He scratched his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “I suppose the boy would think that, considering we met over a hand of cards.” He lifted his chin. “You know, I kind of like the idea that he saw it that way and never learned the truth. A poker game sounds far more interesting than the truth.”
She scooted forward. “What is the truth?”
“Actually, an uncle up north willed it to his sister’s son. Before my uncle’s death, this same boy got on his bad side, so he blotted out his name and left it to me instead. I was on my way to see it when I ran into Thad.”
“You never once saw Humble, Texas?”
He grunted and shook his head. “Never did. I gave that property to Thad before I ever set eyes on it.” He looked up and smiled. “But you know something, Mrs. Bloom? Somehow I knew I was supposed to do it, and I never had a single moment’s regret.”
Bertha clutched both of his arms and gave him a shake. “Just like I’ll never have a single moment’s regret for what I’m about to do.” She blinked away tears. “Especially now that I see the reason for God insisting that I find you.”
She reached inside her blouse and then paused. “Turn your head, Father, if you don’t mind. Willem, that goes for you, too.” Winking at Magda, she reached deep inside the bodice of her dress. “You can look now. And stick out your hand.”
Darius did as he was told, and she placed a folded document in his outstretched palm. “My dear, what’s this?”
Satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest. “Just the rights to half the profits from one of the largest producing oil wells in the state of Texas.”
***
Emmy’s jaw fell open and she stared at Diego with rounded eyes. “What did you say?” Her words came out low and breathless, intended to warn him he’d best not have said what she thought.
Unflinching, Diego folded his arms across his chest and met her glare. “I said close your mouth and get inside. I mean it, Emmy. Go to the house right now, and whatever you do, don’t let those good people catch you sneaking back in from your sordid rendezvous.”
Her head reeled. The warmth of gratitude turned to flames of fury. She stomped her foot. “How dare you!”
Diego took a step closer. “Let me tell you how I dare.” One by one, he held up fingers, counting off his reasons. “I’ve broken my mother’s heart. The only father I’ve ever known has lost faith in me. Half the time Cuddy acts like he hates me, and Greta, who’s been like a sister to me, is locked in her room, refusing to see me.” He leaned threateningly, his eyes menacing in a stormy face. “So I’m asking ... haven’t you done enough damage?”
Incredulous, Emmy gaped at him. “And you think even one of those things is my fault?” She held up a few fingers of her own. “First off, I have nothing to do with your mother. How could I? She won’t spare a civil word in my direction. Second, for all I know, Cuddy may have a reason to hate you.” She wound up for the kicker. “As for John Rawson, didn’t he lose faith in you about the time you were sneaking behind the bunkhouse to kiss your little sister?”
She spun on her heels and left him floundering.
He caught up with her outside the barn, his fingers rough on her arm. “Your last point is more your fault than mine,” he panted. “Because I wasn’t kissing Greta.” His eyes still blazed but not with anger. Longing, desperation, and shame all vied for fury’s place. “I may have held Greta, Emmy, but I was kissing you.”
Her heart breaking, Emmy wrapped him in her arms. He jerked her close and tangled his hands in her hair. Guiding her face beneath his, his lips hovered inches from hers ... until he roughly pushed her aside.
Hugging his head, he whirled away from her. “What am I doing?” Fuming again, he latched onto her shoulders. “For that matter, what are you doing?” He pointed behind him. “Not ten minutes ago, you were wallowing on the ground with Cuddy. For all I know, you’d rather I hadn’t showed up.” He shoved past her. “Do us both a favor, Emmy. Stay out of my way.”
Too crushed to cry out to him, too angry to deny his accusation, Emmy stared after him until he disappeared in the darkness.
She’d been accused of many hurtful deeds in her life, most of them quite justified. Never in her twenty-one years had a person accused her so unjustly, and it stung. Despite one reckless dalliance with her best friend’s fiancé, no one had ever questioned Emmy’s virtue except that black-hearted rascal. She found it hard to accept that a person she held in the highest regard had done the same.
