Her scent enveloped him, and the warmth of her body through the silky fabric teased his fingertips. Fighting to control his rapid breathing, telling himself the dancing was the cause, he caught her eye and smiled. “Having fun?”
“Oh, yes. Very much.”
“That’s a beautiful dress.”
She blushed. “Thank you. Until the sun went down, I feared I’d picked the wrong one. It’s much cooler now, though.”
He nodded. “Yes, it is.”
He led her around the floor again, past a sea of men’s faces, young and old watching her with admiring glances. “I never thanked you for last night.”
She raised her tapered brows. “For?”
“Helping me with Cuddy.” He winked. “You make a fine distraction, Miss Dane.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I assure you, it was most sincere.”
She lifted her chin. “Then I thank you.”
They giggled like children at their teasing formality, her laughter warming Diego’s heart.
“So...” She cocked her head to one side. “Why doesn’t your mama like me?”
Her question stunned him. Her boldness stunned him more.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Cuddy swaggered toward them, interrupting the lie. “I’m cutting in, brother.”
Diego tightened his hold on Emmy’s hand. “You’ll only trample the poor girl’s toes. Show some mercy, my friend.”
Cuddy snorted and held his ground.
“Not now, Cuddy. Perhaps she’ll save you a dance.”
“No, now, Diego. Stop fooling around.”
Frustrated, Diego searched Emmy’s face. “Only if the lady agrees.”
Blind to his pain, Emmy watched Cuddy with obvious amusement. Diego winced at the affection shining in her eyes. “I’d love to dance with you, Cuddy.”
With a slight bow, Diego released her and stepped away. Cuddy glided into his place, catching Emmy’s hand in his, sliding his arm around the warmth of her slender waist. Laughing, they whirled away from him and disappeared.
Churning inside and struggling to contain his passion, Diego strode across the floor to join Greta. Too late, he realized she seethed like a roiling kettle.
Hoping to calm her, he danced with her at last. By the second song, she began to relax until she caught him stealing a glance at Emmy and her brother. She grew rigid in his arms. “They make such a nice couple, don’t they?”
He stiffened. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“But you must have. They’re both blond and attractive. Cuddy’s short like Emily. He doesn’t tower over her the way you do.”
“I meant I hadn’t noticed they were a couple.”
She drew away from him, tilted her head, and stared. “Of course they are! On the way to it at least.” She glanced around then lowered her voice. “Yesterday morning they were caught sitting together in the hallway outside their rooms.” She leaned closer for emphasis. “Holding hands.”
Diego’s stomach lurched. “Caught?”
She failed at hiding a smirk. “Willem Dane. Haven’t you noticed how he watches them?”
Diego scanned the crowd for Emmy’s father. Indeed, he scowled at her and Cuddy across the sea of swirling dancers.
“You caught them yourself at the river.”
He vacantly studied Greta’s face. What did he see at the river? They were sitting together on a blanket staring at him on the rise, though Emmy did wear a curious expression of guilt.
What took place right in front of him that he’d missed?
Diego stopped dancing mid-note. Catching Greta by the wrist, he hauled her back to her chair.
She squirmed away from his grip and whirled to face him. “What’s wrong with you tonight? I’ve never seen you so restless.”
“I’m tired of dancing, that’s all.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I need something cool to drink. Would you care for one?”
“I would.”
He spun.
Emmy stood behind him, a plastered smile on her face. She clutched his arm. “In fact, I’ll help you.”
Ignoring the rage on Greta’s face, he allowed Emmy to steer him toward the punch bowl. On the way, he decided to put himself out of his misery. He would ask her straight out if she had feelings for Cuddy. If she said yes, he would bow out of the picture. If she said no—
“Diego, we have a problem.”
He blinked down at her. Had she read his mind?
“It’s Cuddy.”
His heart pounded. Even as she prepared to crush his hopes, he admired her strength. No woman he’d ever known got straight to the point. “It’s all right, Emmy. I understand.”
