Sam Rutledge looked startled for a moment while Noble's father only laughed. "Do you speak of the mare from Spain?"
"Si, that is the one, Father."
"Then you should accept her, Senorita Rachel," Don Reinaldo urged jovially. His spoke with a slight Spanish accent, but Noble and Saber had no accent at all. "We had her shipped over for my daughter, but Saber prefers a smaller, more docile mount. The mare should go to someone who knows and appreciates good horseflesh."
"I'll buy the horse from you," Sam offered. "It's not my habit to be beholden to any man. How much for the mare, Noble?"
Rachel lowered her head so her father wouldn't see how badly she wanted the mare. He could ill afford such a magnificent animal, and they both knew it.
"It is easy to see where your daughter gets her perseverance," Noble said, half serious, half joking. "The mare is not for sale. She is my gift to Green Eyes. And there is no owing between friends."
For a long moment the two men stood eye-toeye until Sam lowered his gaze. "I'm sure my daughter will take good care of the mare. But I still say it's too generous. The horse is a thoroughbred."
Noble's voice grew soft. "As is your daughter."
Rachel squinted against the sun, the memories fading. That day had been her last day as a carefree, innocent girl. Every moment after that, she'd thought of Noble with a powerful longing that only a young girl could feel for her first love.
Yes, she had loved him then, as much as she hated him now.
Rachel glanced at the great hacienda of Casa del Sol. She hadn't been there since her father had been murdered, and she didn't know why she had come today.
She halted her mount and patted the mare's sleek black neck. Even though Noble had given her this mare, and she now despised him, she couldn't bring herself to part with Faro.
Rachel heard footsteps, and she watched as Noble emerged from the trees and walked past the corrals. She knew instinctively that he was going to pay his respects to his dead father.
She dismounted and moved forward, taking care to stay hidden from his view. From her vantage point behind a cedar bush, Rachel watched Noble kneel beside Don Reinaldo Vincente's grave. She could plainly see the pain on his face. She knew what he was feeling, because she'd suffered the same loss with her father's death. She wished she could find satisfaction in Noble's grief, but she could not. Even a cowardly murderer was allowed to mourn the death of his father. She was amazed to feel tears hovering just behind her eyes, burning and stinging. She blinked her eyes to keep from crying. Not one tear would she shed for Noble Vincente. He deserved everything he got and more.
Noble removed his hat and bowed his head as grief tore at his heart like thorns from a thistle. He wanted absolution from the torment within his soul. His chest tightened with a familiar pain. He should have been with his father to comfort him in his last hours. The knowledge that his absence had probably hastened his father's death was added to the guilt that he already carried within him.
His gaze moved sadly to his mother's grave, which was choked with weeds. On the other side of her was the grave of an infant brother who had died at birth, and other Vincentes who'd been born and died on this land. Loneliness pressed in on him like a physical pain. The prayer he wanted to utter was locked in his heart and he could not give it voice.
Noble's head came up when he heard a twig snap. In a quick, fluid motion he rose to his feet, turned in the direction of the noise and drew his gun. "Come out slowly," he said, aiming at the cedar bushes to his left. "Do it now!"
Rachel stepped forward, her head high, her gaze meeting his haughtily.
"Who are you?" He holstered his gun, as if he had nothing to fear from a woman. "Do I know you?"
It disturbed Rachel that Noble did not recognize her when she had thought of him every day since he'd gone away. She took several steps closer to him before she spoke.
"I never knew you, Noble Vincente, although I once thought I did."
A flicker of recognition flashed through him, and he could hardly believe his eyes. Although there were differences, he should have known her immediately. Her hair was now a richer red-gold, and she was taller. A slight frown furrowed his brow. "So it is you, Green Eyes. All grown up and still wearing trousers."
Despite the fact that she was trembling all over, she faced him with courage. Stepping onto the overgrown path, she planted her booted feet wide apart. "I'm no longer the child you once knew. You stole my childhood. Why did you come back to Texas when you're not welcome here?"
