"Winter's coming early this year, Miss Rachel. Gonna be a bad'n. Worse than in fifty-three," Zeb mused aloud while his gnarled but creative hands worked their magic on the horse he was carving. He'd presented Rachel with many of his carvings over the years, and he was proud that she displayed them on a shelf in her office for all to see.
It never occurred to Rachel to doubt Zeb's weather predictions. He was seldom wrong. "I can stand some cold weather after the heat of the summer," she remarked, her eyes going wistfully to the cloudless sky.
Zeb kept at his whittling. "Heard the dance went right nicely last night."
"Yes, I suppose it did."
He watched her carefully. He'd known Rachel all her life, and he took liberties none of the other ranch hands would dare. "Heard Noble Vincente was there."
She looked at him and then lowered her eyes. "If you know that, then you also know that I danced with him and then went outside with him."
He chuckled. "I heard that too. Some say Noble's right taken with you, Miss Rachel."
She drew in a tight breath. "Well, I'm not taken with him."
The wily old eyes fastened on her face. "But you don't think he killed your pa anymore do you?"
"No. I'm sure he didn't." She regarded his steady gaze. "Do you think he did it?"
"Never did. There was nary a reason for Noble to kill your pa. I liked Noble when he was a boy; I like him now."
"You've seen him since he came back?"
"Sure. He ain't high on himself like folks that don't know him might think." Then the old man said with pride shining in his eyes, "We call each other by our Christian names-he calls me Zeb and I call him Noble."
"When did you see him?"
Zeb ran his hand along the stubble on his chin in contemplation. "Now, let's see. It was the day I took myself off catfishing down ta' the river. Noble came upon me and we kinda talked for a spell."
"About me?"
He started to whittle faster. "No, not about you, at least not directly. He's a gentleman and would never talk `bout no lady not personal-like, anyway. But he did ask if we needed anything here at the ranch. Wanted to know if he could do anything to help, and he said I was to let him know if you ever needed anything."
Rachel stared at Zeb in disbelief "I consider that very personal. Noble assumes too much. Does he think I need help from him, or that I'd accept it if I did?" Her eyes were blazing with anger. "What did you tell him?"
Zeb's busy hands did not falter. "I told him nope." He grinned at her. "I said you'd get riled if I did that."
"What right does Noble have to interfere in my life?" Her words vibrated with raw emotion. "Noble Vincente...is...he's"
"Neighborly and kindly," Zeb said, sober faced.
At that moment Bud Cadey ambled by and tipped his hat. "Ma'am, we rounded up twelve more strays today."
Rachel tried to push all thoughts of Noble to the back of her mind to deal with later when she was alone. She looked up into Bud's angular face. He, like the other cowhands on Broken Spur, was protective of her, although they tried not to show it since she was the boss.
"Are they all branded?" she asked.
Bud nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Branded and bedded for the night."
Bud went inside the bunkhouse, soon to reappear to join Rachel and Zeb on the steps. He balanced a mug of coffee in his hand. "It's a right pretty evening, ain't it, Miss Rachel?"
A sudden breeze touched her cheek and stirred her hair. "I love this time of year," she said softly. "It was Papa's favorite, too fall roundup."
"Not me." Zeb carefully watched Bud as he raised the coffee mug to his mouth. "My bones ache in cold weather. `Course, this year's been dry so I ain't ached as much."
Bud took a sip of coffee and shuddered, grimaced and closed his eyes. "Zeb, did you make the coffee again?"
Zeb's amused howls and triumphant whoops could be heard all the way to the big house. "I made it and you can drink it, Bud, if'n you're man enough to."
Rachel had to smile. What would she do without Zeb? He was as kind as he was full of mischief. And the one person with whom she could be herself. Sometimes, though, she thought that he knew her too well.
Several other cowhands ambled up from the corrals, respectfully removed their hats and nodded at Rachel.
"Coffee's on the stove." Zeb gave them a furtive glance; then he howled with laughter when they disappeared into the bunkhouse to get a cup.
