Patience softening her voice, Mama wrapped her arm around Emmy and tried to explain. “Papa’s job kept him on the road so much you had to grow up without him. It’s only natural you’d turn to the man who’s been a constant presence. You began to love Nash like a father, and your own finally took notice.”
She lifted Emmy’s chin. “He feels left out of your life. I’m afraid he’s been taking that out on you.”
Joy and the courage to hope soared in Emmy’s chest. “Are you certain, Mama?”
She nodded gravely.
Not sure what to do with the information, Emmy stared at the floor. When she looked up, her mama’s eyes were moist with tears. “This might be a good time to change the direction of your relationship. Loving care, the thing he needs to recover, might be the same medicine to heal your broken bond.” She stood, pulling Emmy with her. “Give it time to sink in, sugar. Meanwhile, dress yourself and come downstairs. If I’m not mistaken, I caught the smell of fried ham wafting up from the kitchen. Rosita must have breakfast ready.”
Emmy kissed her cheek. “I’ll be along soon.”
Mama started for the door, turning when Emmy called her. “Yes, sugar?”
“What about Cuddy and Diego?”
Worry returned to Mama’s face. “They left before daybreak, honey. You might think to offer a little prayer on their behalf.”
She grimaced. “I think I’d prefer to offer a big prayer.”
Reaching for the doorknob, Mama paused again. “Your papa’s asleep, but if you want to duck in for a minute, you can.”
Emmy’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb him.”
Mama sighed. “I wish he was alert enough to be disturbed. I’d gladly disturb him myself.” She smiled. “Go on in and sit with him a spell. Might do you both some good.”
Emmy dressed as fast as she could then slipped into the hall. Her heart hammered so hard at the door to Papa’s room, she smiled at the thought it might awaken him. Gathering her courage, she turned the knob and stepped inside.
The soothing rays warming Emmy’s corner room had yet to find Papa. His windows were southerly facing, so he lay quietly in the early-morning shadows beneath a jewel-toned quilt.
The rhythmic movements of his chest mimicked normal sleep instead of the deep, merciless slumber that held him the past few hours. She ventured closer, expecting any moment for Papa to sit up and demand an explanation for interrupting his rest.
A scrollwork chair with an inviting cushion sat beside the bed, recently vacated by Mama, no doubt. Emmy tiptoed over and took a seat.
Papa’s expression was peaceful. Except for his lips, chapped a flaming red, and faint circles under his eyes, he didn’t even appear injured. She watched his lashes flicker in sleep and suddenly longed to hear his voice, even if it held a critical edge.
Emmy didn’t expect what happened next and didn’t plan it. Almost of their own will, her fingers inched forward to brush his hand. Watching carefully for a reaction, she touched him again, a bit more boldly. He didn’t respond. Feeling like a thief, she slipped her hand in his, caressing it with her thumb.
Sorrow welled so strongly it took her breath. Drawing air, she exhaled on a sob. Pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound of her weeping, she sat on the side of the bed and laid her head on Papa’s chest. The warmth of the stolen hug flooded her heart with bittersweet pain. Reaching to pat his cheek, she grieved for all the hugs he’d withheld from her.
It hurt even worse knowing the reason Papa had been so harsh. He’d punished her for needing him so badly she’d turned to Nash for comfort.
Sitting upright, Emmy wiped her eyes. She slid to her knees still clutching Papa’s hand and asked God to help her forgive him so she could offer the loving care he so desperately needed. Asking forgiveness for her own behavior, she promised God to honor Papa and show him love no matter how he acted toward her. She determined in her heart to help him recover from the terrible thing that had happened to him so they could begin anew.
Planting a soft kiss on the back of his hand, she tucked his arm inside the covers and pulled the quilt to his chin. With one last pat on his cheek, she left the room.
***
Diego eased the mare he rode closer to the fire pit and glanced over his shoulder at Cuddy. “This is the spot where they camped. It’s just as Mrs. Bloom described.”