His gaze touched on her flaming hair before moving to the blouse that was stretched taut across the gentle swell of her young breasts. Her waist was tiny and her hips softly curved and tantalizingly outlined by her trousers. There was little evidence of the young girl he'd once adored and teased. The woman standing before him was beautiful and cold, and naked hatred burned in her eyes.
"Green Eyes, there was a time when you would have welcomed me as your friend."
"Fool that I was." Her gaze knifed into his. She remembered when those dark eyes had danced with laughter. Now they were dull, lusterless and unreadable. Power radiated from him, and she knew instinctively that he was making an effort to keep that power under control. She did not fear him; she merely hated him. "It seems that you are the Don of Casa del Sol now, Noble."
"I will not be referring to myself as a don. For me, the title died with my father. This is not the Texas he knew, and I am not the man he was."
"I agree with you on both points. I once thought you had the same honor that your father possessed, but you don't."
"Now you want to see me dead." This pronouncement came with little emotion.
Rachel had just looked into his soul and found torment churning there. "Yes, I do," she admitted. "I could have killed you the day you returned," she continued, her voice flat and without feeling. "I had my rifle trained on you when you drank from Deep Creek."
He flinched as if her words had wounded him.
"Yet you didn't shoot me." He raised his hands to show there were no bullet holes. "I'm still alive. I wonder why?"
She moved closer to him, gathering courage. "If you were dead, you would no longer feel, and if you couldn't feel, you wouldn't suffer for what you did to my father."
He stared at the tips of his shiny black boots. "Perhaps I have suffered, Green Eyes."
"Don't call me that! Don't ever call me that again!"
Suddenly there was unspeakable sadness in his fathomless brown eyes as he met her gaze. "How can you believe I killed your father? I liked and respected Mr. Rutledge."
"You can deny it all you want. I know you murdered him. And I know why."
His gaze slid away from hers as if he could no longer look into those cold green eyes. With effort, he glanced at his father's grave. "And you came here seeking satisfaction by witnessing my pain."
She bent down and pulled a weed near Don Reinaldo's headstone, tossing it aside. "I take no pleasure in your father's death. He was a kind and honorable man." She stood. "These graves are shamefully neglected. I would never allow this to happen to my family's graves."
Noble drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I didn't kill your father, Rachel. I don't care if no one else believes me, but I hope that you will come to know the truth."
She moved away from him. "I could hardly expect you to admit it, could I? You're the only one with a reason to kill him. Everyone else liked my father. He had no enemies, save yourself."
His tone was soft when he said, almost to himself, "Why did it have to be you?" Then his lips thinned and his gaze slammed into hers. "Why have you set yourself up as the instrument of my punishment?"
"Because you are a Vincente the law wouldn't do it, so it's left to me." Her growing courage took her a step closer to him. "How shall I punish you, Noble? I could have shot you - I didn't. I still could, but I won't." She tossed her head and met his eyes. "How shall I extract justice? You tell me."
Noble stared at her for a long moment, and
she knew he was confused. Was he looking for the little girl who had adored him? Well, she was no longer that girl, and he would find no pity in her. She saw the anger burning in his eyes, but she did not realize the danger until it was too late.
He grabbed her and brought her forward until her face was level with his. "Nothing you can do will touch me in my hell, Rachel."
She was so near she felt the heat of his body. Every muscle in her tightened. "No? I know what you are feeling at this moment, Noble, because I felt it with my father. You stand over your father's grave, wondering if there's been some terrible mistake-can he really be dead? You'll walk away from the monument that was erected to his mem ory, feeling as if you've left a part of your life behind. Then you hurry to the house, feeling bereft, thinking he'll be there, but he won't be. You will never see him again. Death, you see, is so final, Noble, and that will be your torment."
His fingers bit into her arms and he jerked her against him, sweeping her forcefully into his embrace. With his free hand he lifted her chin, and their gazes locked. "What if you are wrong?" he asked in a raspy voice. "What if you are to be my final torment?"
