Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (3 page)

"Would you shoot me, amigo?" Noble asked.

Noble watched astonishment cross the old
man's wrinkled face, followed by an expression of
disbelief and then joy. Alejandro was tall and slender, and his hair was as white as his mustache; his
eyes were so dark that they were almost black.

"Senor Noble! God be praised. You have come
home at last!"

Noble answered in Spanish. "Is this any way for
you to welcome me home, Alejandro? Would you
mind if I lowered my arms now?"

The old man's leathery face was transformed by
an expression of happiness, and he pushed a
shock of white hair out of his face, while his once
brilliant eyes glittered with tears. "I waited for you
each day. I never gave up hope that you would
return, Patron"

Noble laid his hand on the gran vaquero's shoulder as the significance of his words hit him hard
and confirmed what he'd suspected but didn't
want to believe. Alejandro would never address
him as Patron unless his father was dead.

His took several deep breaths before he could
speak. "Where are my father and my sister,
amigo?"

Alejandro sadly shook his head. "I am grieved
to tell you that your papa has been dead these last
two months. He was very ill for a long time." Alejandro wiped a tear from his cheek Patron, he tried so hard to stay alive so he could see you
again, but he was too weak. It was almost a blessing when he no longer had to suffer."

Grief knotted inside Noble like a fist twisting,
turning, pounding against his heart. He tried to
speak, but it took him a moment to find his voice.
"You were with him until the end?"

"Si, Patron."

Noble wanted to strike out at the injustice of it
all. He should have been with his father in his final
days, but he'd been too consumed by his own troubles. Self-loathing coiled like a poisonous viper inside him. "Did he ask for me?"

"Every day, Patron, while his mind was clear. At
the end, he spoke only to your good mother as if
he could see her in the room with him. I like to
think they are together now."

"And my sister?"

"When your father became ill, he sent Senorita
Saber to your great-aunt in Georgia. She begged
your papa not to send her away, but he would not
give in to her. It is good that she was not here to
see his decline. It would have broken her heart."

Noble tried to imagine what his Saber would
look like as a young woman. She was the only
family he had left, and he needed to see her.

"Senorita Saber should be sent for, Patron" Alejandro said as if he'd read Noble's mind. "This is
her home and she needs you."

"Does she know about my father's" Noble could hardly bring himself to say the word
"death?"

"Si, Patron."

Noble made a gesture around the room. "There
isn't much for her to come home to, amigo. It
looks like thieves took whatever they didn't destroy. But you are right, Saber must come home.
I shall post a letter asking my Great-aunt Ellen to
make arrangements to send her home. But not
right away."

"Senorita Saber will be so happy to see you
again. She did not want to leave, fearing you
would come home and she wouldn't be here for
you.,,

"How can I allow her to come home to this?"
Noble said dispiritedly. "I must make the house
habitable before she can return."

Alejandro managed to smile, and said with satisfaction, "Patron, the looters who came to Casa
del Sol did not take so much, although they tried.
When your papa became confined to his bed, he
had me hide the valuables. Much of the furniture
is in the hayloft-some in the bunkhouse."

"My mother's piano?" Noble didn't know why
that was so important to him when there were
many things that were more valuable than the piano. He could see Saber as a child, climbing up
on the piano stool with her chubby legs dangling
and her tiny hands banging away at the keys.

"It is safe." The old man shook his head. "Men
drunken men bent on mischief-came many times, shooting out windows and rummaging
through the house. But when my sons and I returned their gunfire, the cowards came no more.
They rustled most of the cattle, though. We saved
less than a hundred head, and they took all but
five horses." Alejandro lowered his gaze. "It is my
shame that I failed you."

Noble felt a rush of affection for the man who
had stayed at Casa del Sol when everyone else had
gone. He could only guess at the difficulties Alejandro and his family had faced. His voice caught
when he said, "You did more than anyone could
expect. I am indebted to you and your family, Alejandro."

"You are home, Patron, and that is thanks
enough for me. My wife, Margretta, kept your
room just the way you left "it." Alejandro looked
somewhat unsure. "You are going to stay?" Fervent hope shone in his dark eyes. "You will not go
away again?"

Suddenly Noble felt the weight of his responsibilities, and knew what his father would expect
from him. "No, amigo. I am home to stay."

"We will make Casa del Sol great again," Alejandro said with a wide smile. "When the other vaqueros learn that you have come home, then they
will return, Patron" The gran vaquero watched his
Patron's eyes take on a tortured look.

"I can't pay them wages, Alejandro." Noble swallowed hard. "I can't even pay you."

Alejandro's expression became indignant. "Pay! What are these words coming from you? This is
my home, as it is yours! I was born here and my
papa before me, and his papa came from Spain
with your grandpapa. It is the same with many of
the others. They will return because they have always worked for the Patrons of Casa del Sol."

Noble turned away and stared through the jagged glass of the broken window, wishing he could
express his gratitude but unable to speak for a moment. Finally he said softly, "It will not be easy,
Alejandro."

"You have but to tell me what to do, and it shall
be done."

Noble pivoted, meeting Alejandro's questioning
gaze. "First we need to rebuild the herd. We will
also need horses, and that takes money."

Alejandro grew sober and nodded in agreement.
"Your papa wrote you a letter. Perhaps there is
something in it that will help you."

When Alejandro hurried away, Noble moved to
the window and stared out at the dusty courtyard.
How would he ever take his father's place? He was
not wise or dedicated as his father had been. But
he owed his best to the Vincentes, who had died
carving this ranch out of the wilderness. He owed
it to his father to save Casa del Sol.