"You're hopeless, Zeb," Rachel said softly.
"Ain't I though?" He gave her his brightest toothless grin. "Ain't I just?"
By the time Rachel returned to the house, night had fallen. She stepped into her office, where a single lamp burned, adding a ring of light to the darkened room. She glanced toward the stairs, hoping Delia and Whit were tucked in for the night. She had managed to avoid them all day by leaving the house early, staying busy, and returning late. If Delia and Whit left in the morning as they'd planned, she'd have to spend only a few moments more in their company.
Rachel stood over her father's scarred desk, feeling lonely and lost. For a time after he'd been killed, she had felt his presence in this room, where he'd spent so much time going over the books. But now she didn't feel him with her, and the loneliness was almost more than she could endure.
Her hand swept across the desk as she tried to recapture the essence of her father, but his memory was fading. It had occurred to her today that she had kept his memory alive by blaming Noble for his death by dreaming of revenge. Now that she knew Noble was innocent, she had to let the bitterness go.
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think of Noble. Had he waited long for her by the river last night? Had he known how much she wanted to go to him?
"Rachel, I left you a plate warming on the back of the stove." Winna Mae stepped out of the shadows and into the light. "You look all done in. You should eat and go to bed."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway at least a little."
Rachel nodded wearily. It did good to argue with Winna Mae, because she'd only lose. She cast a cautious gaze toward the stairs.
"Your sister and her husband went to bed about an hour ago," Winna Mae said with her uncanny perception.
As Rachel walked to the kitchen Winna Mae followed her, and when Rachel sat down at the table the housekeeper put a plate in front of her.
"Does my sister still plan to leave tomorrow?"
"She says she is."
Rachel felt so exhausted she wanted to drop her head on the table and sleep. She saw Winna Mae watching her as if she could read her thoughts.
"Just take a bite of my stew and drink your milk. You can't go to bed on an empty stomach. If I know you, you didn't eat lunch."
More to satisfy Winna Mae rather than from hunger, she took two bites of stew and drained the glass of milk. Then she smiled and stood up, walking to the door and calling back laughingly over her shoulder, "Was I a good girl, Winna Mae?"
"You're too good for that unwholesome pair upstairs," Winna Mae mouthed to herself.
Moonlight flooded Rachel's bedroom, so she didn't bother to light the lamp. She removed her boots and stripped off her trousers and shirt, folding them neatly and placing them across a chair. She might wear men's garb on the outside, but the feminine side of her chose frilly undergarments. She was unlacing her camisole when she heard a noise.
"Delia, is that you?"
A dark shadow detached itself from the corner and walked toward her. It was a man, but she couldn't see his face. It flashed through her mind that a man would not come into a woman's bedroom uninvited unless he had something sinister on his mind.
"Who are you?"
A strong hand reached out and clasped her arm. She smelled the strong fermented scent of whiskey and she knew who it was. "Whit, what are you doing in my bedroom?"
"Don't you know?"
"Is my sister ill does she need me?"
"I need you," Whit said in a slurred reply. "I've needed you for a long time. Don
't tell me you didn't notice that I've been burning for you."
She jerked free of him, her heart thundering against her chest. "Get out of my room," she threatened, "or I'll call out to my sister."
"Delia wouldn't hear you," he said with a sneer, and stepped closer to her. "Your sister drank too much of your father's fine stock of whiskey." He grinned ominously. "I had my share too."
Rachel recoiled from his touch. "Delia doesn't drink enough to get drunk." Even as she said the words, she realized what she'd known all along but hadn't admitted even to herself Delia did drink too much.
He laughed, tightened his hold on her, and she could sense the unleashed malice in him. "You don't know the things your sister does. But I don't want to talk about her." His mouth fastened on her neck. "Don't you know you have half the men in the county panting after you? You sashay around in tight-fitting britches, daring a man to take what he wants."
"I'm not like that," she said disbelievingly. "Get out of here! You're crazed."
"Yes, crazy to have you."