He lowered his head, seemingly preoccupied with the shape of her mouth. As she held her breath, his lips brushed against hers, and she went limp in his arms. Then his mouth became hard, punishing, and ravished her tender lips. The kiss was not prompted by affection or even desire; it came from anger, frustration and futility.
Rachel wanted to shove him away, but he was drawing all the strength from her body. All she could feel was the hardness of him, the hand that supported her head, the mouth that ruthlessly plundered hers. Against her will, her lips softened beneath his and she returned his kiss. She moved forward, pressing her body more firmly against his, feeling almost faint with longing. She tried to remember why she was there. Suddenly she envisioned her dead father's face and struggled to be free.
Noble released her immediately, amusement in his expression. He knew how his kiss had affected her. "I don't know if you realize it, Green Eyes, but you have issued a challenge-which I shall accept."
Rachel stared at him for a long moment. She hadn't challenged him. She rubbed her hand across her lips as if she were wiping away the taste of his mouth, but knew she could never erase the memory of that kiss. She had hoped to find his weakness, and instead he'd discovered hers.
"I will prove you killed my father, Noble." She hated the fact that her voice trembled her whole body trembled, for that matter. She had to forget the sensation of his lips against hers and remember that he was her enemy. "Soon, all of Texas will hear about your guilt. Then Sheriff Crenshaw will be forced to arrest you."
He seemed to be ignoring her when he bent down to pull weeds from his father's grave. Then he glanced up at her. "Do your worst, Rachel. I always thought you were different from Delia, but perhaps I was wrong."
Fury erupted within her. "How dare you speak insultingly about Delia! You haven't even asked about her or the baby. How can you be so heartless?"
He closed his eyes and then stood. "How is Delia? How is her baby, Rachel?"
She felt a lump in her throat and feared she would cry. "Delia lost your baby." I in sorry.
"Are you sad about the baby? Don't you care about what Delia has suffered? Have you nothing more to say?"
"Nothing I said at the moment would make an impression on you. You have judged me guilty without asking me if I fathered your sister's child."
Suddenly his eyes were profoundly sad, and weariness was reflected there, as if he'd witnessed too much and valued too little. With a suddenness that startled her, pity for him rose like a wellspring inside her.
Noble's gaze slid away from her and just as suddenly the sensation of sadness vanished. He had retreated behind an unreadable mask, leaving Rachel confused and shaken.
Without a word he walked away, leaving Rachel alone with her troubled thoughts. Her earlier confidence had been vanquished by a pair of probing brown eyes. He'd won the first confrontation, but she was not beaten. They would meet again; she'd make certain of it.
She found Faro where she'd left the mare, mounted and galloped toward the Brazos. Like some inexperienced young girl, she'd allowed herself to be captivated by Noble's obvious maleness. He would not find her so vulnerable the next time they met.
With her troubled thoughts as her companions, she rode home, a part of her holding on to the memory of that dashingly handsome Spaniard who'd conquered the wild mare. Then there was the sad stranger she'd met today.
"Which one is the true Noble?" she whispered to herself. And her lips formed the words, "The one who killed your father."
She bent low in the saddle, riding homeward and away from the man who occupied the hacienda of Casa del Sol.
Tascosa Springs, Texas
Like many towns that had sent young men off to fight for the South, Tascosa Springs had fallen on hard times. And the residents realized that the times would only get worse, because the conquering North had become the ruling authority in Texas.
The town itself was made up of several weatherbeaten buildings, the exception being the new redbrick tax office that stood beside the bank. McVee's Mercantile stood next door to Baker's Hotel. Further down the partially rotted boardwalk, the Crystal Palace Saloon was adjacent to Goodies ranch supply store, where shovels and rakes leaned against the wall beside the door. Across the dusty street the sheriff's office was located beside the two-story structure that served as an apothecary on the first floor, and the doctor's office upstairs. At Tuttle's Blacksmith the contentious clanging of the smithy's hammer was accompanied by the acrid smell of Tuttle's stoked fire.
