Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (4 page)

"Winna Mae has more things to do than see to
your comfort, Delia. And you know that I keep her
because I need her and this is her home. As for
her hands being scarred, have you no pity? Something dreadful must have happened to her."

Delia frowned. "She never did like me, and I
don't care for her either. And no, I don't pity her;
she has you to do that for her."

Rachel gathered her thoughts before she answered. "Winna Mae treats everyone the same.
You just don't understand her."

Delia eased herself to a sitting position while
gazing disapprovingly at the way her sister was
dressed. Rachel wore a dusty green shirt, chaps
and scuffed brown boots. Her red-gold hair, which she'd gotten from their father, was windblown and tangled about her face.

Delia realized for the first time that Rachel was
pretty, almost beautiful with her unusual green
eyes and delicate features. Of course she was tall
for a female, and if that didn't chase the men
away, her temper or her manner of dress certainly
would.

"Why do you insist on dressing like a man, Rachel? For God's sake, can't you take a little pride
in yourself? If you don't care what people think
about you, you might at least consider me and
Whit. After all, everything you do reflects on us,
and could affect his chances to run for governor
when the time comes."

Rachel took in an impatient breath and scoffed,
"With a Yankee military governor sitting in the
capitol building, and Texans unable to vote, I'd
like to see how Whit accomplishes that feat."

"Well," Delia said irritably, fanning herself with
renewed vigor. "When Texas is admitted back into
the Union, which it will be, Whit intends to be the
first elected governor since that awful war ended."

"Texas is nothing more than a Yankee stronghold," Rachel stated with distaste. "I'm not so sure
well ever be free of Washington's yoke, or if we'll
see free elections in our lifetime."

"That's what little you know. Whit has cultivated the friendship of the right people. Our
friends believe that Texas could be readmitted to
the Union as early as three years from now. Whit intends to lead Texas into a bright new future
when that happens."

Rachel could almost hear Whit spouting those
words to anyone who would listen to him. "I never
was quite sure if Whit was a Yankee sympathizer
or if he was loyal to the Confederacy." There was
a stilted pause before Rachel said, "He never quite
makes his loyalties clear, does he?"

"That's called politics, sister dear. You play one
side against the other and you go with the winner." Delia skillfully turned the conversation back
to Rachel. "The last thing Whit needs is his sisterin-law flouting convention and riding about the
countryside like a hellion."

Rachel had heard this argument before; undaunted, she walked to the other side of the room
and shoved open another window to allow a cross
breeze to circulate through the room. She was in
no mood to be lectured today.

"A ranch the size of Broken Spur doesn't run
itself. Papa made it my responsibility, and if the
way I dress offends your husband, I just don't
care!

Delia yawned and stretched her arms over her
head. "Whit's still willing to take the responsibility
of the ranch off your shoulders, but you're so determined to do everything yourself. Look at you;
you're as brown as an Indian browner than
Winna Mae."

Rachel dropped down on the bed beside her sister, trying to see her through the eyes of a man. Delia was incredibly beautiful, with golden hair,
a creamy complexion and big, cornflower blue
eyes. She'd inherited their mother's soft beauty as
well as her slender and petite form. Rachel felt
clumsy compared to her sister, but she didn't envy
her-she loved her too much.

"If only I could make you understand how I feel
about the ranch, Delia. Papa put his heart and
soul into Broken Spur he and Mama are buried
here. It's my home, and I won't sell it to anyone.
Not even your husband."

Delia studied a broken nail with a pensive
frown. "I don't understand or forgive Papa for
leaving the ranch to you. It's a humiliation that I'll
never get over, and neither will Whit."

"Papa knew how much you hated the ranch and
how much I loved it. It's as simple as that, Delia.
He left you the house in town which you soldand most of his other holdings. As I recall, when
his will was first read, you were happy enough
about the arrangement."

"Maybe, but since then, Whit has convinced me
that Broken Spur is the jewel in the crown." Delia's eyes became misty. "Papa always liked you
better than me, Rachel you know he did. That's
why he left you Broken Spur."

Rachel had a sudden rush of affection for her
sister, who could be so childlike at times, needing
everyone's approval and attention. Their father
had made no secret of the fact that Rachel was his
favorite. "This will always be your home, Delia you know that. You can come here as often as you
like and stay as long as you want."

Delia's expression hardened. "I resent your
stubbornness, Rachel. Wouldn't you like to be free
of tiresome obligations that go with running a
ranch this size? Just think you could do anything you desired. You always said you'd like to
travel. You could visit San Francisco. You could
come to Austin and stay with us. You would be a
sensation! There isn't a woman in town who can
match your beauty. You could have your pick of
beaus."

"Try to understand, Delia; I don't want to leave
here. If I sold Broken Spur to Whit, it would be
like selling a part of Papa, and I'll never do that."

Delia gripped her sister's shoulders and said
heatedly, "Let the dead go, Rachel. I have."

"Never!"

Seeing the anger reflected in Rachel's green
eyes, Delia released her hold. Rachel had a fiery
temper to match her red hair, and it wasn't wise
to provoke her not if she was ever going to convince her to sell Broken Spur.

"How can you even suggest such a thing?" Rachel asked passionately. "I won't rest until Papa's
murderer lies six feet under." She sprang off the
bed and walked to the door, then paced back to
her sister.

"He's back."

Delia was puzzled. "Who?"

"Noble Vincente."

Delia leaped from the bed, her heart thundering.
"Noble's home? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I saw him."

"I knew he'd come back." A smug smile curved
Delia's lips. "I knew Noble couldn't stay away from
Texas for much longer."