Rage tore through Rachel like a whiplash, and she managed to wedge her elbow between herself and Whit while she shivered with revulsion. "Get out."
Whit staggered backward, almost losing his balance, and Rachel took the opportunity to move toward the door. "Get out of here now and my sister won't ever have to know you were here." Her voice sounded unsteady, and she could feel fear tighten her stomach. "You are drunk and need to sleep it off."
Whit lunged at Rachel, whirling her around with a strength that took her by surprise. His arms enfolded her and he brought her body against him. "Do you think Delia gives a damn what I do? She only wants me for pleasuring her in bed." His hand swept up to tangle in Rachel's hair, and he jerked her face toward his. "I want to bury myself deep in you. I want to pump you so hard that you'll cry my name, begging for more."
Rachel thought she was going to be sick. Faint moonlight illuminated the room, and she caught his expression. His eyes were menacing and his expression colder than a West Texas norther.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" She shoved him away and backed up several steps, wondering if she could make it to the door before he caught her again. "If you ever touch me again, I'll kill you."
He was like a mad bull charging at her. He hit her with the full force of his body and drove her backward onto the floor.
Rachel struggled and fought, but he was too strong for her-she was losing the battle. She could scream, but who would hear her?
"I thought a lot about you as I waited for you to come to bed tonight. I watched you undress, wanting to tear off your clothing. But I was patient, and now I'm going to have you, Rachel. We both know nothing can keep me from taking you."
She twisted and kicked, but his grip only tightened on her wrists, and he slammed them above her head. "I'll have you just the way Noble Vincente did."
Her eyes had become more accustomed to the dark, and she saw the chilling smile on his lips. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Noble bedded you and he bedded my wife. It's only right that we should share our women, don't you think?"
He was disgusting, malignant, evil. Why hadn't she seen these traits in him before now? "You are loathsome," she said bravely, while shaking inside. "I haven't been with Noble in the way you imply."
"Don't take me for a fool," Whit said coldly. "I know much more than you think I do about you and Noble."
She tried again to throw him off her, but his hands grasped the thin material of her chemise, and when it ripped, he kneaded her breasts while his sickening, whiskey-scented breath choked her. His mouth was hot and slippery, and she gagged when he covered her lips with his. She could sense the urgency in him, and fought even harder.
He was going to take her right here, in her own house, with her sister sleeping next door, and there was no one to help her. Paralyzed with dread, she knew what was going to happen to her.
"Please, no," she said, turning her head away from him. Her chest felt tight with terror, and her shallow breathing was painful. Still, she managed to say with feeling, "Leave me alone, Whit!"
He fumbled with his pants, and she struggled with all her might. She did not see it coming, but he struck her hard across the face, and she tasted her own blood.
"Be still! I'm going to drive into you like I dream of doing every time I see you. You'll like me better than that bastard, Noble."
At that moment the door opened and light spilled into the room. Rachel threw her head back and cried out to Winna. Mae, whose figure was outlined by the lamp she held. "Help me. Dear God, help me!"
Whit froze with his trousers halfway down. "What the hell?"
"Miss Rachel," Winna Mae said as easily as if she'd been discussing the weather, "I put the milk on the back of the stove to clabber. Will you be wanting me any more tonight?"
Whit scrambled to his feet, jerking up his trousers. "Rachel wanted me here," he said to Winna Mae. "She's been asking for it." When he drew even with the housekeeper, he hissed at her. "If you are thinking of telling my wife, I wouldn't if I were you. Delia doesn't need to know that her sister's a whore."
Winna Mae's free hand was crammed deeply in her apron pocket to hide her balled fist. Her voice was soft, but it cut through Whit's drunken stupor. "If you ever come near Rachel again, I'll kill you, you bastard. We Indians have ways of dealing with your kind, and it involves cutting off private parts."
Whit turned quickly away and stumbled down the hallway, the echo of his weaving footsteps finally fading behind Delia's bedroom door.