The sun was white-hot and the wind raked over exposed skin like searing particles of grit. Still, a knot of people had gathered in front of McVee's, watching Noble Vincente dismount and loop the reins of his horse around the rickety hitching post. Men who'd known Noble all his life watched him scornfully while their wives put their heads together, elbows nudging and whispering among themselves.
Noble nodded curtly as he passed the group, but didn't break his stride as he entered the store. Anger boiled inside him, but he kept it under tight control. Clearly his neighbors still believed that he'd killed Sam Rutledge. Nothing he could say would change their minds, and he didn't care to try.
The storekeeper, Jess McVee, broke away from the others with a sour expression on his face, and followed Noble into the store, where he stood disapprovingly.
Noble studied the storekeeper, thinking he hadn't changed in the years he'd been away. Jess was a small man, with hair the color of dirty well water. His small, mouselike eyes darted nervously about the store before they rested on Noble. "I need supplies, Jess." Noble shoved a list at him. "Will you have these items delivered to Casa del Sol for me?"
"I gotta say this or I'll choke on it. If I didn't need the money, I'd tell you what you could do with your order," Jess stated, his breath coming out in panting gasps.
An impatient intake of breath expanded Noble's chest, and he regarded the man silently. When Noble spoke he didn't raise his voice, but his words were delivered with the intensity of a whiplash. "It's good to know how low a man will sink for the sake of money, Jess." Noble turned away and deliberately counted out several bills atop the scarred counter. "Put whatever is left over on my account. Have the supplies delivered to Casa del Sol today."
Jess swallowed his resentment because there was something about a Vincente that demanded respect. Whatever that something was, it ran strong in Noble. Jess nodded reluctantly. "I'll see to your order, and it'll be delivered today."
He watched as Noble departed. The younger Vincente's aristocratic head was held high, his back ramrod straight, his strides long.
The women who had been pressing their faces against the window to get a glimpse of Noble now rushed inside, anxious to hear every word Noble Vincente had uttered. Their questions flew fast and furious.
"Where has he been all these years?"
"Is he back to
stay?"
"Did he marry that woman from Spain?"
"Did he bring a wife home with him?"
"Will he bring his sister back from Georgia?"
"Do you suppose Rachel Rutledge knows he's back?"
Jess McVee brushed their questions aside as he watched Noble cross the street, walking in the direction of the sheriff's office. He shivered, remembering the fierceness of those cold brown eyes. "I wouldn't want to be the one to make him mad," he told the others. "You can do what you want, but the next time he comes into my store, I'll be more respectful."
Harvey Briscal was slumped over the desk, almost asleep, when he heard someone enter. He raised his head and yawned, ill-tempered because his nap had been interrupted. "Sheriffs not here. If you've got business with him, come back later."
The man was a stranger to Noble. He took note of the man's shaggy brown hair, thin face and hooded eyes, then looked at the deputy's star pinned to his stained leather vest. Noble grasped a rickety wooden chair, turned it around and propped his booted foot on it. "If the sheriff's not here, I'll talk to you."
Noble watched the deputy lean forward, shaking his head to come fully awake.
"You certainly aren't from around here, stranger," Harvey observed. "Not one of the ranchers or cowhands I know." His sleepy gaze fastened on Noble's crisp, white shirt and buff-colored leather pants with a dark brown stripe down the legs. Envy crept into his eyes as he took in the ivory-handled six-gun that hung about Noble's waist. It wasn't difficult to tell that this stranger was a man of importance. "What's your name?" Harvey asked.
Noble's eyes were hard and probing. After the incident with Jess McVee, he was in no mood to suffer fools. "You first," he said forcefully. "Tell me who you are."
Harvey puffed out his meager chest and said with pride, "I'm the deputy sheriff."
Noble's lip curled in distaste. "I already guessed that. What's your name?"
Harvey's mouth formed a sneer. He shifted his slight weight and straightened to his full height, which was a head shorter than the Spaniard. He tugged at pants that were a size too big for him, and adjusted them about his waist. "I'll be asking the questions here. State your business."
Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Page 4