Cuddy nodded grimly. “Which means my father rode out from here toward El Indio.” He smiled, hope shining from his eyes. “All we have to do is head that way. We’re sure to find him somewhere along the trail.”
Gritting his teeth, Diego forced himself to say the loathsome words. “Your father’s been lost for nearly three days”—he winced at the look in Cuddy’s eyes—“and it’s August in South Texas.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to find him somewhere along the trail.”
Anger replaced Cuddy’s hopeful expression. “What then?”
Diego looked toward the mid-morning sun, already baking his skin. “If he hasn’t found shelter, he’s in trouble. We’ll look along the trail but not just out in the open. If he’s able to move, he’s crawled into the brush by now. Otherwise—”
Cuddy’s hand shot up. “I get the picture. We’ll scour every inch of scrub between here and El Indio.”
Chattering with excitement, Little Pete and Felipe rode into the clearing. Little Pete pointed over his shoulder with his quirt. “We found the rest of the Herefords, Diego. Downriver about a mile from here.”
Diego laced his fingers to tighten his leather gloves. “It wasn’t as easy as having them run halfway to Carrizo like the other herd, but I knew you’d find them.”
Preening in front of Felipe, Pete’s shoulders shot back. “Sí, señor. I told you I would.”
Diego scowled, feigning anger. “I wouldn’t boast until after you drive them into the corral. For all you know, they’ve been rustled into Mexico by now.”
Pete’s eyes widened. “No, señor! It’s not possible.”
“Sí, es muy posible. What are you waiting for?” Diego shooed them like naughty children. “Have your men round them up and take them home.”
Grinning, Pete saluted. “Sí, Diego. We’re going.”
They rode off laughing, and Diego nodded toward the river. “Let’s tend the horses. The sooner we start looking the better.”
After they rested their mounts, they led them to the bank and encouraged them to drink. Diego cooled them by wetting rags and sponging along the underside of their necks and down their lower legs. The minute they dared, they set out on the fresher horses and headed for El Indio.
Dismounting often along the seldom-used track, they searched carefully along each side of the trail. By the time they made it to the sleepy little town, a two-hour trip that should’ve taken twenty minutes, they were hot, tired, and discouraged. Careful to appear friendly, they rode along the dusty main street, nodding their heads at the locals.
Diego lifted his chin toward a shabby adobe building with a low, flat roof. “Let’s ask a few questions inside. Maybe someone has seen him.”
Tying their horses to the rail, they stepped into the cool shadows of the tavern.
Sleepy-eyed men turned from the bar, regarding them with open curiosity.
Diego mumbled a greeting in Spanish and approached the bartender.
“Buenas tardes, señores,” the balding man said. “What can I get for you?”
Diego pulled a folded bill from his pocket. “We’re in the market for cool water and information, señor.”
The man reached for the currency, but Diego flicked it backward, away from his grasping fingers. “We’re looking for someone. A fellow out of Carrizo Springs. He rode in this direction three days ago and hasn’t been heard from since.”
The man’s moustache twitched. “It would be a shame indeed if I knew something, considering you only hold payment for water in your hand.”
Diego and Cuddy exchanged looks. Cuddy produced anothe
r bill, this one a slightly higher denomination. He held it up beside Diego’s money. “What will this buy us?”
The bartender glanced toward his watching patrons. They swiveled on their barstools and pretended not to listen. He leaned close, his breath heavy with the scent of bourbon. “I can help you.”
“Prove it,” Cuddy demanded, a hard edge to his voice.
The man rubbed his chin. “This is a gringo you seek? Stout as a bull?”
Excitement surged through Diego, tightening the muscles in his limbs. He struggled to contain himself before he cost them every dollar they had. He shot a warning look at Cuddy then leaned casually on the bar. “Do you know where we might find him?”
A thick arm, so covered in hair it resembled a black bear’s, reached between Cuddy and Diego and snatched the currency.
They whirled, ready to give chase.
Instead of running, the stocky thief stood his ground, popping the bills between his fingers to test them. He held up the money as if to say thanks and then shoved it into his pocket. “The gringo you’re looking for is in my house. Follow me. I’ll take you there.”