She took his sleeve and jerked him around. “No, you don’t.” Angling him toward the wooden platform, she pointed.
Cuddy wove drunkenly through the crowd—one hand splayed over his heart, the other arm stretched to the sky—singing along with the mariachis with all of his might. Some of the dancers laughed and shoved him away; others scowled when he bumped them from behind.
Diego swallowed. “I don’t believe my eyes. He seemed fine before.”
Emmy’s gaze darted anxiously from him to Cuddy. “I smelled it on his breath as soon as you left us. There’s a flask in his pocket, and he keeps taking long swigs.” She met his eyes. “I believe he’s getting worse every second.”
“Some local brew, no doubt. They can be potent. I’ve warned Cuddy about that poison.” Diego pressed his fists to his forehead. “Why would the foolish boy do this? He knows how his father—” His head came up, frantic eyes scouring the rim for Mr. Rawson.
He was seated with some other ranchers, his chair faced away from the dais, but it would be only a matter of time before he noticed the ruckus or someone pointed it out.
Diego gripped her shoulders. “Emmy?”
She swept past him. “I know what to do.”
Diego caught her arm. “If my mother asks, tell her I’ll be back.”
She nodded.
Diego stood his ground until Emmy crossed the yard and pranced in front of the men, her lilting laughter and dimpled grin captivating John Rawson and every man at the table.
Avoiding Greta, he cut around to the rear of the dance floor and waited until Cuddy swept past. Reaching for the nape of his neck, he jerked him to the ground and hauled him spitting and sputtering to the front of the house and then circled back to the rig.
The fight had gone out of him by the time Diego loaded him none too gently into the bed of the wagon and climbed aboard. With Emmy’s help, once again they’d saved Cuddy’s ornery hide.
Diego turned the horse and pulled from behind Cuddy’s wagon. Breathing a sigh of relief, he took one more look behind him, and his heart shot past his throat.
No matter how fast Emmy talked or how dazzling her smile, John Rawson, against a backdrop of flickering torchlight, stared over his shoulder at Diego, his face a frightening portrait of rage.
CHAPTER 15
Melatha handed the misshapen piece of chalk to Jose. “Your turn, niño. Draw the letters just as I’ve shown you.” She adjusted his fingers. “Relax your hand. Choking the life from the chalk won’t help.”
He turned up a grimy, toothless grin. “Sí, Mama Melatha.”
“Curl the tail of the J like the tail of a monkey. The tail of the P should be long and straight, like a puppy’s.”
This time his smile revealed a few teeth.
She pointed to a small plate mounded with scrambled eggs and tortillas. “When you’re done, your breakfast will be waiting.”
The boy took one look at the food then hunched over the writing board, his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth and his forehead drawn to a knot.
Before long, she would be teaching him words then whole sentences. In no time at all, he would be reading halting passages to her from the Bible, learning about the Savior while he learned to read.
Melatha glanced at her father�
�s Bible and sighed. How different life would have been had he lived to fulfill his vow to take her and her mother to Ireland. His family lived there, blood relations that Isi would never meet. When her happy, bright-eyed father died at the hands of a thieving vagabond, her mother returned to her people instead, so Melatha grew up among the Choctaw.
She cracked the rest of the eggs into a bowl and stirred them briskly with a fork. Pulling the skillet to a cooler spot on the cast-iron stove, she poured them into sizzling butter. They hissed and sputtered like her feverish mind. With the sun barely over the horizon, already her thoughts were restless. Against her will, they turned to her husband.
On a mission trip to the reservation, raven-haired Reynaldo Marcelo had noticed Melatha among the other maidens and asked to have her. Though she rejected him, her grandfather saw merit in the union, chiefly Reynaldo’s prized Appaloosa, and made the trade. Yellow Tree claimed he approved the kindhearted Spaniard because he foresaw him in a vision.
Many moons had passed, and many visions of her own, before Melatha had come to believe him. She and Reynaldo fought with a fury at first, until he tamed her. Then they loved with great passion. She bore her tiny, squirming brave the following spring.