Her spirits as flat as a fritter, she started for the house, ready to leave South Texas for good.
As she neared the back entrance, Cuddy rode into the yard. Ducking behind the patio wall, she watched his horse trot into the barn. He was the last person she wanted to see, especially tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to decide how to deal with Cuddy Rawson.
A couple of things were certain after the wild night she’d had. One, she wouldn’t be accepting any more invitations from Cuddy, and two, the time had come to quit sneaking out of the house. The imprudent practice had never brought her anything but trouble.
Praying no one had slipped down and locked her out of the house, Emmy tried the knob, sighing with relief when it turned and the door opened. Knowing the spiteful Rosita would delight in telling on her, Emmy kept her eyes on the kitchen as she tiptoed to the stairs.
When she shut the door of her room, she closed her eyes and leaned against it.
“Who were you with, Emily?”
Emmy’s eyes flew open. Her hand jerked to her hammering heart and her knees gave out. Sliding to the floor, she stared at the hollow-eyed girl sitting on her bed in a dingy cotton nightgown, her hair a matted, stringy mess. “Greta!”
Greta lifted her hand toward Emmy. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell. Are you all right?”
Her chest heaving, Emmy took inventory before she answered. “I believe so. Give me a minute and I’ll tell you for sure.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Startle? I think my heart may burst.”
Greta pushed off the bed and scurried to sit on the floor beside her. “Forgive me, but I must have an answer. Were you with Cuddy or Diego?”
Emmy stared at the pale, drawn face and cringed. How could she tell the poor girl the truth—that she’d been with both? She opted for half of the truth. “Cuddy asked me to go for a ride.”
The lines eased from Greta’s forehead and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. “Cuddy?” She released a long breath. “I heard Diego’s voice near the barn, so I thought...” She looked up and shrugged. “Never mind what I thought.”
Picking at the sleeve of her gown, she squirmed until she mustered her courage. “May I ask another question?”
The memory of heartrending sobs echoing through the floorboards touched a tender spot in Emmy’s heart. “Of course, Greta. Anything.”
Her icy blue eyes lifted to Emmy’s, sending a chill down her back. “Do you know...” She faltered. “I mean, did you hear...”
The only thing to do was tell the truth. Emmy nodded grimly then watched Greta try to accept it.
“Did Cuddy hear, too?”
“No.” She hated to crush the flicker of hope. “But he knows. Diego told him.”
She moaned. “Why does Diego tell him everything?”
Emmy picked up her hands. “So it’s only you, me, Diego, Cuddy, and your mother. Five people. No one else need ever know.”
Her chin shot up, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Who told Mother?”
“Well, sweetie, I assumed you had.”
“No! I’d never tell her. She’d only run to Father, and then he’d make Diego leave.” A wistful sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t want that.” She squeezed Emmy’s fingers. “Not ever.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Leave Cuddy to me. I can handle him. As for Mother, I told her I threw myself at Diego, and he let me down easy. She thinks I’m upset because I humiliated myself.”
Emmy tried to make sense of it all. “Then why does she think I’ve hidden away in my room?”
“She’s convinced you’re pouting because your parents left you behind. I’ve told her no different.” Her eyes darkened. “In fact, that’s why I’m here, Emily. If my father asks Diego what happened to make me cry, Diego will tell him the truth. I know he will.” Her fingers dug painfully into Emmy’s hands. “We have to keep that from happening. Please say you’ll help.”
“But what can I do?”
The girl scooted until their knees bumped. “Talk to Diego. Tell him I’ll never tell anyone what happened. We can go on like we were before. I just don’t want him to leave.”
Newfound respect for Greta swelled Emmy’s chest, along with fresh hurt for the heartbroken girl and herself. There was no way to tell her that Diego had just ordered Emmy to stay out of his path. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Emmy knew as soon as she’d uttered the words.
