll soon lose Casa del Sol. If
I get my hands on the Broken Spur, it's just a matter of time before I take over Casa del Sol as well."

He started to move away and she fell in step
beside him. "You are crazed, Whit. Do you hate
him so much?"

"Hating someone takes too much time. I'm
merely happy to see Noble finally get what he deserves."

"His father was good to you. Don't forget he
paid for you to go to that fancy Eastern law
school. If it hadn't been for the Vincente money,
you wouldn't be where you are today."

"Yes, Noble's father paid for me to go to school.
It seemed that the Vincentes liked to do charity work I was Don Reinaldo Vincente's good deed.
I admit that I owe my law degree to him, but I
have never been grateful to him. I got where I am
because of my brain, Delia." He tapped his head.
"My brain!"

"You hated living on Vincente charity, didn't
you? Even now it sticks in your throat like bile.
So you aren't so brilliant after all."

"I can still feel the humiliation of writing all
those glowing letters of my progress to Don Reinaldo Vincente, so the old man would continue to
pay my expenses. When I earned my degree, I was
glad that I no longer had to live on Vincente
money."

"Just think where you'd be today but for their
money. You'd probably be living in a sod hut with
your family."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't think so."

"I understand why you hate Noble. But his father was good to you."

Bitterness laced Whit's words. "I was never once
invited to their ranch. When they had dealings
with me, it came through a paid sycophant. Well,
I used them to suit my purpose that's all."

"Just as you've used me?"