***
Melatha sat in a corner of Kate Rawson’s room watching Greta comfort her mother. When Kate slept at last, under sedation by doctor’s orders, Greta smoothed her brow and slid off the high bed. Melatha stood as she approached and gathered her into her arms. Greta wept quietly as Melatha rocked her.
She looked up, her lashes wet with tears, and searched Melatha’s face. “My father’s gone, isn’t he?”
Melatha shook her head. “Don’t give up on him.”
Greta brushed a wilted curl from her forehead with a shaky hand. “I don’t mean to, Melatha.” Her wide blue eyes seemed to stare into eternity and see her father there. “I just have a bad feeling.” She shook her head as if coming awake. “I only pray they find out something today.” She glanced at her mother’s restless form. “I’m not sure how much more uncertainty she can stand.”
Melatha gazed out the window at the empty lane. “I’m certain they’ll be home soon.” She sighed. “They’ll be hungry. Men always are, no matter what the circumstances. I’d better make sure there’s plenty to feed them.” She gave Greta one last pat then started for the door.
“Melatha?”
She turned. “Yes?”
Greta’s lips quivered with suppressed emotion. “Thank you for being here for us. You know I’ve loved you from the beginning.” Profound sadness drew a curtain over her features. “I even hoped we might one day be family.”
Melatha crossed the room and held her. “Will you be all right, Greta?”
Her smile was tight. “Someday. I’ve asked Mother to send me to my grandparents in Ripponden to finish my education.” She lifted her chin. “Of course, now we await news about my father that could change everything.”
Melatha nodded. “Or change nothing.”
***
A humble jacal hunkered at the edge of El Indio, the door swinging loose on its hinges and the thatched roof needing repair, but a welcome sight nonetheless. Diego hastily tethered the horses, and then he and Cuddy followed the man inside.
A sheet had been nailed as a makeshift curtain across the door of the dining room. Diego swept it aside.
The owners of the house had shoved the table and chairs to one side of the tidy room and set up a cot against the far wall. When Diego’s eyes adjusted to the absence of light, searing pain pierced his chest. He moved forward, but Cuddy rushed past him and threw himself to the floor beside the gaunt figure on the bed. “Father!”
Despite a noticeable weight loss and sunken cheeks, the bulk of John Rawson’s big-boned frame took up all of the cot and more, and his feet dangled from the end. He reached a feeble hand to Cuddy’s neck. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Tears flowed down Cuddy’s cheeks. “Forgive me! I should’ve found you sooner.”
Mr. Rawson was shaking his head. “No more regret, son.”
Cuddy buried his face in his father’s hand and wept.
“So this is Cuddy?” a pleasant voice said behind Diego. He moved aside to let the kind-faced woman slide past. “Awake or asleep, John’s been calling that name since we found him.”
“Where was he?” Diego asked softly.
“About a mile from town,” said the furry-armed fellow from the tavern. “Me and my wife came across him yesterday on the way to the river. We’d never have seen him so far off the road, but he summoned the strength to cry out.”
Diego winced. Mr. Rawson had survived alone in the brush for two days.
“He was in bad shape when we found him,” the man said and added a sad cluck with his tongue. “Delirious.”
The dark-eyed woman folded her arms over her ample chest. “I tell you, this man’s will is stronger than most.” She nodded at Cuddy. “His determination to speak to that boy kept him alive.” She smiled toward Mr. Rawson. “Now God has answered his prayer. He can die in peace.”
Cuddy’s head jerked up. “Die? He’s not going to die.”
Mr. Rawson tried to speak, but dry coughs wracked his body. When he caught his breath, he reached for Cuddy’s hand. “There’s something I have to tell you, son.”
The line of Cuddy’s jaw hardened. “Hush, Father. Save your strength. We can talk later after we get you to a doctor.”
Mr. Rawson shook his head. “I won’t be seeing the Twisted-R again.” His voice broke. “Or your mother.”
Cuddy’s face twisted in agony. “Don’t say that.”