Her eyes losing focus, Greta retreated into the memory that had brought her such pain. “He’ll listen to you,” she whispered. “I could tell by the passion in his kiss.”
CHAPTER 25
Magda walked to the window of the Maverick Hotel and peered across the street. Other than the post office, she spotted a few businesses and shops, but to her dismay, there was no restaurant or café in sight.
Bertha stood by the bed, rummaging in her money satchel. Though she probably had enough cash in the bag to buy the hotel, it had seemed more reasonable to book two rooms instead of three, so Willem had taken the extra cot in John’s room and Bertha slept on the divan across from Magda’s bed.
Magda pulled her gaze from the window. “This is a nice-sized town, ain’t it, Bertha?”
“Too big to suit me. I prefer wide-open spaces.” She looked up. “Was that your belly I heard growling?”
Magda rubbed her middle. “This rowdy thing woke me up pitching a fit about our meager supper. I hope the hotel offers a decent breakfast.”
By the time they’d hauled poor Darius off his backside the night before, where he’d landed in a heap when Bertha delivered her news, the hour was too late to find a meal. A jubilant Father Darius had offered them each a can of beans, which sounded right good by that time. But as hungry as she was, Magda agreed with the others that she’d never take food meant for those wretched homeless souls.
They’d settled for the remaining hardtack and venison jerky then found their hotel and turned in for the night. But not before Darius wrote out how to find Raul, who, thanks to Darius and the mission, had left behind his life of sin and returned like the prodigal to his father’s home.
Bertha closed the satchel, hopped on the bed, and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed behind her head. “I expect the men are hungry, too. I’m right surprised we ain’t heard from them by now. I thought John wanted to get an early start.”
“He did. I heard him say so. I’m sure they’ll be stirring soon.” Magda sat beside Bertha on the bed, bunching pillows behind her back. “Meanwhile, tell me how long you’ve been keeping your plan to find Darius Thedford a secret.” She leaned her head to gaze at Bertha. “And why withhold it? I thought we shared most everything, but this is the second time in a week I’ve learned you kept something from me.”
Bertha’s eyes held steady. “There was never a second I wasn’t going to tell you about Emmy and that rascal Cuddy Rawson. I made the decision to trust her word, and I think I made a right one. As for my plan to find Darius, I never decided not to tell you. Before long, it became a thing too precious to talk about.” She swatted at Magda, her eyes blurred with tears. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
Magda smiled. “Of course I do. But I have one more question. How long have you been hauling that deed around in your bodice?”
Bertha frowned and scratched her side. “Long enough to cause an itchy rash. But what was I supposed to do? I don’t carry a reticule.”
“How did you know you’d need it?”
“I knew as sure as anything I had the call from God to find Darius and give him his share of the well. I reckon it was the same call Darius felt to give the land to Thad in the first place.” She twisted around. “Don’t you think so, Magda?”
Magda opened her mouth to remind Bertha that the judgments of God were unsearchable and His ways past finding out, but the scripture no sooner formed in her mind than a boisterous knock came at the door. She hefted herself toward the corner of the bed. “That’s the fellows now.”
Bertha, considerably spryer than Magda and closer to the door, vaulted off the bed like a springtail. Hustling to the door, she opened it wide. “It’s about time you two turned loose of the sheets. Let’s get this venture started.”
John’s booming laughter shook the hall. “We peeled back those sheets hours ago, little Bertha. Willem and I have been up since dawn, and we bring you good news.”
Not waiting for Bertha to ask, Willem leaned in the door grinning. “We found Raul. Joe Campbell was right. Raul knows a man who’s selling his stock.”
John took up the story. “We’ve seen your cattle, Bertha. Some of the finest polled Herefords I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Bertha seemed caught between a smile and a frown. “You went without me?”
Willem’s brows met in the middle. “I ducked in this morning, but all I heard were snores and snorts.”
“Don’t worry,” John said. “No deals were struck on your behalf. We told the man you’d make the final decision. He’s waiting for us to bring you back.”