Sixteen years later—after Reynaldo followed her father in death—like her mother before her, Melatha returned to her people, the only safe place she knew. Miserable within the confines of the reservation, Isi soon ran away. She didn’t see her prodigal son again until his twenty-first birthday.
“If I scratch out my letters, will you feed me, too?”
Melatha whirled from the stove. “Isi. You caught me dreaming again.”
He kissed her cheek. “Pleasant dreams, I hope.” He pointed at Jose. “I see you’ve found another eager student.”
She smiled tightly. “More eager to eat than to learn. But this way we both gain satisfaction.”
“Where did you get that old slate?”
“Rosita’s mother gave it to me.” She held up a box. “Plenty of chalk, too. It’s turned into a blessing.”
He nodded at Jose, so intent on his letters his face almost touched the board. “More a blessing for him than for you, though he doesn’t know it yet. Chihowa Ushi must be pleased.”
Melatha’s heart glowed in her chest. She loved to hear Isi speak their native tongue.
She stopped stirring the eggs and studied him. Since Isi knew she loved to hear it, he must be up to no good. She determined to ferret out the details of his plan before he ensnared her.
He sat at the table and she set his eggs in front of him. “What does the day hold for you, son?”
Before he could answer, Jose rose from the floor, wriggling with excitement. “I’ve finished, Mama Melatha. H through Q, just as you asked.”
She studied the scrawl of letters on the slate. “Muy bueno, Jose. These are beautiful letters.”
“Sí. May I eat now?”
She pulled out a chair for him. “Yes, you may eat your fill.”
The boy scrambled into the chair and snatched up his fork.
Melatha wagged her finger. “Uh, uh, uh, Jose. What comes first?”
Blushing, he lowered his lips to his folded hands.
Isi smiled at her over his head.
After what must have been the shortest prayer the Father ever received, Jose snatched up his fork and went to work on his plate.
Shaking her head, Melatha sat down across from her son and smiled. “You were saying?”
Isi’s grin became a troubled frown. “I’m not sure what this day will bring. Likely more work than I can wring out of daylight as usual.” He sighed. “I can’t count on much help from Cuddy today.”
She lifted her head. “Oh?”
Isi shoveled in another bite, waiting until he swallowed to speak. “I doubt his bed will turn him loose today. I’m sure he’s nursing a weak stomach and a pounding head.”
“Oh, Isi. You mean he—?” She stopped abruptly and glanced at the boy.
Isi nodded.
Her heart squeezed in protest of the news.
“So,” he began casually, “after spending more time with them, what do you think of our guests?”
The trap was set. Here was the bait. Wisdom demanded she tread lightly. “I like the one called Bertha. Her spirit is free. She’s not bound by the opinions of others.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “And the rest?”
“What about them?”
He looked up. “There are four guests in the house, Mother. You only like Bertha?”
“I don’t have much to go on, do I? Mr. and Mrs. Dane seem nice enough.”
He pushed back his eggs. “So you like Bertha, and the Danes seem nice...”
“Yes.”
“And that’s it?”
“I suppose so.”
Color crept up his cheeks. “Let me get this straight. You like Bertha. The Danes seem nice. But you can’t find one thing to say about—”
A harsh rap on the door rattled the hinges, cutting him off and bringing Melatha to her feet. “All right, all right! I’m coming!”
Isi shrugged. “Perhaps I was wrong. That’s likely Cuddy now.”
“Or Jose’s mother,” she suggested over her shoulder as she crossed the room.
Isi feigned shock. “With that heavy-handed knock? If so, let’s pray she’s in a cheerful mood.”
Melatha laughed and opened the door.
One of Isi’s men, pacing and stamping his feet, stood at the end of the porch.
Melatha looked back at Isi. “It’s Little Pete.”
Isi pushed back his chair and joined Pete outside. He returned shoving the fingers of both hands through his hair the way he did when he was tense.
She gripped his arm. “What’s wrong, son?”