Tears sprang to Mr. Rawson’s weak eyes. “Cuddy, I—”
Cuddy shot to his knees, his body in a protective huddle over his father. “Go hire a wagon, Diego. And hurry! We have to take him home.”
The woman moved to Cuddy’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Let him speak, boy. The chance to say what’s on his mind has cost him dearly.” She patted him. “Don’t disappoint him now.”
She walked past Diego, pulling her husband out the door.
Heartbroken, Diego reluctantly followed them to the kitchen. Bewildered, he sought the woman’s eyes. “How are you so sure he won’t live?”
“We have a doctor here in town. He gave him up for dead last night. We’re surprised your friend has held on for so long.”
“So he hit his head?”
She blinked. “His head?”
Diego nodded. “When his horse threw him.”
She glanced at her husband then licked her lips. “I don’t know what horse you mean, son. John was afoot.”
The woman’s husband poured a cup of stout-looking coffee and handed it to Diego. “We don’t know anything about a horse, mister. It’s John’s heart that’s broke, not his head.”
Diego nearly dropped the cup. “His heart?”
The man nodded. “Poor fellow’s got a bum thumper.”
CHAPTER 40
“They are home!” Rosita’s shrill voice rang through the house, echoing up the stairs to Emmy’s room.
Emmy ducked to peer from the window, her searching eyes finding Diego. He rode his mare in the lead. Cuddy followed, driving a wagon through the gate.
A burst of golden light from the sunset lit them from behind like a giant halo. Praying the sunburst was a good sign and the wagon wasn’t a bad omen, she tore open the door and ran, nearly colliding with Aunt Bertha and Mama sailing from their rooms.
Emmy led the way down the stairs and hurried for the door. Greta stood on the threshold staring straight ahead as if unable to move. Emmy smoothed a hand down her back, and Greta turned woodenly. “I’m so scared, Emily.”
Lifting her chin, Emmy took hold of her hand. “Hang onto me. I won’t leave you.”
Rosita and Melatha stood on the porch. The rest of the women filed from the house to stand beside them, except for Mrs. Rawson still resting in her room.
Little Pete came running from the barn, the sight of the wagon breaking his stride. “God help us,” he muttered then glanced nervously toward the
women.
Diego stopped his mare and dismounted. Cuddy pulled the wagon in front of the house and set the brake. One look at their faces and Emmy knew.
Greta pulled away from her and ran. Searing pain on his face, Cuddy caught her before she reached the wagon bed and spun her around, yanking her to his chest. She collapsed against him in bitter tears.
Pete whirled away and ran for the barn.
Rosita, a look of horror on her face, shot past them into the house.
Melatha bounded the other direction, down the steps to help Cuddy with Greta.
An anguished wail pierced the air.
Cuddy’s gaze flew to his mother’s balcony. He handed Greta off to Melatha and took the steps in one leap. Pitiful cries rocked the front yard until Cuddy reached his mother and pulled her inside the house.
Diego stood rigidly beside his horse, apart from the scene. His haunted eyes held a lost look. A Rawson in heart, but not in blood or name, he grieved alone.
Emmy rushed off the porch calling his name.
In a daze, he walked into her arms.
She pressed his head to the hollow of her neck and smoothed his hair while he cried.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mama called to Melatha.
Melatha looked over her shoulder. “Yes, take Greta to her mother, please.”
Mama hustled to Greta and led her into the house.
“Is there something I can do?” Aunt Bertha asked.
“Yes.” Melatha pulled her gaze from the wagon bed. “You can help me prepare this poor man for burial.”
***
The big ranch house loomed around Magda as silent and somber as a tomb. Rosita and Melatha had prepared enough food for another pachanga, but no one seemed to have an appetite, even Magda, though her stomach growled beneath her belt.
They’d all slipped away to deal with John Rawson’s death in their own fashion. Cuddy, Greta, and their mother had locked themselves in Mrs. Rawson’s bedroom. Rosita and Melatha hovered somewhere in the house tending the family’s needs. Emmy had disappeared, clinging to Diego’s arm as they melted into the evening shadows.
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