Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (19 page)

She wondered if it was his damned pride again.
His pride kept him from talking to the McVees
about their son. His pride kept him from asking
for help of any kind. Was it his pride that kept him
silent about Delia? She had to know.

She wearily arched her back. "Why don't you
tell me about you and my sister."

"The story isn't mine to tell-it's Delia's."

She wondered what he could mean. What was
it that he wanted Delia to tell her?

Noble reached down and plucked a sunflower
and pushed it gently into her hair. "Let's talk
about something else, shall we?"

She removed the flower and tossed it aside, then
dropped down on the grass and began to tug on
her boots. "I don't have anything to say to you. I
must get home."

He plucked a blade of grass, gnawed on the end,
watching her closely, his mind envisioning her
beautiful body as it had been that day she'd
stripped off her clothing and joined him in the
river. He felt his body burn with desire and
pushed the feeling aside with difficulty. Now
was not the time to think about that. He smiled to himself. She'd probably shoot him if he even suggested they go for a swim.

"What were you doing in town yesterday?" he
asked, trying to keep her from leaving.

"If you must know, I was picking up some material I'd ordered from the East."

"Ah, a new frock."

"Yes. It's for the fall dance."

He sat up straight. "Do they still have the Harvest Dance?"

"Of course. But why would you care about that?
A Vincente would never attend a town dance. Of
course, you are always invited should you choose
to come. Perhaps our local dances are too common for you?" She pulled on her other boot. "Very
few people of Madragon County ever received an
invitation to a Vincente fiesta."

He stood and offered her his hand. She considered refusing, but decided that would make her
appear childish.

"My father was from the old way of thinking,
Rachel. He believed that a man should not many
or entertain out of his class. I don't even know
what my class is."

"The lofty class," she said archly.

Noble drew her up beside him and gazed at the
light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her
pert little nose. He didn't know why most women
cherished white skin. Rachel was enchanting with
freckles. He wanted to crush her in his arms and
kiss every one of them.

"So," he said at last. "You'll go to the dance and
break every man's heart." His grip tightened on
her hand. "I never asked. Is there any special man
in your life?"

She twisted her hand away from his grip. "That
is none of your affair," she answered shakily.

He laughed and walked to his horse. Thrusting
his boot into the stirrup, he mounted. "By the way,
you wouldn't happen to know why Mr. and Mrs.
McVee showed up at my house today, oozing human kindness? Mrs. McVee brought pies and
cakes and enough jams and jellies for me to open
my own store."

"Why should I know anything about that?"

"I seem to recall spilling my guts to you about
their son's death."

She fastened her gaze on the tip of his black
boot. "If they decided to like you, Noble, then they
are probably misguided in their judgment and will
come to their senses sooner or later."

"Rachel, you are the most baffling female I've
ever come up against. When taking your measure,
I've had to ignore the rules I use to understand
other women. You're like quicksilver that can't be
held or contained. You are totally unpredictable."

"And I'm sure there have been many women
tramping through your life."

With a quick smile he touched the brim of his
hat and nudged his horse in the flanks. "Until next
time, Green Eyes."

As soon as he was out of sight, she retrieved the sunflower he'd put in her hair and held it to her
heart. Why had he come back to Texas? If only
he'd stayed away, she could have spent the rest of
her life hating him.

No, she had never hated him; she knew that
now.

The leather saddle creaked when Rachel shifted
her weight. She nodded her head as she counted
each maverick that was driven into the corral to
be branded. Stray cattle had no brand and belonged to the ranch that put its brand on them. In
years past there had been many head roaming the
open range; now there were so few.

Zeb was beside Rachel, absently helping her
count. His expression told her what she already
knew. "Not many, Miss Rachel."

"Zeb, with Texas under the confining boot of
military law, and taxes being high, cattle are the
one thing that can save or ruin a ranch. In the
East, the price of beef is at a premium."

"Yep. The trick, Miss Rachel, is to get the cattle to a railhead to ship them to the East. We don't
have enough cattle to make it worth our while."

"I know."

"Maybe next year," he said encouragingly.

She fit her booted feet snugly into the stirrups.
"I counted twenty-two, Zeb." She nodded for him
to close the gate. "Not a bad roundup for this time
of year."

The old cowboy removed his hat and scratched
his head. "I 'spect we found these 'cause it's so dry
and they keep coming to the river to water."

Rachel leaned forward in the saddle and
watched her foreman, Tanner Gibbons, throw a
rope over one of the mavericks while another man
wrestled it to the ground and a third applied a redhot branding iron in the shape of a spur. The familiar smell of burning hide assaulted Rachel's
nostrils. With the Broken Spur brand on their
rumps, the cattle belonged to her.

Tanner was tall and slender with light brown
hair and honest gray eyes. He was born to the saddle and was a damned good foreman. He'd lived
his life on the Broken Spur and had risen from
cowhand to foreman. He climbed the fence and
watched with his lady boss.

"I thought I'd move them to the north pasture.
There's some grass there, and it's near enough to
the river." He raised his head and looked at the
cloudless sky. "If it doesn't rain soon, we'll probably lose most of the herd."

Rachel shaded her eyes with a gloved hand. "I know. We've got the Yankees, the drought and the
weather to contend with. I don't know which is
worse." She smiled down at Tanner. "Probably the
Yankees. I expect to hear any day now that they're
building a fort at Tascosa Springs."