Rachel was still dazed from Whit's blow. She stood and stumbled to the bed, collapsing across the multicolored quilt. She was shaking violently and couldn't stop.
Winna Mae put the lamp on the table and rushed to her. She bent down and brushed Rachel's hair out of her face, and frowned when she saw that her lip was bleeding, and a purple bruise was visible on her cheek. The housekeeper pulled the quilt over Rachel and said soothingly, "Rachel, child, did he get to you?"
Rachel sobbed and threw her arms around Winna Mae. "No, but he would have if you hadn't come in when you did. I hate him! I hate him more than I ever hated anyone. My poor sister. She's married to a monster. No wonder she drinks too much."
Winna Mae held Rachel in her arms and rocked her back and forth, much as she would have a child. "Hush now. He can't hurt you anymore. I'll stay with you. Hush, go to sleep."
Rachel threw the covers aside and slid off the bed. "I can't sleep. I keep feeling his hands on me." She shook so badly she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hoping to stop.
Winna Mae took her hand and led her back to bed. "You've had a shock. You need sleep."
"How can I sleep under the same roof with that man?" Panic rose in Rachel's voice. "I want him to leave the Broken Spur right now, and never come back."
"No, what you want is to sleep." Winna Mae folded aside the covers and helped Rachel into bed; then she covered her. "I'll be right here if you need me."
"You won't leave me?"
"I won't leave you."
Rachel finally fell asleep, but she dozed fitfully, waking several times, frightened that Whit might be in the room with her.
But Winna Mae was always there, and Rachel went back to sleep feeling safe.
Rachel awoke to find sunlight streaming through the window. When she remembered what had happened the previous night, she paled and looked fearfully about her. She had expended all of her energy fighting Whit, and she felt as limp as a rag doll.
She'd never been frightened of anyone, not until last night. She had never realized that there were men and situations that she couldn't control. Whit was dangerous. A haunting thought swept through her mind he wasn't through with her, not yet. But the next time he tried anything with her, she would be ready for him. She'd blow his damned head of P
The door opened and Winna Mae entered, carrying a tray with Rachel's breakfast.
"I thought you might like to eat in bed, and then sleep
for another hour or so."
Rachel shook her head.
"He's gone. They left at first light. Delia said to tell you she'd write."
"What about Whit?"
"I never saw a man in such a hurry to leave. Delia wanted to wake you and say good-bye, but he ushered her straight downstairs to his waiting coach." A slight smile curved Winna Mae's lips. "I guess an important person like Whit Chandler has much to do elsewhere." She placed the tray on Rachel's lap. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You didn't eat much yesterday, so you need breakfast."
Rachel sighed and obliged her.
"You must put last night out of your mind." Winna Mae sat down in the big rocker that had belonged to Rachel's mother. "He won't come near you again if I can help it. If any one of your cowhands knew what happened here last night, they'd give him Indian justice and castrate him."
Rachel's eyes widened. "You won't tell them. You won't tell anyone what happened, will you?"
"No. Of course not."
Rachel lifted a fork full of fluffy scrambled egg, and took a bite. "I've been thinking about Delia. She's married to such a monster, and I feel pity for her."
"Your sister wouldn't want your pity," Winna Mae said with her usual directness. "She knew exactly what she was getting when she married Whit."
Rachel remembered Delia telling her much the same thing. She shoved the tray aside and sank back onto her pillow. "I always thought the act of love would be beautiful. Whit made me see that there is no beauty in the act." An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. "It was so ugly so ugly."
"That wasn't love." Winna Mae's eyes took on a glow as if she were remembering. "Love-real, deep love can be beautiful."
Rachel thought of Noble and closed her eyes. "I want to believe you." She threw off the covers and with strong strides walked to the window, staring at the far horizon. Numbness spread over her like a blanket, stifling her beneath its heaviness. She inhaled a long, shaky breath, wishing she could forget the sickening feel of Whit touching her, his disgusting kiss, his hateful words.
Texas Proud (Vincente 2) Page 15