Rachel studied her sister closely: Delia's eyes
were bright and her face was flushed with excitement. At one time Delia had fancied herself in love
with Noble, and that was the beginning of all the
trouble that had led to their father's death.

"I could have killed him today. I had him in my
rifle sights, and I just let him ride away."

Delia gripped Rachel's shoulder and swung her
around so forcefully that Rachel winced in pain.

"I don't want Noble hurt do you understand
me?" She shook Rachel hard. "Remember that
any scandal that touches this family will ruin
Whit's chances to win the election."

Rachel pushed her sister away and glared at
her. "You are the last one to worry about scandal
after what happened between you and Noble.
You're fortunate that the gossips didn't find out,
or Whit's political career would be over before it
started."

"You're cruel to bring up the past, Rachel. I
don't want to think about it."

"Be warned that when the time is right, I'll bring
Noble Vincente to his knees. Just how I accomplish that is for me to decide." She smiled secretively, suddenly aware that she was baiting her
sister, and worse still, that she was enjoying it. "I
might let Noble live and wound him to the heart.
He always had an eye for a pretty girl maybe
that's the weapon I'll use against him. What do
you think, Delia: am I pretty enough for him?"

Delia laughed scornfully. "You, pitted against
Noble? I don't think so, little sister. What will you
wear to entice him your usual male attire? Noble wouldn't even notice you as a woman." Her
eyes swept over Rachel. "Besides, you know nothing about a man like Noble, and he surely
wouldn't be interested in someone like you."

"As I recall, he wasn't too interested in you either." Rachel watched the color drain from her
sister's face. "He smiled at you, flirted a little, and you fell into his arms, giving him everything he
wanted. Noble didn't love you or he would have
married you when he learned you were going to
have his baby."

Delia lowered her lashes, looking like a
wounded bird. "I made a mistake but I've paid for
it. God knows I've paid and paid."

Rachel felt a rush of pity for Delia and softened
her tone. "Noble didn't care about you or the baby.
Even now he probably wouldn't even care that you
lost the child."

"You don't understand; it wasn't his fault."

Rachel had tired long ago of Delia's defense of
Noble. "You should be thinking about your husband. I don't like Whit much, but at least he married you and made sure that no one knew about
the baby."

"And you are too quick to condemn Noble for
our father's death, when the law found no evidence that he shot Papa."

Rachel looked thoughtfully at her sister. "Most
of our friends are convinced that Noble killed
Papa. Fortunately for you, they believed that the
quarrel was over water rights to the Brazos."

"Our friends and neighbors have always hated
the Vincentes because of their wealth and power.
Most of them would latch on to any excuse to drag
the Vincente name through the mud."

"Noble is guilty," Rachel stated forcefully, her
eyes like green fire. "I don't want to talk any more
about him. Especially not with you."

Delia dropped her gaze and said, "It's not Noble's fault that Papa's dead it's mine."

Rachel was rapidly losing patience. "Never defend him to me. If you think he's innocent, keep
your thoughts to yourself."

Delia's shoulders slumped and she looked miserable. "I loved him so much that I was sure he'd
love me too. But he didn't." She shook her head.
"If you only knew how kind he was to me at the
time."

"There's another word for what he did to you,
and it isn't kindness. For my part, I prefer his hatred to his love. And he will hate me passionately
before I'm finished with him."

Delia grabbed both of Rachel's wrists and dug
her nails into the soft flesh. Her eyes took on a
faraway look, and her voice was so faint it was
almost inaudible. "Noble is not like other men. If
only Papa hadn't died, I believe Noble might have
married me. He has a good heart."

Rachel yanked her hands free, staring at Delia
as if she were seeing her clearly for the first time.
"My God, your love for Noble has made you blind
to his villainy! I'm astonished at just how far you'd
go to defend him."

Delia dropped down on the window seat and
drew up her legs, resting her chin on her knees.
"You have no idea how far Noble went to protect
me. If you only knew-" Her voice broke off.

"If I knew what?" Rachel demanded. "Let's take
the facts as they happened that day. First, you told Papa that you were going to have Noble's baby, so
he went to Casa del Sol to confront him. Second,
Papa's body was found on the Casa del Sol side of
the Brazos. Third, Noble's gun was found beside
Papa. If that doesn't add up to his guilt, what
does? Tell me, Delia what more proof do you
need?"

Delia tossed her golden mane defiantly. "Let's
look at more truths, Rachel. One, there would
have been no reason for Noble to kill Papa, because he could refuse to marry me and leave the
state, which he did. Two, Noble is too smart to kill
a man and leave his gun behind as evidence to be
used against him."

Rachel had never fully forgiven her sister for the
part she'd played in their father's death, but she'd
buried her resentment deep, since her sister was
the only family she had left. And Delia needed her
at times. Like now. Rachel knew that her sister's
marriage to Whit was not a happy one, and
whether Delia admitted it or not, when she came
home to Broken Spur it was to find peace.

"Come on," Rachel cajoled, hoping to end their
discussion about Noble. "Get dressed and we'll eat
supper on the porch, where it's cooler. You know
you like Winna Mae's cooking."

Delia didn't appear to be listening. She seemed
locked in her own hell. "It's not my fault that
Papa's dead. I was young, in love and foolish. If
only... if only I could go back and change everything."

"What you should have remembered at the time
is that the Vincentes never married out of their
class you were not of their social standing. Were
you ever invited to any of the grand fiestas that
were held at Casa del Sol?" She shook her head.
"No, you weren't, nor were you likely to be." Rachel's tone became harsh. "The Vincentes spring
from Spanish nobility, and you were only a poor
rancher's daughter, not fit to polish their fine
black boots."