“The best part is you don’t have to drive them to Carrizo. You can ship them out right here in Eagle Pass.”
Bertha’s countenance fell. “That’s not good news, Willem. I was looking forward to a cattle drive.”
Grinning, John patted her shoulder. “Well, you’re in luck. I told him we’d cut out the thirty head you wanted from the best he had to offer, and they could save a few for me. You’ll be helping me drive around twenty of those beauties back to Carrizo Springs.”
She broke into a jig, circling the room with her hands on her hips. “Let’s go, then. What are we waiting for?”
John held up both hands. “Hold on there. I hope we’re waiting for breakfast. After all the excitement, Willem and I are starved.”
Magda stretched her arm overhead. “I’ll second that motion. My grub-catcher’s on empty.”
Never one to set much stock in food, Bertha frowned. “I’ll wait if I have to for the sake of the men. But Magda, I don’t plan to schedule my day around your meals. Try to shovel in enough to last awhile.”
Turning at the door, John pointed at the bulging satchel. “You might want to bring that thing, Bertha. It’ll finally come in handy. The next part of this trip is about to get expensive.”
Bertha cocked her head and glared at him, her expression too solemn to be serious. “Hold up there, John. When I told Magda to eat her fill, I never intended to finance it.”
Magda gasped. “He means the cattle!”
“Oh.” A wide grin on her face, Bertha gathered the bag under her arm. “Well, that’s different.”
***
Melatha scraped Isi’s eggs into a bowl and wrapped the container in a dishcloth. She stacked his tortillas and bacon in a separate dish and covered them with a plate. Setting the whole sodden mess on the back of the stove, she closed the damper to cool the fire. If he didn’t show up soon, her eager students would gladly share his breakfast as they had done the day before. And Melatha would struggle to hide her tears while she watched them eat the food she’d prepared for her son.
She hadn’t spent a day apart from Isi since he’d come back into her life. Their spirits had bonded and their time together had been sweet. The brooding young man who’d abandoned his roots still lurked beneath the surface, but Isi always had a quick smile and teasing tone for Melatha—at least until White Hair came along.
Melatha allowed the emotio
n she harbored for the girl to surface. She toyed with it, weighing it against the hatred she felt for the one who took her father’s life. Despite the years and the prayers to Chihowa Palami asking His help to forgive the man, the scale still tipped in favor of her father’s murderer, but only by a feather.
The spirit of her father had risen to eternal rest, leaving an empty husk where once had been a lively, determined man. Emily hadn’t thrust a knife in Isi’s heart or cut his fingers from his hands for paltry trinkets, but she’d left him as cut off from Melatha as her father’s stiffened body had been when she’d found him.
Some new thing had happened between the girl and Isi. Melatha watched him leave the bunkhouse before dawn that morning and knew. His body slumped in the circle of lantern light, his shoulders still bent beneath shame for what he’d done to Greta. But in the angry cluster of lines above his brows and the rolling motion of his jaw, Melatha saw frustration. And fury. Only one person had the power over Isi to exact such raw emotion.
Footsteps on the porch, not heavy enough to be his, roused her from her spiteful place. Her stomach churning from her bitter musings, she reached for Isi’s unclaimed plate of food. “Come in, Jose. I have a nice breakfast for you again this morning.” Irritated with the dawdling boy, Melatha crossed the room and swung open the door.
White Hair’s head jerked up, dread dancing in her eyes.
Melatha stared, her jaw slack. Then the only words she found to say tumbled from her mouth. “What do you want?”
White Hair stood as straight as a pine trunk, the fear gone from her eyes. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”
Melatha’s arching brows pulled at her deep-set lids. “What did you say?”
“Isi must not confess to John Rawson. I need your help to convince him.”
Melatha cringed. She’d called him Isi. Deliberately. Most likely to gain favor. “What business is it of yours? Or mine, for that matter?”
“I’m here on Greta’s behalf. She asked me to talk to him.”
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