Tanner could hardly speak when Rachel looked
at him with those beautiful green eyes. Everyone
on the ranch, except her, knew that he was in love
with her. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he
knew he wasn't good enough for someone like her.
She was quality, and he saw himself as just a
broken-down old cowboy. He had never admired
a woman as much as he did his lady boss. She
could ride neck and neck with any man, rope with
the best of them, and never complain when she
had to ride for hours in the rain. She was from
prime Texas stock. Her pa had brought her up as
he would have a son, and that was all right with
Tanner, because underneath that toughness was
a surefire woman, so beautiful it almost hurt his
eyes to look at her.

He settled deeper into his saddle. Rachel could
have any man she wanted. And he could never tell
her about his feelings for her. He took his courage
in hand and asked, "You going to the dance, Miss
Rachel?" He nervously rotated his hat in his
hands. He wished his voice wouldn't always tremble when he spoke to her about personal matters.

"Of course. Isn't everyone?" She nodded toward
the house. "Even my brother-in-law arrived today
from Austin to attend the event." She arched an eyebrow. "Let's hope he doesn't go into one of his
speeches at the dance."

Tanner nodded. "He's probably going to be
the governor one day. That is if the damned Yankees-" His face reddened and he sought her eyes.
"Sorry, ma'am, if I spoke out of turn. What I
meant to say was, if the Yankees in Washington
ever give us back the vote."

She looked upward and watched buzzards circling toward the east. Probably another calf down,
she thought. They had lost so many. She turned
her attention back to her foreman. "If we are allowed the vote again, you can be sure my brotherin-law will get his share of votes he'll see to that."

"Miss Rachel ma'am." He tried to smile but
his lips quivered and his face reddened.

"Yes, Tanner?"

When he could breathe, he asked, "Would
you... er... could I...?"

She smiled. "I'll be sure and save a dance for
you, Tanner."

"You will, ma'am?" he asked incredulously,
pleasure spreading across every angle of his face.

Whit looked out the window at the scenes of a
working ranch. He could hear the lowing of cattle
and the cowboys' voices as they went about their
day-to-day chores. The Broken Spur was not a big
ranch, but it was important because it backed up
to the Brazos River. That made it important to
Whit because it bordered Casa del Sol, the king of all Texas ranches. In the past, that great ranch had
been responsible for bringing prosperity to Tascosa Springs. The stores had thrived selling supplies to the ranch. The bank had handled all Casa
del Sol's transactions, and the Vincentes had hired
hundreds of men to work the spread. He longed
to stand in Noble Vincente's boots, rather than
standing in his shadow. Every time he looked at
Delia, he was reminded that Noble had been with
her before him, and he hated him for it.

"Whit." Delia twined a golden strand of hair
about her head and secured it with a jeweled
comb. "What are you staring at?"

"A ranch that is run by a woman and thrives
where others have failed. She can't win, though.
She'll be in trouble before next spring."

"What do you mean?"

"The taxes." His eyes narrowed and he turned
back to the window to watch Rachel walk toward
the house. He could clearly see the way her shirt
stretched tight across her breasts and the way the
leather chaps didn't quite hide her soft curves.
"Even with her frantic effort to round up stray
longhorns and mavericks, Rachel will never raise
enough money to pay the taxes on the Broken
Spur."

Delia looked perplexed. "For heaven's sake,
Whit, don't bring up the subject of selling the
ranch to Rachel tonight. She'll be mad all evening
if you do."

Whit moved away from the window and stood behind his wife. His voice was laced with sarcasm
as he watched her artfully apply the merest bit of
rouge to her cheeks. "The time-honored Harvest
Dance. What a fine evening well have, conferring
with old friends. What witty conversations we'll
have with them. How will I endure it?"

Delia grew annoyed. "Sometimes I think you
forget where you come from, Whit. You grew up
in West Texas, your father worked as line foreman
at the Bar C, where you were born. These are your
people. You just forget it when you are in Austin
trying to impress your la-di-da friends there."

Whit had pulled himself out of the mire he'd
been born into. He had a fine house in Austin, a
beautiful wife, and friends of influence. No, he did
not like to be reminded that his father had been a
lowly cowhand. Of course, it sometimes worked
to his advantage when he was garnering votes
from ranchers to remind them that he had once
been part of their world. He had the happy ability
to slip in and out of character to fit the situation
or the people he was with at the time.

His voice was silky smooth and layered with
contempt. "My people are all the citizens of
Texas," he said, settling his hands on her shoulders and looking at her in the mirror. "They love
me, don't you know?"

She held his gaze. "Do you love anyone or anything?"

His hands slipped down to cup her full breasts.
"I desire you, and that's much more powerful than love." He bent to kiss her neck, then pulled her up
to fit her petticoat-clad body against his. "I chose
well when I took you for my wife, Delia." A cruel
light came into his eyes. "Yet your little sister is
turning out to be the real beauty of the family."

Delia pushed him away. "You'll muss my hair."

His voice became taunting when he said, "You
don't like it when I talk about your sister, do you?"
Then his voice became hostile. "You don't like it
at all, do you, hmm?"

Delia turned on him, her eyes blazing with animosity. "I'm aware of your indiscretions, Whit,
and I don't care about your women as long as you
don't flaunt them in my face. But if you go near
my sister, I'll kill you."

He pulled her back into his arms. "I wonder if
your anger comes from wanting to protect Rachel,
or from jealousy. Little Rachel has grown into a
tasty morsel."

"If you ever touch my sister, you'll die." Her eyes
held his. "I mean it, Whit. Leave her alone. She's
not like you and me. She's... special."

His eyes shone with humor. He lifted a bottle of
brandy and poured some into a glass. "What if I
told you I wanted you to be jealous of me? Would
you believe me if I told you I'd never look at another woman if you loved me?"