He met her gaze and his eyes flashed fear. “Pete said I’m not to report into work today. Rawson’s orders.”
Melatha released her disbelief in a single word. “What?”
“He said the old man wants to see me. Right now. In the barn.”
“Oh, Isi. Do you know what this is about?”
His face drawn in grim lines, he nodded. “I’m afraid so.” With no further explanation, he pushed through the screen and jumped off the porch. As he crossed the yard, he pulled back and squared his shoulders, ready to take what was coming to him, whatever unthinkable thing it might be.
Melatha’s thoughts returning to snares and traps, she wondered who had set one for her son. Tears clouding her eyes, she bowed her head to pray.
***
The morning sun had yet to light the cool interior of the barn. Diego ducked inside and waited for his eyes to adjust.
Mr. Rawson, still unaware of his presence, slouched against Faron’s stall, both arms atop the door, resting his forehead on his hands. He looked like a man with an unpleasant task ahead of him. Diego cleared his throat, and the big man straightened. “There you are.”
Diego approached him. “I came as soon as you called.” Bracing the heel of his boot against the bottom board of the stall, he looked the horse over. “He doing all right this morning?”
Mr. Rawson reached to stroke Faron’s nose. “In body, yes. I’m not so sure about his spirit. He hates this loathsome stall.”
The horse crowded closer to Diego and nickered box.
Mr. Rawson chuckled. “Faithless animal. For all my devotion to him, he loves you more.”
Smiling, Diego scratched between the horse’s ears. “It’s not me he loves, sir. Rather the carrots I keep in my pocket.” He patted the velvety nose. “You’re out of luck today, amigo. We’re fresh out.”
Mr. Rawson appeared thoughtful. “Faron. That means pharaoh in Spanish?”
Diego nodded.
“Suits him, doesn’t it?” He released a heavy sigh. “You suppose I’ll ever be able to ride him?”
Diego gave a confident nod. “I’m sure of it, sir. He just needs a little more time learning to trust you.” He attempted to swallow, but his throat was too dry
. “Sir, Pete said you wanted to speak to me.”
“I do.” Usually by now, Mr. Rawson would be facing Diego, searching for the bottom of his pupils while he said what was on his mind. Instead, he seemed to avoid meeting Diego’s eyes.
“He told me not to show up for work today. Said the order came from you.”
“That’s right.”
Why wouldn’t the man turn around? Why wouldn’t he say the words and get it over with?
You’re fired, Diego.
Turn in your lariat.
Pack your things.
Take your mother from the little house she loves and hit the trail.
What could be so hard about it? He should open his mouth and have it done.
“Cuddy will be taking your place today.”
“Sir?”
“Cuddy.” A hard edge crept into Mr. Rawson’s voice. “I plan to work his tail off. Give him a taste of what your workday feels like. Let him see how a real man runs his business, with sweat and grit. Then maybe he’ll lose his taste for booze.” He frowned a warning. “Don’t let him talk you into lifting a finger to help. I want that boy to learn something today.”
Weight shifted off Diego’s shoulders. “And tomorrow?”
“Humph.” Mr. Rawson finally turned. “You don’t get off that easy. It’s back to business as usual tomorrow. Any longer at the helm of the Twisted-R and Cuddy would run it asunder.” His gaze flitted past Diego’s face while he worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I want to thank you for last night.”
Guilt stung Diego’s insides. “Thank me?”
“For getting that dunderhead out of sight before more people noticed the state of him.”
Diego lifted his brows. “I don’t deserve your gratitude, sir. I have to confess that wasn’t my motive.”
Mr. Rawson waved him off. “Oh shoot, I know. You did it for Cuddy, though I fear he doesn’t merit such loyalty. Still”—his eyes met Diego’s at last—“like always, you wound up helping me in the bargain.” Resting his hand on Diego’s arm, he smiled. “I want to express my appreciation for your faithfulness. After God and your mother, you’ve always put the ranch and me first. You’re a tireless, selfless boy, Diego, one I’d be honored to call my own. I’m proud of you, son.”
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