Alejandro returned, puffing to catch his breath.
"Here is the letter, Patron. Read what your papa
said to you. Everything will be good again-you
will see. They can't beat you; you are too much
like your papa to let anyone defeat you."

Noble looked about the dust-covered room, trying to imagine it as it once had been. "I hope
you're right."

"There are many who will try to stop you," Alejandro warned.

"Let them come; they have already done their
worst." Pain cut through him, which he tried to
conceal by concentrating on opening his father's
letter. He was determined never to be taken unaware again, and he would never, never trust a
woman.

His father's handwriting was shaky and the paper was splotched with ink. Noble had trouble
reading the scribbled words.

My son,

If you read this I shall be dead. Do not
grieve for me, but take your rightful place as
Patron of Casa del Sol. Hold on tightly to what
belongs to you, and let no man take your heritage away from you. I have placed money in
a bank in New Orleans. Contact attorney-atlaw George Nunn in New Orleans. He is a
man of integrity, so put complete trust in him.
Mr. Nunn has a copy of my will and he will
direct you in any of your needs. Send for your
sister as soon as you feel it is safe to bring her
home. Keep together what is left of the family. My body and soul have left this earth, but
my heart walks with you.

I love and honor you, my son.

Noble stared at the page a long time. He felt as
if his father had spoken to him from beyond the
grave; it fired his blood and gave him the courage
he needed to do what had to be done.

He wondered why his father had chosen to deal
with an attorney in New Orleans rather than in
Texas. He slipped the letter into the envelope and
placed it in his breast pocket.

"Who can I trust to go to New Orleans for me,
Alejandro?"

The gran vaquero didn't hesitate. "My eldest son,
Tomas, can go for you, Patron. He is very responsible."

"Send him to me at once. I shall draw up the
necessary papers for him. Can he leave within the
week?"

"Si, Patron. You give the order and he will obey."

Noble shook his head. "I hope I can be the man
my father expected me to be, Alejandro."

"Cada quien construye su propio destino, Patron."

"Si, amigo, we do make our own destiny."

Rachel dismounted and tossed her horse's reins to
Zeb, the old cowhand who had worked for Broken
Spur Ranch for over forty years. As much a part
of the ranch as the land itself, Zeb was bent and
aging, his hands misshapen and gnarled. When it
had become impossible for him to keep pace with
the younger cowhands, Rachel had put him in
charge of the horses, which suited him just fine.
Zeb loved horses, and they responded to the gentle
care administered by those misshapen hands.

Zeb gave her a wide grin, which showed that
most of his teeth were missing. Long white hair
touched his shoulders when he respectfully removed his dusty hat, slapping it against his bowed
leg. "Sure is a scorcher today, Miss Rachel." He patted the rump of her lathered horse. "Looks like
you've been riding hell-bent in this heat." There
was no reproach in his voice; he knew if Rachel
had ridden her horse hard, there must have been
a good reason. "I'll just give Faro a good rubdown
and cool her off slow-like."

Rachel's mind had already settled on other matters, and she gave Zeb the merest nod before
entering the ranch house. Winna Mae, the housekeeper and cook, came out of the kitchen, wiping
her hands on her apron.

Rachel had been twelve the winter her father
had found Winna Mae by the river, half-frozen,
severely beaten, and with horrible burn scars on
her arms and hands. Her father had brought her
to the ranch house to recover. When Winna Mae
had regained her health, it seemed only natural
for her to remain at Broken Spur as cook and
housekeeper. Her hands were never idle, and she
ruled the house as though it was her domain. Few
people ever dared to tangled with her.

Not much was known about Winna Mae's past.
No one questioned her about it, and she never volunteered any information. Her dark skin and high
cheekbones suggested that she could be half Indian. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and
she wore it in a tight bun. Her face reminded Rachel of the map hanging in the back of the schoolroom-the lines reflecting the hard life she'd led,
the sadness she'd known, the pain she tried to
hide.

To Rachel, Winna Mae was invaluable, and she
didn't know what she would have done without
her, especially in the months following her father's death.

Winna Mae nodded toward the narrow staircase. "Your sister's here. Said she's resting and
don't want anyone to bother her."

Rachel removed her gloves and hat and dropped
them onto a leather settee, disdainfully rolling her
eyes and wishing she didn't have to face her sister
today of all days. "Delia never comes to Broken
Spur unless she's displeased about something or
she wants something."

Winna Mae merely nodded and made her way
back to the kitchen.

Rachel knew why Delia had come all the way
from Austin in this heat. For the last two years
Delia had been pressuring her to sell Broken Spur
to Delia's husband, Whit, and she'd probably
come today to renew that argument.

Reluctantly, Rachel climbed the stairs, berating
herself because she'd had Nobel in her gun sights
and had allowed him to just ride away. Her shoulders sagged with weariness. She had broken the
promise that she'd made at her father's grave site.
Gathering her composure, she knocked on the
door of the bedroom that had been her sister's before she'd married Whit Chandler and moved to
Austin - a room always kept in readiness for
Delia's infrequent visits.

An irritated voice bade her enter. Rachel found her sister, stripped down to her petticoat, lying
across the bed and fanning herself with a silk and
ivory fan.

"Why is it so hot?" Delia asked plaintively as she
flipped tresses of golden hair from her face. "I can
scarcely draw breath."

Rachel walked to the heavy green curtains and
forcefully jerked them aside, then shoved open the
window. "If you'd let in some fresh air, it wouldn't
be so hot, Delia."

"I'm accustomed to servants doing that for me.
Winna Mae never sees to my comfort. I don't
know why you kept her here after Papa died. I
don't like looking at her scarred hands they're
horrible and make me shudder."